Sept 30

He goes to the ocean to touch the water and feel the sand beneath his feet. "This is now my life," he tells himself. Young, unshaven. The look of a vagrant but without piled up back packs. The air cleanses the system. Unclogs the arteries. Feeling the soul breathe. He is at a home here. At a resting place. The water is personified. Waves crashing with careful divination. There is something spirited, effervescent. "I can hear it calling me." A haunting and deeply moving example of a tune. Something that can outlive and outrace time itself to the end. We are so minute and callous never to feel these connecting emotions. The feelings that could gather us together in great numbers to apologize to the world. To mother nature and her children. We are more her children than we are god's. She is a presence we can physically feel. The ocean breeze. Radiating sun-warmth. Salty scars and scare tactics and motion sickness as we suddenly feel the earth spinning out from under us determined to shake us off like a bucking horse. (a fucking horse?) All of the grandeur, in the sense of splendor and impressiveness, not as in the social psychological sense of self-worth or material wealth in the eyes of others; a high class of social status. We are rats in a maze with no true exit. Inviting scents of warm food permeate through the still air but they seem to be coming from everywhere/nowhere. Did we imagine them?

Gregarious youth. Resplendent on the dance floor. (growing in open clusters or pure associations). Sumptuous in the red dress. Something to be atoned for later in a taxi cab confessional. We are all criminals of one form or another. Enter a state of ataraxia... a state of freedom from emotional disturbance and anxiety; tranquility. Drunk enough to feel the effects of sudden revelatory sentiments. Brought out by the depths of inebriated consciousness. "I don't remember what happened last night." Give this person a bottle and ask again. They'll tell the whole story. Get them sauced. That magic potion. The one that can teleport a person from one moment, in a crowded bar or restaurant at night, into a strange and head-throbbing morning. A lapse of consciousness in all of the glory of representation. A gaping hole in that memory. Forever gone. Sad to see it go but it must be so.

Motivate the sense to wish to try new sensation. Try that different flavor and become a better judge and jury for the world as a whole. Not as a bubble. But as a whole. A conflagration to take out the richest houses prior to purchased insurance. We, the small people, musicians with business ideals take note and remind ourselves to protect against that for future revenue. Invent new words put them in a dictionary of sounds you made up and then defined. Give a damn about verb tenses and pronouncement. We are beyond that embarrassment. No one snickers now. There are no classrooms full of texting middle schoolers to back the nonsense. Not in my life. Never.

Opulent. Poetry. Theatrical entrance. Harrowing detail. Revulsion. Quixotic plans to rearrange the shorelines of the world to spell out my name. Something crazy and idealistic but also unfathomable. You can't comprehend such nonsense without becoming a victim to that entire tragedy. 

Sept 29

Apply the college-ruled mindset to all outside application. Give me the opportunity to shine and I will try my damnedest to become a diamond. A strobe light. A reflective surface that has the power to blind until further notice.

-----

Dizzy in an unforgiving heat
a man hit by a car in the street
blood and radiator fluid
feeling stupid and pulled apart by horses.
feeling myself disintegrate.

I told them I'd be writing. But I'm falling short of my goal. I'll find it again when it's no longer forced...

------

There is the day drunk who tries to land an ice cube down the front of a girl's shirt. She'd call herself a woman indignantly. Am I misreading everything? Who knows. Sometimes words come out of my mouth that were not thought out ahead of time. This is good and bad. I struggle with the ability to say whatever possible, whenever... versus holding out for good taste. Holding out for good taste implies missed opportunities with the blurt-it-out-as-it-happens technique. Good taste means a sincere and honest as well as humorous approach to the situation. Is there the comedian with dark sensibilities? Yes. A rarity. The ability to speak in good taste with an open mind in all situations.

Keep your hands by your side. Watch television shows. Create nothing new. Add nothing to the world only detract from your own life. Fall in line with diverse crowds of nonchalant party-goers. "I have no plans, let's do something." Or did I make it sound like I didn't want plans? "Alcohol is a waste of money, truly." There are contradictions in everything.

Ice melting on hot skin. Something athletic and worth a heart felt curse or two. Fucking shit. The world is possible. Why not let it take over completely? There is nothing more cowardly than to give up in the face of ultimate victory. I am not one to take the blame. Rocking body in a solid frame. Something unconventional. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice. Or am I too jaded by humanity? No. I'm in a great circle. I need to realize this forever. Days away without much discussion. Forget all the drained energy. Conveniently located on the same night. Reminisce past experiences on the day. Thrice and Tech N9ne. Always music. Prior to that California and The Flaming Lips. For 18. 17 and 16 blur together in family activities and then headlong into friendly activities. All I have now are friends who wish to get me drunk. Sounds like a solid plan. Or do I think too much. Feel all the paranoia in the world. Be the asshole they warned you about. $12 vomit. I'll have an interesting story to tell. Whatever happens. Staying out the night of the show. The day of my birth itself. I have no idea. Probably an awful hang over. Through the birthday wishes. Try to take something to combat that prior to drinking. NO HO. It's antidote. Alcohol being poison. Wondering aloud if there is anyone else to meet or if it is all involved in stupid flattery. No one will care much. 


----

Guilty of wasted time. Overheated and under fed. Am I creating beautiful art? did I create any? having consumed energy drink or alcohol. one really just to keep from sleeping earlier. now trouble sleeping. it's fucking hot. and I'm anxious. there is something awful and narcotic about all of it. a personal stash. stay drunk all the time. we are all destroying each other and the mood shifts. incredible incident. speaking highly of the others. the political debates. they both call each other close minded and insolent. everyone is though. it is not black and white. it is every imaginable prism of light. a bike ride and a hostile take over. all of the everything erased. backed into my car. pull out method. all the stupid jokes that do nobody any good. speak less. I was feeling horrible earlier. caught up in the rich area. all the monuments to their wealth. all of the laughing and meaningless conversation. it set me up to be awful for the night. I did alright though. speaking in tongues figuratively. writing furtively. help me out. hand me something that I can use. birthday packages to my right. all the prestige and humor involved. open it? no. wait. funny. honest. self-control in some aspects is incredible! but hey. productivity. I can't seem to switch off. the weed infused self-defeat. no reason other than to make the ride more enjoyable. isn't it great already? addicts. fiends. ghosts and vodka. I am glad I could not share their mindset. I will be aware of this constantly. talk of the same things constantly. always try to impress the other. be happy and incredible. no more senseless brooding. sound sometimes like a cranky old man. 

Sept 28

up close and personal with tiny little brushstrokes
we can lose ourselves in such distractions
but it is beautiful to fall into a hallucination
without the influence of anything narcotic
we can become drunk off a scenic drive
well past the legal limit
we can get high off the too-clean air at 8,000 feet
and giggle like children when they first experiment with violence
a new sensation
all over

frozen stride, you are not alive
conspiracies to condemn great mystery
as basic human fallacy
regulate your heartbeat
and you might live through all this mess

white-hot embers of a recent deceased fire
seeking shelter in the abacus of a tomb
nothing but haunted ruins
dust clouds hanging low in that sky

two opposing scenes of storms on the oceanfront
different coasts
warm colors and cool colors
one takes over the ship entirely
one still has faith in developing
a ship to withstand the powerful wind

dionysus! let's share some wine!

great arbiter of the heavens
shine something light and fruitful down
upon me in this waking state
prove yourself in the shivering cold
the murderous wolves abound
a tasteless poly for an upcoming film
this would not happen if you allowed yourself to exist

all supernatural
nothing can be falsified
therefore it cannot be true
or false
the presence also cannot be confirmed
no evidence either way
it becomes a senseless discussion
there are much greater things to address
in the present tense
the state of the world as it is
what if you are wrong?
heaven was invented by the devil
to convince us that life on earth is not as beautiful and tragic as it truly is
to convince us that there is something greater when we die
in order to keep us silent and obedient

hang your head in the gallows for such blaspheme

in this media frenzied world. there is hardly any truth.
everybody has money dangling in front of them as inspiration to continue...
we invented money!
what about art and beauty? the Grecian system of aristocracy?
create something huge that will forever outlive you
it is the basic human instinct we try to ignore!
this does not mean a child.
to propagate life cannot be the sole purpose behind a human life.
most animals work this way. to preserve the species.
but we are beyond that. we are overpopulated. overcrowded.
a child is adding a social security number to the fix.
this shit hole of a society that mirrors our most central hearts.
there has to be something more.
a crusade of education where everyone learns something life-changing
I want truth! Truth!
I can't live beneath false gods. Dollar bills and considerable losses.
I cannot believe in something without evidence.
A good religious scientist could make it his life's work to disprove the existence of god.
Why capitalize god? Why do we do that?
(It's a proper name. They'll say)
It's an IDEA. I'll say.

Believe in YOURSELF

Sept 27

"For Beauty is nothing
but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,
and we are so awed by it because it serenely disdains
to annihilate us." Rilke Duino Elegies

Beauty in this sense refers to powerful art or music. This is the feeling, provoked by a overwhelming sense of powerlessness in the face of aesthetic perfection. For example... the feeling in your heart after witnessing a live orchestra that transports your soul away to somewhere higher than you were beforehand. The feeling lasts in its extreme only awhile but it can carry on inside your heart for days... years... Carry that beautiful experience with you. It's a good book. An awesome concert. All of the quintessential brush strokes that make up an intricate, yet huge, abstract painting.

-----

Where does the time go? All of everything in between is weird repetition and practice. I inhaled chemicals until my head ached. Did the time get to my head? Suddenly I imagine myself longboarding down the main strip at ASU campus. On a beautiful day. Sun dresses all over. Brain full of incredible knowledge and commitment. Will time make me forget? The math equations, surely. Does past exercise even count at all if cut off? I'd have to learn again. But it would be easier this time. I could live in a desert again because I have experience. I could use this to my advantage and truly never feel any anxiety. I would jump into the pool continually. I would weave my way throughout intricate stories and live smiling.

There was a overly ambitious art project and hours of experimentation. Hundreds of photos to work with later. Over 200 words in the song. Each word is a few pictures worth. Background images growing and growling to come up to the surface. I follow instructions. Stretch out the mind and the legs and the back.

Using intuition. Isolate the self entirely. Come out strong and swinging heavy. When the time is right. But it is not about keeping bad relationships together. It is not about intimidation. It is about courage and the willpower to call an old friend to say hello in the midst of a empty time slot. Not just weed and tears. No long, wasteful showers and nights spent sleeping with the A/C on full blast and with 9 blankets. A wasteful creature. Tasteless. Senseless.

But no one calls. No one plans the rides or the trips. Everyone talks up their abilities to pull through. A 5 hour drive. A show somewhere over there. Fuel me up. 


---

restless legs. I want to grow up in every city in the nation. I want to travel through every place, soaking it all in with incredible intent and all the patience and beauty in the world. I have ridiculous itchy feet. I want to run across the country and back. see what they see. fill my cup with hands on experience. visit every major city in the world and fall in line with a new culture. fuck!

sept 26

the lights are changing on me
red yellow green
I'll ask my self, what the hell
was ever wrong with me
probably nothing
or it was everything

tonight, a toast to all our health
at this point anything will help
we must lift our spirits for clearance
and beg for forgiveness
or else
our souls will exit our selves

our bodies become hollow shells
 carriers with nothing else

moving forward is gorgeous

when what you left behind
nearly took your life
looking back is dangerous
when nostalgia
can ruin your night

the sun will set in the west
grey purple red
I'll ask myself, why does it matter?
we all live and die in the same order
probably nothing comes after
with all the hostility
it's not safe to say anything

moving forward is gorgeous
with all such colorful prospects
each available option priceless

moving forward is gorgeous
speeding in a spacious compact
 headlights broken, can't see shit
running the intersection
tires squealing
green yellow red




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

pictographs in the mail, a two year birth date and song that anxiously reminds me of the new acceptance my elders have of the inevitable. 'fear or laziness'... everyone incredible open minded. bring back awful thought processes. wake up after long sleep without refreshment. hear all the painful memories destroy me constantly. need the desire to find new and incredible music while ridding self of non-influential songs and artists. boring stuff. eliminate all boring elements. never let the mind believe something beautiful to be boring. but life is huge. I don't have time to love everything that you love while simultaneously loving what I love with my whole being. I can appreciate what you show me but I cannot figure out much else. shit in the mail. ghosts and transitions working out all the same. an awful repetition.

sept 25

'silence, tabloid preacher.'
'what you have to say has no bearings in actuality.'
'it is glorified garbage.'
'filthy opiate to intoxicate the easily persuaded.'
billboards like streaks of grease cutting through the hills.
something to be said of the mindset
America is Hollywood
and vice versa.

focus on senseless current knowledge,
celebrity drivel
..
all of the hype paired with prestige
could not reverse the damage we've done
to the global environment.
..
Garbage in; garbage out.
Recycling garbage like a business.
..
Feeling sucked in, like a vacuum.
Sunken features, defeated by the industry.
..
Band name. As heard on TV show.
..
Willing to try everything to use the current technology...
to manipulate
to control
to buy and sell souls like trading baseball cards. 

I know you're hiding a more
natural kindred spirit
alive in something deeper than headlines.
buried, perhaps, under a certain level of expectation.
you are what you have become.
there is no reversing that.

any concern of a superficial soul?

something simple and complete?

'hear me out, vulture.'
'we will in a lesser number than your ranks, obviously. you are infinite.'
'but your spirit is shallow.'
'we fill the void in physical presence with heart.'
'finite? yes. though our spirits are infinite and unbreakable.'
'you will circle anyway, but we are superior beyond any single senseless chance meeting.'
 'where one of us ends up dead.'
'individually? most of us.'
'we are finite.'
'you are a shark with a dwindling spirit.'
'empathy will give you something much greater.'

(then hit with a flash of the joy in material wealth)

something in my heart fights the times as they change.
no one else
involves themselves in thoughts about society regularly.
change yourself, change society.
eventually.

Sept 24

D # Major Seventh chord is made up of a D# at the root, G at the third, A#/Bb at the fifth, the seventh being a D or C double sharp.

Could be inaccurate but the attempt is solid and eventual mastery is inevitable. Quiz me on the theories, let me warp sonic trends with seeding doubt, a whole confusion of 'I wonder what this can do'. Teach me something unique and I'll counteract that balance with something unique from my own soul. If I can offer up something worthwhile or conjure vivid dreams within all that empty space... then it is all worthwhile. the random theft and the dreamless night sleep. the insecure birthday gift wraps. everything distancing and collateral. determine all roots of vanity in money. call off introspective searches and simply dismiss all future tenses. wear tight blue dresses and act like something you are not. most dumb shits never find anything else to act like. nothing unique about them. i wish to surround myself with only the unique. the strongest and the most active. the craziest and least negligible.

Am I safe?

What happens on my birthday. Anything special?

sept 23

we must realize the importance of every single moment. every fraction of a second and all of the self-medication to ignore these huge revelations always drifting just below the surface. no more avoiding. a lively city in the evening and the day is a tourist trap. but I miss everything about the place. it is glorified in my head as something holy. it is an altar. it is a place to which I will return and exist. "I'm drunk and I'm lonely and you won't believe me." There is nothing more evil than lying to yourself in order to justify something obviously awful you are doing to the world, the environment, your brain. Reach the pinnacle of success, get crown royal endorsements, sex with supermodels due to prestige and they hang on every word. Write songs about how I wish to live life. Very introspective on this day. quit thinking so much, they say. just live.

two distinct philosophies. let me distinguish. the one is to simply live in the moment and to let whatever happens happen. almost passively, like an observer of your life from inside the coated shell of your body. the embodiment of your spirit. this attitude requires no conscious thought of the philosophy. in fact the best way to live this way is to put no active thought into the execution of it. this means less introspection. this means very little time spent in dark rooms thinking about the quality of life.

other philosophy is a constant striving for the best of every moment, through introspection and self-assessment, in dark rooms later, of course. constantly thinking of the way things should be will always ruin any present moments. you may be mistaken for an absent minded fool though you are secretly 'lost in space' inside yourself. a reverie they could never understand. call you spacious or absent from that present. this is the plague of this theory. ruining moments by attempting to manipulate them into perfection. there is no such thing as perfection, only progress.

sept 22

1 am this is when lovers call to pick up mutual lovers for a quick and sexual  introduction. of course there is anger for the rights to serve... based on different music styles. the coin flip faith of the optimist.

falling into categories. finding faith in tobacco outlets though I never smoke anymore in california. I am smoking and I am aware that I'm doing it. there is infinite personal disrepair. finding the songs that define a mutual composition. it is not about intelligence and circuitry. it is about sleep and fear. we are not talking. we are individual and alone. I'm feeling like I will drive home safely. "every man blessed sishyphus" you;re never going to move it alone. finding out the facts behind a ridiculous pronouncement of faith. I'd be glad to share all emotions. sharing them with upstairs and downstairs neighbors. a helicopter to patrol drunk drivers this late and at this hour. filling mug with alcohol. finding a salvation in introspective devices. we are not the same at all. I am alone entirely with this ridiculous saving. we are not involved. "come fire come water we are all in transition" save me beautiful girls. you are not all so helpless. but the statistics are laid out entirely. if you fail I win. but you did not fail so this will continue infinitely. the relationship neutered until sexually repellent.


---

1:55  am though a night of drinking beginning at a number near 5 o clock and an irresponsibility. if you do not pull the trigger I am the one to take away. though force ive habit. I am at the level to call a spouse my wife though she is a tubbier version of my type and the music sealed the deal at the rap concert and of course after the invitation the response is positive. realize the beginning of classes and enjoy a fretless silence. something bass but without fret. a retardation at the wheel. the typing becoming indecent. we talke of awful sexual things while raw talent drew out blood below. raw talent. realize the worth of a new virtue. we fell apart. i wish now that I could draw upon my drunk expertise though i simply desired a new flat with an old map. i exited before that love could be fulfilled. i don't know if i was serious. i probably was. the one who tried too hard wins. the one who gives up the rap career. the one who succeeds in ingestion of more margeritas with skynrYd in the backround. all back drop. nothing ever comes this way so simple. ruined a friendship by bringing home a slew of women. i will be on the opposite end.

---- 7:53 pm ----

need a print off of all of the lyrics for a song. put together a video based on artistic lettering and images. graphic art. individual pictures of attempting to sync up the lyrics as they happen in the song. it is entirely possible. still shot video of drawings. something warping and moving. on cardboard or white paper. pens on white paper or paint splatters. newspapers crumpled up. edit all this at the editing station. 

sept 21

I am so confused
can't find the right words to use
drinking port wine with kerouac
become famous for a heart attack

total immersion
blissful diversions
life is huge

(witnessing stardeath)

holding hand and wondering what would happen
if the sun did the same thing one day
eradicate the human race
an infestation anyway

vanilla scented angel
with a crooked halo
the sense of falling for infinity
while standing still

 ----

gap in time

find a way to isolate the opinion and fall into. "logic broke. as he appeared he spoke." You and me were never meant to be part of the future. nightmare coming back. an isolation of words and thoughts you had once in grade school. discovering beauty where it hides. Gotta listen to the next song too. Finding a reason to change the arrangement of speakers. Earned a best instrumental. I don't need to say that because I know it happened. I don't need to taint a performance with this knowledge. Ask to upload. I ruined a decent amount of memory. with such awesome music. silver sound studios now has the flaming lips, cymbals eats guitars, and incubus. all great for mixing and mastering. "I know a man who killed a state trooper." finding yourself at the end of album. 

sept 20

ecstatic vision of the wilderness, tied to an insatiable wanderlust that drove him to one solitary challenge and ordeal after another. 'he was a voracious reader and a habitue of art galleries and museums -- the vision that transfixed him was uniquely of his own making.'

the poet-saint

"once more I am roaring drunk with the lust of life and adventure and unbearable beauty"

"I am overwhelmed by the appalling strangeness and intricacy of the curiously tangled knot of life"

"Alone I shoulder the sky and hurl my defiance and shout the song of the conqueror to the four winds, earth, sea, sun, moon, and stars."

 'glorify the hour'

sept 19

Drunken nostalgia. Ruining moments with sequences of new discovery. But it's all interrupted. no one ever gets to the point. disappointed people and broken bones in dark rooms. glow in the dark bra. but turn the lights on once removed. falling over for a backwoods rendezvous.talk about guns in closed off alleyways. all of the people passing try to ignore. air powered rifles. all of the diversions and distractions. we act differently in a huge negative group then with the decent familiar presence that we all talk so badly about. the damage is done and the timing was incorrect. I am assuming disaster on the balcony. something about being bothered by never calling out the shots. never calling you out when you need it most. hitching rides. edit photos. juxtapose those intrepid memories. have every moment arranged perfectly. "brand yourself." text and textual influences. holding back the laughter when a joke goes too far. hunting and gathering when portland falls into itself. sucked up by its own self importance. I never felt cooler than when walking down the block to class with an art bag. and all--- cut off briefly to jam the rhythm section multi-instrumentalist. "packed up and moved out to colorado" drums on guitar and bass on drums. "hit seattle with a head full of drum rhythms"

fall in love with all of the potential though I will only follow through with a minimal portion of it all. hand over the keys and I'll drive. but there is no definitive destination. we are alone on this. with this. feeling it. no one cares. that's the attitude. life is beautiful. everything is great. 

Sept 18

Stricken by an overwhelming urge to find and attack. A simple photograph. Something scenic and looking incredible to sit too close to. Holding hands with daisies in between. Floral knowledge overtaking carnal knowledge and we're lost at sea again. "All great things get lost at sea at one point. They have to." An eastbound wind based on the beach rocks and general geography. Hair curling and unfurling like a soft fire in this wind. You hand making that universal heartbeat slowdown for a minute and I feel calm again. But I need a replacement for such a scene. Of course my heart pulls to this. Goodness gracious. The familiar and the reliable. Not the trustworthy. Not anymore. Don't let it be. Huge expectations. Put these memories on huge pedestal and let them be destroyed by gravity. Crumble down to that cold hard ground. Drink soy milk until both feet fall asleep by the angle they rest. Forget everything. Forget the awful things that have flowed down and over through the grapevine. Call yourself a coward and get crushed underneath the weight of it all. Kill those thoughts. I want to be on this beach. I want to teleport there in an instant. Without invitation. Without warning. And ruin whatever charismatic circumstances.. the teamwork to create a structure together, founded on different rumors to stain a reputation. that glorious image in mine eyes. that once perfect person with all of the right things to say at all of the wrong moments, grappling with different insecurities and finding jealousy in between cracks others never search thoroughly. having an eye for things. but she is not a goddess. she has threesomes in back bedrooms for drugs. she is daddy's little girl and nothing to be looked up to. all of my idols destroyed by time and innocence also ruined but at different times for all by the 'enlightened.' the ones who know about all the awful sin in the world and feel cynical enough to share with a once pure soul. damage irreparable. innocence revoked. I wondered what they listened to, all night long? Something beautiful that everyone enjoys to play at the worst moments from then on. A simple reminder. One that jabs at you every time it is played. A song to bring you to your knees. All of everything erased with that kiss of death. That photograph. That kiss of death.

Sept 16

When it doesn't just happen, when all of the planets don't align, don't force it. This is the way to desolation. Try to fit shapes into other shapes that do not correspond. A chance to make everything perfect and to pour money out. diamonds and jewelry in the dimmed stage lighting. she had ripped up jeans like an animal attacked the back of her. hooker boots. pierced all over her face. sexual. sunglasses inside a dark room. $7 liquor in hand. that two drink minimum means everyone will have to spend at least 30 bucks to exist in there. contemplate the reality of the situation in its entirety. go to college to find yourself. move out of that little bubble. have a threesome and strange grapevine memories burned off. but she was always an ideal based on her distance away. lesbian influences and artistic endeavors. all that similar self-sabotage I'm so used to. 'we have a history' and it's gone.

sept 14

flag dancing in artificial wind, no deity exhales. it's all fabrication. the walls are made of tinfoil. crinkling and folding under the weight of simple motivation. it is all so fragile. falling under that meditative spell. in the limelight of american dreams. we will vote for ability to never have to vote again. a coin that has a state on either side. the collectors are mind fucked because they can't decide which one to display as a part of their collect. therefore they invent a small rotating stand or a system of mirrors that they can see both sides of the coin. but it is all the same value anyway. question this and it depreciates. into the tubes. the slums. the dumps. but sometimes you can find wonderful things there.

sept 12

the twenty minutes a day rhythm subsides but a lot of time is spent living in the moment and any nostalgic writings come too late. I am always tired writing on here. I have much to say. but I will have to tomorrow. coffee. reading. selling tickets, somehow. doing it. advertising the band.

sept 11

fines and fees. parking is $40. everyone looks like a damn clown. calling those classic moments, gimmicks. merch sellers for purchase. what a strange idea! no liquor on stage. no graffiti. no rock and roll. just image and gimmicks in a modern sense. portion us off and limit us. how can we overcome that and do some explosive and memorable shit? pay to play. make it a system of leeching until someone with deep enough pockets can afford the wasted effort. no one knows who they are playing with. the early set time might reduce all of the hype we had for the show to be a full house. 'you never know who might be in the crowd.' the band and the girlfriends. fans. we want fans and a following, generally. making friends with others. using strategy and technology to our advantage though I can't stand the sudden responsibility I have for such work. Become that genius. Learn how it is done quickly then do it. A bunch of gibberish mostly. Bite the tongue and do successful work for the band.

sept 8th

Counting up like counting cards. The tricks they pull to reel in the tourists. Splitting in half twice and get the necessary results. Sit in the high chair. Blow the speakers. Barefoot basketball. Then on to the same old thing. Interesting party with contemporary high school brats. All of them with touch phones and low left esteem. "I'm sure I've met you somewhere before." He says like a jackass. Moving to thousand oaks soon. Different kid. Different metal band. No one has heard of you and you were not special due to it. The high school wiped my prints off already. I was never even there. To accept the failure to create a legacy is to feel entire body defeat. Wishing to come in contact with the pretty women around the coffee shop and everyone lies to one and other. "We're leaving because so and so has to go home." They show up at the party. Unlike the kick back. No temptation. Stand up for myself like a man though I was never seen as an equal. You have to drink that on an empty stomach. Listen to bad rap music. All of the carbon copies. Changing each other in slow rotation. Why is it cool to smoke cigarettes in garages? I broke that edge and feel awful for it. Never to continue again. There is too much at stake as I lay in my childhood bedroom. The sound of my typing being the only sound and we somberly spread the ashes of the family dog in the morning. A borderline psychotic maneuver. To appeal to our beliefs about a god or about any sense of peace in the world. "Why do you like kickbacks more than you like parties." I realized again that my old friends are so far away from me now. We can't rekindle a friendship. Present ruins past. Present ruins past. Talk about it all. The tire change and the spit on the steering wheel. Too much more than to type. Everything closing down and I never ended up stealing anything to drink from any other. They will talk shit about me being there.
'

sept 6

sleeping like giant with sore legs after having hiked twice around the world. all will be well tomorrow. exhaustion all consuming.

Sept 5th

Changing the light levels in rooms like a magician and everyone agrees cordially that they appreciate the dimmed lighting. Less bright, like a dungeon, or a cave. (just shooting down a police helicopter real quick). It is better. The dimmed lighting and the training it takes to teach oneself not to fall asleep in such lighting. (land an attack helicopter near the tennis court, the dog gets into something new again). The retinas reacting differently. Stealing cop cars. (stealing street signs). 'All civilians must clear the street.' Feeling the harmonies from downstairs and the necessary edits it takes to listen to a female singer, purely. All of the soulful female singers, the ones everyone listens to over and over, with repetition and grassy hillside naps. All conjuring up gratitude and self-acceptance.

Sept 4th

'Get the fuck along with each other!' the vocalist is yelling into the audience of a small basement like venue, very industrial, where I'm writing these words behind the cover of a merch booth. (Where the touring bands attempt to sell their merchandise, obviously). Aggressive music generally attracts aggressive people so therefore a statement such as this might reach the right crowd, although a bit of a paradox compared to the awesome sonic violence of their songs. A small fight had broken out, probably between a drunk guy and a short-tempered straight edge fuckhead, I couldn't see from where I sat, I only saw edges attacking one and another, lazily like shadows crossing when an object interjects at a closer distance from the light source than another, with different velocities, naturally. Naturally. The fight is stopped by one of the promoters who ended up with a black eye and a scowl. He bashed the straight edge guy who started the fight with a trash can lid in the back alleyway, defending the integrity of the types of shows he puts on.

Sept 3

Psychotic breaks in the glowering sunlight. Mean everything to nothing. Voice cracks, dry like desert. Stomach burning with acidic intent. Writing only gibberish must be training my thoughts out of clarity. I must speak less clearly now that I write like this constantly. Revisit old music ideas and notebooks and things and wonder if anything is of any quality. Or just quantity. But truth is the root of quality is quantity. Listen to myself butcher old songs. Without that I couldn't be wherever I am now. True. It is important to grow into a voice, into a VOICE.

Sept 2nd

Say something meaningful to someone. A human to human interaction, entirely humane. There are so many people deserving of random considerate praise. The Bob Dylan shirts and the efforts often unrecognized. Feeling the rhythm of these words (consider myself a jam session poet). Whatever the fuck. Write more later once finding purpose for the day. All this reading and thinking and a nice place to do it. The coffee corner inside a dead book store. McDonald's claimed earlier that coffee makes you smart. 'the simple joy of being smart.' And I'm here to prove that wrong.

September 1

Do away with gibberish stories and lyrics. So much of this world already makes no sense whatsoever. Why push it? Why test it? I want tight-knit, understandable, powerful stories.

Do you feel the words you use from your heart?

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'As The Crow Flies'
a song about navigation and an envy of the flight of birds
a longing to teleport
to transfer my position for that of another
briefly

a longing to return to a place
but also the fact that things will never be the same
a longing to return to a place and a time
return to that place in the present and those memories are corrupted forever

a longing to navigate through space and time to relieve select experiences
but the inability to do so
physically and scientifically an impossibility
but if it were possible the entire thread from then to now would be different with even the slightest deviation from the same decisions made eternally

the idea of eternal return. moments to relive and a desire to find the necessary transportation to get there.

I'm working to invent teleportation
tearing holes through space and time
so I can visit you every night

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I manage to fry the exact brain cells required to erase you from my life with a few vague taps around the skull with a hammer. There might be something crazy in the execution of the idea, though the idea itself is extremely common. I must assume others have gone about the sleeping and the forgetting in a similar fashion. Killing miscellaneous brain cells at random with small doses of poison. Even miniscule doses add up when your liver can no longer handle the conversions necessary for you to remain physically functional with this much consumption of it. In order to cure your disease we must first make you chemically addicted to the substance, to the poison, but this time artificially created in a lab. Once you crave it, life or death, the receptors in your brain otherwise closed off are opening and gesticulating in a state essential for the only found antidote to work. The fluids, when injected through various key pressure points of the body, can only cause a positive action when these 'floodgates' are opened (you would be under sedation, thanks to modern medicine and aromatherapy and anesthesia). Perhaps in the middle of the procedure an earthquake occurs. Or a hostile takeover. Or a rioting gang takes over with machine guns in order to seek attention they feel their graffiti artwork on overpasses and dead bridges deserves. They are young and quick to violence. You are insane with craving when you come to. The procedure should have eliminated the desire for the substance while you slept. Now suddenly a junkie in its extreme. Finding yourself in slums of the city where the drug you need can be found in abundance through the correct connection. Perhaps it is just a chemical in the air. Get this procedure done to never deal with mental attachment to the substance. A source of global methlab explosions. Procedure to become sicker to get better goes awry because before the doctors and technicians are allowed to resuscitate the patient the procedure is interrupted for whatever reason. Flash flood. Lightning storm. Natural or human disaster. But what is the substance and why does it do this? Maybe it is an old drug company, now deeply out of business for ethical reasons, but prior to the chairman's suicide and the plants being shut down there was word of a 'airborne virus' method to attracting new customers. These were originally over the counter prescription pills. the very most addicting thing in the universe though it had no effect on your body at all aside from an addiction to it. it react with only the addiction center of the brain to the extent of lunacy.

August 31

The bike swerves as I point and yell at a bystander on the street, maybe with a phone to capture the experience. I laugh and stutter, "I almost lost," I breathe deeply in, swallowing the next volley of laughs, "I almost lost complete control back there yelling directly at people. Also gently thanking them for their presence along side the road. Throw out a god bless you from the back. An intereseting combination surely in that sense.

A day of standard practices. Something aimed at an insecurity, hair strangely entangled but rather picking at the stragglers compared to the entire colony founded upon the other body. Carry the virus and that virus is the desire to create something that outlives you. We flew through perfect visions and I fell into a rhythm. Something adventurous and role-shifting in a way or so. Cheap gym to hit up after a while. causing the boost to metabolism and muscle building. More sit-ups and less-booze would more than likely cure me up for that but that conversely would not be all that much fun... fur the not drinking part... but what if you get there, to that great physical shape, beyond all chemicals bounds. Healthy fit and smart-thinking. crazy about the physical health, pills and vitamins, injections and stamina boosting, fixing into the best and most shapely body that could be produced in the way I plan. Is there a way to go about it with the same intensity as my father? I must have to. He told me a story about a bike race, I believe, or more simply, more elegantly, a simple ride to remember what it was like to ride so intensely... Fox Island but a hard loop something of repetition but a course of several miles to force each other in a pact to create new found glory in that old bag of bones. (Stephen king influences moments of the writing.) He used up incredible amounts of strength in order to pass a fellow rider on an approaching hill. Struggling with pushing to extreme limits. He gathers all his strength to be able to tell the guy, as he is passing him on a brutal hill, "Hey. Nice day isn't it?" As a deliberate show of manhood and dominance as well as all of the confidence in the world. A self-reliance that is necessary of any person should he be great. Brush the teeth. Walk with confidence and write with more involved meaning for the next month in its entirety because only sheer days after then (this next clump of days arranged as a month ends) I will be having a birthday that changes multiple elements of the game for me, perhaps. Getting a drink or two at the bar. But could I ever end up there by myself and by my own volition?