Awful that a party kept me awake the night before such a long and arduous day. The dangers of alcohol. All of them. So tired and wasteful. I sat numb in my chair tasting (soft) xanax under my tongue though it is a prescription and the main ingredient in teeth-whitening gum. Sob stories, predictable. Less strict. Doesn't really matter how I answer the questions. At the end. Either I go out, drink and drive, and kill a lot of people, or I don't. I know I won't. I know I won't let anyone I care about do it either. So hey the system worked. And it's all you. Not just basic human empathy. "Hey see you later man." God I hope not. I had to take a cab to the empty town Tolleson at 7 am. 60 dollar fare one way. 50 the other. 50 miles or so in all. I waited outside sonic. got nothing because I believed I would discover glass in it. cab dispatch says they used to play soccer in the shitty field across van buren. Seems to be nothing out here for miles and miles. What do people do out here without cars? Dispatch thought my name was Mat. Told me about strippers and respect. I listened and laughed a long. I couldn't tip. Flat rate. I paid first. Didn't care. Thought about possibility that I would be robbed and beat after he took my money. Nearly an unmarked taxi. I would have fought back valiant. The printer still out of ink but I let the girl who loves coco dish it out for me and embarrass me. I told little jokes she will never understand. Just like the cab driver. But today. Forgive me for being so terrible at being social. I have been soul-drained and tired. My heart hurts. I am so confused. And I wasted all of my time and energy and money on something extremely unbearable.
I could hear laughing and clinking of glasses from a balcony outside. South of my bedroom. I wanted to shout something. I don't remember waking up an alarm. I just disappeared out that kid's life. He gave up two cigs. I sat and looked angrily at the ground. I am alone in this, more and more I realize.
****
Seems like a big joke. Everyone is in on it. Everyone acts like the epitome of the person I hate. They combine every awful personality trait and subject of conversation. Stir them around. Remove excitement and add a striving toward normalcy. Add beauty but not brains. Superficial. Inflated views of self-worth.
* * * *
Now the crushed and deformed skulls of the human fossil record look like drunk driving accidents.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Saturday, April 28, 2012
April 28
The london bridge reassembled in the middle of the desert.
Waiting for a camera crew to pop out and tell me it was all a funny joke. Tell me my alarm is not set for 6:30 on a blessed Sunday morning. Tell me that this whole year was documented, truman show, and I can look back and laugh at all of the high lights. The best and worst. All of the mediocre and in between don't really count for shit. They stay in the memory but only the random ones. (like sitting by the pool, having a grand old time.) I become a martyr. Money burning. In piles. Wasteful regrets. I can't be too hard on my rich, old money, self. We divide and conquer. Holy holy. I cannot feel ungrateful. No. Thank god I have the family that I have or I would have been dead in a ditch somewhere long ago. Strung out on this or that. Most likely both. But it will be a huge anti-social blur tomorrow. 8 hours is more than enough to knock the old alcoholic sensibilities out of my head. Watch scare tactic film. Hear sob story. Someone comes in with one leg and blames all of us criminals for what we've done. Certificate of achievement. Specialized program to expedite my process. (Money gets you somewhere. I am burning through the reserves. This is what this money was saved for. Despite possible permanent stain. Dumbass.)
Get over yourself.
This will all be fine. Write a book about it. Life experience. Oppression. This is the power structure. What it is like to be stared at through beady or weary, murderous eyes... The blue. And the red lights, sirens and badges. Walking like nothing happened. I wake up with a scowl. What it is to have money enough to make this happen.
Waiting for a camera crew to pop out and tell me it was all a funny joke. Tell me my alarm is not set for 6:30 on a blessed Sunday morning. Tell me that this whole year was documented, truman show, and I can look back and laugh at all of the high lights. The best and worst. All of the mediocre and in between don't really count for shit. They stay in the memory but only the random ones. (like sitting by the pool, having a grand old time.) I become a martyr. Money burning. In piles. Wasteful regrets. I can't be too hard on my rich, old money, self. We divide and conquer. Holy holy. I cannot feel ungrateful. No. Thank god I have the family that I have or I would have been dead in a ditch somewhere long ago. Strung out on this or that. Most likely both. But it will be a huge anti-social blur tomorrow. 8 hours is more than enough to knock the old alcoholic sensibilities out of my head. Watch scare tactic film. Hear sob story. Someone comes in with one leg and blames all of us criminals for what we've done. Certificate of achievement. Specialized program to expedite my process. (Money gets you somewhere. I am burning through the reserves. This is what this money was saved for. Despite possible permanent stain. Dumbass.)
Get over yourself.
This will all be fine. Write a book about it. Life experience. Oppression. This is the power structure. What it is like to be stared at through beady or weary, murderous eyes... The blue. And the red lights, sirens and badges. Walking like nothing happened. I wake up with a scowl. What it is to have money enough to make this happen.
April 27
Running legal errands. Counting dimes on a counter top. Proud to be a belligerent fan. Enough to set off seismic graphs. In seattle. As it sinks slowly into the sound. My stomach churns with the snack food. I indulged. Water it down. The stomach acids. I am tired and grumpy and tomorrow. Hell. I need to study all damn day and play the bass all damn day. Wake up at 630 the next day. holy hell. make it happen. fix your mistakes and jump through all of the burning hoops. i am a hurdle jumper with a broken ankle. or a chase scene where the one in front, my goal mostly, throws down garbage cans or people in order to arrest my pursuit. But I won't give up, no. I am totally in control. I hate the sounds of the outside darkness, the people raping each other in corners. Dirty leather couches, squeaking, as I watch illicit candles mark the path into deeper oceans. underneath the tree branches. buried my love in the soil. under the clock. the smoker's shelter with flowers growing on top. the rain fueling the economic decisions. coffee shops don't go for broke during the summer. the drinks are only slightly hotter than the air. no one wants to drink hot chocolate in the arizona, unforgiving, summer heat.
Friday, April 27, 2012
April 26
Counted as yesterday. Feeling nostalgic and grasping on to old things before that might have been misunderstood in normal circumstance. The devil knows what I mean by that last sentence. Dark inhabitants of the dehydrated mind. Craving sustenance. but all of the hope in world lays in the proles. The outside majority influence of this nightmare utopian society, may have to be a re-read for me. IN th list for books that had heavy influence on me at the time, despite being easy to read or what. The mindset then must have been more open and introspective. Unconscious creation rather. It must have been so pure and untainted by vile chemicals that reduce perfect-functioning cells into lifeless falling branches, the kinetic energy dividing line, such a close fatalistic decision. What if... what if.... The cd left on the pool table. The credit card account information. The lack of funds. The strange desire to indulge into deviance. (Because I have an alcohol problem?). Take a step back for a second. But no. I know what I'm doing. The self-defeatist. Unraveling his darkened secrets into dark trap doors. Falling beyond understanding into sudden annoyance that some asshole is opening up his heart, some drunk son-of-a-bitch is preaching his time off the wagon, left behind and laughing in the dust kicked up by the wooden wheels traveling over rough terrain. But how they crossed the divide... Flashing city lights reflecting off of the surface of the water, a mirror that distorts the reflection, rippling real imagines, the lights dance with passing rowboats, quiet romantic couplets, a man singing and rowing, a background item, through the water-streets... Black with all rainbow but white highlights on the top of the stripes. Incredibly difficult to describe a once or twice glimpsed poster, black lit, in a back room. Brief and with the interruption of television and circumspect drug deals in the front living room where outsiders can see in and wish they were a part of the lifestyle or believe that their sober life is the right way to go about business, which is the opinion I have begun to believe in. More and more. Once I am 21 I must be able to maintain control of my life. (The old propaganda has sank back into my head. A poisonous 16 hour investment. of discussion and awful self-accusation. no one has the same back story. we cannot be compartmentalized. I am done. I am a statistic. But I will smile when they frame a mug shot. Ready for anything. In control but out of control. Silently reading or writing in my cell without any interaction with a crazy cellmate. The social tension and proximity would naturally be incredibly awful. No matter who. The tension unbearable. Can move wrist to write about it. Paralyzed in stiff boredom. Barely able to stay awake even through the brightest morning role call. Work out in the yard. But with no fear. Strong enough to run with them. Who the fuck says I can't hit the weights? I would sit and write and sell cigarettes on bleachers in the cold sun of the north. A couple of packs to break even and begin making real profit. Your last real connection to the living has fallen into a stupor. A tension coma. There is so much strain I can't hold myself together, here. ALIVe. in one swift motion. in a different swift motion i will give my hands a break and lapse into tropical dreams. One connnecting portal toward enlightenment. But it is nothing more than ramble. (You can see... yes? the powerful implications?)
Scissor kick through a crowd. A concert on a flat bed truck. Knock a girl flat. Stage gather dust inside, moved to a barn and play a decent show. (Now. Right now. If we could play weekly at a place like The Farm. The barn outback where limousines used to rust.. Beautiful daughter, it was agreed. But the parking situation and the event planners, all positive and cooperative. Not drunken bullshit. Well organized and non-profit. Make sure everyone is safe and has fun. A real saint, mixture of real and imagined perception and hot dogs and chips. Free food? Amazing. It's like they are trying their hardest, with all their damned will, to coax us deeper into their trap.
Scissor kick through a crowd. A concert on a flat bed truck. Knock a girl flat. Stage gather dust inside, moved to a barn and play a decent show. (Now. Right now. If we could play weekly at a place like The Farm. The barn outback where limousines used to rust.. Beautiful daughter, it was agreed. But the parking situation and the event planners, all positive and cooperative. Not drunken bullshit. Well organized and non-profit. Make sure everyone is safe and has fun. A real saint, mixture of real and imagined perception and hot dogs and chips. Free food? Amazing. It's like they are trying their hardest, with all their damned will, to coax us deeper into their trap.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
April 25
Contemplate revealing the information. I feel like it never happened. Something so small and ridiculous. I was to be made an example of. Little did he know I have no one to tell to be careful. Maybe I will call my father to collect my thoughts in order to speak to my worried mother. I'll need to get some tattoos. But hey.
View from balcony. Listen from groups of 'peers' enjoying their newfound freedom of summer. It is hazy to me. I imagine each car that speeds by blasting god awful, substance-less, music is on its way to some debauchery or another. They will rape and kill each other. These are the bigger fish to fry. The biggest fish would be the one that supplies these kids with the hard drugs. The drugs that put substance into that terrible repetitive beat they so enjoy. (1, 2, 3, 4...) Unbelievable I am the one. I am no criminal. These guys have got it all wrong. Scare tactics. (let's all go home, kill ourselves in our radios) About that. Another gig harbor kid down. Jesus. One of the most beautiful small towns in the country. Create such dissonance with so many sad kids and ultimate bullies. The status differences drive these kids to the edge of existence.
* * * *
"Hey man is that a Mariner's hat? Sweet."
"Oh this? Yeah. I got it cuz I like the colors. I'm a Yankees fan really."
"....."
* * * *
"Wondering about my nervous system's limits"
View from balcony. Listen from groups of 'peers' enjoying their newfound freedom of summer. It is hazy to me. I imagine each car that speeds by blasting god awful, substance-less, music is on its way to some debauchery or another. They will rape and kill each other. These are the bigger fish to fry. The biggest fish would be the one that supplies these kids with the hard drugs. The drugs that put substance into that terrible repetitive beat they so enjoy. (1, 2, 3, 4...) Unbelievable I am the one. I am no criminal. These guys have got it all wrong. Scare tactics. (let's all go home, kill ourselves in our radios) About that. Another gig harbor kid down. Jesus. One of the most beautiful small towns in the country. Create such dissonance with so many sad kids and ultimate bullies. The status differences drive these kids to the edge of existence.
* * * *
"Hey man is that a Mariner's hat? Sweet."
"Oh this? Yeah. I got it cuz I like the colors. I'm a Yankees fan really."
"....."
* * * *
"Wondering about my nervous system's limits"
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
April 24
Replace me.
Swiftly
without injury
as if there was nothing in between
(those bruised legs)
reference the same sources
blinding horses.
walk around in the smallest possible circle
your legs forget what it means to be in full stride
towards a goal
towards an unknown consequence of a dream
but we are mutants
manifest content
latency.
I am forgotten. Thank god.
****
No need to remember the things that slow me down. Or weigh me down in the past or in regret. Surround myself in positive opinion. Tear down those old posters.
Swiftly
without injury
as if there was nothing in between
(those bruised legs)
reference the same sources
blinding horses.
walk around in the smallest possible circle
your legs forget what it means to be in full stride
towards a goal
towards an unknown consequence of a dream
but we are mutants
manifest content
latency.
I am forgotten. Thank god.
****
No need to remember the things that slow me down. Or weigh me down in the past or in regret. Surround myself in positive opinion. Tear down those old posters.
Monday, April 23, 2012
April 23
As before, the tension is imagined. We are equally in charge. Our presence will not be misstated. We will blast our amps, aim directly into the ears of sleeping masses. Pull threads apart that tie these indistinguishable bodies from another. (Everything is a novelty. Everyone grows but me.)
There is a massive yet also very slight distinction between overwriting and the perfect story. The same could be said when a guitarist overstates the point that he is a great guitarist. The tasteful execution of insane technical riffs is okay in book. (Some sections obnoxious and I again appreciate all of the classic rock guitarists who use the influence of empty space, David Gilmour particularly. Jimmy Page is rather sloppy but emotive...)
Sometimes the ridiculous craftsmanship must be complimented and respected for what it is. As a musician. Incredibly open-minded. I will love anything you feed me.
----
Earl grey with a splash of milk. Neck sore from looking down. At various things. Papers and placements of things. Become an expert on theory. Memorize what notes are in each key and where they are everywhere on the fret board of a bass tuned a half step down (D#/Eb then G#/Ab then C#/Db and finally F#/Gb... the name relevant to specify the key. Certain keys based on a code require the note to be called sharp or flat simply for the consistency of having every letter of the scale represented in some manner even if double sharps and/or double sharps are required. In every key there must be a representative of A, B, C, D, E, F, and G... depending on the labeling of the prior note we sharp or flat the next note. There are all sorts of short cuts and mnemonic devices.)
Learn the short cuts and make flash cards with scale degrees or chords of what notes are contained in a given key signature. The ability to figure it out. (IN spare time. Find music theory work sheets to practice on.)
It is crucial if I ever wish to join the ranks of a high talent california band.
but now the shins. forward progress set into motion. looking at a dull buck knife. head tired and sleepy, lack of solid night sleep. strange feeling. pulled out of the system entirely.
the last and the final. built up for some climactic explosion as we are all let out but it all kind of peters out into a dull pile of ashes. could have been a wildfire with caps and gowns in the 100 degree heat. all ridiculous and swimming in sweat. but even more estranged then I although they have reached the end of their specific journey. hours a day commitment. enough time to be rewarded. lyrical content. shaping music through keys and chords and scale degrees.
learn. learn learn learn learn.
You will live in a box with all of your things in smaller boxes. you will have no where to sit aside from the ground. and you will rent out a house for a few months. meet people in coffee shops and outside of bars. the local school. spend time on the boardwalk. avoiding the gun down run down places. your worst nightmare is falling in love with some stranger. the appeal of the perfume is too strong to allow further development. hold hands and my modest living should be a nice diversion and a den for realistic and happy individuals. not the ones caught up in show business. the allure of spotlights shining and tanning beds, pollution. no recycle. money and greedy self-interest. (everyone is here to make it.)
***
Dream of angels who materialize out of morning mist and accept an imperfect body but a nicer attitude. The one from beneath the lake. The blonde hair and the stare. What makes me so hopeless? When thought of breaking buddhist belief. Sacred chamber of a bedroom. With nothing happening here other than drunken sobbing or musical practice. Art flame extinguished. Consequences are a greater lack of feelings of peace. Which is to say that I do not feel at peace. I have not much proved I was here. I have writing. But I have nearly no pictures. I have videos.
Take a bath and get high through an apple.
There is a massive yet also very slight distinction between overwriting and the perfect story. The same could be said when a guitarist overstates the point that he is a great guitarist. The tasteful execution of insane technical riffs is okay in book. (Some sections obnoxious and I again appreciate all of the classic rock guitarists who use the influence of empty space, David Gilmour particularly. Jimmy Page is rather sloppy but emotive...)
Sometimes the ridiculous craftsmanship must be complimented and respected for what it is. As a musician. Incredibly open-minded. I will love anything you feed me.
----
Earl grey with a splash of milk. Neck sore from looking down. At various things. Papers and placements of things. Become an expert on theory. Memorize what notes are in each key and where they are everywhere on the fret board of a bass tuned a half step down (D#/Eb then G#/Ab then C#/Db and finally F#/Gb... the name relevant to specify the key. Certain keys based on a code require the note to be called sharp or flat simply for the consistency of having every letter of the scale represented in some manner even if double sharps and/or double sharps are required. In every key there must be a representative of A, B, C, D, E, F, and G... depending on the labeling of the prior note we sharp or flat the next note. There are all sorts of short cuts and mnemonic devices.)
Learn the short cuts and make flash cards with scale degrees or chords of what notes are contained in a given key signature. The ability to figure it out. (IN spare time. Find music theory work sheets to practice on.)
It is crucial if I ever wish to join the ranks of a high talent california band.
but now the shins. forward progress set into motion. looking at a dull buck knife. head tired and sleepy, lack of solid night sleep. strange feeling. pulled out of the system entirely.
the last and the final. built up for some climactic explosion as we are all let out but it all kind of peters out into a dull pile of ashes. could have been a wildfire with caps and gowns in the 100 degree heat. all ridiculous and swimming in sweat. but even more estranged then I although they have reached the end of their specific journey. hours a day commitment. enough time to be rewarded. lyrical content. shaping music through keys and chords and scale degrees.
learn. learn learn learn learn.
You will live in a box with all of your things in smaller boxes. you will have no where to sit aside from the ground. and you will rent out a house for a few months. meet people in coffee shops and outside of bars. the local school. spend time on the boardwalk. avoiding the gun down run down places. your worst nightmare is falling in love with some stranger. the appeal of the perfume is too strong to allow further development. hold hands and my modest living should be a nice diversion and a den for realistic and happy individuals. not the ones caught up in show business. the allure of spotlights shining and tanning beds, pollution. no recycle. money and greedy self-interest. (everyone is here to make it.)
***
Dream of angels who materialize out of morning mist and accept an imperfect body but a nicer attitude. The one from beneath the lake. The blonde hair and the stare. What makes me so hopeless? When thought of breaking buddhist belief. Sacred chamber of a bedroom. With nothing happening here other than drunken sobbing or musical practice. Art flame extinguished. Consequences are a greater lack of feelings of peace. Which is to say that I do not feel at peace. I have not much proved I was here. I have writing. But I have nearly no pictures. I have videos.
Take a bath and get high through an apple.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
April 22
Coffee and donut. Cop overnight surveillance, a stake out, seeking out the enemy and replacing them with friends. But it is not a simple replacement as many groups intermingle and procreate children of your friend of a father and your enemy of a mother. (the red flannel crew).
---
Let them know we've been here. Record. Write it down. Put it on paper or video or recording. Putting self into perspective. There is bread there is wine. Two dry kegs. Watching people laugh and fondle outside. Some I recognize. Most I don't. Majority I will never see again. Even in that minority of those I will see again, I bet we won't interact. Minimal eye contact. Brief flash of recognition. And then oblivion. Because I am leaving. (the tight bass lines destroyed). Let them know I was here! Holy hell. Nobody ever settles for much less.
When I bench press, the bar stays in place, I push the entire world down a foot and a half or so.
Smoke weed to forget how to eat healthy.
Eat healthy and forget how to smoke weed.
(you are just a litany of horrors like the evening news)
I like to grow.
Fingernails got filthy. I climbed on a dirt hill and used my hand like a visor to block out the harsh light of car head lamps. Move everything. The sticky floor. The alcohol. (I'll be right back she said and I waited.) Rude prior to show, incredibly nice after performance. Walk three girls back. But they found a ride. Safety first. Could have made some new friends. Perhaps if I were alone. Hoofing it back to my place with intentions of leading a posse back for hookah and conversation. Louder the drunker we get. Beer in the fridge and we can escape into the rhythm of ocean waves. No one knows what the sea smells like here.
No one can tell if it is high or low tide, given the proximal range of the moon. The dark side of it always dark. Going the distance.
Shoot for the stars. Land on the stars. The moon is not enough anymore.
***
Break strict rules. Strung out burned out in a fury. Nearly lost my cool earlier in the hot sun. Dropped a grocery bag in 103 heat, melting tires. No natural shade. Only buildings. Smokestacks. The girls who had fun and wonder about their damaged reputations only months later. Lightning strikes the hilltop picnic. Looking more and more likely. Watch the movie. Play the part. "You've missed the fucking point"
I love that dissonance. Holy discovery. But the limit is nowhere to be found. You have time yet to become marvelous. A figment of a sweet girls imagination. The one that could only possibly be a figment in mine own. The stitches sewn together with invisible wires. Electricity powers the city through every minute of earth day and no huge changes take place (somehow I was completely unaware. probably threw something recyclable aware and left a toothbrush plugged in to the wall).
How can the predictable be comfortable? To live in a repetitive cycle day in day out. Boring. Incredibly boring to behave in the same manner through every second. Every unique moment wasted. You waste away impression management. Count your breaths. Your heart will slow to a murmur. You will outlive me.
(there are always dead ends)
opportunity for greatness, rise up the challenge, you spineless wreck of a person. squirm beneath a large imperfection of a body, something untamed, uncontrolled... a growth on the side of building. Of painted light fixtures. we melt into shadows on the sidewalk. hands clasped behind our heads. given in to the temptation of servitude to gravity and laws governing the physical world.
who says you couldn't constantly float two or three feet above the ground?
but we buy into the books. words without meaning to an illiterate. the hierarchy will be in place until all those interested in creating books disappear and everything good becomes a classic. there are no new inventions. the well of human creation can never be dried. the riverbed will remain damp at least. the keg cannot be tapped. inventiveness and real opinions are lilies bursting through sheets of ice. we could let the beer go stale. the river could overflow and harm fragile ecosystems.
laughter from down the corridor but it is brought on through illegitimate means. the sound of betrayal as the ice cream melts in the back of the suburban, I am ridiculed for my health aware decisions and left as a cliche in the computer lab. swearing and muttering. a sauna in there. hot tub fiends....
pyro novelties.
a strange night for a curse. uttered across the moors. the dark and narrow passageways between weeping trees. sad at the lost cultures. the tribes across the landscape. we work at different paces truly. everything is different and horrifying. we resent each other now and again through passive aggressive means. power shift. in control. want to reel me in. content to sit alone in respective rooms. useless enough to mute.
---
Let them know we've been here. Record. Write it down. Put it on paper or video or recording. Putting self into perspective. There is bread there is wine. Two dry kegs. Watching people laugh and fondle outside. Some I recognize. Most I don't. Majority I will never see again. Even in that minority of those I will see again, I bet we won't interact. Minimal eye contact. Brief flash of recognition. And then oblivion. Because I am leaving. (the tight bass lines destroyed). Let them know I was here! Holy hell. Nobody ever settles for much less.
When I bench press, the bar stays in place, I push the entire world down a foot and a half or so.
Smoke weed to forget how to eat healthy.
Eat healthy and forget how to smoke weed.
(you are just a litany of horrors like the evening news)
I like to grow.
****
Fingernails got filthy. I climbed on a dirt hill and used my hand like a visor to block out the harsh light of car head lamps. Move everything. The sticky floor. The alcohol. (I'll be right back she said and I waited.) Rude prior to show, incredibly nice after performance. Walk three girls back. But they found a ride. Safety first. Could have made some new friends. Perhaps if I were alone. Hoofing it back to my place with intentions of leading a posse back for hookah and conversation. Louder the drunker we get. Beer in the fridge and we can escape into the rhythm of ocean waves. No one knows what the sea smells like here.
No one can tell if it is high or low tide, given the proximal range of the moon. The dark side of it always dark. Going the distance.
Shoot for the stars. Land on the stars. The moon is not enough anymore.
***
Break strict rules. Strung out burned out in a fury. Nearly lost my cool earlier in the hot sun. Dropped a grocery bag in 103 heat, melting tires. No natural shade. Only buildings. Smokestacks. The girls who had fun and wonder about their damaged reputations only months later. Lightning strikes the hilltop picnic. Looking more and more likely. Watch the movie. Play the part. "You've missed the fucking point"
I love that dissonance. Holy discovery. But the limit is nowhere to be found. You have time yet to become marvelous. A figment of a sweet girls imagination. The one that could only possibly be a figment in mine own. The stitches sewn together with invisible wires. Electricity powers the city through every minute of earth day and no huge changes take place (somehow I was completely unaware. probably threw something recyclable aware and left a toothbrush plugged in to the wall).
How can the predictable be comfortable? To live in a repetitive cycle day in day out. Boring. Incredibly boring to behave in the same manner through every second. Every unique moment wasted. You waste away impression management. Count your breaths. Your heart will slow to a murmur. You will outlive me.
(there are always dead ends)
opportunity for greatness, rise up the challenge, you spineless wreck of a person. squirm beneath a large imperfection of a body, something untamed, uncontrolled... a growth on the side of building. Of painted light fixtures. we melt into shadows on the sidewalk. hands clasped behind our heads. given in to the temptation of servitude to gravity and laws governing the physical world.
who says you couldn't constantly float two or three feet above the ground?
but we buy into the books. words without meaning to an illiterate. the hierarchy will be in place until all those interested in creating books disappear and everything good becomes a classic. there are no new inventions. the well of human creation can never be dried. the riverbed will remain damp at least. the keg cannot be tapped. inventiveness and real opinions are lilies bursting through sheets of ice. we could let the beer go stale. the river could overflow and harm fragile ecosystems.
laughter from down the corridor but it is brought on through illegitimate means. the sound of betrayal as the ice cream melts in the back of the suburban, I am ridiculed for my health aware decisions and left as a cliche in the computer lab. swearing and muttering. a sauna in there. hot tub fiends....
pyro novelties.
a strange night for a curse. uttered across the moors. the dark and narrow passageways between weeping trees. sad at the lost cultures. the tribes across the landscape. we work at different paces truly. everything is different and horrifying. we resent each other now and again through passive aggressive means. power shift. in control. want to reel me in. content to sit alone in respective rooms. useless enough to mute.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
April 21st
She pleaded and cajoled as she tried to win his support.
Variety pack of cheap donuts. Paper fuel. I'm not convinced you are as excited as I.
****
I've given you my time. It's all I've got to give.
Watching the scum of the earth. There is no part of me that wishes to continue writing. There are many things to say
Variety pack of cheap donuts. Paper fuel. I'm not convinced you are as excited as I.
****
I've given you my time. It's all I've got to give.
Watching the scum of the earth. There is no part of me that wishes to continue writing. There are many things to say
Friday, April 20, 2012
April 20
And at this very moment I decided that the best course of action for me would be to get incredibly, directionlessly, beyond-the-point-of-no-return, lost. So lost, the sky and the earth fight for up and down. Compass spins. Everything looks suddenly different and amazing. There is no fear. No pain. Only new. New and shiny everything.
****
Feeling something dazed and confused. Nothing to do with the faux holiday that defines today for so many. Because I haven't associated myself with that. Rather I've read and sat and cooked and ate. Studied. Filled my cup and more.
***
4:06
Trash strewn about the hallway leading past the stained stairway. They expect a service to take it away for them. (And they will, reluctant, disrespected... question self-worth, and counting down the days until promotion or the day the breakthrough happens... Everyone important stands around the front room and awaits the inevitable, fate-deciding, letter... the contents, when they unwind, reveal important information, determinate of fulfillment and compensation for such treatment... but as before, 'there is no culture here')
Witness drunken bodies of buddies dragged up the street. They wear tie dye and everyone has a mutual understanding, a spiritual meaning, of the cosmos, I did not feel like going there, to the cosmos and the meaning behind the stars, the loner in our solar system, source of our melanin, determinant of the growth of flowers and wildlife... Connection, in the face of sheer annihilation, as we sink further from the solid ground of sanity, of real life talk, all of the separate, incorrect perspectives regarding the selective pressures of a roommate. He does not yet know. But when he does, there will certainly be a reaction worthy of graduate level psychoanalysis. The character of the color baby blue. (told a few jokes, goodnight gentlemen) No real relation to most of them, but the superficiality of it connects in a mutual fashion, as we both understand the thinness and the invisibility of the ropes, or strands, attaching us into recognition on this earth.
Colored lights. Talking of respect earned and forgotten. Talking endless in an alcoholic banter. Was it bragging? Was it me being an asshole? The fate would have been different with a group of reliable guy friends with interesting interwoven history. All of the unique correlation (so awkward. yeah I've heard of you. all of the interesting comments). Give me some of your fame. Everyone knows and loves you for some old reason. They all try to impress you, superstar. But here is the flesh of a future consistent musician. The cliche inhabited and lived within. Jealous of other public outrages. When the community provides collective insight on a particular matter. (When you signed you seemed fine... a stiff drink will change your mind). Many will sparking up soon. In a matter of moments really. The joints of the world trying to justify their bad habits for another unruly hour of night, screaming hallelujah that their medicine has been honored on this day. Their god be praised, it is approximately 4:19:58... and the lighters glare up like a classic rock concert. Imagine all of the lighters at a Led Zeppelin concert. The long and flammable hair.
I hope I was not rude. If I was it was unintentional. I shoved a guy off and risked my ass (potentially although ultimately unfounded) he was asking for leniency because of his culture but I believe in a different attitude towards it. (Kiss on the cheek, is that so strange? I guess not. Not as much as a hug from another stranger. Is this my own racism? My god. Did I interfere with a positive interaction? If so, god damn me. What hypocrisy. "Practice what you preach" they scream from the rafters. From the back and upper balconey. The deck out back.
Sink into the ceiling. As if they lowered the shutter speed for a few moments and it takes a few tries before the present reality bites. You wake up and shake your head to awake your most important senses and blow your nose to unclog your ears, some strange ailment (lighthouse, lighthouse, lighthouse)... some strange pathology to the physical construct of the adjacent species. (a girlfriend, a movie, a slow dance..... some candlelight false sentiment... your smile has lost its charm). But then there is the idea of tainted meat as there is the idea of tainted love. A similar morphology in the abstract. But the blueprints form different creatures to begin with.
A freedom here, naturally, and very obviously. I am playing and hording thoughts. To be purged onto similar texts. The scripts someone burns through another day in the future. But don't get your hopes up up up. You're still talking (there is no meaning.... nooooooo) so help me appear interested in what whims you may have. what tickles your fancy. but it is not love. love is long absent. died in a bath tub with a broken sink parallel, when coffee brews, began but unseen hands. We don't think or question. That all happens later when have one too many hits and shots and the culture shock electrocutes all ties, causing hair to stand up straight (I'm sorry I don't agree with what you may construe as customary)... illegitimate. you acted out just fine. (I've slept in worse places. he says. I doubt I'll see him tomorrrw. Don't jinx it)
Openness and exhaustion. We fall into a trance with the environment when we remember vividly, first or second encounters. Wow she remembers. I think. She is a cute girl. I think. I first thought different relations with the current inhabitants of the block. I could care less if she was the go to for a while. The reliable and physically important friend that appears brighter when summoned. But these angels are mostly gone and sooner you will have to face, once again, a foreign world, but this one with a new identity and a stronger, more prominent, American confidence. We all dream And my hands go numb in the process, in my specific instance.
****
Feeling something dazed and confused. Nothing to do with the faux holiday that defines today for so many. Because I haven't associated myself with that. Rather I've read and sat and cooked and ate. Studied. Filled my cup and more.
***
4:06
Trash strewn about the hallway leading past the stained stairway. They expect a service to take it away for them. (And they will, reluctant, disrespected... question self-worth, and counting down the days until promotion or the day the breakthrough happens... Everyone important stands around the front room and awaits the inevitable, fate-deciding, letter... the contents, when they unwind, reveal important information, determinate of fulfillment and compensation for such treatment... but as before, 'there is no culture here')
Witness drunken bodies of buddies dragged up the street. They wear tie dye and everyone has a mutual understanding, a spiritual meaning, of the cosmos, I did not feel like going there, to the cosmos and the meaning behind the stars, the loner in our solar system, source of our melanin, determinant of the growth of flowers and wildlife... Connection, in the face of sheer annihilation, as we sink further from the solid ground of sanity, of real life talk, all of the separate, incorrect perspectives regarding the selective pressures of a roommate. He does not yet know. But when he does, there will certainly be a reaction worthy of graduate level psychoanalysis. The character of the color baby blue. (told a few jokes, goodnight gentlemen) No real relation to most of them, but the superficiality of it connects in a mutual fashion, as we both understand the thinness and the invisibility of the ropes, or strands, attaching us into recognition on this earth.
Colored lights. Talking of respect earned and forgotten. Talking endless in an alcoholic banter. Was it bragging? Was it me being an asshole? The fate would have been different with a group of reliable guy friends with interesting interwoven history. All of the unique correlation (so awkward. yeah I've heard of you. all of the interesting comments). Give me some of your fame. Everyone knows and loves you for some old reason. They all try to impress you, superstar. But here is the flesh of a future consistent musician. The cliche inhabited and lived within. Jealous of other public outrages. When the community provides collective insight on a particular matter. (When you signed you seemed fine... a stiff drink will change your mind). Many will sparking up soon. In a matter of moments really. The joints of the world trying to justify their bad habits for another unruly hour of night, screaming hallelujah that their medicine has been honored on this day. Their god be praised, it is approximately 4:19:58... and the lighters glare up like a classic rock concert. Imagine all of the lighters at a Led Zeppelin concert. The long and flammable hair.
I hope I was not rude. If I was it was unintentional. I shoved a guy off and risked my ass (potentially although ultimately unfounded) he was asking for leniency because of his culture but I believe in a different attitude towards it. (Kiss on the cheek, is that so strange? I guess not. Not as much as a hug from another stranger. Is this my own racism? My god. Did I interfere with a positive interaction? If so, god damn me. What hypocrisy. "Practice what you preach" they scream from the rafters. From the back and upper balconey. The deck out back.
Sink into the ceiling. As if they lowered the shutter speed for a few moments and it takes a few tries before the present reality bites. You wake up and shake your head to awake your most important senses and blow your nose to unclog your ears, some strange ailment (lighthouse, lighthouse, lighthouse)... some strange pathology to the physical construct of the adjacent species. (a girlfriend, a movie, a slow dance..... some candlelight false sentiment... your smile has lost its charm). But then there is the idea of tainted meat as there is the idea of tainted love. A similar morphology in the abstract. But the blueprints form different creatures to begin with.
A freedom here, naturally, and very obviously. I am playing and hording thoughts. To be purged onto similar texts. The scripts someone burns through another day in the future. But don't get your hopes up up up. You're still talking (there is no meaning.... nooooooo) so help me appear interested in what whims you may have. what tickles your fancy. but it is not love. love is long absent. died in a bath tub with a broken sink parallel, when coffee brews, began but unseen hands. We don't think or question. That all happens later when have one too many hits and shots and the culture shock electrocutes all ties, causing hair to stand up straight (I'm sorry I don't agree with what you may construe as customary)... illegitimate. you acted out just fine. (I've slept in worse places. he says. I doubt I'll see him tomorrrw. Don't jinx it)
Openness and exhaustion. We fall into a trance with the environment when we remember vividly, first or second encounters. Wow she remembers. I think. She is a cute girl. I think. I first thought different relations with the current inhabitants of the block. I could care less if she was the go to for a while. The reliable and physically important friend that appears brighter when summoned. But these angels are mostly gone and sooner you will have to face, once again, a foreign world, but this one with a new identity and a stronger, more prominent, American confidence. We all dream And my hands go numb in the process, in my specific instance.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
April 19
Girls who selfishly ignore a good joke. "That was stupid," they say as they fix their hair in anything reflective. Campus is like a fashion show for them. These MTV-corrupted orange-skinned self-important young girls who are late teens and early twenties but act as though they are trapped in a high school directory, for all of eternity. Will these people ever learn, or will this shroud carry them through their lives? Blanketed in old money, daddy's little girls, the dirty whores, monet in the living room, thought highly of due to price tag as opposed to the aesthetic and historical importance of it. "Daddy! It's crooked!" Convince to coax the doctors to give her stimulants, so somehow she can keep up her pacing through this school. Complain complain. 'Oh my god. I am so done with this semester.' But imagine this statement said with her mouth open the whole time like a fish, and every other vowel sound lengthened beyond necessity. (ooooh my gooood) And the inflection changes. SO is probably high-lighted and semester lifts up in the end like a question.
"Understand me my intensity!" I yell from balconies. No one pays any attention. Hallucination of a blonde outside of the bookstore. Making eye contact and giggling. I cruised by and smiled and thought of what kind of forces pulled me away from her (as it turned out, the reason I was in a hurry was indeed no reason at all. my plans had been extinguished. she could be in my arms right now.) Possibilities are truly endless. (the class laugh at kerouac and palahniuk. they cry and scream and pout over their precious daddy's literature while keeping away from the depths of the human psyche. They care more about why a best-seller ends up selling.) Weird is good, damn it. I write in my dark room because the overhead takes a while to heat up and fill the room with warmth. Enter it for the first time in the night and the light acts as a third party method of seduction. Not intentional. Fully just makes people uncomfortable. Something cute on the couch, such as holding hands and watching a scary movie. The pot ruined it and we suddenly did not understand each other at all. Crushed your toe with a chair. Horribly wrong, everything changes. Never have I actively pursued someone who turns and actively pursues me (peruses me). I can safely say I never crushed the toes of any other. Never ruined the fountain. Never did anything. Six months later. (drive all night, you're never gunna get me) Crayon drawings and melted wax. Could easily put some crayons and a canvas outside and they would melt over a few days, creating artistic drippings down the length of it.
Full research will be executed today at the library. Or I will burn it down. I will light a cigar in the stacks and sit until someone stops me, finds me and fines me. Touchy young girl with a short hair cut had a butterfly knife in her pocket. She wrote frantically in a notebook and spoke aloud to herself when asked questions. More like muttering. Years away will I regret not becoming a more admirable opponent? I wonder, truly, where my rebel spirit went. I just can't handle these people. (Now I go to the gym with the other rats and bitches. But hey, I can use them, and my frustration of them to lift heavier weights, higher, much higher over my head.) FUEL.
***
How strange it is that the most crucial life decisions always must be faced when at the height of distraction... I don't have the summer body. I don't have a tan. I'm barely getting by. My diet sucks. I smoke cigars still too often. I don't sing enough. I've gotten better at the bass but not best. (Desired as musician. Sorry college. I'll meet back up with you later.)
You clever minx. Try to make me jealous. Switching countries.
Well what the hell am I doing?
What do I want?
I want to relax.
I want to believe in the music I play. (Lyrical content.)
Be a part of it.
WHere?
I need to do some soul searching. Everything crushes me. When I feel confidence I don't even have flyers for the show!
"Understand me my intensity!" I yell from balconies. No one pays any attention. Hallucination of a blonde outside of the bookstore. Making eye contact and giggling. I cruised by and smiled and thought of what kind of forces pulled me away from her (as it turned out, the reason I was in a hurry was indeed no reason at all. my plans had been extinguished. she could be in my arms right now.) Possibilities are truly endless. (the class laugh at kerouac and palahniuk. they cry and scream and pout over their precious daddy's literature while keeping away from the depths of the human psyche. They care more about why a best-seller ends up selling.) Weird is good, damn it. I write in my dark room because the overhead takes a while to heat up and fill the room with warmth. Enter it for the first time in the night and the light acts as a third party method of seduction. Not intentional. Fully just makes people uncomfortable. Something cute on the couch, such as holding hands and watching a scary movie. The pot ruined it and we suddenly did not understand each other at all. Crushed your toe with a chair. Horribly wrong, everything changes. Never have I actively pursued someone who turns and actively pursues me (peruses me). I can safely say I never crushed the toes of any other. Never ruined the fountain. Never did anything. Six months later. (drive all night, you're never gunna get me) Crayon drawings and melted wax. Could easily put some crayons and a canvas outside and they would melt over a few days, creating artistic drippings down the length of it.
Full research will be executed today at the library. Or I will burn it down. I will light a cigar in the stacks and sit until someone stops me, finds me and fines me. Touchy young girl with a short hair cut had a butterfly knife in her pocket. She wrote frantically in a notebook and spoke aloud to herself when asked questions. More like muttering. Years away will I regret not becoming a more admirable opponent? I wonder, truly, where my rebel spirit went. I just can't handle these people. (Now I go to the gym with the other rats and bitches. But hey, I can use them, and my frustration of them to lift heavier weights, higher, much higher over my head.) FUEL.
***
How strange it is that the most crucial life decisions always must be faced when at the height of distraction... I don't have the summer body. I don't have a tan. I'm barely getting by. My diet sucks. I smoke cigars still too often. I don't sing enough. I've gotten better at the bass but not best. (Desired as musician. Sorry college. I'll meet back up with you later.)
You clever minx. Try to make me jealous. Switching countries.
Well what the hell am I doing?
What do I want?
I want to relax.
I want to believe in the music I play. (Lyrical content.)
Be a part of it.
WHere?
I need to do some soul searching. Everything crushes me. When I feel confidence I don't even have flyers for the show!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
April 18
Rise to the challenge. Become the mental giant. It is entirely possible and all of us are capable. There are almost more things to do that hinder progress than enhance it. Mostly distractions that keep us at a plateau of cognitive efficiency. We go in straight lines, or chase our tails for a minute... Working the research for a life-affirming dissertation, then cleaning the mirror in the bathroom, organize linens, write a song or jam on an old one, and then return to become distracted once more. Turn into a pygmy-brained individual, one who could not create the tools necessary to escape from a cage if they are born there. Accept and adapt to the cage. Subsequent lineages adapt and become smaller and dumber, evolution never quite revealing to them that they can unlatch the cage and escape out into free air. Hunched backs bearing weights I'll never understand. The weight of watchful eyes and a parent worried about the success of a child. (Someone else's dad gives me a lecture about how it is a stupid decision to leave school for awhile. I never properly defended myself, although it was clear that my reasoning did not impress upon him any positive parental perspective.)
Leave academia for a while. How long? I don't know. Possibly just for the summer. Ha. The pursuit of higher education but through levels of experience rather than analysis of experience. I must learn firsthand in the bows of ships and the flight deck of airplanes, private with big cuban cigars... I must develop a knowledge of the street. One that cannot be overlooked. Lead you through this great big can of a city. Weird and hazy thoughts this morning.
Learn from experience. Don't know unless you try it. Anyway, absinthe is handed to you in crates in Europe. If I'm there for my 21st it would not matter a fuck.
Beautiful big brain. Your brawn never developed too far from where you once were. Living alone might be entirely important. (House in Los Angeles.. but invited to a cheap rent joint down the street in Tempe.) I am a ghost here and it hates my guts. My guts churn everyday with all sorts of negativity. Self put-downs. (Wow, Nate. That was stupid.) And put downs of others. (That person has no idea what they are talking about.) So I shut myself off and listen to beautiful music while I walk or cruise to class. Feeling a nice walk this morning. (Been awhile. Very important to shake up routine in any way possible.)
Dinner food. Bass fingers. Energy drink. (Are we all forgotten?)
My name on another disc. Cool.
Two albums a year.
*****
The studio is a no-go because he did not pay the electric bill. Exceedingly stupid considering how much he could have made on this project. (yeah for sure, for sure). My brain ten paces behind me. I'm getting things done. But time feels non existent and problems seem so unfulfilled and destructive
Leave academia for a while. How long? I don't know. Possibly just for the summer. Ha. The pursuit of higher education but through levels of experience rather than analysis of experience. I must learn firsthand in the bows of ships and the flight deck of airplanes, private with big cuban cigars... I must develop a knowledge of the street. One that cannot be overlooked. Lead you through this great big can of a city. Weird and hazy thoughts this morning.
Learn from experience. Don't know unless you try it. Anyway, absinthe is handed to you in crates in Europe. If I'm there for my 21st it would not matter a fuck.
Beautiful big brain. Your brawn never developed too far from where you once were. Living alone might be entirely important. (House in Los Angeles.. but invited to a cheap rent joint down the street in Tempe.) I am a ghost here and it hates my guts. My guts churn everyday with all sorts of negativity. Self put-downs. (Wow, Nate. That was stupid.) And put downs of others. (That person has no idea what they are talking about.) So I shut myself off and listen to beautiful music while I walk or cruise to class. Feeling a nice walk this morning. (Been awhile. Very important to shake up routine in any way possible.)
Dinner food. Bass fingers. Energy drink. (Are we all forgotten?)
My name on another disc. Cool.
Two albums a year.
*****
The studio is a no-go because he did not pay the electric bill. Exceedingly stupid considering how much he could have made on this project. (yeah for sure, for sure). My brain ten paces behind me. I'm getting things done. But time feels non existent and problems seem so unfulfilled and destructive
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
April 17
Be a world renown artist. A household name. white picket fences to impale yourself on.
We are almost done. Time does not exist. I now wear a watch. It represents nothing tangible to me. Other than a turquoise light and a ticking sound when held close to the ear. (smoke so much pot in your bedroom that the paint changes color)
Put all this weight on my back. I will not snap. I have gotten stronger and stronger yet.
My exercise routine destroyed.
Any contribution towards vocal excellence postponed.
How do I still procrastinate on assignments?
Today was a blur. Today, specifically. Woke up tired. Spent the day in a haze. I lived today in a haze of self-recollection. I thought about my life. My life as it is in the process of changing course. From here to the coast. Although preoccupied. Blinded by the stresses. Slept fitful and feverish for an hour or two around 5. Had thai beef for lunch. Very horrible conversationalist. (Go entire days without vocalizing more than a paragraph).
Probably why I am so angst-filled! All of this pent up emotion and remonstration! All of the words I use incorrectly and give no shit about. All of the people who I will disappoint greatly no matter what option I chose.
This is a classic case of the poisonous 'grass is greener' mentality. I have things here that I will not see the important of until later. What joy! I will regret not having had the courage or wherewithal to take advantage of such opportunities. As I did once I graduated high school. As I did once I graduated from Portland. As I will again. (And then again).
I am so incredibly itchy. My body vibrates violently with apprehension. Spend the day in front of a screen and it will drain your life. (Kill myself for recognition)
Forget it baby. I made the mistake already. Do not make me continue regretting it. A year later god damnit.
All you! All of you! And you! Wake up! Quit with your ignorance! Help me!
---
Can't put a finger on what happened to me today. What excuse can I provide for such a sedate and physically insufficient day? I hardly made it to bass lessons. God forbid I had to travel by longboard. But I will speak no more. It is as such. (I hear a voice speaking these words aloud, with a distinct lisp. Some days I used to walk to class.)
Your diction flaws.
--------- all below this line written prior to that above --------------
This is a marathon, the last leg of it. One final rolling hill and then it levels off, they put ribbons across the street for us all to break through, into summer, into the arms of our undying love for adventure! More along the lines of our love for do-nothing laziness... Perhaps an ability to make girls laugh and small talk without any guilt about where our attention should be diverted. Should, could... Nothing comes back to life after it dies. Zombies stay dead and cemeteries are not the places we should worry about the dead coming to life anyway. More likely, movie theaters, pop-music concerts at $75 a ticket, to nosebleed, and faint... The dead go here to be with the dead. They once called the theater a spiritual place.
Soon though, dear princes and princesses, that gnawing sensation of near-fulfillment finally releases and we bask in the glory of sunshine and stress-free drinks by shade of summer umbrella. Who gives a damn about the music out here? I want to spend at least one day getting day drunk with friends by the pool. (I feel like if I brought anyone to Arizona from home, they would begrudge me for taking it for granted. I would want to slap them. Holy shit! How could you be tired of this!)
Bring anyone in. They would have an excellent time. Get laid, etc. Spend more time in record stores and coffee shops. An ideal marriage is necessary to tear the walls down between establishments... Coffee and Records. Java Records. Cafe Disco. Clunky, that last one. (el invierno más frÃo del que se tiene constancia).
I can't turn off the italics. Horribly frustrating for no particular reason except that I have basically zero patience with technology.
Stko;asdf;kjasdk
sadfksadfsadfjaksdf
We are almost done. Time does not exist. I now wear a watch. It represents nothing tangible to me. Other than a turquoise light and a ticking sound when held close to the ear. (smoke so much pot in your bedroom that the paint changes color)
Put all this weight on my back. I will not snap. I have gotten stronger and stronger yet.
My exercise routine destroyed.
Any contribution towards vocal excellence postponed.
How do I still procrastinate on assignments?
Today was a blur. Today, specifically. Woke up tired. Spent the day in a haze. I lived today in a haze of self-recollection. I thought about my life. My life as it is in the process of changing course. From here to the coast. Although preoccupied. Blinded by the stresses. Slept fitful and feverish for an hour or two around 5. Had thai beef for lunch. Very horrible conversationalist. (Go entire days without vocalizing more than a paragraph).
Probably why I am so angst-filled! All of this pent up emotion and remonstration! All of the words I use incorrectly and give no shit about. All of the people who I will disappoint greatly no matter what option I chose.
This is a classic case of the poisonous 'grass is greener' mentality. I have things here that I will not see the important of until later. What joy! I will regret not having had the courage or wherewithal to take advantage of such opportunities. As I did once I graduated high school. As I did once I graduated from Portland. As I will again. (And then again).
I am so incredibly itchy. My body vibrates violently with apprehension. Spend the day in front of a screen and it will drain your life. (Kill myself for recognition)
Forget it baby. I made the mistake already. Do not make me continue regretting it. A year later god damnit.
All you! All of you! And you! Wake up! Quit with your ignorance! Help me!
---
Can't put a finger on what happened to me today. What excuse can I provide for such a sedate and physically insufficient day? I hardly made it to bass lessons. God forbid I had to travel by longboard. But I will speak no more. It is as such. (I hear a voice speaking these words aloud, with a distinct lisp. Some days I used to walk to class.)
Your diction flaws.
--------- all below this line written prior to that above --------------
This is a marathon, the last leg of it. One final rolling hill and then it levels off, they put ribbons across the street for us all to break through, into summer, into the arms of our undying love for adventure! More along the lines of our love for do-nothing laziness... Perhaps an ability to make girls laugh and small talk without any guilt about where our attention should be diverted. Should, could... Nothing comes back to life after it dies. Zombies stay dead and cemeteries are not the places we should worry about the dead coming to life anyway. More likely, movie theaters, pop-music concerts at $75 a ticket, to nosebleed, and faint... The dead go here to be with the dead. They once called the theater a spiritual place.
Soon though, dear princes and princesses, that gnawing sensation of near-fulfillment finally releases and we bask in the glory of sunshine and stress-free drinks by shade of summer umbrella. Who gives a damn about the music out here? I want to spend at least one day getting day drunk with friends by the pool. (I feel like if I brought anyone to Arizona from home, they would begrudge me for taking it for granted. I would want to slap them. Holy shit! How could you be tired of this!)
Bring anyone in. They would have an excellent time. Get laid, etc. Spend more time in record stores and coffee shops. An ideal marriage is necessary to tear the walls down between establishments... Coffee and Records. Java Records. Cafe Disco. Clunky, that last one. (el invierno más frÃo del que se tiene constancia).
I can't turn off the italics. Horribly frustrating for no particular reason except that I have basically zero patience with technology.
Stko;asdf;kjasdk
sadfksadfsadfjaksdf
April 16
Head hang low in tired and drunken stupor. Break some rules and longboard back with the intensity of a motorcyclist. The commitment to music.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
April 15
Pinch of caffeine to widen the pupils. Escalate this leverage and get on with it. The jaws of life to pry open this twisted metal. Skull of higher being. Bed sheets burned in shame and we all get uneasy watching someone disintegrate. The past haunting and soaking clothes through. Books in bed and good riddance to all misnomers. Have a great day, angel.
You are as heart sick as I.
****
The defects of the drug. And the distractions apparent. Do everything unnecessary before the necessary. Which is ultimately backwards and stressful. Clean the apartment then do homework? Wrong. Today you have not utilized the time correctly. The assignment will be completed. Start up again in a few minutes and finish in an hour or two. Read it over. Edit. Check sources and quotes. Make sure all of the important content is there. All of the important elements. It will be a relief to be confident with the product. And at a point this evening I'll have to be confident enough to cut and print it. A good portion of the grade. That's not the stress. In fact their is no stress regarding the assignment itself. I've known about it forever. The dynamic of today alone defines how it has been but over a much more broad time range. (car alarms are distractions. so is tobacco and conversations with friends.) Talk to some people. Let them know that I am alive and doing fine. These plans. I will follow through. I will be a godly bass player and people will look to me for guidance. (At least I know my way around, I can point them towards better help.)
Now. Right this very moment. It is of utmost importance to do the work and to feel proud of it. Or at least to feel good enough about it, that I can turn it in (all 10+ pages of it) with a smile on my face. I will acknowledge the fact that he must read hundreds of them and grade them all on the same criteria. Keep his interest. Where is the fun in reading a boring report? He says that it is not about prose. It is about content. But I draw a line. Fresh and original presentation of content will persuade his grading no matter what. Killing two birds with one stone. I am the English major and I know what ingredients make up a great paper.
I was deviant because I acted strangely in public, having fun with it, naturally. Throw in some real songs. A cover and an original here and there. The inconsistencies in my experiment must be explained away. I was playing on foot, rambling around, or following specific people, riffing on the content of their speech. I wanted them to react... 'Random dude playing guitar and singing songs.' Go up to a group of people, sitting and talking, and ask them for a request. (crucial to learn some Pink Floyd and more Zeppelin. And more Iron Maiden. Work out those bass player fingers. Typing probably will help resolve this. (California on their lips)
California Dreamin. How cool to live near a campus as a non-student? (I would then be considered a townie. How interesting, the shifted dynamic. Take vocal lessons and bass lessons. Work washing dishes somewhere. Temporary residence. Most likely rent out a room in a house full of strangers. Craig's list.)
Elements of new residence:
I want to live minimally. No need for the bells and whistles.
Sell some things, perhaps.
Contemplate selling my sub and amp to a friend.
This might be stupid if I can get some enjoyment out of it, having a car to drive again.
Slight fear about the aggressive drivers.
Have to be on my toes.
Never behind the wheel intoxicated again.
Ocean side.
You are as heart sick as I.
****
The defects of the drug. And the distractions apparent. Do everything unnecessary before the necessary. Which is ultimately backwards and stressful. Clean the apartment then do homework? Wrong. Today you have not utilized the time correctly. The assignment will be completed. Start up again in a few minutes and finish in an hour or two. Read it over. Edit. Check sources and quotes. Make sure all of the important content is there. All of the important elements. It will be a relief to be confident with the product. And at a point this evening I'll have to be confident enough to cut and print it. A good portion of the grade. That's not the stress. In fact their is no stress regarding the assignment itself. I've known about it forever. The dynamic of today alone defines how it has been but over a much more broad time range. (car alarms are distractions. so is tobacco and conversations with friends.) Talk to some people. Let them know that I am alive and doing fine. These plans. I will follow through. I will be a godly bass player and people will look to me for guidance. (At least I know my way around, I can point them towards better help.)
Now. Right this very moment. It is of utmost importance to do the work and to feel proud of it. Or at least to feel good enough about it, that I can turn it in (all 10+ pages of it) with a smile on my face. I will acknowledge the fact that he must read hundreds of them and grade them all on the same criteria. Keep his interest. Where is the fun in reading a boring report? He says that it is not about prose. It is about content. But I draw a line. Fresh and original presentation of content will persuade his grading no matter what. Killing two birds with one stone. I am the English major and I know what ingredients make up a great paper.
I was deviant because I acted strangely in public, having fun with it, naturally. Throw in some real songs. A cover and an original here and there. The inconsistencies in my experiment must be explained away. I was playing on foot, rambling around, or following specific people, riffing on the content of their speech. I wanted them to react... 'Random dude playing guitar and singing songs.' Go up to a group of people, sitting and talking, and ask them for a request. (crucial to learn some Pink Floyd and more Zeppelin. And more Iron Maiden. Work out those bass player fingers. Typing probably will help resolve this. (California on their lips)
California Dreamin. How cool to live near a campus as a non-student? (I would then be considered a townie. How interesting, the shifted dynamic. Take vocal lessons and bass lessons. Work washing dishes somewhere. Temporary residence. Most likely rent out a room in a house full of strangers. Craig's list.)
Elements of new residence:
I want to live minimally. No need for the bells and whistles.
Sell some things, perhaps.
Contemplate selling my sub and amp to a friend.
This might be stupid if I can get some enjoyment out of it, having a car to drive again.
Slight fear about the aggressive drivers.
Have to be on my toes.
Never behind the wheel intoxicated again.
Ocean side.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
april 14
Weird feelings in my stomach. Something of disgust. Literally have no idea what happened to my day today. Hardly did anything until about 4. Then went to a coffee shop. All of the energy and focus supplements. I am so distracted now. Hungry and dazed. Confused. Where did it go. Today. No one cares. What happens to you. Small sandwiches.
Gin and juice. Soup and sandwich. Spaceships landing in zoos and all of the crazy psychedelics necessary to handle a flaming lips concert. Be a freak and be okay with it. It's about love and the move of music. Moods. Good vibes. Beauty and fellowship. Having fun and using the power for good. Singing with all your might and dancing with a stranger. Falling in love. Never forget. Never forget. Another lapse of consciousness. My god. California. Three years estranged! Maybe she will fall back into my life and wear my winter hat in the middle of summer. Visual treat. Open your eyes. Weird is good. Weird is good. Nothing new there.
* * *
This all began as a hoax, as we put on our coats, the surprise and disbelief, a spring rain, wind picking up neighbors chimes and we file a formal complaint about the noise. Dressed up and silent like mice, already fat on cheese. No more breadcrumbs to follow, because baby doll, you ain't going back the way you came, that's been decided. Sweater in the trash, for pete's sake! (I wear the customary clothes of my time). Pine trees and a hilly countryside with a small buddhist-sized studio apartment. Something with room for a couch bed and a table. No desire for tv. To live without the draining box, that takes out intelligent curiosity into ones own affairs with the trivial and dishonest affairs of those beautiful shining faces in the box. The rectangle. Maybe a potted plant to water carefully. Make it feel like I'm not alone in their. I'll probably not be there often anyway. Most time spent in exploration of the city limits. The aggressive traffic and the pacifist navigator. Beneficial to purchase a navigation thing. For the car. The sub in the trunk. Possibility it will get stolen? Maybe not the outskirts, in the hills. Living in hotel rooms and or becoming a new roommate in a house for a while. A tenant. Anyway. About the sideways rain and the clap on clap off neon lights beneath the floorboards, clear plexiglass obviously, see into the basement where friends of a friend are playing pool, a currently vacant strip pole and car seat for lap dances, a red light in the corner, wiring hidden completely from view. A bar bottles locked up behind a glass case, alarm system updated and triggered, require a blood sample or a 10 number combination that changes daily, delivered to the inhabitant of the key. Let's play spin the roman candle. Make out with burning faces. Seven minutes in heaven, eternity in hell. We click our heels together and wish to travel abroad, to historical haunts, no time for homesickness, your legs should be grateful enough and you can sit in your European loft, looking out at cars driving on the wrong side of the road, sipping tea and reading the news. Flip through to the funnies after reading about American mistakes and hypocrisy, and get in a chuckle, the first of the day but certainly not the last because of how utterly happy you are. Laughing for fun's sake. For the sake of argument in the arrangement. (You cannot unwatch a movie). Ready yourself for a bare room. A few posters and guitars. We move our hips and lips, driving high through the states I used to love, leaving boxes of things somewhere, somewhere outside of this entirely. I have a lot of sutff and the upmost respect to it.
Gin and juice. Soup and sandwich. Spaceships landing in zoos and all of the crazy psychedelics necessary to handle a flaming lips concert. Be a freak and be okay with it. It's about love and the move of music. Moods. Good vibes. Beauty and fellowship. Having fun and using the power for good. Singing with all your might and dancing with a stranger. Falling in love. Never forget. Never forget. Another lapse of consciousness. My god. California. Three years estranged! Maybe she will fall back into my life and wear my winter hat in the middle of summer. Visual treat. Open your eyes. Weird is good. Weird is good. Nothing new there.
* * *
This all began as a hoax, as we put on our coats, the surprise and disbelief, a spring rain, wind picking up neighbors chimes and we file a formal complaint about the noise. Dressed up and silent like mice, already fat on cheese. No more breadcrumbs to follow, because baby doll, you ain't going back the way you came, that's been decided. Sweater in the trash, for pete's sake! (I wear the customary clothes of my time). Pine trees and a hilly countryside with a small buddhist-sized studio apartment. Something with room for a couch bed and a table. No desire for tv. To live without the draining box, that takes out intelligent curiosity into ones own affairs with the trivial and dishonest affairs of those beautiful shining faces in the box. The rectangle. Maybe a potted plant to water carefully. Make it feel like I'm not alone in their. I'll probably not be there often anyway. Most time spent in exploration of the city limits. The aggressive traffic and the pacifist navigator. Beneficial to purchase a navigation thing. For the car. The sub in the trunk. Possibility it will get stolen? Maybe not the outskirts, in the hills. Living in hotel rooms and or becoming a new roommate in a house for a while. A tenant. Anyway. About the sideways rain and the clap on clap off neon lights beneath the floorboards, clear plexiglass obviously, see into the basement where friends of a friend are playing pool, a currently vacant strip pole and car seat for lap dances, a red light in the corner, wiring hidden completely from view. A bar bottles locked up behind a glass case, alarm system updated and triggered, require a blood sample or a 10 number combination that changes daily, delivered to the inhabitant of the key. Let's play spin the roman candle. Make out with burning faces. Seven minutes in heaven, eternity in hell. We click our heels together and wish to travel abroad, to historical haunts, no time for homesickness, your legs should be grateful enough and you can sit in your European loft, looking out at cars driving on the wrong side of the road, sipping tea and reading the news. Flip through to the funnies after reading about American mistakes and hypocrisy, and get in a chuckle, the first of the day but certainly not the last because of how utterly happy you are. Laughing for fun's sake. For the sake of argument in the arrangement. (You cannot unwatch a movie). Ready yourself for a bare room. A few posters and guitars. We move our hips and lips, driving high through the states I used to love, leaving boxes of things somewhere, somewhere outside of this entirely. I have a lot of sutff and the upmost respect to it.
April 13
Obviously the name and the actual date disagree but I will not prevent myself from writing under this title and monicker. No to a big cigar in celebration. Awful lot of money wasted. Celebrate a certainty a band decision. The balloons would have been worthless. But it is all okay. The lights were incredible and the sweat and discussion was great. The energy propelled the songs to higher speeds. As our heart rates increased and a girl delivers me a beer. But nonetheless I am stuck back. Try to contact one body through space to coalesce into full reality, from all bits of approximation, into the back room. Where we could be alone at least, in the sense that no one is in the room with us, although the blinds are wide open. (I remember it vividly).
Rose colored glasses lost when the junkie technique of your arm lets lose. The cigar smokes like a dictator deciding who to bomb or who to hold up constantly. Cannot smoke right. Mouth cancer and full habit of air conditioning. Contradiction as opposed to cold shivering outside in the random Arizona rain. It did not make sense and the label Friday the 13th made perfect sense. (I am still relatively responsible. I barely drank enough. Nearly forgot back pack in cab. Had the responsibility to call the cab and walk through the back. (neighbor complaining about the noise at 2 in the morning. audience piles out. no one wants to stay. why would that happen. captivated perhaps but they had to say something. I danced briefly with a girl from anthro. Make sure to make a conversation out of that next week. I know I saw you. We saw each other and thought the very same thing.) I play bass. They talked but no solid reaction formed.
No parts, lesser individually, destroyed our collective. I wish to break apart and form again into the arms of someone I can trust and enjoy. Someone. (gone for the night. smoke hurt my teeth). your guts are red plaster. make sense of that.
Your tongue is blue with assorted suckers, my decision, the gum, and the prestige. The bass and the kick, and many different levels of miscommunication. We all lived our own world. I danced fuck. But my heads end up facing down. The purple back story ended up falling short. Change my shirt on stage. I don't care. Is the general consensus. The attitude that comes secondary to such drunken antics. The taxi through the drive through. "I bet my body will fucking regret eating this." Come on. You are 19 to 20 years old.
Rainbow lights. Freestyle of cigarettes. Quit on 20th birthday. And some commitment. Standoffish is accidental if the person is defensive and guarded for a purpose such as in planning for a fast approachin show.
Our eyes never misguided the truth, but mostly I feel alone like the lack of a person to share warmth with beneath an inner city overpass, maybe they call they viaducts, somber
Rose colored glasses lost when the junkie technique of your arm lets lose. The cigar smokes like a dictator deciding who to bomb or who to hold up constantly. Cannot smoke right. Mouth cancer and full habit of air conditioning. Contradiction as opposed to cold shivering outside in the random Arizona rain. It did not make sense and the label Friday the 13th made perfect sense. (I am still relatively responsible. I barely drank enough. Nearly forgot back pack in cab. Had the responsibility to call the cab and walk through the back. (neighbor complaining about the noise at 2 in the morning. audience piles out. no one wants to stay. why would that happen. captivated perhaps but they had to say something. I danced briefly with a girl from anthro. Make sure to make a conversation out of that next week. I know I saw you. We saw each other and thought the very same thing.) I play bass. They talked but no solid reaction formed.
No parts, lesser individually, destroyed our collective. I wish to break apart and form again into the arms of someone I can trust and enjoy. Someone. (gone for the night. smoke hurt my teeth). your guts are red plaster. make sense of that.
Your tongue is blue with assorted suckers, my decision, the gum, and the prestige. The bass and the kick, and many different levels of miscommunication. We all lived our own world. I danced fuck. But my heads end up facing down. The purple back story ended up falling short. Change my shirt on stage. I don't care. Is the general consensus. The attitude that comes secondary to such drunken antics. The taxi through the drive through. "I bet my body will fucking regret eating this." Come on. You are 19 to 20 years old.
Rainbow lights. Freestyle of cigarettes. Quit on 20th birthday. And some commitment. Standoffish is accidental if the person is defensive and guarded for a purpose such as in planning for a fast approachin show.
Our eyes never misguided the truth, but mostly I feel alone like the lack of a person to share warmth with beneath an inner city overpass, maybe they call they viaducts, somber
Thursday, April 12, 2012
April 12
Seeking passion. Grinding teeth in the bright, endless library sunlight.
I am not hindering my own progress.
Defeating my purpose. No.
I realize I've spent quite a lot of time simply preparing to write the paper.
But...
This is to remedy my last writing session.
Which ended in anxious failure.
(There is a lot to do today but I rejoice in it. For it is fun and I am young, yea!)
Finger tapping with folk sensibilities.
Something my ears needed. Deafened from the preparation.
I love music. Simply put.
I will grind through this term.
Chug energy drinks and make pots of hot coffee on hot days.
Attempt to make a batch of iced coffee.
(at home... is this possible?)
Brew the coffee in the morning.
Take it off the burner.
Put it inside a container full of ice. and place in the refrigerator.
Or simply the container, as ice may melt in the fridge.
I don't want there to be melted ice in my coffee.
Also, I don't want frozen coffee.
Therefore I would probably just leave it in a container without ice and place the ice in at my own convenience at a later time.
---- I will look up how the professionals do it -------
Or go to Cartel and ask them how they cold brew coffee.
I am genuinely interested.
If you tell me the secret I will buy a bag of your finest. (or second finest depending on the price)
* * *
Pretty girl to my left (French background?)
Walked by her once on way to acquire a beverage from Cafe Biblioteca
(my compliments. much better than starbucks. whoever is in charge of employment hear must screen for rude people and never hire them. the chains do not do that. ya'll are so nice and helpful.)
Never got the beverage because I felt the eyes of a stranger on my back.
I asked him to watch my stuff (quite a burden for a stranger. eh?)
lap top. sound-cancelling headphones. ipod. longboard.
His eyes burned into me. I got paranoid.
anyway anyway. distractions my god.
I am filling my cup for this research paper.
So when it comes time that I fill in the blanks, my mind is full of the necessary concepts and ideas to apply.
But now I am wasting time. Somehow I feel a bit anxious. Not fair.
I am in a great mood.
Simply put: I must keep the pace up.
I am gathering and analyzing sources. Making sure I understand what they are saying and making sure they are compatible with my project.
Also. No need to worry because I have lots of time (thursday, friday, saturday, sunday) and lots of caffeine.
I am not hindering my own progress.
Defeating my purpose. No.
I realize I've spent quite a lot of time simply preparing to write the paper.
But...
This is to remedy my last writing session.
Which ended in anxious failure.
(There is a lot to do today but I rejoice in it. For it is fun and I am young, yea!)
Finger tapping with folk sensibilities.
Something my ears needed. Deafened from the preparation.
I love music. Simply put.
I will grind through this term.
Chug energy drinks and make pots of hot coffee on hot days.
Attempt to make a batch of iced coffee.
(at home... is this possible?)
Brew the coffee in the morning.
Take it off the burner.
Put it inside a container full of ice. and place in the refrigerator.
Or simply the container, as ice may melt in the fridge.
I don't want there to be melted ice in my coffee.
Also, I don't want frozen coffee.
Therefore I would probably just leave it in a container without ice and place the ice in at my own convenience at a later time.
---- I will look up how the professionals do it -------
Or go to Cartel and ask them how they cold brew coffee.
I am genuinely interested.
If you tell me the secret I will buy a bag of your finest. (or second finest depending on the price)
* * *
Pretty girl to my left (French background?)
Walked by her once on way to acquire a beverage from Cafe Biblioteca
(my compliments. much better than starbucks. whoever is in charge of employment hear must screen for rude people and never hire them. the chains do not do that. ya'll are so nice and helpful.)
Never got the beverage because I felt the eyes of a stranger on my back.
I asked him to watch my stuff (quite a burden for a stranger. eh?)
lap top. sound-cancelling headphones. ipod. longboard.
His eyes burned into me. I got paranoid.
anyway anyway. distractions my god.
I am filling my cup for this research paper.
So when it comes time that I fill in the blanks, my mind is full of the necessary concepts and ideas to apply.
But now I am wasting time. Somehow I feel a bit anxious. Not fair.
I am in a great mood.
Simply put: I must keep the pace up.
I am gathering and analyzing sources. Making sure I understand what they are saying and making sure they are compatible with my project.
Also. No need to worry because I have lots of time (thursday, friday, saturday, sunday) and lots of caffeine.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
April 11
Must acknowledge the fact that she is dead and that I have killed her.
Despite heart ache and chemicals inhaled whenever the A/C switches on.
Every night for weeks. Off on.
My stomach is bloated, my heart sank into it. Acids dissolve it. At least dissolving little holes
***
Have you ever heard of such wasteful, ungrateful humans? There is so much life all around. These giants stamp it out. (cutting worms in half with scissors.) Judge and jury, hateful speech. Leftovers in trash. A meal is a one time thing here. No one else allowed access. Fruit goes bad in an instant. Hot coffee sounds terrible in the hot sun but is life-affirming to wake up with a cup. Strange feelings for an ancient love. Something dormant, a volcano, producing magma, melting stones down. Bring on an ice age my dear. You will not destroy me. (I'm not joking woman, I've got to ramble). Glue stick and unfinished work of art. Climb mountain in a class. Rendezvous at the outdoor cathedral, but I was left alone. Somehow in the front seat. I don't feel so privileged. Why sacrifice yourself to make me feel and look like an ass? But self-sacrifice does not exist. There are mutants and inconsistent lovers. Sexually transmitted diseases in cereal boxes, leftovers from a violent, tumultuous relationship, one that itches still and makes you remember. How good the sex was. How easy it was. Quickly, through the embrace of night, we ride through to the end. For the longest time I was the only ghost. One foot in here. More weight shifted to the front foot forward. California. He too now. Nice house. Big dog. Lazy good for nothing. No talking. I'm falling off of the face of the earth. And there is no safety net.
Ankle pops like firecracker. Coffee fills up apartment with warmth. "Fucking tune lads!" Singing exposes accents and grafts. Skin graft machinery. Crush knuckles in a vice. Good riddance old habits. They die true and fast in the stroke of the sharpest blade. Great times in bad places. Very cautious now not to offend although the whims are ridiculous and angry. Hysterical and triumphant. Oh yeah? good for you huh. Wish you the very best but I expected more out of you. Jekyl and Hyde hit the bottle and see who remains in control.
Deliberate wrongdoings. Wipe away that smirk on your face. I'm losing. Games and my mind. Erase that sense of entitlement god damn it. The thing is. You always get it. You get what you want without trying. Good luck growing to become a good person.
Broke my sunglasses in my hands yesterday. So stressed. Overheard conversation. I did sound mad on the phone yesterday, yes. My hands were trembling with thoughts of inadequacy and the unknown. The anxieties that entrap me and close off options without just cause. I will take drugs to school with me today and tolerate the whole of it. (It's in the fridge. This is MY fridge. SO....) Rather than pay yourself back through torturing me. Tell me what I owe. It's nothing really. everything is nothing. Dead cats hanging from poles. Can jump a fence. Checked out from here mentally already. Wonder we'll ever move shit around like jackasses one day. Or is it all entirely senseless? Did I spend the thousands and thousands of dollars wisely? Perhaps not. But it was not a waste. It couldn't be. God damn it. No way on earth could this whole trip have been a waste. The road trip down was very memorable. How will I think back on this? (Probably like a mistake that I learned a lot from).
Despite heart ache and chemicals inhaled whenever the A/C switches on.
Every night for weeks. Off on.
My stomach is bloated, my heart sank into it. Acids dissolve it. At least dissolving little holes
***
Have you ever heard of such wasteful, ungrateful humans? There is so much life all around. These giants stamp it out. (cutting worms in half with scissors.) Judge and jury, hateful speech. Leftovers in trash. A meal is a one time thing here. No one else allowed access. Fruit goes bad in an instant. Hot coffee sounds terrible in the hot sun but is life-affirming to wake up with a cup. Strange feelings for an ancient love. Something dormant, a volcano, producing magma, melting stones down. Bring on an ice age my dear. You will not destroy me. (I'm not joking woman, I've got to ramble). Glue stick and unfinished work of art. Climb mountain in a class. Rendezvous at the outdoor cathedral, but I was left alone. Somehow in the front seat. I don't feel so privileged. Why sacrifice yourself to make me feel and look like an ass? But self-sacrifice does not exist. There are mutants and inconsistent lovers. Sexually transmitted diseases in cereal boxes, leftovers from a violent, tumultuous relationship, one that itches still and makes you remember. How good the sex was. How easy it was. Quickly, through the embrace of night, we ride through to the end. For the longest time I was the only ghost. One foot in here. More weight shifted to the front foot forward. California. He too now. Nice house. Big dog. Lazy good for nothing. No talking. I'm falling off of the face of the earth. And there is no safety net.
Ankle pops like firecracker. Coffee fills up apartment with warmth. "Fucking tune lads!" Singing exposes accents and grafts. Skin graft machinery. Crush knuckles in a vice. Good riddance old habits. They die true and fast in the stroke of the sharpest blade. Great times in bad places. Very cautious now not to offend although the whims are ridiculous and angry. Hysterical and triumphant. Oh yeah? good for you huh. Wish you the very best but I expected more out of you. Jekyl and Hyde hit the bottle and see who remains in control.
Deliberate wrongdoings. Wipe away that smirk on your face. I'm losing. Games and my mind. Erase that sense of entitlement god damn it. The thing is. You always get it. You get what you want without trying. Good luck growing to become a good person.
Broke my sunglasses in my hands yesterday. So stressed. Overheard conversation. I did sound mad on the phone yesterday, yes. My hands were trembling with thoughts of inadequacy and the unknown. The anxieties that entrap me and close off options without just cause. I will take drugs to school with me today and tolerate the whole of it. (It's in the fridge. This is MY fridge. SO....) Rather than pay yourself back through torturing me. Tell me what I owe. It's nothing really. everything is nothing. Dead cats hanging from poles. Can jump a fence. Checked out from here mentally already. Wonder we'll ever move shit around like jackasses one day. Or is it all entirely senseless? Did I spend the thousands and thousands of dollars wisely? Perhaps not. But it was not a waste. It couldn't be. God damn it. No way on earth could this whole trip have been a waste. The road trip down was very memorable. How will I think back on this? (Probably like a mistake that I learned a lot from).
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
April 10
Must perfect spacial awareness and ability to move about while playing riffs.
(put my foot down. I cannot be the reason you are sleepless)
Teach self how to dance and jump. Cure the dizziness.
When all else fails we will smoke up our money and make movies about it.
An invasive movie director. (probably not an uplifting message to wake up to. oops)
Probe you for flaws and faults to doll up for the silver screen.
Wearing make up and speaking more clearly, abstracting truth.
It is all hot tubs and jet planes.
RVs across the country with musicians, magicians, sound technicians.
(high school tour? college tour?)
Book shows design merch do the lighting.
A feud breaks in culmination of an internet date.
Oh so this is what is was all about this whole time.
Now the balance will shift. The power. All of the marbles will roll to one side and the other, who once had all, is now deprived, sleepless, brooding about an old macho fuck.
The dynamic shifts into to second gear. Forget me.
Love me. Write my name down then burn it.
I am not helping but I will begin to.
Erase this fixation. Breaking us down.
It is a denial of heart to choose either path.
Either waterslide denies the possibilities evident with the other one.
What if?
Greater water finish? Smoother track?
Will I feel like a better person by the end of it?
Paint me a picture and put us together in it.
IN the back of the van. Bring it all on.
Jade colored fingers. Yours truly.
Whore in sleep's clothing.
Dream about waking up somewhere I've never been.
The happy possibility of that. But it is only a lonely me in a dull lit room.
(I watched part of the sunrise this morning. awakened by bladder. saw the moon move across the sky. she is a clever devil, always watching and grimacing when these stupid humans commit their adulteries and she can't look away. The dark side only dreams about what is seen. )
"you are not to blame"
"you are absolutely to blame for this."
tone down your ego, asshole.
your drawing received the most attention.
you must be the best artist
(milk is best before today. a little bit of sour never hurt anyone)
something or other is always best before today
and we always, always, miss the deadline
I am inferior.
they are superior.
This is what it feels like though I know it not to be true.
Ego.
Out for your own.
Selfish. Self-interested.
Vain.
Match shoelaces with shirts.
Get the hair just right.
Spritz of cologne where foul smell.
I wake up every morning thinking 'what a waste!'
turn off the A/C burning up our shared bill.
(I'll do my best to bleed white)
Griping, groping. Drank up all the beer I did.
I needed the self medication to tolerate
the vanity.
Holding grudges.
Did I come here for nothing?
Appetite.
Not even one song. Disappointment.
Face flushed red. Fights. All your own stories are so much better.
Everyone here interrupts each other.
As if your story is more important!
Sports and video games. Drug free.
I'm the loser who smokes pot and goes to class.
Out of pot now.
Pounding energy drinks.
I guarantee I won't get sick.
I wake up every morning yawning 'what a fucking waste...'
and realize the repetition and clench my teeth for it.
****
"Reality itself, things as they are, is thus a kind of blank, needing to be signified before it becomes anything determinate; there is a 'nothing' at the very core of the world, a pervasive absence infiltrating the whole of experience, which can be abolished only by the supplementary benefit of language."
****
"The quintessential college experience."
"men derived status from securing sex (from high-status women) while women derived status from getting attention (from high-status men)."
"they either integrated themselves into partying or found themselves alone in their rooms, microwaving frozen dinners and watching television."
she never lets scabs heal
she drinks to forget what's real
not picky about my grammar
asking me, what's the matter?
I say, I don't know, something's different
she asks, what has changed?
this is all so different
and it will never be the same
at the end of a rope with a bottle
living this pipe dream full throttle
hair ties and dividing lines
divinities dying decline
push yourself back, into the covers
wait for a new, more handsome, lover
one that will hold you when you're cold
talk about living together, growing old
it is not in heart to tell you directly
that I can never be what you need
instead a poem, an epitaph
surprised? it ain't half bad
in the end you'll be glad
you knew me.
now get away from me.
***
My god. Oh my god. I never meant any harm. No dreams planted. Flowers that die while they are still seeds. Children who die before they even become an idea in their father's head. Sunflower, give me radiance that I can accept as my own. Rub off on me and mercilessly. (How could you leave this? They all ask.) There are more important things in the world than nice weather. Vitamin D and sunshine is supposed to make a person happier. Why doesn't it work on me? (There is THC resin on my grandfather's buck knife. One handed to me 10 years ago, wrapped in band-aids and with a wink when the other adults had their backs turned. Mother grabbed it from me. I wanted it back. My stupid sheltered childhood. Many beautiful moments of parental love but I was a weak child. I wish I knew then what I know now. But that is a refrain. A life refrain. Again and again.)
Drown out sorrows in alcohol and soy milk. Those things that keep you sane.
Blood down the drain. Shoving knives into power sockets. My friend told me there is a little demon in there that has been keeping him up at night and he must be stabbed. Ended.
A human can fly. Once. Rooftop.
Drunk and belligerent wailing in the bank of a screaming ambulance.
My god. Oh my god. She won't make it.
Make up runs down the face. The football house. Perfect scene for date rape.
No date. No money spent on anything but alcohol.
General trust of all partygoers.
Despite most fowl temptations and expectations.
Once a whore always a whore.
This sexual deviance and green jealousy swirling through me.
My god. Oh my god. Do not plant that seed.
A boy becomes a man in the next room.
Now he knows. Now he KNOWS.
(eye drops at the drive in)
Good lord. Red and blue eyes. No whites.
At a young age. Listening to fireworks over the bay.
Slipping into a strangers bed and out of consciousness.
Bought me flowers. Moved to florida to get married.
On a trampoline. A big one. In a backyard in the woods.
Some drive. Kids wreck cars in small towns everyone.
I became a statistic. But I wipe the slate clean in a few weeks.
Friday the 13th. There are dreams I have of tall trees.
Looking down on me. At me. In disgust. If they could spit they would.
What? Why me?
They think I am a lumberjack.
I love you. I say. I love you. I love you so much.
I miss you. I miss kissing you wherever there is dry skin.
Your roots are firm in the ground. I am but a tree with legs. And I'll never stop growing.
Clouds up there must be great! Will you become a translator for their secret tongues?
Sounding like a detuned piano (at least 7 years)
No reason to be paranoid my love. My life. You will one day be my bride.
Despite what happens now.
Sexual jealousy in Elizabethan England.
Sexual jealousy and assault on college campuses. At frats.
Sexual jealousy diminished in outlaw bike gangs.
Dehumanize the women but they are attracted to the freedom of the lifestyle.
My god. Oh my god.
What have I done? Now my darling, put your clothes back on.
Laugh because you let him take you. (took a shower. I'm clean.)
Darkness spreads from cuts from beneath your belly.
It is all over when legs are raised.
Sky high. You are so flexible and have so many suitors.
Silver streak. Do not allow yourself old habits.
I was stupid and had no fowl reasoning.
It was all a waste anyway. If somehow I get better by next time I see you...
No true explanation. Much built up aggression.
Read some books. Grown quite brave.
Just you. Just you. Just you.
Your hair! In my face in my mind.
I sleep choking the life out of inanimate objects.
(lighter heads for our heavy hearts)
It is hot and the pressure is high.
Your smile is all that I think about.
Never in my life. Fixation for this long.
Bordering on lunacy. So exacting.
(signed off on a one year lease. Har har!)
Exuent.
(put my foot down. I cannot be the reason you are sleepless)
Teach self how to dance and jump. Cure the dizziness.
When all else fails we will smoke up our money and make movies about it.
An invasive movie director. (probably not an uplifting message to wake up to. oops)
Probe you for flaws and faults to doll up for the silver screen.
Wearing make up and speaking more clearly, abstracting truth.
It is all hot tubs and jet planes.
RVs across the country with musicians, magicians, sound technicians.
(high school tour? college tour?)
Book shows design merch do the lighting.
A feud breaks in culmination of an internet date.
Oh so this is what is was all about this whole time.
Now the balance will shift. The power. All of the marbles will roll to one side and the other, who once had all, is now deprived, sleepless, brooding about an old macho fuck.
The dynamic shifts into to second gear. Forget me.
Love me. Write my name down then burn it.
I am not helping but I will begin to.
Erase this fixation. Breaking us down.
It is a denial of heart to choose either path.
Either waterslide denies the possibilities evident with the other one.
What if?
Greater water finish? Smoother track?
Will I feel like a better person by the end of it?
Paint me a picture and put us together in it.
IN the back of the van. Bring it all on.
Jade colored fingers. Yours truly.
Whore in sleep's clothing.
Dream about waking up somewhere I've never been.
The happy possibility of that. But it is only a lonely me in a dull lit room.
(I watched part of the sunrise this morning. awakened by bladder. saw the moon move across the sky. she is a clever devil, always watching and grimacing when these stupid humans commit their adulteries and she can't look away. The dark side only dreams about what is seen. )
"you are not to blame"
"you are absolutely to blame for this."
tone down your ego, asshole.
your drawing received the most attention.
you must be the best artist
(milk is best before today. a little bit of sour never hurt anyone)
something or other is always best before today
and we always, always, miss the deadline
I am inferior.
they are superior.
This is what it feels like though I know it not to be true.
Ego.
Out for your own.
Selfish. Self-interested.
Vain.
Match shoelaces with shirts.
Get the hair just right.
Spritz of cologne where foul smell.
I wake up every morning thinking 'what a waste!'
turn off the A/C burning up our shared bill.
(I'll do my best to bleed white)
Griping, groping. Drank up all the beer I did.
I needed the self medication to tolerate
the vanity.
Holding grudges.
Did I come here for nothing?
Appetite.
Not even one song. Disappointment.
Face flushed red. Fights. All your own stories are so much better.
Everyone here interrupts each other.
As if your story is more important!
Sports and video games. Drug free.
I'm the loser who smokes pot and goes to class.
Out of pot now.
Pounding energy drinks.
I guarantee I won't get sick.
I wake up every morning yawning 'what a fucking waste...'
and realize the repetition and clench my teeth for it.
****
"Reality itself, things as they are, is thus a kind of blank, needing to be signified before it becomes anything determinate; there is a 'nothing' at the very core of the world, a pervasive absence infiltrating the whole of experience, which can be abolished only by the supplementary benefit of language."
****
"The quintessential college experience."
"men derived status from securing sex (from high-status women) while women derived status from getting attention (from high-status men)."
"they either integrated themselves into partying or found themselves alone in their rooms, microwaving frozen dinners and watching television."
she never lets scabs heal
she drinks to forget what's real
not picky about my grammar
asking me, what's the matter?
I say, I don't know, something's different
she asks, what has changed?
this is all so different
and it will never be the same
at the end of a rope with a bottle
living this pipe dream full throttle
hair ties and dividing lines
divinities dying decline
push yourself back, into the covers
wait for a new, more handsome, lover
one that will hold you when you're cold
talk about living together, growing old
it is not in heart to tell you directly
that I can never be what you need
instead a poem, an epitaph
surprised? it ain't half bad
in the end you'll be glad
you knew me.
now get away from me.
***
My god. Oh my god. I never meant any harm. No dreams planted. Flowers that die while they are still seeds. Children who die before they even become an idea in their father's head. Sunflower, give me radiance that I can accept as my own. Rub off on me and mercilessly. (How could you leave this? They all ask.) There are more important things in the world than nice weather. Vitamin D and sunshine is supposed to make a person happier. Why doesn't it work on me? (There is THC resin on my grandfather's buck knife. One handed to me 10 years ago, wrapped in band-aids and with a wink when the other adults had their backs turned. Mother grabbed it from me. I wanted it back. My stupid sheltered childhood. Many beautiful moments of parental love but I was a weak child. I wish I knew then what I know now. But that is a refrain. A life refrain. Again and again.)
Drown out sorrows in alcohol and soy milk. Those things that keep you sane.
Blood down the drain. Shoving knives into power sockets. My friend told me there is a little demon in there that has been keeping him up at night and he must be stabbed. Ended.
A human can fly. Once. Rooftop.
Drunk and belligerent wailing in the bank of a screaming ambulance.
My god. Oh my god. She won't make it.
Make up runs down the face. The football house. Perfect scene for date rape.
No date. No money spent on anything but alcohol.
General trust of all partygoers.
Despite most fowl temptations and expectations.
Once a whore always a whore.
This sexual deviance and green jealousy swirling through me.
My god. Oh my god. Do not plant that seed.
A boy becomes a man in the next room.
Now he knows. Now he KNOWS.
(eye drops at the drive in)
Good lord. Red and blue eyes. No whites.
At a young age. Listening to fireworks over the bay.
Slipping into a strangers bed and out of consciousness.
Bought me flowers. Moved to florida to get married.
On a trampoline. A big one. In a backyard in the woods.
Some drive. Kids wreck cars in small towns everyone.
I became a statistic. But I wipe the slate clean in a few weeks.
Friday the 13th. There are dreams I have of tall trees.
Looking down on me. At me. In disgust. If they could spit they would.
What? Why me?
They think I am a lumberjack.
I love you. I say. I love you. I love you so much.
I miss you. I miss kissing you wherever there is dry skin.
Your roots are firm in the ground. I am but a tree with legs. And I'll never stop growing.
Clouds up there must be great! Will you become a translator for their secret tongues?
Sounding like a detuned piano (at least 7 years)
No reason to be paranoid my love. My life. You will one day be my bride.
Despite what happens now.
Sexual jealousy in Elizabethan England.
Sexual jealousy and assault on college campuses. At frats.
Sexual jealousy diminished in outlaw bike gangs.
Dehumanize the women but they are attracted to the freedom of the lifestyle.
My god. Oh my god.
What have I done? Now my darling, put your clothes back on.
Laugh because you let him take you. (took a shower. I'm clean.)
Darkness spreads from cuts from beneath your belly.
It is all over when legs are raised.
Sky high. You are so flexible and have so many suitors.
Silver streak. Do not allow yourself old habits.
I was stupid and had no fowl reasoning.
It was all a waste anyway. If somehow I get better by next time I see you...
No true explanation. Much built up aggression.
Read some books. Grown quite brave.
Just you. Just you. Just you.
Your hair! In my face in my mind.
I sleep choking the life out of inanimate objects.
(lighter heads for our heavy hearts)
It is hot and the pressure is high.
Your smile is all that I think about.
Never in my life. Fixation for this long.
Bordering on lunacy. So exacting.
(signed off on a one year lease. Har har!)
Exuent.
Monday, April 9, 2012
April 9
Razor burn, purple t-shirt, head like a balloon, vacant in a vacuum of vacuity. Thoughts swirling cinnamon around in there but they are not translating. A mute translator is useless. (As if American English will ever be a universal language. I'll have to learn something else. Be useful and smart and ask the right questions and seek out the right answers.) How many years of school does it take to be good at everything? (Sitting and thinking. I'll take the class that teaches me about what I should do with my life.)
All students teach each other. I have music to teach. I have music to learn.
***
Later that night... Feeling cheated on. Like a pair of eyes on a test at the DMV. The winding lines and stale impatience. No time to leave the queue for a cigarette when a bastard in a bathrobe, downing miniature shots, will replace you.
Cigar for the show. Look nice. Rock out. (Big day my boy my body). Plant a flower watch it grow and pluck flower. Lose it. Something sinister stirs in the closet or under the bedsheets. Monsters of great weight dispersion where the balance is felt in between.
Bring lights and great attitudes. The crowd inside. It will be very hot. Friday the 13th. Something fateful in the way humans react to the day. I will play my heart out. Groove too hard. Get my papers done, be social, too social. Watching the hands of a clock fight gravity then regain solid speed on the downside like a rollercoaster, some shit about kinetic energy.
I think about a girl, of course. I think about how my social interactions were awful today. Tired. Useless. Listen to music. Tune in to the lecture and tune out to the rest of the world. Them and I. Us and them. Who is us? Consciously ignore the flames of a past desire. A past passion, but no one to be ignored and I spasm or shake in a nervous fit when something reminds me. Very little contact with the outside. Counting dollars in the negative. The gutters and spittoons outside of fancy restaurants, looking down shirts from the top floor down. Perk of the job? Well now. Tuesday. Ruby. Bass lesson. Paper beginning. Energy energy energy. Work out. Have the focus and motivation to control the outcome. To feel worth and to drink things that make my heart feel better and the air warmer. Something something. Vitamins and japanese minerals to inject and invade me with a rush of energy and focused conclusion-coming. We will be victorious. I barely know the guys but my distance is due to my departure. Imminent.
I quit denying that I love to play music and coast off of them to make it happen. But here is a culmination. Recording begins again soon. To clicks. Robot metronomes.
Live with producer? production team. reduction team. work out the details for this arrangement. (good idea to give mother his number? can't decide. I felt incredible freedom to make my own decisions and to figure it all out myself.)
Begin research. Apartments. Where to avoid.
Alleyways and cartwheels.
I will miss the weather maybe. The band, the music. But I will be involved with other music for sure. For certain.
_____
Getting laid. Dreaming about rainbow lights and definitive advice from an old man who used to be a genius author before his something or other gave out. (Something always gives out leaving a person slightly crippled, but still a person.) Counting strange flowers and plant I don't understand.
Bats, bobcats. Night birds. The apache plume. Arizona poppy. Blue phacella. Big sagebrush. Brittlebrush. Chia. Chuparosa. Cliffrose. Cave primrose. Datura (poisonous!). All beginning with the word 'desert' : chicory, dandelion, five-spot, globemallow, lily, lupine, mariposa lily, marigold, paintbrush, pincushion, sunflower. Dogbane (poison!). Devil's claw. Dune evening primrose. Fairy duster. Filaree storksbill. Ghost flower. Mojave aster. Popcorn flower. Prickly poppies. Sand verbena. Showy four o'clock. spanish needles. western wallflower. woolly daisy. yellow beeplant. barrel cactus. beavertail cactus. chain fruit cholla. cholla cactus. claret cup cactus. desert christmas. datil yucca. fishhook. hedgehog. joshua tree. mojave yucca. night-blooming cereus. organ pipe cactus. century plant. prickly pear. saguaro. soaptree yucca. black widow spiders. cicadas. dragonflies. fire ant. praying mantis. scorpions, sphinx moth. stinkbugs. tarantula. tarantula hawks. western tiger swallowtail. admiral. viceroy butterfly. velvet ants. bastard toadflax. crucifixion thorn. california fan palm. cocklebur. cottonwood. creosote bush. desert willow. elephant tree. greasewood. mornom tea. ocotillo. mesquites. palo verde tree. four-wing saltbush. four-winds. showy milkweed. smoke tree. stinging neetles. tumbleweed. winterfat.
All students teach each other. I have music to teach. I have music to learn.
***
Later that night... Feeling cheated on. Like a pair of eyes on a test at the DMV. The winding lines and stale impatience. No time to leave the queue for a cigarette when a bastard in a bathrobe, downing miniature shots, will replace you.
Cigar for the show. Look nice. Rock out. (Big day my boy my body). Plant a flower watch it grow and pluck flower. Lose it. Something sinister stirs in the closet or under the bedsheets. Monsters of great weight dispersion where the balance is felt in between.
Bring lights and great attitudes. The crowd inside. It will be very hot. Friday the 13th. Something fateful in the way humans react to the day. I will play my heart out. Groove too hard. Get my papers done, be social, too social. Watching the hands of a clock fight gravity then regain solid speed on the downside like a rollercoaster, some shit about kinetic energy.
I think about a girl, of course. I think about how my social interactions were awful today. Tired. Useless. Listen to music. Tune in to the lecture and tune out to the rest of the world. Them and I. Us and them. Who is us? Consciously ignore the flames of a past desire. A past passion, but no one to be ignored and I spasm or shake in a nervous fit when something reminds me. Very little contact with the outside. Counting dollars in the negative. The gutters and spittoons outside of fancy restaurants, looking down shirts from the top floor down. Perk of the job? Well now. Tuesday. Ruby. Bass lesson. Paper beginning. Energy energy energy. Work out. Have the focus and motivation to control the outcome. To feel worth and to drink things that make my heart feel better and the air warmer. Something something. Vitamins and japanese minerals to inject and invade me with a rush of energy and focused conclusion-coming. We will be victorious. I barely know the guys but my distance is due to my departure. Imminent.
I quit denying that I love to play music and coast off of them to make it happen. But here is a culmination. Recording begins again soon. To clicks. Robot metronomes.
Live with producer? production team. reduction team. work out the details for this arrangement. (good idea to give mother his number? can't decide. I felt incredible freedom to make my own decisions and to figure it all out myself.)
Begin research. Apartments. Where to avoid.
Alleyways and cartwheels.
I will miss the weather maybe. The band, the music. But I will be involved with other music for sure. For certain.
_____
Getting laid. Dreaming about rainbow lights and definitive advice from an old man who used to be a genius author before his something or other gave out. (Something always gives out leaving a person slightly crippled, but still a person.) Counting strange flowers and plant I don't understand.
Bats, bobcats. Night birds. The apache plume. Arizona poppy. Blue phacella. Big sagebrush. Brittlebrush. Chia. Chuparosa. Cliffrose. Cave primrose. Datura (poisonous!). All beginning with the word 'desert' : chicory, dandelion, five-spot, globemallow, lily, lupine, mariposa lily, marigold, paintbrush, pincushion, sunflower. Dogbane (poison!). Devil's claw. Dune evening primrose. Fairy duster. Filaree storksbill. Ghost flower. Mojave aster. Popcorn flower. Prickly poppies. Sand verbena. Showy four o'clock. spanish needles. western wallflower. woolly daisy. yellow beeplant. barrel cactus. beavertail cactus. chain fruit cholla. cholla cactus. claret cup cactus. desert christmas. datil yucca. fishhook. hedgehog. joshua tree. mojave yucca. night-blooming cereus. organ pipe cactus. century plant. prickly pear. saguaro. soaptree yucca. black widow spiders. cicadas. dragonflies. fire ant. praying mantis. scorpions, sphinx moth. stinkbugs. tarantula. tarantula hawks. western tiger swallowtail. admiral. viceroy butterfly. velvet ants. bastard toadflax. crucifixion thorn. california fan palm. cocklebur. cottonwood. creosote bush. desert willow. elephant tree. greasewood. mornom tea. ocotillo. mesquites. palo verde tree. four-wing saltbush. four-winds. showy milkweed. smoke tree. stinging neetles. tumbleweed. winterfat.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
April 8
Entertain, inspire and uplift before you go. Give em a show. The two minute warning before death. Get your shit together. We don't know about it because the only people who hear it. Die. Some asshole on the bus. Think it was a couch out on the town.
Use that time. To entertain. To leave something behind. Do something hey. Give a little two minute speech.
Tell them! It's your last time to tell them anything. Wax eloquent. Bring it to the rafters and at the last moment proclaim 'if this is not the truth may god strike me dead!'
Let me sleep now. Don't be loud up there. No stirring around like mixed drinks.
Music theorist
Wild fantasy conjurer
blow a kiss
let the wind
send it to her
a mighty force
behind the features
hates old things
anything old
just because we are a part of this generation
doesn't mean we have to let it consume us entirely
pop culture is garbage
shiny things in the sky
kick out your chair
hang out
there
beautiful music.
no one listens to music anymore
selfish and self-fulfilled
a nice and tight rhythm section
did not get numbers
did not get fame
I will live a dream on friday though
a house party show
hopefully good enough
sober enough
to play well enough
to be recognized
as something other than a blemish
on the landscape
but finally
but finally
although there is still so much to do
remember.
tuesday - bass and paper and study and whatever
monday and wednesday are rat races
although tomorrow I have no 288
longer lunch break
work on something with that time
(do not let anything go to waste)
eat every part of the deceased
practice after. sober. read self to sleep.
oh othello, you moor of venice.
hear rhythms
fingers must hurt and wrists must be sore
must not be tired
nor restless
this is your life!
live to full capacity! god damn
everything everything
get good at everything
masterpieces and straight A's!
society and self. Succeed
at both!
earn sleep.
earn your sleep.
deserve what is handed to you.
pick up mail on monday.
make positive use of time.
tuesday and thursday are work days.
write that paper, buddy.
***
Sunday night insomnia. The thoughts tear me to pieces like packs of wild dogs. In the woods. I can't climb anything tall enough to escape. (A form of social control.) Wake and bake. All of the things. Chronicle the items in my apartment. No one has seen it! Wow! They would say! Wow! WOw! WOW! wo! This is a mess a happy happy mess. There is evidence of all kinds of demented actions. Drinking self into oblivion. Why is it okay to drink to drink to drink?
I imagined myself, in horror, laying on my back anywhere in the world and feeling the same sense of despondency. No matter what clouds or ceiling above. Everyone likes it here because of the weather. I just want to be surrounded by creative people. Not sun drenched morons, feeling up girls and looking for drugs. No culture. There is no culture. I am surrounded by sun beams, sure. These don't make me want to paint something or take pictures or videos or create anything in general. New songs. Evidence that I exist on this earth. Somewhere.
Evidence that I exist on this earth?
Where? How?
Give me a good night sleep and a content smile. I don't want to be in pain anymore.
I do not want to feel anymore pain. I do not want to drink it away.
I want to be silly and happy. Warm in the polluted confidence of an L.A. night. The sky rise and the eternal city clock ticking away. Everything expensive. Somehow destroying my sensibilities.
I need to explode with passion. Leave clues! Evidence!
maps and directions.
Paint or recordings. A knowledge of how such things work, oh my lord.
Stimulant drugs. Every day.
Fill the prescription and have the confidence to do everything ever like a supervillian wearing a super hero mask.
Have hope. Have excitement. Be passionate and show evidence. (I cared more about art and less about working out. But if my body is happy my mind is happy.)
Build a rocket.
All I feel is repressed. By me. By my environment. By everything and everyone around me. I don't even try to acknowledge recognizable faces anymore. I am a ghost and I will disappear from their lives in an instant or two.
No matter where I go. They will not think about me. There wheels will keep turning. This weather will bury you and someone you will believe all of the lies from various screens and voices.
Question everything. Nothing is safe.
How is it so easy to fold? To give in and buy into the bullshit we are spoonfed? It is shoved into us and somehow we don't notice. I need to go into the forest. Burn them down. There's proof! You assholes! You did this to yourself.
Someone will always always always argue. I am happy to be the voice of dissent but here that is extremely isolating because most are polarized, believing the simplest explanation and thinking so shallow. Dig your graves, boys. Dig your own grave.
Use that time. To entertain. To leave something behind. Do something hey. Give a little two minute speech.
Tell them! It's your last time to tell them anything. Wax eloquent. Bring it to the rafters and at the last moment proclaim 'if this is not the truth may god strike me dead!'
Let me sleep now. Don't be loud up there. No stirring around like mixed drinks.
Music theorist
Wild fantasy conjurer
blow a kiss
let the wind
send it to her
a mighty force
behind the features
hates old things
anything old
just because we are a part of this generation
doesn't mean we have to let it consume us entirely
pop culture is garbage
shiny things in the sky
kick out your chair
hang out
there
beautiful music.
no one listens to music anymore
selfish and self-fulfilled
a nice and tight rhythm section
did not get numbers
did not get fame
I will live a dream on friday though
a house party show
hopefully good enough
sober enough
to play well enough
to be recognized
as something other than a blemish
on the landscape
but finally
but finally
although there is still so much to do
remember.
tuesday - bass and paper and study and whatever
monday and wednesday are rat races
although tomorrow I have no 288
longer lunch break
work on something with that time
(do not let anything go to waste)
eat every part of the deceased
practice after. sober. read self to sleep.
oh othello, you moor of venice.
hear rhythms
fingers must hurt and wrists must be sore
must not be tired
nor restless
this is your life!
live to full capacity! god damn
everything everything
get good at everything
masterpieces and straight A's!
society and self. Succeed
at both!
earn sleep.
earn your sleep.
deserve what is handed to you.
pick up mail on monday.
make positive use of time.
tuesday and thursday are work days.
write that paper, buddy.
***
Sunday night insomnia. The thoughts tear me to pieces like packs of wild dogs. In the woods. I can't climb anything tall enough to escape. (A form of social control.) Wake and bake. All of the things. Chronicle the items in my apartment. No one has seen it! Wow! They would say! Wow! WOw! WOW! wo! This is a mess a happy happy mess. There is evidence of all kinds of demented actions. Drinking self into oblivion. Why is it okay to drink to drink to drink?
I imagined myself, in horror, laying on my back anywhere in the world and feeling the same sense of despondency. No matter what clouds or ceiling above. Everyone likes it here because of the weather. I just want to be surrounded by creative people. Not sun drenched morons, feeling up girls and looking for drugs. No culture. There is no culture. I am surrounded by sun beams, sure. These don't make me want to paint something or take pictures or videos or create anything in general. New songs. Evidence that I exist on this earth. Somewhere.
Evidence that I exist on this earth?
Where? How?
Give me a good night sleep and a content smile. I don't want to be in pain anymore.
I do not want to feel anymore pain. I do not want to drink it away.
I want to be silly and happy. Warm in the polluted confidence of an L.A. night. The sky rise and the eternal city clock ticking away. Everything expensive. Somehow destroying my sensibilities.
I need to explode with passion. Leave clues! Evidence!
maps and directions.
Paint or recordings. A knowledge of how such things work, oh my lord.
Stimulant drugs. Every day.
Fill the prescription and have the confidence to do everything ever like a supervillian wearing a super hero mask.
Have hope. Have excitement. Be passionate and show evidence. (I cared more about art and less about working out. But if my body is happy my mind is happy.)
Build a rocket.
All I feel is repressed. By me. By my environment. By everything and everyone around me. I don't even try to acknowledge recognizable faces anymore. I am a ghost and I will disappear from their lives in an instant or two.
No matter where I go. They will not think about me. There wheels will keep turning. This weather will bury you and someone you will believe all of the lies from various screens and voices.
Question everything. Nothing is safe.
How is it so easy to fold? To give in and buy into the bullshit we are spoonfed? It is shoved into us and somehow we don't notice. I need to go into the forest. Burn them down. There's proof! You assholes! You did this to yourself.
Someone will always always always argue. I am happy to be the voice of dissent but here that is extremely isolating because most are polarized, believing the simplest explanation and thinking so shallow. Dig your graves, boys. Dig your own grave.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
April 7
Secret genius at the secret beach. Throwing knife into the sand or an invisible tree trunk. Spending the time to search through the sand on hands and knees. Scraping skin off knees. No time to write now, right now, I must be going.
****
There is something to be said about... Sleepless nights in airplanes. Catching the red eye, pink eye, pillow slip, careening down the stairs like slanted bumper cars. Filling ears with fuel at a jukebox gas pump. A pare coin and a song. In the jungle. Resin on the blade of an old knife. Blades can be cleaned and sharpened and must be otherwise they are without purpose aside from protection? intimidation? Hey, cool thing to have.
Remove the labels and find yourself alone with a bottle and coke. Evidence of dirty thoughts and prideful wishes. Mentioning the revealing tan lines. Lines of back, black and white, with sunglasses and orange skin, like the fruit, the intermediate shade between red and yellow, ketchup and mustard, bastard of science, there is no genetic code for despondency, and we are all to blame for our troubled earth.
Warmth from rum does not carry through an entire night. Like Bukowski. When something bad happens, drink to forget. When something good happens, drink to celebrate. Or if there is nothing happening, drink to make something happen.
* Very Carefully Look Over Your Shoulder *
Getting what you deserve in tandem with other whims.
Polish off that porterhouse steak. Lick the knife clean.
Cutting tongue.
Opening pathways with hands of steel. Trapdoor under the shag carpet. Falling into a foam pit harmlessly bounce against the walls, constricting straight jacket, walls of yellow dripping candle wax, lighting newspaper posters onto fire. One day bought a New York Times and thumb tacked all of the pages onto the walls. Realized I didn't have the whole story. Bought another copy of the same day and tacked them together like a puzzle. A constant storyboard storyline, although the danger of flame when near. Begin circling words and stringing together ideas with yard and push pins. Finding a trend and any anomaly stands out like stolen diamonds. People already think I am crazy. What until they see my schizophrenic self create narratives out of old newspaper and rant about conspiracy. It is all coming down against my skull like primeval rocks or stone tools.
****
2:04 "This sounds like the type of music you listen to when you are depressed and on drugs." Exactly. What you would know? First hand. Worst hand.
Growing red in the spotted sunlight. (Know that I've got you in my blood stream).
Catching up with blissful dreams. Blue key ring.
Purple clouds, darker through certain angles. Depending on thickness and size of lens.
Locality. In my periphery. Using the big, contained, words. Because I am studying words.
Did a line of coke and talked about how depressing the northwestern rain was,
talking about baseball, the benefits of Arizona weather, the late nights on the road, forgetting about loss. They did the coke, and went on a winning streak, not I, not I. Never I. The new study drug perhaps? Something pharmaceutical and in high government value. Lessen this weight on my shoulders. Baring your chest to the tropical sky rise.
Move/stay. Tanning in a tanning bed at a paradise. The coolest campus, naturally. Would have said this even without the hospitality? (One by one, the colors drip from the sun). New beginnings with old friends. Bigger, weed smoking, and no time for nostalgia. Sitting, reflecting, talking and discussing things, telling jokes, tired, no pressure in atmosphere. A general conclusion at the onset of sleep. Building up projects and knocking them down. The story has holes in it. The black widows in the corners or rooms. Dropping out of the shoes you just took off. It's tiny menace of venom, absolute certainty, that you will not know what happened as paralysis takes over any functional feeling. Lost past brain activity. Head smashed on fire hydrant. A decapitation. Something rhythmic in the way those words must have sounded to his loved ones. Or rather the ones who loved him. But if you wear a helmet, transferring over from one form of living to a form of nonliving. In a blink and without a proper explanation. We get cut short! My god. I want to say so much to so many but I must get over any silly insecurity. Spread a message. The importance of the individual. Write for publications? How cool to land a writing job in Los Angeles.
WRITING JOB IN LOS ANGELES
editor. columnist. blogger. writing for publications. stories every now and then. (gram. what does gram do in Belize?)
****
There is something to be said about... Sleepless nights in airplanes. Catching the red eye, pink eye, pillow slip, careening down the stairs like slanted bumper cars. Filling ears with fuel at a jukebox gas pump. A pare coin and a song. In the jungle. Resin on the blade of an old knife. Blades can be cleaned and sharpened and must be otherwise they are without purpose aside from protection? intimidation? Hey, cool thing to have.
Remove the labels and find yourself alone with a bottle and coke. Evidence of dirty thoughts and prideful wishes. Mentioning the revealing tan lines. Lines of back, black and white, with sunglasses and orange skin, like the fruit, the intermediate shade between red and yellow, ketchup and mustard, bastard of science, there is no genetic code for despondency, and we are all to blame for our troubled earth.
Warmth from rum does not carry through an entire night. Like Bukowski. When something bad happens, drink to forget. When something good happens, drink to celebrate. Or if there is nothing happening, drink to make something happen.
* Very Carefully Look Over Your Shoulder *
Getting what you deserve in tandem with other whims.
Polish off that porterhouse steak. Lick the knife clean.
Cutting tongue.
Opening pathways with hands of steel. Trapdoor under the shag carpet. Falling into a foam pit harmlessly bounce against the walls, constricting straight jacket, walls of yellow dripping candle wax, lighting newspaper posters onto fire. One day bought a New York Times and thumb tacked all of the pages onto the walls. Realized I didn't have the whole story. Bought another copy of the same day and tacked them together like a puzzle. A constant storyboard storyline, although the danger of flame when near. Begin circling words and stringing together ideas with yard and push pins. Finding a trend and any anomaly stands out like stolen diamonds. People already think I am crazy. What until they see my schizophrenic self create narratives out of old newspaper and rant about conspiracy. It is all coming down against my skull like primeval rocks or stone tools.
****
2:04 "This sounds like the type of music you listen to when you are depressed and on drugs." Exactly. What you would know? First hand. Worst hand.
Growing red in the spotted sunlight. (Know that I've got you in my blood stream).
Catching up with blissful dreams. Blue key ring.
Purple clouds, darker through certain angles. Depending on thickness and size of lens.
Locality. In my periphery. Using the big, contained, words. Because I am studying words.
Did a line of coke and talked about how depressing the northwestern rain was,
talking about baseball, the benefits of Arizona weather, the late nights on the road, forgetting about loss. They did the coke, and went on a winning streak, not I, not I. Never I. The new study drug perhaps? Something pharmaceutical and in high government value. Lessen this weight on my shoulders. Baring your chest to the tropical sky rise.
Move/stay. Tanning in a tanning bed at a paradise. The coolest campus, naturally. Would have said this even without the hospitality? (One by one, the colors drip from the sun). New beginnings with old friends. Bigger, weed smoking, and no time for nostalgia. Sitting, reflecting, talking and discussing things, telling jokes, tired, no pressure in atmosphere. A general conclusion at the onset of sleep. Building up projects and knocking them down. The story has holes in it. The black widows in the corners or rooms. Dropping out of the shoes you just took off. It's tiny menace of venom, absolute certainty, that you will not know what happened as paralysis takes over any functional feeling. Lost past brain activity. Head smashed on fire hydrant. A decapitation. Something rhythmic in the way those words must have sounded to his loved ones. Or rather the ones who loved him. But if you wear a helmet, transferring over from one form of living to a form of nonliving. In a blink and without a proper explanation. We get cut short! My god. I want to say so much to so many but I must get over any silly insecurity. Spread a message. The importance of the individual. Write for publications? How cool to land a writing job in Los Angeles.
WRITING JOB IN LOS ANGELES
editor. columnist. blogger. writing for publications. stories every now and then. (gram. what does gram do in Belize?)
Thursday, April 5, 2012
April 5
A fish with multi-colored scales
The great depths of watery graves
where my childhood sank to the bottom
N o w a y t o s u p p r e s s t h e f l o o d
'what the heck? leave all floodgates open'
grand coulee dam it all to hell
alder god damn
once upon a glacier
we lost our footing
and slide to the bottom
of a 24 story ice continent
scar on the inside of an ankle, from a drunken tumble, to replace an older scar of a burning coal, perhaps to emphasize that historical story, with evidence of mischief all over it.
I barely have any honest scars.
Blood shot eyes in a blood drained alleyway.
This is a stick up and you will give yourself up to my power.
I will drain your bank accounts like a bathtub
and you will never see me again.
10999 songs
Concerned looking. We all need the grades of a lab report to shine through.
Unbelievable though. They talk so fast and confuse themselves with stress.
I can't keep up. Their talking and their pace. It is fast and superficial.
Scum of the earth where do you drain?
Have you spread out like tributary?
Wipe you off the face of the earth.
Ground you up into specs and shoot you into space.
Where you can no longer add such pressure and hostility into the atmosphere.
The pollution of your mind.
The billboards and the products. The life of a rock star.
The life of a college student.
Which life is you?
Which you is life?
First, you must decide what your desires are.
Then go to them.
Go to your desire.
For this step... remove humanity.
It is for you. Could be a location. A job. An opportunity.
At 20, a person should not be your ultimate goal.
Oh sure, many heart warming stories have been written about love at such a young age.
68 years of happy marriage.
But starve yourself, student.
Throw up in that bathroom and take prescribed stimulants to keep your body shaking uncontrollably, your hands working at a prior unknown capacity and all of the random things you do, mental pathways open up, and you do them well. Mind wanders and you wander with it. Where will this take me?
Where will this take me?
First. You must discover what it is you want.
Alone. Do not ask for help. Or assistance.
Do not allow yourself to be manipulated out of your true desire.
There may be a hierarchy.
Chose a few and try to blend them together.
In a nice collage. (It's a nice college. They keep things clean. Despite filthy student body.)
Glue together.
Whatever you choose for yourself. The necessary people. Those who will help you achieve your goal will enter your life. Do not first seek these people out.
Find a mindset first. Then find like minded people.
The desert reinforces me.
I realize I am not them and it shouldn't get me down.
I should be glad that I do not feel as self-important as them.
Most believe in red carpets and stars on boardwalks.
In 5 dollar lattes and chauffeurs.
The sense of ENTITLEMENT.
Why? Where did this come from?
You spoiled eggs.
Throw away that polluted mindset.
My god.
Recycle. Turn the earth green.
Nature. Not money.
This whole experience should be about bettering yourself.
Finding your desire!
Not dollar signs and diamond rings.
Your future wife should be a human.
And should not care to show her friends a diamond ring.
(We will all lie and say 'oh she is a gem!' but then distance ourselves from the couple because of how fucking unbearable they are together. She sucks the life out of him. He doesn't see it, smiles stupid and content. "The sex is great!")
Shiny things don't mean shit.
Send smiles through the mail.
A cursive letter preaching honesty and creativity.
A flood of emotion.
Help me find my way.
Okay, man. Will do.
I'll let you know when I come up with something.
Oh for sure for sure.
Hey man what are you up to tonight?
Not much. Studying. Thinking. You? Party?
Yeah man. I'll hit you up.
Ok cool. Can I bring anyone?
Not sure. I'll get back to you on that.
Meaningless meaningless.
It is an abstraction.
*******
This is social isolation. I don't speak to these mutants.
How to reach out to old friends?
Will it ever be the same?
The great depths of watery graves
where my childhood sank to the bottom
N o w a y t o s u p p r e s s t h e f l o o d
'what the heck? leave all floodgates open'
grand coulee dam it all to hell
alder god damn
once upon a glacier
we lost our footing
and slide to the bottom
of a 24 story ice continent
scar on the inside of an ankle, from a drunken tumble, to replace an older scar of a burning coal, perhaps to emphasize that historical story, with evidence of mischief all over it.
I barely have any honest scars.
Blood shot eyes in a blood drained alleyway.
This is a stick up and you will give yourself up to my power.
I will drain your bank accounts like a bathtub
and you will never see me again.
10999 songs
Concerned looking. We all need the grades of a lab report to shine through.
Unbelievable though. They talk so fast and confuse themselves with stress.
I can't keep up. Their talking and their pace. It is fast and superficial.
Scum of the earth where do you drain?
Have you spread out like tributary?
Wipe you off the face of the earth.
Ground you up into specs and shoot you into space.
Where you can no longer add such pressure and hostility into the atmosphere.
The pollution of your mind.
The billboards and the products. The life of a rock star.
The life of a college student.
Which life is you?
Which you is life?
First, you must decide what your desires are.
Then go to them.
Go to your desire.
For this step... remove humanity.
It is for you. Could be a location. A job. An opportunity.
At 20, a person should not be your ultimate goal.
Oh sure, many heart warming stories have been written about love at such a young age.
68 years of happy marriage.
But starve yourself, student.
Throw up in that bathroom and take prescribed stimulants to keep your body shaking uncontrollably, your hands working at a prior unknown capacity and all of the random things you do, mental pathways open up, and you do them well. Mind wanders and you wander with it. Where will this take me?
Where will this take me?
First. You must discover what it is you want.
Alone. Do not ask for help. Or assistance.
Do not allow yourself to be manipulated out of your true desire.
There may be a hierarchy.
Chose a few and try to blend them together.
In a nice collage. (It's a nice college. They keep things clean. Despite filthy student body.)
Glue together.
Whatever you choose for yourself. The necessary people. Those who will help you achieve your goal will enter your life. Do not first seek these people out.
Find a mindset first. Then find like minded people.
The desert reinforces me.
I realize I am not them and it shouldn't get me down.
I should be glad that I do not feel as self-important as them.
Most believe in red carpets and stars on boardwalks.
In 5 dollar lattes and chauffeurs.
The sense of ENTITLEMENT.
Why? Where did this come from?
You spoiled eggs.
Throw away that polluted mindset.
My god.
Recycle. Turn the earth green.
Nature. Not money.
This whole experience should be about bettering yourself.
Finding your desire!
Not dollar signs and diamond rings.
Your future wife should be a human.
And should not care to show her friends a diamond ring.
(We will all lie and say 'oh she is a gem!' but then distance ourselves from the couple because of how fucking unbearable they are together. She sucks the life out of him. He doesn't see it, smiles stupid and content. "The sex is great!")
Shiny things don't mean shit.
Send smiles through the mail.
A cursive letter preaching honesty and creativity.
A flood of emotion.
Help me find my way.
Okay, man. Will do.
I'll let you know when I come up with something.
Oh for sure for sure.
Hey man what are you up to tonight?
Not much. Studying. Thinking. You? Party?
Yeah man. I'll hit you up.
Ok cool. Can I bring anyone?
Not sure. I'll get back to you on that.
Meaningless meaningless.
It is an abstraction.
*******
This is social isolation. I don't speak to these mutants.
How to reach out to old friends?
Will it ever be the same?
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
April 4
To point out the sights along a winding road. Somehow mountain peaks visible on the other side of a body of water, must be a cold high mountain lake, something glacial, slow-moving and eternal. The car veers off the road slightly, the driver, my father is leaning forward to point something out to a girlfriend of mine who I allowed the front seat because she was getting car sick and so I could sleep for awhile in the back. No seat beat in the back. Suddenly, as he leans and points, "I think it's that one. Well I have a story about that one." Then we are off the road. I am thinking 'why isn't he turning?' and he says I'm sorry I'm so sorry. Impact. Thrown around like rag dolls. From sleeping I am cognizant of surrounding water and yelling before we go under. Still some remaining air. I must kick out my window my door. And I do, dragging the unconscious body of the girl with me. Father is fine just shaken up. I try to call for help. To flag a car down or anything. He dives for supplies. All of them wet but some of the emergency stuff is waterproof. Cars speed by. Minding their own business. Then I pass out also. Girl's head on my chest. Leaning against the broken railing that should have kept us from soaring into the water.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
April 3
Despite a day of activity. Of progress. I feel stunted, like I shot myself in the foot and put socks and shoes on anyway, wondering why it hurts to walk. Make tea, smoke tea, forget about it. That fear lurking behind corners. I think it might be psychological. Something in my diet shifting shit around in my head. I helplessly procrastinate in the face of awful, soul-crushing anxiety. I've got pills sure. Pills won't help me keep my head above water. More like floating face down. Flapping arms around like windmills.
Turn stupid and dull in a single instant. One whack to the skull, chipping off fragments like sedimentary rock. Go now, and far. Isn't it nice to know where you will be in one month, two? How to survive in that climate. How to push it away and then chase after it. This is how to start a wild fire. This is how to knock small chips into the wall and wake up, slapping ass and squeaking bed, sometime past 3 am on a tuesday morning. By Janus. Nothing you do makes much sense to my simple brain, young thing. Just go. Just leave. Listen to something until it dies then move to the next. Like sucking everything out of an apple. Tossing around the core and moving on. Using people like objects or puzzle pieces, filler in a larger picture. Find the puzzle you have been missing from. Perhaps it is in the sky. And in death you are reunited to make the greater picture. My god. You were the missing link. The hole in the ozone. There is no creator, only a fossil record. One day he intervened, after a few million years of natural evolutionary selection pressures... to increase the cranial capacity of some ancestor to us. To you. To me. Read me. Love me. Consume me as you do wine or bread. I am the parting sea and the departing future shipwreck. I travel at full speed towards flat vertical surfaces that I can spot in the distance. A human slingshot straight into a brick wall. Falling off of bridges. Dreaming about people you shouldn't. Made a mistake to tell me. I won't put it over you. I simply will never know why I was brought up. Perhaps someone misses me but doesn't tell me.
This is self experimentation. This is transformation. My wrist is sore from bass practice. My back is sore from homework. My brain feels like a wet washcloth. More like a put out fire. Was aflame. Burning and heating my blood. Suddenly drained of energy like a mop. Soak up water or something and let it ring. Shake shake shake shake. Where is the greatness? When can I do great things and work with children in need? A school tour? What the hell does that mean? A powerful message about drinking and driving. Blindness. Heartwarming stuff. Blowing smoke from a last cigarette. Weeks old. Years old. Three years ago. Blinded by searing glass and flesh. It all burns eventually and we fell in love when we hurt the most. A revelation.
Chapstick and incense.
Pull off every fingernail on your hands. With pliers.
Screaming ovation during a moment of silence.
What will your epitaph read.
Who will receive your best material possessions.
Is it nice or awful to know just what you want.
How to be content?
There is so much. I feel like I could make a considerable impact on the world.
Why aren't I?
What is the deal. Where are the crossroads and the devil and the deep blue sea. I want to sell my soul. For sake of my wellbeing.
I am lost.
The war is lost.
The city is lost.
These ghosts are lost. Wandering.
All trying to speak over each other about such trivial matters.
I can never enter that world, I realize.
They are not me. I am not they. We hate and intimidate.
I miss everything.
But I cannot regret.
My strife. My life I endure. These sun drenched retards. The scum of the earth. Cannot bring me down. Despite all of their intentions. I get mad. I get angry. I take it out on myself after one too many drinks and smoke myself stupid. Drinking and drowning in the desert.
What it feels like to drown nowhere near a natural water source.
Turn stupid and dull in a single instant. One whack to the skull, chipping off fragments like sedimentary rock. Go now, and far. Isn't it nice to know where you will be in one month, two? How to survive in that climate. How to push it away and then chase after it. This is how to start a wild fire. This is how to knock small chips into the wall and wake up, slapping ass and squeaking bed, sometime past 3 am on a tuesday morning. By Janus. Nothing you do makes much sense to my simple brain, young thing. Just go. Just leave. Listen to something until it dies then move to the next. Like sucking everything out of an apple. Tossing around the core and moving on. Using people like objects or puzzle pieces, filler in a larger picture. Find the puzzle you have been missing from. Perhaps it is in the sky. And in death you are reunited to make the greater picture. My god. You were the missing link. The hole in the ozone. There is no creator, only a fossil record. One day he intervened, after a few million years of natural evolutionary selection pressures... to increase the cranial capacity of some ancestor to us. To you. To me. Read me. Love me. Consume me as you do wine or bread. I am the parting sea and the departing future shipwreck. I travel at full speed towards flat vertical surfaces that I can spot in the distance. A human slingshot straight into a brick wall. Falling off of bridges. Dreaming about people you shouldn't. Made a mistake to tell me. I won't put it over you. I simply will never know why I was brought up. Perhaps someone misses me but doesn't tell me.
This is self experimentation. This is transformation. My wrist is sore from bass practice. My back is sore from homework. My brain feels like a wet washcloth. More like a put out fire. Was aflame. Burning and heating my blood. Suddenly drained of energy like a mop. Soak up water or something and let it ring. Shake shake shake shake. Where is the greatness? When can I do great things and work with children in need? A school tour? What the hell does that mean? A powerful message about drinking and driving. Blindness. Heartwarming stuff. Blowing smoke from a last cigarette. Weeks old. Years old. Three years ago. Blinded by searing glass and flesh. It all burns eventually and we fell in love when we hurt the most. A revelation.
Chapstick and incense.
Pull off every fingernail on your hands. With pliers.
Screaming ovation during a moment of silence.
What will your epitaph read.
Who will receive your best material possessions.
Is it nice or awful to know just what you want.
How to be content?
There is so much. I feel like I could make a considerable impact on the world.
Why aren't I?
What is the deal. Where are the crossroads and the devil and the deep blue sea. I want to sell my soul. For sake of my wellbeing.
I am lost.
The war is lost.
The city is lost.
These ghosts are lost. Wandering.
All trying to speak over each other about such trivial matters.
I can never enter that world, I realize.
They are not me. I am not they. We hate and intimidate.
I miss everything.
But I cannot regret.
My strife. My life I endure. These sun drenched retards. The scum of the earth. Cannot bring me down. Despite all of their intentions. I get mad. I get angry. I take it out on myself after one too many drinks and smoke myself stupid. Drinking and drowning in the desert.
What it feels like to drown nowhere near a natural water source.
Monday, April 2, 2012
April 2
One day from start to finish with all of the urgency of an overturned car with passengers inside. No thought to sleep with sugary sweetness, face the reality of potentially rotten, golden, teeth. 14 karats turn your skin orange; you are what you eat. Cleanse the palette and soak the paint brushes in paint thinner. Inhale deep and cleanse yourself as well. Use the feeling for artistic investment. Put the time in to translate an idea that cannot be spoken. Simply an idea for morons to get skewed results... Wow. He says. I feel so strange. In this familiar consciousness. One side effect is the recurring strangeness. The jokes and the attitudes that few seem to share. Shoot at a back board with no hoop. Illness overpower the will for personal improvement. And all day long from beginning to end I tooled with the poetic idea of isolation. We discussed prose as opposed to verse and spoke out in anger, on accident, at a reaction to a story. It was a nice story. My short fuse is for no one's benefit. My comments are gruff and taken as insults or put downs but it is nothing that I indeed. They laugh into their laps and have their own innuendos. They talk of a stalker. I volunteer as body guard. No one is talking to them. He is always talking to them. Trying to get it in? But I can't go on. All day I thought and wrote. I regurgitated vague and minute lecture details, I had a half flavor latte as I reviewed my notes, the watch in the mail, something ancient and familial. (earn the habit to look at a wrist and find nothing there. a forced habit). Sex positions and tv shows and poetry about trying to get up n the morning to the drab cocktail party where they will gossip and drool and feel self important discussing the finer things of life. They are all the same and they act like socialized, scoffing and chuckling, baffoons, clinking together wine glasses in false cheers to their own well being. To our affluence! And our growing, by the second, bank accounts. We are sapping the needy. Taking cuts from charity organizations and embezzlement. fasfdasfnd
Sunday, April 1, 2012
April 1
Tangerine, I'd like to see you perform. Or drive yourself to the coast with a trunk full of soap and fruit. Stolen goods from the hotel services. Drive towards me in your fucking car. Come lay down and count the number of slits on the ceiling the blinds cause from the blue safety light outside. An owl shaped mug and a pathetic attempt at reconciliation. No one knows. No one cares. Must work like a superhero today but first I must shake off the sleepless night. I am so damn tired. I don't know how I could make another show. But it's the freakin' Wonder Years! You have seen them more times than any other band. Last with NFG. Tempe. Prior somewhere in Portland I'm sure. Olympia. Tacoma. Not sure about Seattle. (The venues of old are closed and quarantined. Barely surviving our collective memory.) I'll decide later. When it is closer to show time. Otherwise I must study so fucking hard. I need proof of a deviant act. Playing the guitar in inappropriate places. What theories will I be testing? Hypothesis?
-----
Later in the day, about 5, I realize I did not earn my badge for the day. I will have to miss the kickass pop punk show of tonight. (Lonely Forest and Portugal. The Man next week. Okay.) This will be the first time I have chosen something else over a Wonder Years show when given an option. One of my favorites. I can't make it happen. Have to study, to perform.
Anyway. I went outside for the first time a little while ago with intentions to bring white paper to the lobby and to bring back paper with ink on it. Use their printers. But the computers were full. No room for me and my responsibility. Left a blank slate. Came back a blank slate. Half of those idiots were on facebook anyway. Frustrating. "I am just so unmotivated for schoool." says a half dressed. Half naked. Girl. With plans to get tan at sundown. Great bodies. Beautiful people. Socialized into their roles. A cesspool. Having been in my apartment, in my studies, in my own little world, all day long... I forgot where I was. I forgot what people were like. No one says hi to each other on the street here. That's weird. Weird is bad. Wired is good. Muscles and tattoos. Sunglasses and poor attitudes about sports and/or recycling. (they have too much recycling to recycle).
You were fooled man. That's your april fool's joke. Thinking you were away from it for a few hours. April fools. You are still in the hornets nest. Getting stung from all angles. Only living for lonely, self-improvement. Only a few friends. But I hate this lifestyle. That word too. "lifestyle" thanks george carlin. I can never use that word to my positive benefit. So deep in my own little world the outside, the immediate outside disappears, and I forget about how shitty everyone is around here. The cockiness projecting. The money. The filthy fucking money. The cars and rims. Volley ball. dropping classes like assholes. Fucking a.
-----
Later in the day, about 5, I realize I did not earn my badge for the day. I will have to miss the kickass pop punk show of tonight. (Lonely Forest and Portugal. The Man next week. Okay.) This will be the first time I have chosen something else over a Wonder Years show when given an option. One of my favorites. I can't make it happen. Have to study, to perform.
Anyway. I went outside for the first time a little while ago with intentions to bring white paper to the lobby and to bring back paper with ink on it. Use their printers. But the computers were full. No room for me and my responsibility. Left a blank slate. Came back a blank slate. Half of those idiots were on facebook anyway. Frustrating. "I am just so unmotivated for schoool." says a half dressed. Half naked. Girl. With plans to get tan at sundown. Great bodies. Beautiful people. Socialized into their roles. A cesspool. Having been in my apartment, in my studies, in my own little world, all day long... I forgot where I was. I forgot what people were like. No one says hi to each other on the street here. That's weird. Weird is bad. Wired is good. Muscles and tattoos. Sunglasses and poor attitudes about sports and/or recycling. (they have too much recycling to recycle).
You were fooled man. That's your april fool's joke. Thinking you were away from it for a few hours. April fools. You are still in the hornets nest. Getting stung from all angles. Only living for lonely, self-improvement. Only a few friends. But I hate this lifestyle. That word too. "lifestyle" thanks george carlin. I can never use that word to my positive benefit. So deep in my own little world the outside, the immediate outside disappears, and I forget about how shitty everyone is around here. The cockiness projecting. The money. The filthy fucking money. The cars and rims. Volley ball. dropping classes like assholes. Fucking a.
march 31
Black x on the back of each hand, distracting from conflict over the fence, on the receiving end of a bar tab, built up because metal solos make you want drink lots of beer. Accumulate interest. The long hair flying in the wind like a freakish banner. These deserted streets. Walk over a bridge and a tall block down passing a sketchy but well-lit section of road parallel to the highway. Graffiti covers things and I can't prevent thoughts of gang affiliations and almost regretted leaving the apartment unarmed, due to the predicament. It would have been confiscated at the door. I would have to use on rock or cactus branch on the way back. Walking like a broken-legged horse towards its shotgun wedding in the shed. In a hole it dug for itself. Jazz chords in progressive rock albums. The musical gurus that shift perspectives with intricate and improvised ideas (the simple idea of recording live with only a couple of tracks, requires you to be a genius musician. Now there is a difference between a band good on record versus a band live. The energy might be different. Or less talent than the fabricated parts reveal. Vocalist stinks maybe.) A work day. A mariner's game. Lost by one point. Did not work out. Knocked out presentation project. Magazine. Talk to part of family. A fragment of one whole. All five of them sleeping in the bed near the broken sink. It was fucked off of the wall. Jokes and educational videos, show up to this improve show high and you get in for a fraction of the price. That's weird. Radar went flaring up. Hostile tension grows like a fungus. (The show is unmissable so I must sleep now and get all of my shit down beforehand.) Study you fiend. Read and review and rewrite. Make it happen. The sociological evidence and a concrete theory to test. Make it happen stud.
Anything of sociological importance about my experiences today at the art festival?
Anything of sociological importance about my experiences today at the art festival?
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