June 30

I should be working at this moment. I feel devoid of meaning, lacking all resourcefulness. When pieces of paper lie about where my time is to be spent, legally. Then I drop an atom bomb on my chances for a ridiculous reconnaissance. (But I found out I was born on a wednesday). Why do I suck at talking to people when I am genuinely interested in them? Why do I worry about how I'm coming off... I realize the first impression was the best, without fail, therefore the hardest part is over. Go out to a baseball game. Kiss cam. Everyone in attendance aware of their awful team but screaming wild and stupid at the inevitable defeat. Though watching the mariner's cap twenty something runs against the rangers was awesome and filled my heart with hope. It is all possible. I failed in conversation. I'm new to the system and I still try to figure out my purpose in the environment. I'll be curious to know if I was needed during these few hours. I wonder aloud weekend plans! I cut off ties. I am alone here! Sell yourself! Be a salesman. Get the numbers, the contacts, piece it all together in perfect union. Let everything whim be fulfilled. And every pretty girl satisfied in conversation but there are gaps between what is thought and what is said. It is made very clear. But holy shit I am a smart kid. Why do I feel like I need to prove it? Or am I being hazed? I'll try to get the best opportunity. I wished her a good morning. Walked on. But returned. This coffee, here, made with care. I tried my best not to spill any on my shirt. (I nearly would have an extra 8.10 in my account. right now.) I'll try my best to keep this day as productive as it would have been. I could have added 32.40 to the account. To pay for the future date with a barista or two. My brain would not allow it to happen. I recoiled and fell into a pile before her powerful eyes. I exploded, internal. Have a great day. They say. I just embarrass myself further, feeling like I turned fully red. Spilling drinks and knocking candy or magazines off of shelves. How many times do I have to go in there before my tongue is able to articulate the right words? All this talk about finding the right words. I need to study a dictionary. Syntax and grammar and semantics. Study it all again, is my skull thickening? Or is this a different kind of learning? Why do I feel so stupid every day? Probably because I don't understand the working environment of a grocer and I hardly understand subtle differences created in protools. Feeling like a dumbass. But it's okay. This is where the real life learning comes in. Here is where I should learn about how to deal with people in real world environments. This is no longer a simulation and suddenly everything changes. It is pretty easy for me when I feel that warmth. That excitement for life and the endless possibilities in between. First and foremost I must continue to write and write well, with passion, daily otherwise my whole existence will crumble.

A sudden vision, while driving through a hot residential neighborhood, of a split scene in The Song Remains the Same where a gambling man's head falls off after his crew is shot up by gangsters with tommy guns, and rainbow colors spray out of his neck in thick streams. I look around, hoping there are no mind-readers in my immediate vicinity, though I knew that some people would be stoked on the reference. Until then I'll hide away all my old obsessions. (When did I become the bandwagon guy? What is this shit?)

I want to jump up and land miles away, in the ocean. Swimming strong with the current to increase my speed. It is all about momentum for me. When we lose it. I lose control of myself. I need everything happening at once, in cahoots, together, in unison. Everything laying itself out in front of me to successfully accomplish. I need to sing. To play. To write. To read. To talk. To smile. To swim. Sleep well and in regular intervals. Kiss the right girls. Play the right notes and learn where to fidn the best bass teacher in town. How to save money. Save monet.


How can I possibility save Monet?

---------

Enter the hotel california, speeding down bluffs and hair pin turns toward the ocean. The first time a sunny beach while residing. This is more than what I needed. The old california vibe with parrots flying overhead and fresh lemonade from the lemon tree close by, face stretched into a permanent tight smile but she is endearing and lovely. We agreed that neither of us would ever want to live beyond our own means. (if big money is made, give it away or save it for adventures there is no need to stockpile garbage and let it build it over the years. my own sentimental crap does not have to exist forever).

bring me the black lights and the beer cans. Lets lay in bed and watch a movie. The black light on the stereo. The fan overhead. A small, harmless screen. The lighting will be sufficient for our burning eyes. Shed your skin and peel back those scars. They won't appear anymore. It's up to you to bring them up. Acknowledgement of past truth, or just allow a shallow understanding of past. Because, after all, we are all in present, standing with two feet below our bodies. Or laying in a beautiful tangle under the sheets as the movie continues.

Censorship. Animal planet.
Mets beat the Dodgers.
They dodged victory.
Sex ed.
Beach towels.
"To meditate on something or to be vacant"
Obvious eye contact.
Toothpick and peppermint.
"I'm stealing these."
A big smile returned.
80 days give or take until I can enter that new scene.
With long blonde hair.
mine will be styled.
with saltwater spray
and sand mites.
writing so blunt.
nearly hit someone.
let them hit me.
laugh at hysterical concepts.
a teddy bear and a little boy.
vivify.
"outings vivify learning for children"
sheltered case. will this kid be saved?
I see myself at his age.
Smoking and drinking
incredulous.
Continue hating the taste in your throat
the feeling in your lungs
child.
you will become a doctor
and save the world
while we swim in the shallows.

june 29

run and studio, getting exhausted beyond comprehension. this was not a relaxing day. or was it? do I feel rewarded, after two candy bars and a peace tea. diet. have your hands cleaned before you touch anything that belongs to me. I am too tired to keep clicking. the distorted minds unflding and flinching about designs so meaningful. all that picky preparation. tiny things. a or b.

June 28

Fill me in again why there are mountains. I twisted my tongue. I spoke in tongues. My stereo is still busted. I need to fix it. I need to also fix myself. Keep it all under control. Keep the interactions in tact. Why make everything awkward when we are totally normal people. Tell jokes about psychiatry. I just want to jump into a cold pool with you. I want to feel the appeal of a day well spent. By your side. In rhythm with your breathing the stars pulsate and the sun shines hard down on our young bodies. We are nothing but bodies and sometimes you have to settle for less.


-------

Make money and work out the body. Did I work out the mind? Testing weaknesses for breaking points. Falling in love with every young woman I see. There is a bridge to gap. To conquer. Everyone in between means so little. I'm still here. There were interactions I'd love to repeat and refine. Quicker reaction time and snappier responses. Something that is all at once endearing, pleasant, comical, forward, and heart-warming. All of the right words in the right order with the perfect pacing in order to accurately communicate. Hope to achieve some level of this greatness so I don't have to spend so much time re-writing conversations in my head, never to be repeated again. (Did say, hey let's start over?' which was certainly a good sign). Get that chemical reaction from the timbre of a voice. Behold the beauty in (turgid) sentence construction. Verses that have intellectual white noise instead of stimulation. How many times can I say 'okay. now have a nice day?' before dying of repetition. Blonde, blue eyes, there is an availability. (I guess I owe you a guitar lesson.) Good luck finding a better buyer. I stocked the candy shelves and waved at my new team. Fools, damn fools, some of them. But they think I am a funny guy perhaps. I can take the jokes for as long as I need to. Eventually I'll throw the ball back into their court. I was ridiculed but that is okay. I probably brought it on myself. Whenever I feel too comfortable in a situation I normally resort to that kind of humor. But whatever the case, I am juggling 50 objects. Some soft and light. Some sharp and heavy. At risk of horrible physical destruction and disfigurement if anything falls apart in my arms. I could not risk to have a finger removed. (let a friend borrow my old drum set. call it frankenstein. make it come alive). Cereal for dinner. But I just did not feel like eating too much due to my fulfilled ravenous appetite the day before. Time for me to take a break and sleep it all off for awhile. All of the musical confusion. My god, why can't we get the emails to work?

I digress. And then I digress. This was originally about the seeking out of confidence. The ability to create a brand new personality that puts all others (of the past) to shame. Because all we have is now and all we ever have is now. There is no space in between for intervention. It is do or die daily. Determinant on the outcome you either live a little better or worse each day. Fuel me, baby. You had chocolate on your lips. (Not the same, the body-model who had a creamsicle eating contest as a younger girl.) brain freeze. it happens to me. I stand staring and realize I'm staring and try to find words or any act of subterfuge. Are you aware or asleep? We are not the walking dead. Why confront them with a problem when it is probably fixable in the morning. Just don't forget, procrastination. (tit job, gettng implants. but why?) I thought she was a letter away.. just stay oh stay. hair like lions mane, there are darker spaces, splotches of sloppy past, we all contribute to the same narrative. But I care not about mine! I am moving forward towards an exponential realization of progress.

"To hinder another's progress is inhuman."

Find myself stories above where I am today. But I must put the work in. 

June 27

Finding beauty at obvious disconnection. She is planes above me, in the stratosphere. It is true, a dangerous woman, with beauty, culture, intelligence and an attitude of confidence. Speaking japanese at the table with friends, feeling fat at the end of another eating contest. I feel fat, slow, lethargic. Where is all of my team spirit? Get back on the wagon. Exercise, train. Gym, bass. Get great at all things. Voice. Writing. Learn.

Buy books and read them. Learn about theory. Learn about the world. Challenge the brain the intellect. It is dangerous to allow oneself to vegetate for even a few moments. It becomes comfortable. A tic. A consciousness to fall into when the rest of the body doesn't agree. Retain that natural energy. The byproduct of a productive day. We need to believe that what we are doing is right!

Do more. Be more. Swim. Write. Create. Do it. Do it.

Irony in these messages. I fell less inclined to write now than to recline and sleep. There is something disgusting in that, considering the days away. Were they the same day? We ran through sets. Dreamed up sexes. Called the shots. Had lunch and dinner over there. I stayed there last night. Laundry mishap. Feeling so stupid and dull. Come on now. Think up those genius ideas once more and actually execute them. Remember where you are and where you are headed. Be ready for it.

June 26

Disposable earplugs for lonely company. They are heartless with their negative intent. Riding the crest of the wave. I understand where my writing is not important. On the underbelly of bridges or where no one will ever see. On the television for the blind. Grandeur of delusion. Feel the collective energy pacing around us like a wolf stalking a victim. Argue over the status of music. Of two guitarists on stage. Of presence. Of execution. General anxiety. Play for the bartenders. They are indifferent. But it's a famous stage. We are starting from the ground but then all positive contributions from the individuals are masked by the collective goal of everyone tied together. We stomp on each others feet. I am anxious for some reason. I just feel like my voice won't get heard. I feel like a puppet. That gold, the carrot dangling on a string, the money motivation. Enough to survive. Not to buy multithousand dollar entryway. Enough for food. Minimum wage. Pay my own way. Save the rest. Spend what I make but save what is given to me in order to begin systematic payback. I guess I'll do what is necessary.

- - - -

the dumbass over-privilege honor student. the difference of consciousness, I allowed myself to be elsewhere while the present surrounded me, covering open space like water. I was vacant at the dinner table, selling tickets for classes in self respect, the lifeless arms and brainless talents apparent in some minor walks of life, from here to the door for example. Into the flood. Selling my pockets. Why is this stupid? Asking why there is comfort in knowing everything.

Mixing together pieces of our ears into one solid mixture. Laying down between tiles on a pathway to the fountain. the pond. of youth. a wishing well to be honest. Nervousness when a new girl invades the life. sounds like garbage and failed studio etiquette. Hear the notes individual, tied in with a handful of harmonies. There are too many clues offering up to success. We just need the patience to know everything about each individual song, trying out new experimentation, getting fat tones, proceeding with the mixes until late, early morning hours, prior to a band practice with fans in attendance, definitely necessary to warm up voice in shower after laundry fiasco, blame on the marijuana, the stupidity drug in some instances, but no, it was simple neglect, rinsing out the sunshine from beneath motorcades, Ridiculous strengths realized and somehow it all, every moment, become progress toward an infinite goal. Considering the sources of income. Erase the changes. Everything in between

June 25

Flesh burned like branding cattle, the sun was not forgiving on our shielded flesh. There was no shade to extinguish the process of baking, of skin cells flaking off, muscles and tendons splitting and curling up in automatic reflex or severance, but the sky will not open up as skin cancer cells are born, we are in this alone more than disallowing verticle changes, your own fantastic reveries break through into mine and we are both left confused yet wired, eyes huge to embrace the impact of all surrounding features. We deserve every sense amplified and every poor voice drowned out by something pure and positive. Good riddance to the eternal cowboys, the men living in past existences forgetting the cycle of consciousness, the meteorites impacting time, like flies electrocuting themselves, exploding into atoms, we are simple and effective like these devices. We are moths to flame. The flame is existence but we have control over every step towards fire. Tied to this existence but perhaps born through the cyclical reappraisal... Fire up their hearts and fill them with hope because we are not locked into this struggle towards fire. There is water to fill our lungs in between.

Eye contact with something endearing and pretty. They are the approachable. The most attractive ones, profiling them with stoned countenance, sometimes forgetting the name of the mission. What's the score here? What's next? Jamming out to their favorite bands, close by, if you like this listen to this. My band. Good times on the shoreline plateau. Though your voice was barely audible over the cacophony, the snare drum echo off of the monster vert ramp, the microphone tricks and spin, throwing guitars straight into the air, having a greater time than thought possible...

the hectic weekend. drained after concert. late night sleep, early morning airport journey and into job training, from 5:30 to 1 pm. Having bought shoes with the money earned sitting in a classroom. If I was only paid by the state for my grades, my god! Slept for a few hours. Drank whiskey and ate barbeque, cracking multitude of inappropriate jokes, semi-delirious and even more obscured by drinks. Ended up walking home from the party, near midnight. Trying a new flavor black n mild. breaking my edge but it hurt my throat and gave me terrible breath for two days. It tasted like chocolate and I felt it was appropriate to inhale for full effect, under the stars as witnessed. I leaned against a fence in a quiet neighborhood, hiding from cars, paranoid they would tell on me.

june 24

Take home girls to mother. Awkward phrases in situations that don't make me uncomfortable but everyone else is shied off by my demeanor. We went backstage but the view sucked and we did not meet anyone too special. But we skipped out on lines. Gave out shades, received ear full of great music and felt tan lines emphasize, besides. Go into that new creation. That new morning high. Feeling too much of it and a little bit weary and out of control. Anti-climactic because there is no mud wrestling or car horns. There are no crazy shenanigans. Boobs here and there. Girls who live in the moment never thinking about photography and national television. Turn down a possiblity to be interviewed. Worry. Worry. Listen to guitar solos. Watch them rock out.

June 23

The day after complete exhaustion sets in, that scattered feeling of quick delivery. If it doesn't happen immediately than it seems it may never. Countless hours spent in confused acceptance of the confusion. There are so many things to learn and settling with a brief description of life events can suffice for the time being. The depth comes later. In dark rooms, alone. There was a fear of being crushed by motor vehicle on the blackened streets at the late hours between a saturday night and a sunday morning. The arrested movement and the slow motion convenience store exchange. There is a guilt overwhelming. But no one will know. It will eat at me like a cancer but there is no reason to tell a lie if I never allow myself the excuses of a long weekend, a new flavor, a drunken ambition and a convenience beyond normalcy. The opportunity will never present itself again in such a fashionable light. It burned my throat and my lungs, walking brisk through the night, the spiders develop webs straight down from the overhanging branches, and I walked right through them. Wondering what creatures I may have introduced to my ecosphere in the rented prism. There is nothin but water and juice although a night cap in several sense sounds rather right at this moment. The night is perfect for a rekindling of passion. For a refuel, a battery recharge. What will I draw up tonight? Will there be plans for a distant, yet vaguely concrete future? Will there be sleighbells through the speakers, illustrating our arrival? No sense worrying about the perfect english grammar. There are beauties involved in the glaring mistakes that make characters so endearing.

I flew through a transition on the dark stage in the dim lights. There is evidence of the transformation. When we release the music as the opiate for the masses, the skull-numbing, brain-melting, patterns and currents that explore the darkest recesses of human minds without taking anyone from a good to a bad place. There is only a soundtracke with bittersweet intent that accumulates over time as the memories burn themselves into retinas and reserve banks of recollection. There are many stacks of files. We never access all of them. At once at least. There would be too many people buried in warm nostalgia. Or cold regret.

File cabinets topple over like dominoes.

June 21

He rests his eyes on a fine point in the distance, comfortable in the sun, with a head full of acid. There is no darkness, only beautiful spaces between all of the moments in the open air. All is colorful music, eye-opening scents, filling his nose with flavors of the earth. He meditates peaceful thoughts and wonders the root of our existence. How inebriated he must be to write his masterpiece? He has dark black hair of a stallion but it changes in waves like tinted windows on a limousine reflect light. Having the breath to back a forgetful morning. Good luck with your day, tripping through triplets and stumbling down stairs into backroom cellars, looking for booze. Weird associations in his head, constantly bombard him but he sways with the emotional wreckage, accepting these translations. Mailboxes remind him of his dead brother. The house fire sent to him through a faint whisper in the air. Someone was talking about the weather and how the clouds looked like fiery cotton swabs, yellow and orange, burning over the center of the city in a mushroom cloud. There are tie-dye shirts everywhere, flowers for guns, especially with the police involved. He vaguely remembers goals he must achieve but lets his mindset erase these concerns with ease. "There is no way to accomplish anything now," he thinks, "Let yourself enjoy this free-moment before you are settled again into the awful crushing reality beyond today." Dancing on fingertips, the floating up of dead memories from a foggy shoreline, there was no sun the day he went to the beach. So many dogs walking and running and pissing. Lay down a towel on the concrete and let the cars lap over you like waves crashing. There is no pain, he thinks. This is a magic carpet and the ride will take me into sun. I will spend my sunrise recollecting my sunset. Here, on the top of mountains, the little village shimmers happily with laughable security. He can do anything and this invincible feeling should not disappear once he comes down. If he grasps it right, everything will forever remain beautiful. The sky will appear so many colors and the scientists who invented the potion will be forever indebted to his grateful, peaceful, empathy. He feels everything with a wince.

jun 20

Today, on the first day of summer I barely have energy to move by the end. early morning psychosis in the parking lot, then the cafe buried inside the aisles, the job training, the blonde hair a letter away from cutie, so the hell what I might be a romantic. A slob. Purchasing clothes for the job, filing paperwork then singing and playing music for a number of hours. eating. repeating. talking, discussing. gossiping. talk about phone pranks, the best and worst. the taxi company that used to have a number similar to mine. no longer get many calls from them which is unfortunate. that was fun. i never actually went to go pick someone up! why the hell not! two girls getting it on through the phone. just as the doctor ordered. I hope I have time to think tomorrow. the only sound in my head is white noise and bass thumping

june 19

Hear through walls, yelling at the television. I'll have to get up early again and make it happen. (Something sports. Probably basketball. Yelling to increases their chances of success.) Paper thin walls. I am adjacent but invisible. Have not yet jumped into the pool. I can't say what the big idea is. Unheated. Needing a refresher. Going to the top. I feel useless. Exhausted. Drained. my body and voice tired. I am hungry and have no where to go.

---

Mental refreshments of tea and a quiet. Just in case someone is watching I dosed the lights. Nothing even flickers in the still air. Hands are sore from working. Torn up fingernails, skin picking and peeling away in painful fragments. Evidence of progression. Those courageous back-lash flesh wounds. When a spike is shoved beneath the nail. Drive it home to the source. There are flaming eyes and a deranged mind. I don't know if I feel captivated by the cheeky allure of a bedside book. The author knows he is clever and let's us know he knows. The confidence and cocky nature of his writing never undermines the content. Be humble and happy. If you create great things, be unaware. Too busy in a fury of further creation to become full of yourself. There is time for achievement but now is the time to create. Never let it get to your head. Write with your heart. Hands being the translating device between mindful thinking and execution. Always test yourself and push further. Into deeper talents. Never writing a boring story. Juxtapose your great ideas with actuality. Never let someone tell you what to do. (let me check my wardrobe) He's a nice guy but some days I think of him as the devil himself. The death of music and the reintroduction of glam. We need the raw talent before we put make up on.

"cry in sudden disbelief"

Jazz guitar influence? Let's see it.

Bury those outside opinions. It's great music. that strange feeling of being swept away by a tide is not bad just foreign. unbelievable that suddenly there is an image to maintain. warm me up to it. looking good is not as important as playing good. (out here it is, someone will say.) I will respond, let's move the fucking band then. Some strange arrangement. Venues are bars out here. Shit job to keep it happening. No romantic relationships. Whoops. Maybe something special will happen that allows me to stay through the year. 

june 18

headache washes away in gentle waves, falling on small rocks made smaller. I met an angel. I met the devil. We had our ashes mixed up and shared close breathing. Crawl space under the back deck where, hideously, animals end up getting caught and dying. Too morbid for this late monday. Woke early to the sounds of rustling bushes. Clanking of dishes. The involvement of others in my own life. We are separated by a thin wall. We both can here all. Sleep on the ground, bro. Casanova with your convertible chevy. Sunglasses made specific for your face. Warped tour nostalgia. An insanity that has no boundaries. Campgrounds farther than the eye can see. The idea of returning seemed so damn casual this time. Instead of checking in. We checked out. I ran. I lifted. I ran again. Light boxes and cataracts. The double plexi, standing on cracking ice. Shelves of it across the atlantic to crash barges into. Read a bit. Visited the bank. (remember the slip of paper in my backpack). headache lead me into a daze and I am forcing the words. My apologies world. I cannot continue. Sleep is necessary. I will write in the morning.

June 17

With coffee and velocity backing me, there is no telling my destination today. (happy father's day). Imagine the possibility of meeting beautiful women to share the covers with. Listen to fan click. Explore unfurnished houses, still frames of wooden beams, mansions on the inside of coves at the end of a peninsula on a lake. Feel the heat from my faulty wiring. The lights flicker when I plug too many things in. I have the bed and the availability but no one would like to join. "problem with living alone is I would get bored and lonely" says the pierced lip singer. he has nothing to worry about, singing in his hollywood closet to stay fresh. Wouldn't it be nice, though, to have some strangers to talk to? Let's discuss ethics and how to handle bouts of depression. Two beautiful blondes in a mercedes, they shot me looks but I was on the phone with an old friend, somehow I had to let that opportunity slip. (What would I have done!) I know they overheard me say, with long legs in shorts, tank tops or ripped muscle shirt, I imagine a flannel design somewhere in this, 'but I don't talk to anyone anymore. and that's fine. I just want to get good at everything and people sometimes are just distractions. Think of all the people you've already met... Need any more?" (here I embellish the idea, embossed by a setting, me talking pretty outside the reading/learning/success center with my tail between my legs, pacing back and forth from shade to sunlight, I watched them drive away with a sad smile. Wondering, through the tint, what they thought of poor old me. Poor old infinite stardom rock band me, pacing in the sun, apparently talking to someone important... they made two passes while I spoke. First I sent good vibes, a tingling smile, something crooked with the right angles in attempt to make them stop dead in their tracks. A look that says, I will hang up this phone call with god immediately if you come home with me now. The second pass was a more quiet, anxious, resignation. I understood my first visions were hallucinations and I would end up alone on this phone again. Unsettled and spiritless in the hot, farmer's market, sun. The clogged artery sun. the shopping center sun.) There was hot caffeine in my blood then as well. Just as the doctor ordered. But where now are the beautiful ladies to use this energy to talk to? Would you like to get some coffee with me? You're wonderful. Have a nice day in your high and mighty palace that only rich boys with old money can enter (safely). We are the dissenting villagers outside of your castle. Drawbridge up. The knights with money for gifts are let it while everyone else sleeps. Go ahead, ghost ships setting sail. We are the mutiny on the sea. The captain walks the plank and everyone ends up dying, adrift and directionless, at sea, a giant body of water, that swallows insolence without mercy. There are people who deserve it. Cut me off, stranger. I am a defensive. (I can hear an owl in the morning fog). I wonder what exotic or toxic creatures await me at the beach. The future beach. That golden tan, body-building dog beach... bikinis and heat. there are no rules here. Too many dogs. Don't drink the ocean water. Will I meet that famous singer? Will I take home an actress and brag to my friends? Is my wife out there?

----------------

12 hours later. And this is where my life begins. 

June 16

Under the shadow of the bodhi tree, meditating perfection and visualizing aspects of an entertaining live show. Impossible visions if mottled with vodka-sweat or thc-attached braincell mutation. Must be clear and tired. Laying vertically spinning nauseous with the pace of the world magnetic pull spin. Noxious gases, realizing the religious experience everyone must feel when entering space. But there is no sound for a muslim call to prayer. Like one man summits everest (sigarmatha) with the doobie brothers playing 'jesus is just alright' every step of the way the last few hundred feet. Hours of work to achieve these feet. Sheer altitude and exhaustion. Must take a step every few minutes to conserve energy. At this point you are in another dimension and the mind races to capture enough fuel to make it without allowing the amassing snow to sound comfortable. Blood turns to ice and inhaling is potentially disastrous due to icicles forming in the lungs or the throat. If they don't melt they will pierce through vital organs. Becoming a snow man. every winter. Come to life and melt.

I visualized where I would be in six days. On stage again. A real stage. Real music. Real people. Lunatics and wranglers. Try to steal my heart out from under me. But I'm here for art and for fun and for parties and booze. Let me live out my healthy fantasies under the beaming sun. There is time to careful preparation and spark notes. There is time for improvisation and sweating bullets that rain down onto the audience like hail storm. Everything will be just fine for me. I've made enough friends. There are enemies here everywhere. Must not let any of them penetrate our defenses. We are a solid army. We all visualize the experience and the lights and confusion. Confetti cannons aimed at our heads. Let's forget we exist for awhile and fall rhythmically into the cadence. The same one kerouac felt with his bop musician days 80 years ago. The same one hunter thompson explains during his times on motorcycles in gangs. Surveying gangs. That same pulse that keeps drums beating somewhere in the jungle forests. Thick tribal beats that no one in the modern world understands anymore. We are immune to all of that.

June 15

Looking back on my art. My god I'm out of practice. Like coping out of print vinyl in a used section of amoeba. (Mother, go to your ocean. It is so close. I was invited to try surfing. Your cousin. My mother's cousin. My aunt? Or also my cousin. Blood? Migration?) There is a pass and a twenty minute divide. No job allowed in this household full of choked laughter and awkward blessings passed between the more tense individuals. Sibling rivalry and a shit-talk father. Sometimes they all get like that. Having much less to do than talk about achievement. No more room for achieving. Jupiter has engagement rings. No one know how hard you tried to take it back. But we are here. The studio. Do they want to relocate once again? Or is there something in the air that everyone breathes? Quitting the cigarettes. Making him anxious. We want to practice they want to discuss things. Keep the meetings separate or separate your face. Good heart soul and you are a grand dad of electric speeches. Going off on tangents others seem to lose track of. I try my best to be polite and to be respectful. I wish nothing better for them but I feel like they've all strained themselves to move out here, friendless. A house is not a home. I am also lost. Similar mindset in my skull. Where are my friends? Will anything happen other than a closer band with the band? I haven't even talked to anyone else. Margeritas and fajitas by candlelight. Watch the dogs wrestle like a television match. Worthy to bet over. Herald your cloaked masking tape. hear my gregarious hamstring. there is no meanig here, boy. you are less than on your own suspended beneath the two largest suspension bridges. pass out while writing I wonder if i can get again a complete thought. eyes are closing and this is entirely too difficult to maintain

June 14

7/8 jam for fifteen minutes, lost in translation, the inevitable cues tying us together in sonic profusion. We use big words with big mouths. Count your teeth with the tip of your tongue and make sure you are all put together for that twin sized bed. Remember you shared one with me? And did you? Watching fear and loathing in candlelight, enlightening voices, we clogged our arteries with each others hearts. Too much for such a small bed in a small room with concrete floors. (the other painted her ceiling on adderral). First night waking naked next to her, spilling my guts the night prior. The morning, over coffee and awkward feeling of betrayal. No I did not try to take advantage. We were both immune to each other. Falling over ourselves in embarrassed appreciation of one another, including self-deprecation. (these days, what use getting drunk in a closed environment? the damage will catch up with us eventually. hydrate. stay warm. sweating and emotional. we cannot keep this pace up forever and ever.) Then again. This pace will not change. It may never. I remember warm scenes from nearly two years ago. We were kids in love. College treated us like angels. The low end hurt our eyes but we survived. I wish you the best. Jewelry being your attribute. Something money making and lighting up lives in marriage and counseling. You are being sent good vibes right now. I speak to you candid, as we traversed to the coast with a keg. Put a sweater and a hat on it and took swigs. I was the responsible driver yet again. I have done this before. Have a nice day again. Your hair looks great and your atmosphere is smoothed out like a hairpin turn. Or a switch back from a desert trail. We chase our tails between our legs. Hallucinate the rain and open our mouths to it. "I can offer you fresh ears" Let us bask in the glorified remembrance of days high in mexican restaurants as the only customers for miles surrounding. Let us get inside the cadence again. Let me pull apart the seems that separate me from that time. The fabric of time separating. We annoy each other. My god it worked! I'd be happy to wake up in your arms one night a year and 3/4 ago. (just cuz I dont wanna war with you dont mean go warm up the barbeque). I'd be happy to fall into that scene for a moment of lapsed consciousness. (listen to bus driver). sweeping loneliness. I am stuck in a room with a spoiled dog who barks at me simply because I am in here. Go ahead and do your worst. I am immune. Someday this will pay off. I don't have doubts about my place here now but I wonder when I will meet people. For now it's all bass. It's music and it is preventing death by malnourishment. I can still hold you in my arms in my dreams. I can still feel you breathing on me. I am here and you are there and we can never go back to that black dress dorm room fantastic. Pouring baking soda on the ground. Drinking around back. Campus security have no power. Smoking until the fire alarm squeaks then batting away at the smoke from the door. How the hell did I get here? Last time I check I was living in Broadway. - - - - - but it is still easy to change from resting to waking state than the opposite. any sound keeps me awake when I try. but every sound wakes me up early in the morning. a ridiculous hour day and have I spent it well. jinx me to fail at a bass solo. but I'm sure I won't. you said it. I am prideful. It can't happen. Cover it well. Play it 200 times before the show. Same with the synchronized singing parts. wearing water plugs for those. sleeping at the studio again. did I pay money for a good reason? expensive cost for a nice dorm room. a bachelor pad. bustling musician. off to band practice. never came back. left his shit. I am too tired to stand or play or sing anymore. my voice was wrecked earlier. I wish you were here to share this twin bed and tell that it is okay I am not at home.

June 13

Manipulate the schema in my head and redirect those routes so I only dream of nice things. Nothing perverted or Freudian. I want to dream about flying over the grand canyon with widespread wingspan. A whole city on my back, in rocking chairs and canes, or bibs and cradles. The teenagers let go long ago. Fallen completely into the void, jeans with chains or now the day glow, drug addict spiral. Infinite quest to be twig-like.

I want to dream about watching trees grow in a matter of minutes. Calling animals to my sides and placing tokens of appreciation into their hands. We are connected aren't we? We've done enough harm, haven't we? I want to dream about botany and the names of plants or trees. Whatever is natural growing and indigenous around here. I couldn't begin to express the names of all of lush green scenery. It is beyond me entirely. But all around me. Forces at work beyond my manipulation. Unless I crash directly into them. Spiral myself into that web. That superhuman spiderweb tied up beneath the golden gate bridge to prevent jumps. Worse is the forest that compels you to end. A silent spiritual hell. Your soul becomes locked away from all of the wasted lives clogging your arteries in the air you breathe. Terror pure and simple. I cannot allow any section of my dreams to delve into that mess.

I can think about conversations. About music. Dream in symphony. Cue the lights and the stage curtain drops leaving us all blissfully exposed because we are performers we are used to this anxious feeling. A show, my god. Approaching faster than light speed radon. harlot in her sleeping palace thinks about me as she tosses and turns. juxtapose her position beneath my own and let those wishes become fulfilled. beyond consciousness where we can transcend space and time, tearing wholes through the fabric continuum. the static solution to problems time traveling.

ran into old town calabasas. and it was nice. looked like a great place to bring a date for dinner or to wander. clean appearance. the world's last bookstore. wonder when I will enter. where will there be a prize for my efforts. suddenly everything changed and I am not who I used to be. I am in transition. A prototype of a new version of myself. All other versions failed but together building up to the awesome climactic center found in all. good gracious. manager does not believe we will need jobs with the way he believes our band will explode. I am not money motivated. I am survival motivated. I am guilt motivated. I cannot be so far in debt... I am told that I must find a job. Then I am told I must just pay them once I start making big bills. Why not start on my own now? I will pay them back later anyhow. Let them not worry. I will make it just fine. 40 bucks left until new bank transaction. interview tomorrow morning. but no no. this is too real. make for boring dreams. no dreams of monetary values. i want to make music and become great and love everything and experience the world. i only want to make enough money to survive well on the road. buy car parts if necessary without asking the parents for help. suddenly, realizing I may be able to pay my own way through the remainder of my college. (no UW acceptance quite yet). but hey. fuck money. it corrupts and ruins everything. we made it all up in the first place. prestige is limited.

I just want to fill my eyes with wonder. I want to do big things. I want to be creative and keep my feet solid on the ground. Playing great music everywhere without anyone telling me what to do about that commercial hit. But hell! Why not go all the way! However necessary! I am so resistant because I do not want to write with intentions to conform. Entirely. I hate to think that any member of the band writes simply because they believe the song to be radio friendly.

Dream of water in the air. Falling into the sea again. I am alive and something is happening in the molecules all around me. A kind of leniency? 

June 12

Push the shine, glass towers reflecting characters imagined but never fully realized. I am a stifled writer thrown into a world of musicianship and hours of sitting quietly, listening to subtleties in music and letting the wind blow passed me on the beaches. I don't have the ears. I have the eyes. The nose. A gritty and full sounding tone of all of the years spent in studios. 12 hour days of practicing guitar scales. Until fingers bleed and nothing else is real. Disappearing world. Point of view. Other. Deep other. We are gone and we are forgotten. (no phone calls to friends or family. this has consumed me.) No car. Longboard to job interview like a failure. Actual delay. No words to give to awkward old friends. I am tired. I am sad-jawed. My bone structure felt infected. Like it all warps under my depressed temples. There are conversations and motives all around me I will never udnerstand. I hang around. I hang around. There is money dangling. Where else should I be? I should be writing peacefully or reading the Great Gatsby on my queen-sized bed. Listening to Annuals or something soft and heart strong. Like that. (always shred better in the dark) Fuel that unknown source. A hole in the ground. Spew it all out and let the ground soak up extra expenses. Bass fingers sore. Evidence of progress. Having guilty flashes based on lack of movement. (no exercise. hit the weights after job fair). Underneath the bridge under the highway waiting to score a job with my southern brethren. Watching language in presence of elders. (that reverb and delay. never picky until now) watching language unfold in poetry tomes. tombs of poets. flowers grow more brightly and more delicately under the sunrise. sunshine on the pedals. the water running red or black with ink blood. grab a newspaper and unfold it to block your eyes from your target. they won't recognize you with your hat brim down. you will kidnap them.

kissing your apartment goodbye. it lasted a while but did not feel like a long time. suddenly you are as suspended as I am. moving back to different places around the world. chapter closes. lose relationships. beautiful and meaningful relationships. but why. all this separation anxiety? does it mean a damn thing. I think about purple hair and wonder why anything had to happen. a homeless man compliments me on the affection I show for a girl otherwise outside of me. broken glass in the blue.

june 11

sounds of children playing across the street. parked facing downhill. the sun has yet to burn off the smog and clouds but it will and I will sweat in my jeans and long sleeve tee. contemplate what it meant to be a child in the reckless mornings, the gridiron playground with evergreens serving as bars between us and the cruel harsh adulthood looming beyond the iron curtain. We will grow up with adderal in our hearts and never become tired for selfish reasoning. There are bones that cannot break, our fragile skulls, forgetting every crush on the playground, bone marrow, there are infinite children, good and bad, they will repress these memories and pass them off as silly childish games. I never grew out. I am still throwing rocks at trees by the creek. I am still searching for a reason for the laughter and why the world seems to stop spinning at the sight of an angel. Controversy and long flowing blonde hair. We realize we are immune to all of that potential. Go play. Learn what to touch and what not to touch. Hurt yourselves in ways that will teach rather than maim. Hard headed, knuckles against the floorboards. We feel good with this.

June 10

10-40-11

Crushed a poor spider soul but out of dominance. I was the master of its fate. A lethal bite from his cousin might be deserved. Mess up words because of a blockage in the brain. Blood flow could not get past. Earn someone commission. Finding the missing lunatic. All I care about is if she can still paint. Every unfinished thought can be expressed through the medium of fine art. Give her some postcards to imitate and amaze. Emulate real life while staying inside. Awful stormy out there anyhow. We speak in perfect grammar around these parts. Keep the collection golden and sputtering. Criminal minds take the seat out of old car. Thieves in black in the black night looting and stealing from an old married couple. Build up fences to keep the misses feeling safe. But something happened and it must have been an act of desperation. Of drug fiend lunacy. A loss of reality. They are in the streets stealing from those who dream of the terror outside. We put up barbed wires to keep them out. Mount cameras and other systems. A salesman takes ridiculous advantage, laughing, digs himself a grave made of fire. There are few clean souls here. The first conversation with a stranger, he/she will lie to you 3 times. The moral side of the brain left undamaged perhaps. Can you leave with your dignity in tact after that attack? Push yourself away from the pain. There is no use for it other than an early warning sign that you have bad habits or that your body is breaking. (gym membership for body maintenance. feel confident only after a couple hundred reps.)

Sitting on a queen sized bed under a reversible fan. Elliot smith on the stereo (the aux input damaged from bumps in the road or some small impact with another object) Van gogh painting to my right. Replaced a native image of children in a kitchen. The spectacular thing being the beam of light through the window. Fantastic understanding of light and shadow. Though the image is of shabby clothed people taking on the appearance of beggars. I'd rather think abstractly (curvacious flowers) than have to sleep under a moral message. I have morals somewhere.

"When should we listen to you. When should we tune you out?"

Joke too often and there is no foundation for relations. Get serious and the jokes become bigger and more damaging. Find a happy medium between cognition and fantasy. Sarcasm is great. Creative input is greater. I came across as a jackass. A jokester who wants to impress everyone. I did want to impress everyone. But then, annoyingly, I underplay strengths... Drummers can't be drum techs. Why the hell not? We all become specialized in certain aspects. I dream of becoming good at everything. Where did my artistry go? I dreamed of drawing beautiful pictures of people I used to love. Beach sunsets and tents near campfires. Roasted marshmellows. Drank some beers, told scary stories, heard rustling in the bushes and had sex by candlelight. Is this reality? Is this dream? Where did I meet you? Somewhere in between? Question every fact and every feeling. Seeing is believing. then believe we have lost our eyes. kill the lights and the massage parlor becomes provocative. back sore like lifting boulders up to the sky, sharpening them just right. Is there anything I could make with my hands and coordination that people believe to be created by aliens? (rock formations, pyramids... all the inscriptions in dark cave walls covered in soot and ashes.) Convince me that something is out there. It is all entirely possible. It is all entirely possible. Don't be convinced you are right. It is all entirely possible. even the most ridiculous idea or premonition could find its way into historical fact. ask yourself how you got to where you are and wonder what you would have thought about that a few years ago...

I am proud.

june 9

Psychotic break that began with tech problems. Stubborn enemies with computers. Everything falls apart when there is no enough disk space to keep to HD videos updated. How on earth can I ever have enough space? Nothing deletes. I'm just waiting in line. Camera plugged in. I want to trouble shoot myself. Just work for me. Don't make me sit and pull out my hair in a fit of rage. My back hurts from staying in the same place nearly all day. I'm trying to open up some space so I can breathe. My computer needs to be backed up. Or everything is gone. Why is it so hard to understand? Where is the easy money? I can do this. I'm sure of it. I can't fill up my entire hard drive with shitty videos. Fucking shit. Work for me. Delete. Clear it out. Let me manipulate these videos with no issues. New hard-drive? Where do I back up my files. I need this fucking right now.


-----

Previous frustration seems tasteless and useless at this point. It is too late to be angry. My ears are ringing from a jam session. From A7X to reggae/jazz. Pink Floyd jam in there somewhere. With new amp head. So loud. Ears hurt in the silence and make everything else pop pop pop. rather than write tonight my plan is to read...

I will nonetheless chronicle what I've done. Nearly broke the gate. Nearly broke the snare. (Maybe take it to Sam Ash). Ran up mulholland listening to origins of symmetry and dreaming of cover songs. play bass and fix the sink. upload videos return camera. ate subway then a burger at the haras. offered to do laundry around here. pick up detergent. nearly crashed into the daughter that lives next door (next wall). must visit store and talk to manager. draw up some designs for fun. sound cannon. what it means to me. write the biographies including my own. autobiography. what should it say? I wrote a rough draft. must write a better draft in better conditions and all will be well. will jam more tomorrow. though on bass. desire to play it more than the others. because it is what I am. discuss internet identities.

become a powerhouse. impressive everyone with 8 arms. all juggling things. making plans and some small cash.

become a musical legend.

live it. be it. do it. run jump and leap and smile. edit videos for updates for fun.

compilation with the droid videos.

thank every supportive family member.

the dream. the dream. dream. 

June 8

Glorious music at a wonderful sunrise beachfront. For you I have an unlimited surplus of respect. All of that dormant, untapped potential remains in storage (safe, sound). Draw from it like a syringe into the vein but not too much. Small portions of enticing moments. Riffing with words. I feel as though I haven't much explored. I have no idea which way I am facing but I have work to do for the band. The reason I am here. Might as well draw both guns and fire away. The target cannot elude such a barrage. There are battalions of ships at my back. (pirate flags). Fingers moving quicker each day as I self-teach myself into a new level of playing. Are lessons necessary for this instrument? They were. Are they still? I must just teach self more explosive theories. All of the notes in a mode. Where to hit them up and down the neck. 5-string symphony. make the magic moves and all else will follow.

there is a canyon to explore. and hollywood. huge bookstores. music shops. coffee houses where authors disappear without much notice. I am the author of my fate and there are so many improvements that can be made in preparation for huge crowds, beautiful women, hard drugs, body modifications, narcissism. We are in this together and we must build up all of our excitement. Practice bass spins on the lawn. Not to the ridiculous extent. Watch someone pull off a bass spin. No one will think it was stupid. Likely it would be the only memorable thing I can do on stage for the non-musician witness. Witness this sick shit. We will throw a hot box listening soiree. We will put all of our eggs in one basket. the basket is fortified. high walls all around.

Am I paralyzed by the amount of options I have?

There is work to be done. For myself. Of myself. On myself. I am executing ideas more rapidly than they can manifest. This is excitement. Get myself to a music store. I must find books to leaf through in my spare time that will improve me as a musician. As a person. Read. Read. Write. Learn. Grow. Draw on experiences of others as well as past. Learn Protest the Hero songs. Sing comfortably throughout the day. Find capo. Learn theory better. Grammar better.

I do not look down at you
Rather through a fog
The haze around your whole city
You've lost yourself in
the best way
Obfuscate
my remains
there are no clear lines anymore
Will you continue to follow that double yellow line into the ditch?
Never enough preroll
tattoo yourself in remembrance
of who you wanted to be

and who you now are

beautiful loser in the sun
burning up in the cosmos
there are particles
bouncing off your skin
some remain and invest
in living arrangements
there is not a place
I have solid evidence
beyond right here
right now

my mentors turned human
crippled and small
I realize there may be a
polarization of respect
I respected to earn new followers

your heart ache no longer hurts me
I deflect it off like a big mirror
you are more hollow than an empty canister
canteen in the wilderness of
alcoholic park rangers molesting backpackers
there are bears that will attack
but they will not eat your vegan bullshit
they are true animals
as are we
we all forgot our roots
and what we owe
forever
to the natural world

explore that canyon
find springs where girls frolic
in the sun
this summer at malibu
picking up where
I left off with someone else

june 7

Get away with little breaths
approaching a destination
the best scenery is not always
around the next corner
it is here to stay, involved in the womb
of the earth.
having a nice day are you?
there are happy people celebrating
their ended school year
college life I will be distanced from you
for now at least
until I am established
and found a clean break
to make and take a ride
from here to space

crying here with my dog
don't mind me
the couch is a place
to sink and sit and listen
we are trying to reach the outer limits
of this existence

june 6

1:54 am

Steam stirs up from old mug like yawning spirits, swirling up from their places of rest to enter our world and haunt and spook. But they are commuters. And I am nowhere near the target. There is a hole in my thumb from grasping the lawn mower. We are changing the game with incredible layered vocals and melodies. I search through the slime to become free and home free. My own biography. Must fabricate a wonderful and inspirational story. How many people will edit without my consent? Is it free information to use and consume? We'll see. For now I wait in the rafters. Tea is boiling. Charring skin on impact. Extreme jumps in confidence for both vocals and bass player but not necessarily at the same time. Incongruity. We expedite our demise with clever devices. Tobacco and peppermints. Talk of hard drugs and experiences of waterfront. Curious where the entirely family comes from. Is this how we will all be socially? Test the waters. Or simply dive in. Either way it will end in a splash. Damp feeling of gravity. We call it fate or some such. They are optimistic people but I don't have any heart to shout out my opinion. A dive bar in the jewish district. A million beautiful blondes but I only ended up having a good time when I had headphones on in the studio. Listening to the sound of my own voice, surprising me with a vocal talent I thought I lacked. This EP destroyed any insecurities I had regarding my voice. My throat is sore now because I went for the yells. The gift of punk. But only a swear word will be isolated and everyone will wonder what they heard. Try and try again. We ate their food and never thanked them. Feeling the pressure of the investment. Too professional to let me have any input because I am a pawn in their game. Fine. Cool. I have power over them. No one is ever truly powerless. Everyone has a better or best self somewhere and it is a great message to send out. Get off your ass and go live your dream because it is possible. Blaming your problems on something external is too damn easy. A scapegoat for a sedentary, safe, lifestyle. Without danger is without life. I'd risk myself in the pathways of bullets or tigers rather than joining the cubicle suicide watch, the doors open from top to bottom here, automatic with a switch.. Rocker girl with tight leather zip up dress and black hair. Crazy on you. Try me and try to see that we are more than audience members. I want to hold out for you and care about the dreams we can share. The others of this musical, rock and roll in the modern age, circus of drugs and drinks. Always thinking marketing. Always thinking about what is takes to make money. (What are you going to do with all of that money?) Just act. Stop thinking. Making my own money would be great so I can pay back all of my debts. They are seriously when they say buy us a nice place to retire to. Suddenly they'll pack up and head off into unknown directions. Had sudden fear never leave the house and let the yard swallow it up entirely. Upkeep is constant. Green is everywhere. I miss only the little things. Big thins are always there to summon when ultimately necessary. Split lip and spitting fire. I try to dance around my opinion because I fear I will offend those who I am trying to work with. It is an incredibly advantage for a band to have a strong sense of humor as well as a do-it-yourself demeanor... everyone is motivated toward a common goal. Suddenly we are too old to even KNOW any high school girls. We are dudes on a mission and somehow it has to all work up fashionably.

June 4

Get nostalgic about that blonde girl who was once captivating on a personal level but now it appears she is more of a ghost or a giant. Something intangible and so far away. Just like I will become in a sense. I don't have the golden brown tan washboard where my stomach should be. I don't have the blonde hair as well. The perfume scented eyes and the smile that spans across an ocean or two. Clean up the act. You are foreign and sexual deviance is totally fine over there. Crawl back, cradled closer to the fire in a beach house at ocean shores. We could chew salt water taffy, go-cart or run into the ocean straight. See how many strides we can take until our shoes get wet. I predict infinite. The world is full of surprises. I'm still a child and so are you. My breath is still taken away when I learn something new. There are so many specialists and so many subjects. Indefinite literature on the shelves. The stacks deep in the catacombs of public college libraries. Too hot and central for there to be any threat of outside influence. No revolution will be heard from that deep... We chase these elements, these huge and intangible demons of dreams... everything seems so far away or too hard. Where to begin. The moment we are closest to heaven or any concept similar is the moment of realizing that something once intangible, vague and huge, only an outline of an idea, an undiscovered dream, has become entirely possible and real. Rather than just an assumption of an ideal suddenly we are inside of it. Automatically from here we look back and see that it was so much closer the whole time and we regret not realizing it sooner. So many situations could have been remedied and mended. So many ignited bridges extinguished. A rogue wave, pushed by god's hand or poseidons trident, a squid with a large bird beak... put out the fire and scatter the ashes, we are all in this together and when will we realize our potential as a human race! Why must we continue to squander and steal and take short cuts. everyone is out for their own.. now more than ever. We destroy the world in the process. So yeah, fuck yeah I have a passion for natural foods.


---- 1:54 -----

There ain't a need for flashlights with a moon like this. Blinding like brights. Life is a huge unraveling fortune. Line by line like a papyrus scroll, depicting the mystery of events as they happen. Perhaps there is no end to the scroll and someone rigorous at the end continues to write and to draw up our future. Not god. I imagine an intrepid wanderer, alone and crazy. Coffee drunk. He is unshaved and curled into a cruel ball of human form. No posturing here. He is the future and he writes us all off but with all of the complications we present to each other, there is no definite conclusion. The story must continue because there are so many loose ends, always. Always long lost lovers, eager to rekindle the feeling with a new person but both ultimately unsatisfied with the results. Kids playing in traffic. Songs that destroy thought process. Pause everything and fall deep into the cadence. Travel song. Yearning for home. For a place to feel comfortable and warm.

The legend of the map.

wake up confused
in unfurnished rooms
I'd never be happy to drown
anywhere but in the sound
fall into the cadence
as it picks up the pace
the rhythm unchanged
landlocked and feeling hopeless
I needed the pacific ocean
to set my bearings straight
to fix my compass
there is no determined fate

hand over your pen
you're too drunk to write

everything can change in a matter of seconds
but I can't stay here when my soul beckons
to leave
to slip through open windows unnoticed in the dark moonlight
point anywhere on a map
they'll see the same moon
unless the air is too thick
for it to shine through
I'm living a dream but I'll still dream of you

hand over your rights
you're too smart to fight
against the tide

but I feel that magnetic pull
inside my skull
you say you want to wish it all away
come back to haunt you some day
 I am the ghost that persuades
you will follow me
across this country

-----

regain confidence in vocal performance as I am given attempt after attempt of secondary vocals. bury it so deep I'll have a hard time distinguishing. but it'll be there! 

June 3

Calendar days missing from the script. There are black squares where empty spaces with days and numbers, labelled... should be. My mistake for having spilled ink. Artists cry over spilled ink. There are many things to learn about me. I used to be a champion kayaker. I go in waves of rigorous vocabulary practice. About every six months the cycle repeats. Mostly when I am in a dark place without any feelings for music or art or writing. Simple and mindless exercise. Just like jogging but with interesting and potentially useless words. It is all building up my credentials as a human being. An English-speaking human being. There are others like me surely. I paint inconsistently. I draw with colored ink pens. Charcoal is one of my favorite mediums for art but I never really use it at the moment. In class I excelled at those contour charcoal outlines of the human form. No nude models for me or my class. Sitting with a sore neck on my new bed. To my left is my stereo with cd's stacked on top. A reading lamp. Pens and pencils. Coffee cup. I bought myself some groceries today. All on my own. But it was a strange feeling. I've had strange feelings.

Time traveling in the chrysler. Enter suicide doors but exit alive and refreshed. Running boards made for gangsters with pinstripe suits and tommy guns. We then flew over to the outback, memories bombarding at the old middle school.. threw a boomerang across the field but it mostly went straight, as we had no australian ancestry in our collective blood. We checked and cross checked. (fear of drug test limiting possibilities. time for detox. week long embrace of sobriety. flushing the body out with water and orange juice. glasses of tea and jog after jog after jog. there are no limitations. everything is possible.) Climb under the bridge and witness the new spectacle of planted shrubs and a giant tunnel. The tunnel under the road where we skipped rocks and challenged each other to childhood games. Hit the tree stump with a rock. Friendly people with glorious smiles. I am not higher than them. Unfortunately, a minor glitch of superiority could be felt. But why? Perhaps I did not see much change in them. My life is constant photosynthesis. The butterfly is not the goal. It continually mutates and grows more beautiful, intricate patterns of broader, more energy efficient wings. Fly free from that caccoon of a year in the desert. The year begins again in the deseret. Teeth screaming to be brushed. Floor mopped. Nothing matters but simple existence and a passive understanding of job opportunities left and right. Join a gym. Date a broad. Hobbies are found but must be fortified. Get good, really good, at collecting stamps. Playing the cards right and stepping into limelight where others have stood terrified. Stand tall with wide chest. Evidence of obvious exercise. Feel good look good. There is nothing that can stand in your way other than you. This nags at all of us as we fail to reach one goal or another, blaming ourselves. Blame fate. Blame the wind. I will whisper truths into your ears until you need hearing aids. My treble is bombast and bright. I am a barotone soul, slowly spiraling into madness. You won't forget that I said this when it all comes to an end. Strip the leather from the car seats. Boost your stamina with energy pills. Everything flows through the body into dishes containing all your DNA. There is no hiding from the pills you've taken. The holes you've drilled in your head. Your friends were bad influences but wished to open your mind, experimenting in the circumstances, the live now, think later, mindset. Blaring through our headsets. We are not empty. We are full to the brim and everyone is living well who matters. Pierce yourself in a million different places until the rush overwhelms you and you never need another man in your life again.

----- 2:27 -----

No fear of interruption. The silence at such late time of rest is uncanny. Having lived in college cities the last few years I am always expecting someone to be causing trouble, drinking or fucking their way through the night as I try to sleep and be responsible... save those nights for the weekend, idiots. But here it is deadly silence. The type that creeps into your spine and grabs a hold. I am comforted. No need for the remote stereo (sleep mode on there is deactivated). Tonight I will sleep in silence.

I recorded vocals (my own voice!) in a nice studio for the first time. Exciting stuff and I got into it. Losing time. Letting it fly by. That growl in the voice. Flat in parts. Beer to wash down the throat. Vodka to clear out the voice box. Tiny doses though. It was sunday for god's sake. Somehow I realized my potential as a singer and in this format the execution is simple and incredible. I don't care how buried these harmonies are, I've found a new confidence in my voice that could not have happened any other way.

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I’m sorry I brought the rain up with me. The distance nearly killed me. I slept through a deseret listening to dark side of the moon. The bass rattling my belongings, all tucked into too many boxes, crash pad versus comfortable living space. Neither are right or wrong. (natural wear and tear, caused by the elements and not malice.) Your body is on display. You showed yourself to all in the dim lit parking lot and did not care who you went home with. (go to his place. kiss him everywhere and see what he likes.) Vomit thought. Hate to think this bitter mess about a god person. (good). But the distance killed us. No hope for future. Maybe one day I’ll marry her. Ten years or something… but no, no… I don’t foresee that anymore. Everything is more difficult than that. My stomach churning. I wish I could hold her rather than air and water. Just as a clairvoyant works…. I miss waking up with a woman who has the same level of respect for me as I do her. (gross misunderstanding, the Shakespeare festival nasty language which changed the game back in the day). We’re all ghost. Wandering from place to place. Searching for home. There is a soft wind. We are all lost so often. We are the legend of the map. Get in my heart darling baby girl. You are so cold out there. I witnessed a spectacular blinding landscape, the rugged American dream, though I flew south for the summer. Ironies in the quiet studio space. Generate vocals rather than sing them. I spoke up and question authenticity… to no ears. Everyone ignores me and they go back to copy paste vocals for choruses… because it will fool the audience. Working with someone so picky must be awful… there was confusion. I am so sorry I haven’t been up to date. I’ve been working too hard. Changing my life and falling into place in woodland hills. I live across from a private school in an attached guest house. We share a wall but I hear nothing. They hear nothing. No problems. I brought down the rain and it washes the dried bugs from the hood of my car.