Again you must leave all judgment aside. You must empty your mind so that we can be here alone. I can transfer my information and can be receptive and vice verse. If not especially vice versa.
Leaving that stereotype behind, we are found inside a different, more honest, dialogue. Something concise, clear and coherent. Something triple c but nothing regarded as something to eat. Brain food though if it were.
Park the car at the curb, on a hill, the habit of a parking brake, with nothing at stake. Everything is fragile. Different nights consider it an important feat to make the tires on the right side of the vehicle flush with the curb, enough to avoid any unnecessary fines or fees in the abstract instant something unlawful was found about the distance between myself and the curb. Some nights a paranoia about the the 12 inch rule between tire and curb. I worry though wondering the mutant who checks for such things or assumes that my body is propelled by some sort of devil feeling, an electricity through which writing occurs. This is me writing as an absurd condition of my ailment. I am not available to talk beyond such means. Needed, physically, to be alone in order to write and feel high though I feel as if a night is running between my fingers. "everyone is fucking crazy"
Right before she floats away
consider the source in disarray
we are convoluted
in a dissolved solution
our spirits mixed with chemicals
desire a fix, we are no better than animals
she floats out from your memory
all of those extra thoughts history
burn off the hard edges
to make way for soft ledge
the fall becomes easier
when you find you can't please her
she takes herself from you
and you'll never see the ground
fury capped off in a bottle
we kept our childhood in here
and it all breaks loose in a tangle
a story to tell
when no one listens
and retracting statements
we were not in hallucination
we were something different
figments of true imagination
embraced in heaven
to a nonexistent location
behind the time of the pyramids
and cave writings
Egyptian.
write off fish wire traps on door steps
the tricker in a world of treats
consider the stolen free candy
though it mattered only slightly
wished to simply have fun
all the stories I heard
impacted me and I wished to become a legendary prankster
on accident
I wished to sneak in without jumping in
I wished for someone to notice me rather than
myself noticing someone else
'the grass is always greener on the other pesticide'
lyrics, shooting holes in the sky
going color blind
describing the times
we are nothing without each other
but there will be numerous lovers
left alone in city
years away from pity
alone without other names
seeking explanation and insane
'trust me we will get out of this alive, now take my hand it's almost over'
---------
Acting a fool as the American dream in some strange and drunken rampage though I can remember clearly having written at least a segment of a story there earlier. Ther year prior some drug influenced delirium. Cannot remember if it was the night the jew did not allow us to enter his party because it was lame in the lame district and we had to run through the ran to gather up a bus despite our alcoholic sensibilities, the rain splattering over everything, running the make-up and wetting the cardboard, our costumes really ghetto in construction though sophisticated in idea. The devil. The American Dream.
constantly distracting myself from the point. from the full effect. all the flags down past half mast. consider the disability to write with coherent thoughts while remaining constant on musical epiphany. could drive for tobacco and more beer though I killed those from my budget. from my diet. when did you start drinking? have you fuck yourself up yet. steal from the liquor cabinets. exaggerated sadness. we are not alone. this is all a huge distraction. I wish to use the influence of intoxication to cause weird and fast creative writing. Sad and discrete among masses of junk. Something unique and fueled until death of self past the world of computers. listen to sad music. find out what kind of shit is written. by hand or through computer in different setting. without negative back trauma.
deeper reasons to write. sleep to shuffling music entirely. finding the flaws of man. easy riffs and constant involvement. it meant nothing originally.
take everything away. including sleep. fall into meditative state listening to everything possible until sleeping to cause a strange soundtrack. something ridiculous. dreams must be remembered and chronicled and turned into a green river killer green mountain scary movie soundtrack. I will recall my past halloweens after a workout in the morning.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Oct 30
Racing toward the end. Anxious words. Each one worse than the last. No structure. No clarity. All just a huge fucking mess. I told myself I'd swear less. Simply to make the times I do have more impact. That is just a category of words. I should shake up my language enough to include and exclude other words consciously. Subtracting words is unnecessary in any case other than socially unacceptable words in a tasteless fashion... unless I use a certain word way too damn often. Use a synonym. Talk like a writer writes. Speak with entertaining inflection and careful word choices. Distract others with a tone of voice that is at once commanding as it is trustworthy.
On edge. On the precipice. Drop a stone you would not hear it land. Too far for the sound to carry.
Look up from the bed. Our secret whispers unheard of in the outside world. There is no outside world. Just as they are excluded from ours. We don't exist and neither do they. Full moon up in the sky. Thrown through a thin layer of condensed water molecules and aerosol sprays to give it the hue it carries. Full color spectrum around the edges, bright. Window at my back, I am slouching under the sill to avoid the discomfort of leaning on it and the blinds, odd repeat pattern reflected down. The real moon, the biggest and then a soft gradient downward, opacity changing with size and it becomes a tiny circular like a star drawn on the glass. But I move the whole system changes like a serpent or a dancing woman. Hear the teleport noise and wish it were the real thing. Not a veil. The illusion of proximity despite grand distance. The ultimate magic trick. The disappearing and never returning magician.
Photographic evidence. There is none. I take no images of things anymore. Used to have a passion to capture everything in a day and then to be able to look back on that day. Perhaps a journalistic approach. Although writing tells a truth a photograph cannot on its own... a description and a placement in a story... why this is or is not an important image... what happened right around there... what it makes the person think of... but the picture itself is in more accurate detail than words could describe. I could conjure up such grandiose descriptions for an image though your mind will probably fill in some of the blanks on its own. The image I show you will always be slightly different than the one I described to you. Even if it is great detail. Even if it is the same image described and shown.
beneath your skin
you are also a skeleton
a wire frame to hang the meat from
strongest muscle of the body, the tongue
bone-crushing anxiety
somebody is suffering
water weight
crushing houses
----
Hold my hand in this soft light.
In defense of my questionable sobriety.
See Times Square in the rain.
We passed midnight to get there.
Boisterous hair.
Barber shop and man talk.
Nothing expensive.
God damn waste of money.
It's dead anyway.
A plane ticket is alive.
It is the promise of something glorious.
Something like an impenetrable stare.
Something glowing like a crystal ball.
The image stares back at you through the mirror.
Apparently with a mind of its own.
Some days it seems there is no connection.
Reflection has a life of its own.
A parallel universe where that plane ticket was never a question.
It had to happen.
Distance traversed.
In thankful succession.
All dreams quenched of thirst.
Living moments, lively childhood.
Kill the adult in you.
Live the life.
but you can't fuck somebody sarcastically.
just this once have a respect for yourself.
walk around the city
without falling
into cement
clear contempt
forgotten chant
monks in monastery
suddenly begin speaking of apocalyptic visions
breaking 80 years vow of silence
this is something ridiculous and fearful
ending with a grand family plan
to spend it all
on charity
or burn it in piles
insurance will cover us
for our charred memories.
the skeletons in the closet
are our own
and our bodies fall into spineless piles.
spend the night comforting the lost
be a compass for the directionally unsound
hear the sounds of a distant storm
never trains or cars anymore
just deafening silence
it sounds like what a graveyard looks
it feels like an evil lung inhaling
smells like vast empty longing
because it won't happen
it is simply too abstract for that love to exist
finding self in rhetorical classes
write the stories for others
for the friends and not so negative
cognizant of dwindling species
all feeling effects of stupidity
widespread panic and the media is only a source of lies
creature comfort for creatures without other creatures to find comfort in.
let me mindfuck you
then return the favor
if it was good for you
I'm fine.
On edge. On the precipice. Drop a stone you would not hear it land. Too far for the sound to carry.
Look up from the bed. Our secret whispers unheard of in the outside world. There is no outside world. Just as they are excluded from ours. We don't exist and neither do they. Full moon up in the sky. Thrown through a thin layer of condensed water molecules and aerosol sprays to give it the hue it carries. Full color spectrum around the edges, bright. Window at my back, I am slouching under the sill to avoid the discomfort of leaning on it and the blinds, odd repeat pattern reflected down. The real moon, the biggest and then a soft gradient downward, opacity changing with size and it becomes a tiny circular like a star drawn on the glass. But I move the whole system changes like a serpent or a dancing woman. Hear the teleport noise and wish it were the real thing. Not a veil. The illusion of proximity despite grand distance. The ultimate magic trick. The disappearing and never returning magician.
Photographic evidence. There is none. I take no images of things anymore. Used to have a passion to capture everything in a day and then to be able to look back on that day. Perhaps a journalistic approach. Although writing tells a truth a photograph cannot on its own... a description and a placement in a story... why this is or is not an important image... what happened right around there... what it makes the person think of... but the picture itself is in more accurate detail than words could describe. I could conjure up such grandiose descriptions for an image though your mind will probably fill in some of the blanks on its own. The image I show you will always be slightly different than the one I described to you. Even if it is great detail. Even if it is the same image described and shown.
beneath your skin
you are also a skeleton
a wire frame to hang the meat from
strongest muscle of the body, the tongue
bone-crushing anxiety
somebody is suffering
water weight
crushing houses
----
Hold my hand in this soft light.
In defense of my questionable sobriety.
See Times Square in the rain.
We passed midnight to get there.
Boisterous hair.
Barber shop and man talk.
Nothing expensive.
God damn waste of money.
It's dead anyway.
A plane ticket is alive.
It is the promise of something glorious.
Something like an impenetrable stare.
Something glowing like a crystal ball.
The image stares back at you through the mirror.
Apparently with a mind of its own.
Some days it seems there is no connection.
Reflection has a life of its own.
A parallel universe where that plane ticket was never a question.
It had to happen.
Distance traversed.
In thankful succession.
All dreams quenched of thirst.
Living moments, lively childhood.
Kill the adult in you.
Live the life.
but you can't fuck somebody sarcastically.
just this once have a respect for yourself.
walk around the city
without falling
into cement
clear contempt
forgotten chant
monks in monastery
suddenly begin speaking of apocalyptic visions
breaking 80 years vow of silence
this is something ridiculous and fearful
ending with a grand family plan
to spend it all
on charity
or burn it in piles
insurance will cover us
for our charred memories.
the skeletons in the closet
are our own
and our bodies fall into spineless piles.
spend the night comforting the lost
be a compass for the directionally unsound
hear the sounds of a distant storm
never trains or cars anymore
just deafening silence
it sounds like what a graveyard looks
it feels like an evil lung inhaling
smells like vast empty longing
because it won't happen
it is simply too abstract for that love to exist
finding self in rhetorical classes
write the stories for others
for the friends and not so negative
cognizant of dwindling species
all feeling effects of stupidity
widespread panic and the media is only a source of lies
creature comfort for creatures without other creatures to find comfort in.
let me mindfuck you
then return the favor
if it was good for you
I'm fine.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Oct 29
Her eyes were like melted wax. Violent recollections plagued her and she fell into a pile at the bottom of those very stairs. The room around her seemed to shift like a swaying boat edging through a tight water channel. Very concise and deliberate brushstrokes weighing in from all directions, the lights dimming and spinning like a scratched record. She smiles like a broken record. Her hands tremble and the sunset looks like a symphony orchestra. The colors all derivative musical ideas in the sky and she weeps at the beauty. Violent recollection aside, her eyes work like a detective to get to the root of it. Wafting scent of roses laid out on an unmade bed, candles lit and burning down like electrical fires in huge buildings. The business district takes on the appearance of rotting garbage. Everyone covers their nose at the sight. Her hair takes on characteristic smells of that sunset. We will turn around and watch the sunrise after so many hours holding on to each in perfect cadence. We will hear song birds sing blue songs in the morning. We will hear those colors change like fall leaves in piles to jump in. Waves crashing on our consciousness sounding like a first kiss, gently, over and over. Second kiss, third. I see music in the air. I can hear the colors of each note bending in kaleidoscopic circles. I can taste the blue sky in dew drops. A strong smell of skin contact. Burning fury. I hear your voice and it is blue-green. I smell your scent and it feels like electrocution.
Now that there is electricity,
a static mission to the center.
Children can stab outlets with knives.
Daggers given by obscure relatives.
Now that there is gasoline,
a breathe of fresh air, expended.
We can make things move faster
and faster toward marketing goals.
Eyes cloud over and rain
kill your last name
strands of dead hair change
colors that will soon replace
hourglass shaped body
only skinnier
turn her over
let her start counting up
not down
Now that there is loneliness,
pour salt in the wounds.
Know what it is to feel cold.
Whilst burning in a fire.
A chemical anomaly, you are.
Oh, to be in charge of destiny.
Paths divided forever.
Eternally combustion.
----------
"Human beings are chimpanzees who get crazy drunk on power."
----------
Now that there is electricity,
a static mission to the center.
Children can stab outlets with knives.
Daggers given by obscure relatives.
Now that there is gasoline,
a breathe of fresh air, expended.
We can make things move faster
and faster toward marketing goals.
Eyes cloud over and rain
kill your last name
strands of dead hair change
colors that will soon replace
hourglass shaped body
only skinnier
turn her over
let her start counting up
not down
Now that there is loneliness,
pour salt in the wounds.
Know what it is to feel cold.
Whilst burning in a fire.
A chemical anomaly, you are.
Oh, to be in charge of destiny.
Paths divided forever.
Eternally combustion.
----------
"Human beings are chimpanzees who get crazy drunk on power."
----------
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Oct 28
It's about 4 in the afternoon and I have not gone outside yet. This room growing shadows and becoming more cave-like than any place I ever expected to live. I cleaned take out Chinese food from one of my plastic plates I've had since my freshman year of college. Black and white line design giving the illusion of perpetual movement, though subtle.
I am filling my ears with beautiful music, imagining myself dancing in the middle of a great stadium, with the audience all cheering me on, more for an obvious self-confidence than any technical skill in dance moves. Anxious and hating the words chosen. Moving on. Imagine a crowd loud enough to set off alarms in earthquake detection centers, like at Seahawks home games.
Fateful application of self into the moment. When the vocal melody and the bass are lined up together. Matched melodies.
Left your crystal in my car. Kept me safe on the road perhaps. More likely it was I who did that. Simply because I was physically in control on the vehicle. Can I say that I was myself? Yes. Can I say that I was entirely in control? No. Maybe I was a cog in a greater wheel. Some superpower wished to keep me safe therefore woke me up at the perfect time to avoid a 14 car pile-up resulting in a death and a flipped semi-truck that I would have been involved in had I taken a different path for my day. Strange occurrences such as this. I have to think. I drove the vehicle. Science allowed the vehicle to drive without sudden internal combustion, baking me into a fiery chassis. A fucking rock in the road. Sent up against gravity by a speeding car, oncoming. This could have speed through my windshield killing me instantly in the hospital several hours later.
------
He found himself in a habit to get day drunk and go somewhere populated and avoid talking to people. No evidence of his intoxication because it is entirely unsuspected with such a closed off city. Everyone so uptight and tucked away neatly inside themselves. Singing subtle harmonies but never belting. They lead such conservative and fearful existences. He is one of them, they think, just as boring and dull as the rest. Though his mind is on fire. Alcohol fumes in his breath-minted mouth. Sunglasses hiding the red-glow of hungover eyes. It would be a strange accident for his actions to be noted as criminal in this world of murder and rape happening every second, everywhere, every day. Make yourself a target for this kind of activity. By hiding in plain sight there is never a reason to be caught. Unless you believe in karma or bad luck both.
It might be natural to feel so excited by the prospect of death. As long as it never hits TOO close to home. At a safe distance somewhere in the future. But the words need to pour out. The readership must increase or else life is for nothing at all. There is no purpose to life if you are not remembered.
----
All I do is jam. I improvise at everything I wish to become great at. This improvisation is a great way to head that direction. Even with all that progressive jamming there must be the full realization of projects. There must be true work in between the mind-clearing free-writing and random-chord playing music. The sporadic, stream-of-consciousness style that can only be marketable if first known for a developed and concise work. Maybe I can write an avant garde book full of all my best writing over the last year or two. Compilation of free-writing with minor edits to make points clear and sentences maintaining clarity without grammatical errors. I would rearrange the words of that last sentence due to how incorrect it is and feels. If a section of my writing is incorrect but feels great the error or errors will remain.
I need to add to my body of work. Am I at a creative plateau or does all of this spontaneous creation, lost in space, add up something glorious approaching me in the near future? Perhaps the constant writing and reading. The analysis of music. The visiting of art museums and watching of visually-striking and deep-thinking movies... Obviously all of these things are adding to my character and my development as an insatiable human being, which is the only true way to live... always hungry... It is a mystery to know if any of these efforts will end up worthwhile. I am just curious to know how I can take advantage of my talents in order to cheat the system out of survival-money and a small amount of respect.
"Let's see how your genius is fully realized."
Perfect lyric for the situation. Always growing. The knowledge of everything. I am filling my cup and shaking it all up, stirring the knowledge together to create my own personal map of the world... wondering when the time will be to pour large portions of this content out onto a canvas... into a song... into a book of poems... I do not think I need a completed college education to achieve my writing goals. This must be true. But the connections presented. The internship and so on... are only available with that education. How can I cheat the system? How can I reach my full potential and then share it all with the world?
----
Hallucinate images and sounds that you cannot hear or see. Another part of the brain that recognizes cartoons and manifests them, the recognition of buildings and landscapes, discovery of facial shells, the cells that are specific to that schema. Momentum rolling, connection with memory and emotion, inferior visual cortex, and the excitement raised up to a passionate fury. The mesmerizing moment of envy for the teacher, paying attention to them sweating and honest about their incredible knowledge and ability to speak clearly live and in front of so many, thought to be interpreted like dreams, I cannot form any associations. Cannot label them as dreams. Blind people with visual hallucinations. Patients for doctors in the public. Given one insight for how the brain works. 250 years ago. '
the theater of the mind can be generated by the machinery of the brain.'
I am filling my ears with beautiful music, imagining myself dancing in the middle of a great stadium, with the audience all cheering me on, more for an obvious self-confidence than any technical skill in dance moves. Anxious and hating the words chosen. Moving on. Imagine a crowd loud enough to set off alarms in earthquake detection centers, like at Seahawks home games.
Fateful application of self into the moment. When the vocal melody and the bass are lined up together. Matched melodies.
Left your crystal in my car. Kept me safe on the road perhaps. More likely it was I who did that. Simply because I was physically in control on the vehicle. Can I say that I was myself? Yes. Can I say that I was entirely in control? No. Maybe I was a cog in a greater wheel. Some superpower wished to keep me safe therefore woke me up at the perfect time to avoid a 14 car pile-up resulting in a death and a flipped semi-truck that I would have been involved in had I taken a different path for my day. Strange occurrences such as this. I have to think. I drove the vehicle. Science allowed the vehicle to drive without sudden internal combustion, baking me into a fiery chassis. A fucking rock in the road. Sent up against gravity by a speeding car, oncoming. This could have speed through my windshield killing me instantly in the hospital several hours later.
------
He found himself in a habit to get day drunk and go somewhere populated and avoid talking to people. No evidence of his intoxication because it is entirely unsuspected with such a closed off city. Everyone so uptight and tucked away neatly inside themselves. Singing subtle harmonies but never belting. They lead such conservative and fearful existences. He is one of them, they think, just as boring and dull as the rest. Though his mind is on fire. Alcohol fumes in his breath-minted mouth. Sunglasses hiding the red-glow of hungover eyes. It would be a strange accident for his actions to be noted as criminal in this world of murder and rape happening every second, everywhere, every day. Make yourself a target for this kind of activity. By hiding in plain sight there is never a reason to be caught. Unless you believe in karma or bad luck both.
It might be natural to feel so excited by the prospect of death. As long as it never hits TOO close to home. At a safe distance somewhere in the future. But the words need to pour out. The readership must increase or else life is for nothing at all. There is no purpose to life if you are not remembered.
----
All I do is jam. I improvise at everything I wish to become great at. This improvisation is a great way to head that direction. Even with all that progressive jamming there must be the full realization of projects. There must be true work in between the mind-clearing free-writing and random-chord playing music. The sporadic, stream-of-consciousness style that can only be marketable if first known for a developed and concise work. Maybe I can write an avant garde book full of all my best writing over the last year or two. Compilation of free-writing with minor edits to make points clear and sentences maintaining clarity without grammatical errors. I would rearrange the words of that last sentence due to how incorrect it is and feels. If a section of my writing is incorrect but feels great the error or errors will remain.
I need to add to my body of work. Am I at a creative plateau or does all of this spontaneous creation, lost in space, add up something glorious approaching me in the near future? Perhaps the constant writing and reading. The analysis of music. The visiting of art museums and watching of visually-striking and deep-thinking movies... Obviously all of these things are adding to my character and my development as an insatiable human being, which is the only true way to live... always hungry... It is a mystery to know if any of these efforts will end up worthwhile. I am just curious to know how I can take advantage of my talents in order to cheat the system out of survival-money and a small amount of respect.
"Let's see how your genius is fully realized."
Perfect lyric for the situation. Always growing. The knowledge of everything. I am filling my cup and shaking it all up, stirring the knowledge together to create my own personal map of the world... wondering when the time will be to pour large portions of this content out onto a canvas... into a song... into a book of poems... I do not think I need a completed college education to achieve my writing goals. This must be true. But the connections presented. The internship and so on... are only available with that education. How can I cheat the system? How can I reach my full potential and then share it all with the world?
----
Hallucinate images and sounds that you cannot hear or see. Another part of the brain that recognizes cartoons and manifests them, the recognition of buildings and landscapes, discovery of facial shells, the cells that are specific to that schema. Momentum rolling, connection with memory and emotion, inferior visual cortex, and the excitement raised up to a passionate fury. The mesmerizing moment of envy for the teacher, paying attention to them sweating and honest about their incredible knowledge and ability to speak clearly live and in front of so many, thought to be interpreted like dreams, I cannot form any associations. Cannot label them as dreams. Blind people with visual hallucinations. Patients for doctors in the public. Given one insight for how the brain works. 250 years ago. '
the theater of the mind can be generated by the machinery of the brain.'
October 27
Drink and spoil the senses with increased frenzy. An enhanced livelihood in the pockets of the rich. Get a stamp at the front. A red sun, red rum, red rum. RUN. Antlers of a deer head extend out into AK-47's pointed at either front corner of the bar. Dark masses moving, Jack the Ripper and also those who did not dress up for any Halloween activity for the first time in their life. The festivities begin and end tonight. In order to keep position fucking secretary secretly at work. Follow your heart and you can achieve anything. Then again last night counts. Spit-shined Hollywood mischief. Pissing in the stairways of a mall and sliding much too quickly down filthy hand rails to guide those with sore or dysfunctional legs to reach the bottom unscathed. Bright lights outside. Dark atmosphere inside. The reverse of what a night should be. Sun shining wildly but the party remains inside with all the blinds closed. Candlelight flickering. No sense of space or time. The party can continue. No hidden planets behind that sun to crush us into ruin. None yet anyway.
Vomit blood in burger joint. Not I. Picking up ice cubes by hand in senseless precision. Singing a harmony to a Beatles song on the radio. Acting rude at a table and making a fuss about nothing in particular. Just an accidental lapse of motive and logical reasoning took over, also with no desire to cause a scene of unnecessary stupidity, Though that attention gained would have been lovely. Beer soaked sheets and the night bending head screaming out pressure and infidelity. 6.0% ALC PER VOL.
"I've been trading ideas with intriguing men."
Deciding to sell things. Kept in mint condition, hiding in that garage. Rather than bringing me more. I'd sell it all and then wonder later why I had to sell it all with a pang of guilt. But this is for the best. The cleansing. Less connections with a past and no reason to live way beyond my own personal means. It would also be a proactive way for me to save up some cash. Everything is dollar signs. In the eyes of everyone on the Sunset Strip. All of the bright entertainment and the yelling hordes of ruffians. No cop car flipping. Just one man getting arrested and a ton of people watching with bystander syndrome. I became one of them for a moment. I watched an interesting piece of society. Not from here apparently. Run the wrong way and kill all investors by morning the stacks will be burned to the ground in delicate procedure. No word from that women I must have been thinking about based on some actions after the concert. A random 'fuck yes' in the face of critical inquiry. They all laugh, sinister, in their small boxes. The cages they carry around their bodies like the atmosphere of a planet. Empty inside the head and the heart. No need to rekindle a dead fire with only charred wood remaining in the pit. Extinguished and misleading. I already apologized for stupidity and lack of concrete scheduling. But I just have to lapse into a familiar insanity every now and then or else my life feels off balance and meaningless. I need to be in control of it all and fill all blank spaces with incredible forthright messages. Fill your eyes with beauty. Warm the blood and weigh down the eye lids with savory satisfaction. Call the shots, god. Send rain and lightning from your fingertips, sobbing.
Is it fate? At least an interesting idea to believe in such a missed connection as a mutual feeling of intimacy between two strangers. Some personalities have to just click. I imagine, nowadays, that feeling of incredible mutual curiosity and comfort, an instant deep connection between potentially kindred souls, must happen rather often. At least the train of thought overlaps some nights. She feels a tug at the heartstrings like fingers plucking a harp on one side of the world. He feels a similar shock of memory renewal. He remembers a beautiful happy girl and finds himself wondering if at the same time she is feeling that same grand connection. It has to overlap at some point. Something magical in that prospect even if it happens constantly over a lifetime. So many millions of people that could be extremely important and influential. In a different life, they say. Not in a million years, they say. Missed connections over the world making so many wonder what it could have been for them. What would be different, anything? Just another mislead idea of the perfect situation. Replaced by other perceived perfection later. A series of electric lift-offs and devastating come-downs. Failed missions into that euphoric layer of atmosphere. Atmosphere. Just breathe it all in and taste the decay. Despite success in the future as well as past for the living out of perfect moments there always seems to be a way to think up something dreamier. Something closer to the ideal. Something approaching perfection and beauty and eternity. How to reach it in the present! Always seems to be a realization about a past moment. "Wow that really was fucking perfect. What the hell was I worried about?"
The dinner and movies. Music and books. Art and sex. Messed up hair and late mornings. Yawning, rolling over and feeling so overwhelmed by that lazy perfection never to be found again but so quick and naive to discredit any notion of that. Be happy as hell. There is one life, now. It is a one shot deal and grasping the essence of every moment cannot be too hard. It must be a goal reachable within the span of my life. I will find that perfection. That balance between the powers of good and evil. Time well spent both working hard and pleasurably idle. A static balance but with full life and happy heart.
--------------------
Saw you naked in the moonlight.
So primitive in this modern climate.
Bathe in that luminescent darkness, lay back on a low hill.
Your skin has a radiation glow to it,
something to put out chemical fires.
When we gather our hearts for the furnace.
Bask in joyful moon-glow.
Dance in fields of flowers.
Dream big for small places.
Everyone must become present.
Drop-shadow hinges
throw away the silver key
doors of perception
every angle different
from you own
Operating under strange influences
random compulsive behavior
on a saturday somewhere
burying a time capsule in the back yard
remembered for two hundred centuries
if anyone digs for it
more likely no one does
it gets destroyed in careless renovation
to make way for new superhighway
re-imagine history with greater humor
less sadness
no melancholy
unless the jolting kind
the kind that makes your senses perk up
a clear awareness of situation
in simple terms
so beautiful and profound
a new clarity for true nature of things
no longer tunnel vision
soon shackled and bound
back to the world of hate and greed
lead by derision
moonlight lulls her into a trance
a dreamlike state where time-travel is possible
in all directions
meditative and calm
natural and gorgeous
never buries her head in her hands
such revelatory statements
churning through that brain
remembers his name
enticed by the fame
chances present and prevent
full interaction never possible
it is a constant list of regretful inaction
intermixed with guilt caused by a negative action
burning through mounds of earth
frozen to conserve vital organs
living and breathing
with a treasure map to wake up to
in thousand years
hoping the world is still here
somehow fate could tie them together
holding hands in a huddle
an the end of the earth
and life as we know it
beautiful stranger
headed elsewhere
no remorse
could be worse
never run into her
or let thoughts free
imagination burning
feverish highs
and callous lows
wishing it could all continue without difficulty
hoping for a hand to hold when it collapses
Vomit blood in burger joint. Not I. Picking up ice cubes by hand in senseless precision. Singing a harmony to a Beatles song on the radio. Acting rude at a table and making a fuss about nothing in particular. Just an accidental lapse of motive and logical reasoning took over, also with no desire to cause a scene of unnecessary stupidity, Though that attention gained would have been lovely. Beer soaked sheets and the night bending head screaming out pressure and infidelity. 6.0% ALC PER VOL.
"I've been trading ideas with intriguing men."
Deciding to sell things. Kept in mint condition, hiding in that garage. Rather than bringing me more. I'd sell it all and then wonder later why I had to sell it all with a pang of guilt. But this is for the best. The cleansing. Less connections with a past and no reason to live way beyond my own personal means. It would also be a proactive way for me to save up some cash. Everything is dollar signs. In the eyes of everyone on the Sunset Strip. All of the bright entertainment and the yelling hordes of ruffians. No cop car flipping. Just one man getting arrested and a ton of people watching with bystander syndrome. I became one of them for a moment. I watched an interesting piece of society. Not from here apparently. Run the wrong way and kill all investors by morning the stacks will be burned to the ground in delicate procedure. No word from that women I must have been thinking about based on some actions after the concert. A random 'fuck yes' in the face of critical inquiry. They all laugh, sinister, in their small boxes. The cages they carry around their bodies like the atmosphere of a planet. Empty inside the head and the heart. No need to rekindle a dead fire with only charred wood remaining in the pit. Extinguished and misleading. I already apologized for stupidity and lack of concrete scheduling. But I just have to lapse into a familiar insanity every now and then or else my life feels off balance and meaningless. I need to be in control of it all and fill all blank spaces with incredible forthright messages. Fill your eyes with beauty. Warm the blood and weigh down the eye lids with savory satisfaction. Call the shots, god. Send rain and lightning from your fingertips, sobbing.
Is it fate? At least an interesting idea to believe in such a missed connection as a mutual feeling of intimacy between two strangers. Some personalities have to just click. I imagine, nowadays, that feeling of incredible mutual curiosity and comfort, an instant deep connection between potentially kindred souls, must happen rather often. At least the train of thought overlaps some nights. She feels a tug at the heartstrings like fingers plucking a harp on one side of the world. He feels a similar shock of memory renewal. He remembers a beautiful happy girl and finds himself wondering if at the same time she is feeling that same grand connection. It has to overlap at some point. Something magical in that prospect even if it happens constantly over a lifetime. So many millions of people that could be extremely important and influential. In a different life, they say. Not in a million years, they say. Missed connections over the world making so many wonder what it could have been for them. What would be different, anything? Just another mislead idea of the perfect situation. Replaced by other perceived perfection later. A series of electric lift-offs and devastating come-downs. Failed missions into that euphoric layer of atmosphere. Atmosphere. Just breathe it all in and taste the decay. Despite success in the future as well as past for the living out of perfect moments there always seems to be a way to think up something dreamier. Something closer to the ideal. Something approaching perfection and beauty and eternity. How to reach it in the present! Always seems to be a realization about a past moment. "Wow that really was fucking perfect. What the hell was I worried about?"
The dinner and movies. Music and books. Art and sex. Messed up hair and late mornings. Yawning, rolling over and feeling so overwhelmed by that lazy perfection never to be found again but so quick and naive to discredit any notion of that. Be happy as hell. There is one life, now. It is a one shot deal and grasping the essence of every moment cannot be too hard. It must be a goal reachable within the span of my life. I will find that perfection. That balance between the powers of good and evil. Time well spent both working hard and pleasurably idle. A static balance but with full life and happy heart.
--------------------
Saw you naked in the moonlight.
So primitive in this modern climate.
Bathe in that luminescent darkness, lay back on a low hill.
Your skin has a radiation glow to it,
something to put out chemical fires.
When we gather our hearts for the furnace.
Bask in joyful moon-glow.
Dance in fields of flowers.
Dream big for small places.
Everyone must become present.
Drop-shadow hinges
throw away the silver key
doors of perception
every angle different
from you own
Operating under strange influences
random compulsive behavior
on a saturday somewhere
burying a time capsule in the back yard
remembered for two hundred centuries
if anyone digs for it
more likely no one does
it gets destroyed in careless renovation
to make way for new superhighway
re-imagine history with greater humor
less sadness
no melancholy
unless the jolting kind
the kind that makes your senses perk up
a clear awareness of situation
in simple terms
so beautiful and profound
a new clarity for true nature of things
no longer tunnel vision
soon shackled and bound
back to the world of hate and greed
lead by derision
moonlight lulls her into a trance
a dreamlike state where time-travel is possible
in all directions
meditative and calm
natural and gorgeous
never buries her head in her hands
such revelatory statements
churning through that brain
remembers his name
enticed by the fame
chances present and prevent
full interaction never possible
it is a constant list of regretful inaction
intermixed with guilt caused by a negative action
burning through mounds of earth
frozen to conserve vital organs
living and breathing
with a treasure map to wake up to
in thousand years
hoping the world is still here
somehow fate could tie them together
holding hands in a huddle
an the end of the earth
and life as we know it
beautiful stranger
headed elsewhere
no remorse
could be worse
never run into her
or let thoughts free
imagination burning
feverish highs
and callous lows
wishing it could all continue without difficulty
hoping for a hand to hold when it collapses
Friday, October 26, 2012
Oct 26
Extremely noticeable gust of wind, pulling down power lines with the assistence of gravity after pushing over from the object's fulcrum. I heard liberals to be called reality-biased intellectuals or some such jargon. Though a reality-bias? What a wonderful idea that someone with this mindset has the influence of a true existence pervading their thoughts and actions. But we still all hide our bodies under layers of nonsense. They are a simple covering. For the deaf individual a band is nothing more than their looks. For everyone else it should be sound first then look second. Any other way and that person must be caught up in a sick, reprehensible world of fashion that calls for the selling of the soul in order to achieve material goals and maintain a solid social status among the other fashionable elite. I constantly question why this matters. Women have it much worse, yes. "Never stray too far from center. Nothing offensive. No shorts." Puppet with drawstrings. A mirror broken in front of his eyes. A middle finger reflecting off most splintered surfaces.
The mindset was once one of rebellion. Of personal involvement to achieve a new momentum. A heart felt attempt to create something new and everlasting. The need to create and have an entire self tucked away in there. Now I am contaminated. I look at clothes. I hate myself in my old clothes. Then check back to reality. What the fuck man? Clothes are clothes are clothes are clothes are simple covering layers hiding away indecency and keeping the body warm come night. You are wearing fine clothes. The finest. Because you have them. They are random. Sporadic. Never thought out. Others relish the moment they find a hat to match the shoelaces. Used to call them out on that. But now I am one of them. Who cares about celebrities? The devils. An award show so mind blowing we are all left paralyzed. The conversation about attire required for the event. Wear whatever you fucking feel! All the other assholes who want you to conform to their design, in arrogance, should go get fucked. What makes you in a more expensive shirt better than me in any way whatsoever? (I can afford it, you say.) Money isn't everything, asshole. Money is something evil invented by us quite some time ago. Yes, America today revolves around it. Doesn't anyone ever question their motives anymore? Does any ever wonder if they have been corrupted?
The mindset was once one of rebellion. Of personal involvement to achieve a new momentum. A heart felt attempt to create something new and everlasting. The need to create and have an entire self tucked away in there. Now I am contaminated. I look at clothes. I hate myself in my old clothes. Then check back to reality. What the fuck man? Clothes are clothes are clothes are clothes are simple covering layers hiding away indecency and keeping the body warm come night. You are wearing fine clothes. The finest. Because you have them. They are random. Sporadic. Never thought out. Others relish the moment they find a hat to match the shoelaces. Used to call them out on that. But now I am one of them. Who cares about celebrities? The devils. An award show so mind blowing we are all left paralyzed. The conversation about attire required for the event. Wear whatever you fucking feel! All the other assholes who want you to conform to their design, in arrogance, should go get fucked. What makes you in a more expensive shirt better than me in any way whatsoever? (I can afford it, you say.) Money isn't everything, asshole. Money is something evil invented by us quite some time ago. Yes, America today revolves around it. Doesn't anyone ever question their motives anymore? Does any ever wonder if they have been corrupted?
Thursday, October 25, 2012
October 25th
"Great minds should all fuck each other."
A handwritten day, the list checked off but only partially because of long-term goals represented rather than a simple and direct self-command. A day for learning and self-exploration. Reading in a evening-lit conference room. "Nothing about me is conservative!" There is a spark, an angry and vivid light all around the old trends. So easy to fall into them. They are all we know! We know nothing of breaking free and carving a new path when the old one is so damn tempting.
A handwritten day, the list checked off but only partially because of long-term goals represented rather than a simple and direct self-command. A day for learning and self-exploration. Reading in a evening-lit conference room. "Nothing about me is conservative!" There is a spark, an angry and vivid light all around the old trends. So easy to fall into them. They are all we know! We know nothing of breaking free and carving a new path when the old one is so damn tempting.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Oct 24th
All within seconds of midnight....
Smoking candle filtering out dark thoughts. This is the illumination necessary. A beacon throttled by surrounding darkness at the end of a deep hallway. To figure a night realizing physical nature of being. The back aches due to terrible posture for consistent hours. This is a shell that should be taken care of. Wake into good treatment of this body. Sufficient time resting with vivid dreams in deep REM sleep should lead for an extremely capable day. Blood flows properly in this living machine. Articulating movements beyond my comprehension. A melee of functioning electronic signals shooting in delicate process about this outer shell. This abundant atmosphere. All-encompassing. To comprehensively include. The inner workings like clocks ticking. Impacting in meteoric cadence in that atmosphere. Lively scientific poetic research fueled by mathematical functions. A chaotic swerving? Brain burning like boiling water. In a test tube full of liquor, in celebration of a brand new holiday, thrown just now for the very first year, to be carried on for the rest of our lives and implemented into middle school children's pocket agendas, even after they no longer take a physical form, in the form of a smart phone app, the teacher's lesson plans some ancient mystery, a national holiday begun in the perfect setting. Maybe I will see you on holiday.
Twitching nervously under street lamp. Back against the dirty wall, lighting zippo on leg of jeans. Holding flame, marveling about the hypothetical astonishment a caveman might have at such an invention, the character reaches for a cigarette out of pack in coat pocket. Lines up the end of the cigarette within the reach of the continued flame and inhales. Exhale is exhaust mixed with condensation in the cold air. Similar concept to what creates a jet-trail line in the sky after an airplane passes through a cloud. A cab pulls up and the stranger stubs out cigarette after a few puffs, representing only a slight indulgence of nicotine via tobacco, an old addiction hanging on in brief outdoor sessions, at bus stops in the rain, sharing in a small huddle.. Light rain falls from a grey sky, sun shining somewhere above it all, always up there until implosion. A car, an old mystery of physics back in the day, swerves around the cab, the driver honking and yelling. Curse words like 'shit' and 'fuck' at the top of his god damned corroded lungs. Cab driver gives him the finger and allows man previously standing under street lamp, lighting a cigarette with a zippo on the right leg of his jeans, to enter the back of the car. No longer an intimate knowledge of the streets and information to share of the sights and sounds surrounding them. Certified is to have GPS and speak English not proper. Follow directions and no tell to stop when asked out to leave. Purposeful gibberish. Control remains. The address is typed into this GPS, young man with zippo, clicking it open and shut loud enough for a dirty look from driver, wishing he had hand sanitizer who avoid accidentally contaminating himself with germs from this dependent technological. Follow an arrow as opposed to intricate schema of the layout of a city like a giant blueprint of the mind, a map of the city imprinted in the grey matter to make use of the small percentage of lost cells.
The small percentage of true lost souls. Others run into a decision. Some have to let it crash upon them and the choice thus become obvious. Like a tidal wave decimating an island village. You are the naive natives holding steadfast in thin huts and canoes as the sky darkens from the height and majesty of the wave. Something no record keeper would be alive to keep. The sky will seem black for days prior to thunderous crash of liquid upon earth similar to a pebble dropped into a lake but in the reverse and on a larger scale by mass.
Chiseled in stone. Taxi driver swerving madly through traffic, while on the phone. Waiting to receive payment from a future customer. Pushing against each other like we aren't all a part of the human race. Same path to hit that pedestrian who was literally skipping across the street in a strange trance. Something pure and simple and never questioned and poorly thought out. She was just running across to avoid an argument on the curb of the sidewalk but was side swiped by the rushing taxi, the driver glimpsing up momentarily to continue giving back passenger a dirty look. Knocked her off her feet and cracked the windshield. Blood.
Cab driver pulls over, yelling in a foreign language. Ignorant American ears could not identify accent with any validity. A random guess might prove right. Have watched history channel. Yelling into phone and ignoring the awful wreck he has caused. The passenger exits the vehicle to investigate the scene and call for help. Queasy at the sight of blood in the street, covers mouth with hand, finds a fresh cigarette and zippo, hands shaking, and jogs to cab driver to get him to call for help.
"Are you calling for help?"
"(something in a different language, spoken aggressively into phone, no attention paid to question)"
"Look at what happened! Call for help!"
"Long distance business. Cannot hang up."
He spits at his feet and continues to speak in tongue.
Other man runs toward woman but is afraid to touch her for fear of broken bones becoming more broken, tendons stretching further away from their positions at rest.
Yells for help.
Light drizzle becoming stronger.
Continues to yell, streets suddenly seem barren though finally an ambulance comes after a good citizen watching the whole thing something high above decided to call in before all the violence could get entertaining and quick.
Smoking candle filtering out dark thoughts. This is the illumination necessary. A beacon throttled by surrounding darkness at the end of a deep hallway. To figure a night realizing physical nature of being. The back aches due to terrible posture for consistent hours. This is a shell that should be taken care of. Wake into good treatment of this body. Sufficient time resting with vivid dreams in deep REM sleep should lead for an extremely capable day. Blood flows properly in this living machine. Articulating movements beyond my comprehension. A melee of functioning electronic signals shooting in delicate process about this outer shell. This abundant atmosphere. All-encompassing. To comprehensively include. The inner workings like clocks ticking. Impacting in meteoric cadence in that atmosphere. Lively scientific poetic research fueled by mathematical functions. A chaotic swerving? Brain burning like boiling water. In a test tube full of liquor, in celebration of a brand new holiday, thrown just now for the very first year, to be carried on for the rest of our lives and implemented into middle school children's pocket agendas, even after they no longer take a physical form, in the form of a smart phone app, the teacher's lesson plans some ancient mystery, a national holiday begun in the perfect setting. Maybe I will see you on holiday.
Twitching nervously under street lamp. Back against the dirty wall, lighting zippo on leg of jeans. Holding flame, marveling about the hypothetical astonishment a caveman might have at such an invention, the character reaches for a cigarette out of pack in coat pocket. Lines up the end of the cigarette within the reach of the continued flame and inhales. Exhale is exhaust mixed with condensation in the cold air. Similar concept to what creates a jet-trail line in the sky after an airplane passes through a cloud. A cab pulls up and the stranger stubs out cigarette after a few puffs, representing only a slight indulgence of nicotine via tobacco, an old addiction hanging on in brief outdoor sessions, at bus stops in the rain, sharing in a small huddle.. Light rain falls from a grey sky, sun shining somewhere above it all, always up there until implosion. A car, an old mystery of physics back in the day, swerves around the cab, the driver honking and yelling. Curse words like 'shit' and 'fuck' at the top of his god damned corroded lungs. Cab driver gives him the finger and allows man previously standing under street lamp, lighting a cigarette with a zippo on the right leg of his jeans, to enter the back of the car. No longer an intimate knowledge of the streets and information to share of the sights and sounds surrounding them. Certified is to have GPS and speak English not proper. Follow directions and no tell to stop when asked out to leave. Purposeful gibberish. Control remains. The address is typed into this GPS, young man with zippo, clicking it open and shut loud enough for a dirty look from driver, wishing he had hand sanitizer who avoid accidentally contaminating himself with germs from this dependent technological. Follow an arrow as opposed to intricate schema of the layout of a city like a giant blueprint of the mind, a map of the city imprinted in the grey matter to make use of the small percentage of lost cells.
The small percentage of true lost souls. Others run into a decision. Some have to let it crash upon them and the choice thus become obvious. Like a tidal wave decimating an island village. You are the naive natives holding steadfast in thin huts and canoes as the sky darkens from the height and majesty of the wave. Something no record keeper would be alive to keep. The sky will seem black for days prior to thunderous crash of liquid upon earth similar to a pebble dropped into a lake but in the reverse and on a larger scale by mass.
Chiseled in stone. Taxi driver swerving madly through traffic, while on the phone. Waiting to receive payment from a future customer. Pushing against each other like we aren't all a part of the human race. Same path to hit that pedestrian who was literally skipping across the street in a strange trance. Something pure and simple and never questioned and poorly thought out. She was just running across to avoid an argument on the curb of the sidewalk but was side swiped by the rushing taxi, the driver glimpsing up momentarily to continue giving back passenger a dirty look. Knocked her off her feet and cracked the windshield. Blood.
Cab driver pulls over, yelling in a foreign language. Ignorant American ears could not identify accent with any validity. A random guess might prove right. Have watched history channel. Yelling into phone and ignoring the awful wreck he has caused. The passenger exits the vehicle to investigate the scene and call for help. Queasy at the sight of blood in the street, covers mouth with hand, finds a fresh cigarette and zippo, hands shaking, and jogs to cab driver to get him to call for help.
"Are you calling for help?"
"(something in a different language, spoken aggressively into phone, no attention paid to question)"
"Look at what happened! Call for help!"
"Long distance business. Cannot hang up."
He spits at his feet and continues to speak in tongue.
Other man runs toward woman but is afraid to touch her for fear of broken bones becoming more broken, tendons stretching further away from their positions at rest.
Yells for help.
Light drizzle becoming stronger.
Continues to yell, streets suddenly seem barren though finally an ambulance comes after a good citizen watching the whole thing something high above decided to call in before all the violence could get entertaining and quick.
October 23
Always past tense, existing somewhere under the deep horizon. His thoughts squandered on frivolous matters when there is such a world available to him. Sitting on a wooden stool on the back patio. A moss-covered statue of an ancient soldier presides over the border of the wilderness, alert in a triumphant pose over an invisible downed foe. His stone head held high against the weight of the thick green confusion of the forest, whereas Nick curved his back under it. Seated with an absence of color in his eyes for all the majesty of the world.
Nick patted his pockets,
"Damn. I left them inside."
Pushing off from the wooden bench, yawning, he went back through the glass door. The matches where inside in the jar that also contains his keys and occasional parking meter change. He picked up a book at random from the shelf.
He slid the door and slouched back down on the stiff bench, pulling a white paper from his pocket. The book on his lap, the long version of Les Miserables.
"Hmm," he grunts, musing.
His hands worked in trained precision. The mechanical movements of an expert out of training. The rolling and tearing apart of stems and crushing together THC crystals, all intertwining. Weaving a blanket. Digging a hole.
Lights a match but looks at it until it burns out. Lights a new one to spark his joint.
He sits there musing silently. Waves of colors wash over him in simplified terms. New theorists expand and develop in his head.
"Is this living in the now?" he asks himself.
A bird collides with the sliding glass door behind him with a powerful sound. The bird twitches on the ground briefly before flying off in concussed movements.
"Hmm."
Nick patted his pockets,
"Damn. I left them inside."
Pushing off from the wooden bench, yawning, he went back through the glass door. The matches where inside in the jar that also contains his keys and occasional parking meter change. He picked up a book at random from the shelf.
He slid the door and slouched back down on the stiff bench, pulling a white paper from his pocket. The book on his lap, the long version of Les Miserables.
"Hmm," he grunts, musing.
His hands worked in trained precision. The mechanical movements of an expert out of training. The rolling and tearing apart of stems and crushing together THC crystals, all intertwining. Weaving a blanket. Digging a hole.
Lights a match but looks at it until it burns out. Lights a new one to spark his joint.
He sits there musing silently. Waves of colors wash over him in simplified terms. New theorists expand and develop in his head.
"Is this living in the now?" he asks himself.
A bird collides with the sliding glass door behind him with a powerful sound. The bird twitches on the ground briefly before flying off in concussed movements.
"Hmm."
Monday, October 22, 2012
oct 22nd
wash me clear of that wretched state though "I fell in love, made an album, got a buzz and lost it all, guess what. now we meet again." exhausted from a sleepless weekend and all of the lovely thoughts directed at the sky, twinkle brighter little stars, let them all know you are there, let her know I have the power to make them illuminate and if I didn't I would be a total disappointment. Music to share. Feeling incredible down in the shadows of incredible potential. There is so goddamn much. The sky is huge, energy drinks are poison, weed zucchini bread is effective, between the buried and me are incredible musicians as my high took over and replaced their music with my own introspective hell. a nightmare with four wheels and the rough roads lead me to believe my car is breaking down into several pieces, the reflections are off and warped, fluctuating speeds in rhythm with your slowing breaths. Smiling sweetly and laying back on that empty mattress, heart wishing for a better move, feeling low in the gathering moonlight. Couldn't even name a damn constellation. Finish my sentence with yours and we will continue... to eat peacefully... in the year of our dear lord.... from a different solar system... appears in the form of a shining orb... evidence of U.F.O.... is equal to the spirituality found in rocks you shouldn't smoke unless you wish death upon yourself prior to a massive global awakening where we all transfer from our physical bodies into light-beings, able entirely to transcend space and time. Meet you again in montauk.
oct 21
crazy involvement in life, certain circumstances, all of us infantile at mind but lovingly gorgeous in figure. I miss that incredible smile before I could even come to know it. All is lost. All is lost. No negative attitude but that senseless hope could kill a king. No physical weapon. Find yourself surrounded then attacked by all of the hypothetical beauty you can conjure. Rather than actual beauty, actually saying wonderful things that your heart screams from your chest. No voice. No voice. Bumping elbows in playful rhythm, out under the stars, some fake, others real. all entirely intangible. discernment. I couldn't separate the date from the day. The minute from the hour. Frozen in time. Polish off beers and forget anything whispered. There is a time and a place for the correct motivating factors. I sensed a reckless desire and a dangerous chemical released through my blood stream. Testing the brink of insanity. Crossing over to that other side. All alone. All alone. Find yourself bright in these dark trees, shadows cast over delicate motions, water from the ocean, smiles and sunshine, a happiness found and bought over the internet. There are ways to connect. Stay in touch. Explosive contact. Repulsive detachment. Need you like water in my lungs. All the sad songs staying sorry for the cover art. resources and demands patrolled through literature. bookstores and learning experiences, all of the constant awe surrounding. the jazz poetry, the artist in me, the decapitated bicycle, a mother's birthday, a love of music and all things interesting or beautiful. sushi and a split check, broken down etiquette, finding a reason to believe in that new central love-song, trading places and wishing for further, deeper, fragments. Stomach pitted. Knots form out of scattered laces. A philosophy and a theory a religious debate and all the music possible, the sky turning colors, the holding up of one and other in the eyes of the sun, a regret instantly due to fear, there are no more chances for me to try that. commute through that coffee stand, say nothing, fall for anything, come there every damn day and weep. at the grave site, the mortuary, all saving and saying grace, safe to say, reckoned with a new force, overlaps the old and wipes it off the face of the earth. listening for birds and their spirited music through the trees, hanging on to a hang over, the pool reflects everything about a proper cleansing, wishing to hold a moment in my hand and mold it into perfection though something perfect and infinite must have occurred for me to even think this way.
-------
but god help me, this parent trap, talking about how it is to be raised in this state of affairs as a child, live in a dream globe, finding the personal spiritual awakening, let him believe in his crystals, in the glowing orbs kept in pockets and all of the deja voodoo involved ritualistically. but I wish to drink the galaxy down in my morning coffee. I wish to add up my blessings with a graphing calculator and trace them out onto a giant grid, painting the pattern of the data for all to understand an extreme grateful and humble life. ridiculous. that damn smile and that sinister feeling of all fear. all get out. all get out of me. help this enlightenment cease intermittent. pour yourself out, contents and all. help me write this story and get into my life immediately. invent a portal and something new and exciting will control all vibes. maybe the glowing orbs are right. the rocks in the containers under the palm tree, smashing an old car stereo with an older wooden baseball bat, throwing beer bottles into an empty lot, that weird movie and the desire to grow into the pacific northwest. holy shit.
-------
but god help me, this parent trap, talking about how it is to be raised in this state of affairs as a child, live in a dream globe, finding the personal spiritual awakening, let him believe in his crystals, in the glowing orbs kept in pockets and all of the deja voodoo involved ritualistically. but I wish to drink the galaxy down in my morning coffee. I wish to add up my blessings with a graphing calculator and trace them out onto a giant grid, painting the pattern of the data for all to understand an extreme grateful and humble life. ridiculous. that damn smile and that sinister feeling of all fear. all get out. all get out of me. help this enlightenment cease intermittent. pour yourself out, contents and all. help me write this story and get into my life immediately. invent a portal and something new and exciting will control all vibes. maybe the glowing orbs are right. the rocks in the containers under the palm tree, smashing an old car stereo with an older wooden baseball bat, throwing beer bottles into an empty lot, that weird movie and the desire to grow into the pacific northwest. holy shit.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
oct 20
heart skips down hopscotch, chasing down drinks with fun and games, pay to feel like a kid again and lacking the memory to feel any different at the moment, enticed by a smile and motivated to return and it is a grand feeling in the pit of the stomach all swelling and gurgling around like a ship at sea, full under the spell and wishing the moment to be forever but it will be regardless of the time spent, the morning routine and all of everything erased in the instant my foot hits the gas, the party scene and the morning coffee breath and the accidental overdose on the way to the accident scene, I fell into a trance and was guiding by a deeper movement then I could credit myself for. There was simply no time to waste. An urgency beyond any other. I needed to have a few hours at the very least. I need that contact and something new and beautiful to blossom although the hours and the miles obviously create a problem. How! Why not a year ago today!
Friday, October 19, 2012
oct 19
in the heat of a moment. sweating nervously and appropriately in the midday desert sun. people are orange here. self-inflicted. feeling yourself disintegrate. but here is a happiness due to the wild and transient nature of the incident. here is a confidence and a feeling of power although I was quickly drained of my energy with the beating down sun and the negative responses to a few actions made. Invisible once again but feeling strong. the academic setting and the college-aged groups all about studying and forming relationships between people and all ares of academic interests, neglected or not, weaving them all into intricate and seamless webs, or schema. All of this will help you to understand the gravity of the world we live in. The amount of dedication necessary to become something worthwhile in this life. Something huge and attention-commanding with incredible things to say and people listen carefully. That would be a nice goal. To get people to listen carefully to your words in any age. Beautiful women, in an abundance... all smiles and sunshine. I double take and so do they. There is a confident smile and a joyous conversation waiting around each corner. I need to keep moving.
----
Write down about the general ambiance. Tempted to write for sound cannon instead.
----
Write down about the general ambiance. Tempted to write for sound cannon instead.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
oct 16
great stampede moves on, closer to an enlightened state, refreshing and tasteful when it happens, feng shui and a sense of the placement of things. a person knowledgeable in areas of advanced spacial awareness though doesn't recognize his reflection in a mirror. Historian who doesn't vote. High school debate teams losing the fight against global politics and all of the world's highest leaders struggle to strangle one and other, considerate of each loss, a citizen, a landmark. Nothing raised taxes couldn't fix after awhile.
preserve some memories like sick-fuck taxidermy. to put on display to an agonized future self (me. here and now. I've saved it long enough now. goodbye.)
some things. let them die. let them disappear. no need to continue hording pictures that can cause total pain, full body pain, heart troubles and all excuses lost dramatically.
----
share the embarrassment of a mindless pop song in the face of all of the incredible lyrical possibilities expanding then contracting over and over again, repeating and finding synonyms and discovering the use of a thesaurus for times of need though the clarity can't be lost in the process, this transition from slobbering idiot to something more refined, but no one will smoke a cigar or feel any more privileged then the others, no difference will happen naturally, we will just fall apart in the hands of father time when asked the greatest questions, though I wish there to be something ridiculous, vague, and beautiful. Words can be beautiful in certain order and they fucking should be. No thought given to the effect of the words on the audience. Must concern yourself with thoughts on how the lyrics apply to yourself.
---
funny to find self wishing for further involvement in increasingly happy and enjoyable thoughts, falling victim to the beneficial effects of drugs I do not take advantage of. take them but don't read the prescription. that's not your name on the vial, the orange, white-capped, and child-proffed pill container that also keeps scented things fresh and without tainting the outside air much while sealed, which is an important reason and the inventor feels like a god-damned genius now, smoking his income in a lush valley somewhere...
waves of paranoia washing over the body like the drain off from a raining day, that downpour when all other substitutes crash backwards into a moving vehicle... red in the face with the kind of demented ideas that are not accepted wholesomely without outside evidence... feeling a kind of stupid guilt from certain paralysis, the stopping of heart beats and calling out poppy choruses, though an entrance into that world. again legitimate free-writing ruined by stressful outside influence. missing the mark entirely.
but when there is constantly the outside world infringing on this internal dialogue all I can think to do is write. as if writing will get me an ambitious art project done. I feel an inadequacy at the necessary technological though I can just ask for help, needing to remove the right wires, I feel myself falling behind in terms of technological knowledge, gadgets and electronics. having a computer I can learn everything possible about anything or everything in the world. I must read and learn about all applicable things... freelance writing! selling bullshit on craigslist! bass! poetry! artwork! music news! the appalachian mountains! everything possible!
make it all happen technological. I approach with an irrational fear of the change in which we are headed (in my opinion inevitably) towards. Though if it is inevitable I must accept it for what it is. Enjoy the delicacies of today that I fear might be gone tomorrow. I may have to worry about that something or other in the future but this is the present, I am everything present tense. All the potential pasted in all moments, waiting outside with a coat for a ride to a secret dinner. the passion for knowledge and the fulfillment of my potential. considered in a diagram, traced out my body choppy like a chalk outline on a x-ray screen, there are colors changing and forming inside of the outline though a huge certain of space is empty, a dark void. the colors and ideas fluctuate inside and also cross outside of the choppy lines, open to ideas entering and existing in great rapid flurries of motion, though the body can handle and even more intense... a deeper wavelength of disturbance in the levels, all sparkling and glimmering, like life crystals... more of them are out there and available to add to my immediate vicinity... each of us with a bubble of potential because despite my naive remarks there are in FACT things in life that I will never encounter, nor have the chance to... I'm mean I doubt at this point I'll ever become a rugby player so I must simply become the best at what I do currently. Find something to love and stick with it because others, searching endlessly, may never have the opportunity to experience that first simple love ever again.
preserve some memories like sick-fuck taxidermy. to put on display to an agonized future self (me. here and now. I've saved it long enough now. goodbye.)
some things. let them die. let them disappear. no need to continue hording pictures that can cause total pain, full body pain, heart troubles and all excuses lost dramatically.
----
share the embarrassment of a mindless pop song in the face of all of the incredible lyrical possibilities expanding then contracting over and over again, repeating and finding synonyms and discovering the use of a thesaurus for times of need though the clarity can't be lost in the process, this transition from slobbering idiot to something more refined, but no one will smoke a cigar or feel any more privileged then the others, no difference will happen naturally, we will just fall apart in the hands of father time when asked the greatest questions, though I wish there to be something ridiculous, vague, and beautiful. Words can be beautiful in certain order and they fucking should be. No thought given to the effect of the words on the audience. Must concern yourself with thoughts on how the lyrics apply to yourself.
---
funny to find self wishing for further involvement in increasingly happy and enjoyable thoughts, falling victim to the beneficial effects of drugs I do not take advantage of. take them but don't read the prescription. that's not your name on the vial, the orange, white-capped, and child-proffed pill container that also keeps scented things fresh and without tainting the outside air much while sealed, which is an important reason and the inventor feels like a god-damned genius now, smoking his income in a lush valley somewhere...
waves of paranoia washing over the body like the drain off from a raining day, that downpour when all other substitutes crash backwards into a moving vehicle... red in the face with the kind of demented ideas that are not accepted wholesomely without outside evidence... feeling a kind of stupid guilt from certain paralysis, the stopping of heart beats and calling out poppy choruses, though an entrance into that world. again legitimate free-writing ruined by stressful outside influence. missing the mark entirely.
but when there is constantly the outside world infringing on this internal dialogue all I can think to do is write. as if writing will get me an ambitious art project done. I feel an inadequacy at the necessary technological though I can just ask for help, needing to remove the right wires, I feel myself falling behind in terms of technological knowledge, gadgets and electronics. having a computer I can learn everything possible about anything or everything in the world. I must read and learn about all applicable things... freelance writing! selling bullshit on craigslist! bass! poetry! artwork! music news! the appalachian mountains! everything possible!
make it all happen technological. I approach with an irrational fear of the change in which we are headed (in my opinion inevitably) towards. Though if it is inevitable I must accept it for what it is. Enjoy the delicacies of today that I fear might be gone tomorrow. I may have to worry about that something or other in the future but this is the present, I am everything present tense. All the potential pasted in all moments, waiting outside with a coat for a ride to a secret dinner. the passion for knowledge and the fulfillment of my potential. considered in a diagram, traced out my body choppy like a chalk outline on a x-ray screen, there are colors changing and forming inside of the outline though a huge certain of space is empty, a dark void. the colors and ideas fluctuate inside and also cross outside of the choppy lines, open to ideas entering and existing in great rapid flurries of motion, though the body can handle and even more intense... a deeper wavelength of disturbance in the levels, all sparkling and glimmering, like life crystals... more of them are out there and available to add to my immediate vicinity... each of us with a bubble of potential because despite my naive remarks there are in FACT things in life that I will never encounter, nor have the chance to... I'm mean I doubt at this point I'll ever become a rugby player so I must simply become the best at what I do currently. Find something to love and stick with it because others, searching endlessly, may never have the opportunity to experience that first simple love ever again.
Monday, October 15, 2012
oct 15
We are made of stars, that central level of connectivity with the rest of the universe, looking up into the bright shining M of the body of cassiopeia, her curves, her beauty but then arrogance and vanity... passion of a rookie yet poised like a veteran... not only to know the names of all 88 but to know the mythology behind them all, the reason for the supposed shapes and the way of communicating in case of comet or meteor, a science in the face of pure belief systems, that impurity and the lab coat whiteness and sterility of hospital life... thank that refreshing night air for gentle invasion of the lungs to spread throughout my body an acute happiness, that self-awareness in the dark street, warming up the body, breathing harder than a resting heart rate, laying down, snoring, pulse.. feeling the inside of me work wonderful with all questions, the deepest, thrown out in front of me like omens from a mystical hand, the answers, of course, not provided though a proximity to this total understanding is reached quietly, as if through a state of slumber, then sudden aching lucidity, the tall junipers reaching toward bright Jupiter, Orion points to it, wants it, chases after it, but only moves in small portions his kaleidoscopic body, heaving and lunging in some respects like a rorshach ink blot test, only we agreed as a society many thousands of years ago how the heavens would be leveled...
find the secret to life and to existence but have no one around to share it with in any conviction.. she was about to fully remove herself in able to gain the necessary objectivity to the essence of the universe, which is to say a state of nirvana, of ultimate good-feeling, sneaking around corridors rushing by the old questions asked and answered, remembered and rephrased for a new dialogue, the colorful sun glare and the flaring moon across a hardly broken ocean inlet, moving about slowly in majestic stillness, a knowledgeable stillness that promotes the ideas of taking it slow and steady, counting your blessings purely and simply in stoic consciousness... demonstrate that natural good will of your, the powerful grasping hands of prediction and intelligent banter, entering a state of late morning delirium at the thought of returning home and sleeping in that great down comfort, of lost days prior to restless pen-twirling in many high school classes, fully identified with and in secrets cahoots with the day-planners. (though this was restless pencil twirling in math class. eraser was necessary to cleanly trace out variable formulas.)
never let all of that awesome knowledge go to waste. share and be shared with. your motivation is rewarded with higher production of creativity in the face of such thoughtless waste. the daily thoughtless waste. the vegetation of us all. fulfill basic needs though there are such adventurous experiences, a seeking of passion, a vengeful and rebellious idea of breaking the status quo apart as if it were a paper doll, something fragile... smashing it all to pieces like a high way pile up, an afterburner, the glorious road-worn sunset. driving all of those extra exotic miles into a brand new experience, it all adds, it never detracts... One day alone could never subtract from the whole. It is a forward motion, a new centered understanding. a layer of paint added onto an already complicated and extensive painting. the canvas widening with each day in passing. colors re-forming and expanding with it. shades and hues of personality splashed in with breathless brush stroke, some of the paint covers up, but scrape away and the foundation forever remains.... like a memory, only certain concentrated chemicals can reduce this residue. They tear the paint from the canvas completely though it is required to burn through top layers prior and you would be a forgetful mother fucker at this point in time. In this section of the radius. The radar gun pointing pointed straight upward to capture the flight speed of a space shuttle, or the andromeda galaxy, just sleeping to survive, high above the perceived heavens and actually expanding each minute, the galaxy has nothing to do with politics in any format, the pigments and fragments of all that complex matter, we all share that basic plasma! a common plasma! we should never feel afraid though we are corrupted from honest goals to be greater connected! through art and truth in all shades of scattered glory.
----------------
11:00 pm
Fly through the desert like a bat into hell and wonder how and why I got there, an impulsive decision, but there can be no regret or turning back, something simple and sinful, letting hopes rise and rise and be surpassed even, all high considerations. Race towards this eminent vacation from a vacation but this time it will be a kind of fun that all of us can understand so quickly and easily. Some rekindling of fires and a new found positive personality, nothing could go wrong, the worst would be to be crawling through the streets once more, but it would never happen, consider this a wonderful lapse of justifiable thinking but in the end the progress toward goals will be completed regardless, double time it afterwards due to the serious nature of such a binge... but for the sake of fun and escape even moreseo I'd be willing to go anywhere, do anything, it is in this adventure where I can find true reason for myself and my position on this globe. This is what I want and why. Now with a working coffee maker perhaps I can work at the pace I wish to once more. Full irresponsible speed with no stop signs anywhere, only green lights and introspective moments between the worlds, the historical generosity and the glazed over eyes opening and closing like doors in a hotel/motel near a prostitute-populated street. Having no idea of a motivational speech. Is there any such displacement of emotions then a blank slate? Something a little rude and off-putting but I'm different god damn it. These insecure thoughts hold no water in the end, at the end of the day, the beginning of a spark, all-consuming. Wishing that choking hold kept up and out of insulted territory. Stomp on me! My dreams and ideals! But I'm wishing it all to come true. Nothing bad could ever happen again. With this mindset and this motivation the world in its entirety is possible and blossoming like a great flower. For all of the immediate things I may have thrown off-kilter, I apologize but my soul will not because I feel I need this trip to find something to return from. I need stories and dirty love. I need to fill my cup and seek that adventurous spirit throughout all pulsating embryos on a certain plane of existence. A higher plane of existence, a great quality, and a fine caliber person, of the right mind, calling the shots like a man in charge of his surroundings, all warping and bending on its own accord and free will to make way for the man's presence, simple and good-natured but there are huge contradictions in him if anyone actually looks that deep. But they don't and they won't. Be that all-powerful killing smile individual. Find a happy medium between all of the best personality traits and never allow anything other to occur. Seeing old friends and never feeling angry once. Something akin to full comfort, that silence is not uncomfortable. How have you been, my friend? My anxiety of productivity spikes again at the moment. Today is a prime example of how I do not want to deal with a day like this in the future. I love my life. There is nothing else to say that could erase that from me. I just sometimes feel myself lagging behind that awesome, idyllic, prototype of a human, racing out in front of me like a metal rabbit for racing dogs.. I am cast in his shadow, he laughs at my lacking attempt to catch up and to look in that future tense mirror to see myself turn into him. Or to find myself to have been him already and that the amount of effort that I put into life and the exertion of mind in typical daily situations, the thoughts, the dynamic, the progressive nature, the joyous for the exciting factors of life and the yes-saying to new experiences at every available opportunity. Missing the mark in certain senses but I am the one who is infinitely harder on myself than many others would ever be unless they were my basketball coach that I may never have. The proper technique for these deterministic goals. First off, had awful posture but now shifted into something more effective and less permanently damage. I can't worry about this prototype of a human because if I end up fucking up my spine I will know that I am not him. But something else. Something better in other senses.
Yellow teeth and curvature of the spine, memorize a dictionary, build a grandfather clock by hand, develop an acquired taste for everything, count every star in the sky and know all constellations, dirty fingernails, proof of work and productivity but also a sign of laziness and neglected hygiene, a singing voice like a golden shining god, the god of opportunity, he waits on the other side, where the grass is greener but drifts away through the other fence to the next yard once you traverse that first picket fence. Neatly chart off your land and separate it accurately from mine without any hesitation. It might have been a feeling of denial in the first instant of collision. All the memories of love or the lack of love and then analyzed through that red/blue lens to interpret the present. Glorious nosebleed. Letting the nature take over our childhood. This is a huge change and a necessary career choice though I've seen no physical money. Simple charity case items. Blowing the stacks into those small furnaces.
find the secret to life and to existence but have no one around to share it with in any conviction.. she was about to fully remove herself in able to gain the necessary objectivity to the essence of the universe, which is to say a state of nirvana, of ultimate good-feeling, sneaking around corridors rushing by the old questions asked and answered, remembered and rephrased for a new dialogue, the colorful sun glare and the flaring moon across a hardly broken ocean inlet, moving about slowly in majestic stillness, a knowledgeable stillness that promotes the ideas of taking it slow and steady, counting your blessings purely and simply in stoic consciousness... demonstrate that natural good will of your, the powerful grasping hands of prediction and intelligent banter, entering a state of late morning delirium at the thought of returning home and sleeping in that great down comfort, of lost days prior to restless pen-twirling in many high school classes, fully identified with and in secrets cahoots with the day-planners. (though this was restless pencil twirling in math class. eraser was necessary to cleanly trace out variable formulas.)
never let all of that awesome knowledge go to waste. share and be shared with. your motivation is rewarded with higher production of creativity in the face of such thoughtless waste. the daily thoughtless waste. the vegetation of us all. fulfill basic needs though there are such adventurous experiences, a seeking of passion, a vengeful and rebellious idea of breaking the status quo apart as if it were a paper doll, something fragile... smashing it all to pieces like a high way pile up, an afterburner, the glorious road-worn sunset. driving all of those extra exotic miles into a brand new experience, it all adds, it never detracts... One day alone could never subtract from the whole. It is a forward motion, a new centered understanding. a layer of paint added onto an already complicated and extensive painting. the canvas widening with each day in passing. colors re-forming and expanding with it. shades and hues of personality splashed in with breathless brush stroke, some of the paint covers up, but scrape away and the foundation forever remains.... like a memory, only certain concentrated chemicals can reduce this residue. They tear the paint from the canvas completely though it is required to burn through top layers prior and you would be a forgetful mother fucker at this point in time. In this section of the radius. The radar gun pointing pointed straight upward to capture the flight speed of a space shuttle, or the andromeda galaxy, just sleeping to survive, high above the perceived heavens and actually expanding each minute, the galaxy has nothing to do with politics in any format, the pigments and fragments of all that complex matter, we all share that basic plasma! a common plasma! we should never feel afraid though we are corrupted from honest goals to be greater connected! through art and truth in all shades of scattered glory.
----------------
11:00 pm
Fly through the desert like a bat into hell and wonder how and why I got there, an impulsive decision, but there can be no regret or turning back, something simple and sinful, letting hopes rise and rise and be surpassed even, all high considerations. Race towards this eminent vacation from a vacation but this time it will be a kind of fun that all of us can understand so quickly and easily. Some rekindling of fires and a new found positive personality, nothing could go wrong, the worst would be to be crawling through the streets once more, but it would never happen, consider this a wonderful lapse of justifiable thinking but in the end the progress toward goals will be completed regardless, double time it afterwards due to the serious nature of such a binge... but for the sake of fun and escape even moreseo I'd be willing to go anywhere, do anything, it is in this adventure where I can find true reason for myself and my position on this globe. This is what I want and why. Now with a working coffee maker perhaps I can work at the pace I wish to once more. Full irresponsible speed with no stop signs anywhere, only green lights and introspective moments between the worlds, the historical generosity and the glazed over eyes opening and closing like doors in a hotel/motel near a prostitute-populated street. Having no idea of a motivational speech. Is there any such displacement of emotions then a blank slate? Something a little rude and off-putting but I'm different god damn it. These insecure thoughts hold no water in the end, at the end of the day, the beginning of a spark, all-consuming. Wishing that choking hold kept up and out of insulted territory. Stomp on me! My dreams and ideals! But I'm wishing it all to come true. Nothing bad could ever happen again. With this mindset and this motivation the world in its entirety is possible and blossoming like a great flower. For all of the immediate things I may have thrown off-kilter, I apologize but my soul will not because I feel I need this trip to find something to return from. I need stories and dirty love. I need to fill my cup and seek that adventurous spirit throughout all pulsating embryos on a certain plane of existence. A higher plane of existence, a great quality, and a fine caliber person, of the right mind, calling the shots like a man in charge of his surroundings, all warping and bending on its own accord and free will to make way for the man's presence, simple and good-natured but there are huge contradictions in him if anyone actually looks that deep. But they don't and they won't. Be that all-powerful killing smile individual. Find a happy medium between all of the best personality traits and never allow anything other to occur. Seeing old friends and never feeling angry once. Something akin to full comfort, that silence is not uncomfortable. How have you been, my friend? My anxiety of productivity spikes again at the moment. Today is a prime example of how I do not want to deal with a day like this in the future. I love my life. There is nothing else to say that could erase that from me. I just sometimes feel myself lagging behind that awesome, idyllic, prototype of a human, racing out in front of me like a metal rabbit for racing dogs.. I am cast in his shadow, he laughs at my lacking attempt to catch up and to look in that future tense mirror to see myself turn into him. Or to find myself to have been him already and that the amount of effort that I put into life and the exertion of mind in typical daily situations, the thoughts, the dynamic, the progressive nature, the joyous for the exciting factors of life and the yes-saying to new experiences at every available opportunity. Missing the mark in certain senses but I am the one who is infinitely harder on myself than many others would ever be unless they were my basketball coach that I may never have. The proper technique for these deterministic goals. First off, had awful posture but now shifted into something more effective and less permanently damage. I can't worry about this prototype of a human because if I end up fucking up my spine I will know that I am not him. But something else. Something better in other senses.
Yellow teeth and curvature of the spine, memorize a dictionary, build a grandfather clock by hand, develop an acquired taste for everything, count every star in the sky and know all constellations, dirty fingernails, proof of work and productivity but also a sign of laziness and neglected hygiene, a singing voice like a golden shining god, the god of opportunity, he waits on the other side, where the grass is greener but drifts away through the other fence to the next yard once you traverse that first picket fence. Neatly chart off your land and separate it accurately from mine without any hesitation. It might have been a feeling of denial in the first instant of collision. All the memories of love or the lack of love and then analyzed through that red/blue lens to interpret the present. Glorious nosebleed. Letting the nature take over our childhood. This is a huge change and a necessary career choice though I've seen no physical money. Simple charity case items. Blowing the stacks into those small furnaces.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
oct 14
stuffed full of a sudden paralytic sensibility, though the excitement of a home team victory flowing down from the north, earth shaking applause and the stadium erupts in drunken revelry, we all had little faith but the best offense versus the best defense is a decently matched up game, getting hyphy, feeling the drowned out sorrows of a congested freeway afterwards though everyone honking and yelling in joyous celebration of a team to root for. Fuck yeah! We say this collectively. Share the excitement, though usually it is something I care very little about, no idea if the mariners did anything remotely good this year, I only know that almost all players I once knew and appreciated have moved on to something or somewhere else, the sonics dead, though the beautiful city gathers some certain recognition in this new status. I never knew what to do with myself today. Finished a book. Doing laundry. exercise. spelling execution. excrement. excuses. extrapolate. had too much chicken for lunch. filled up the tank. returned the red box movie return. had a beer. might have another. for the hell of it. for the heaven of it. feeling the weight of big decisions weighing down on me. though it should never be that hard.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Oct 13
Test the flexibility of my new identification card. This is my all-access, no holds barred, courageous and infinite identity. The curiosity of a broken finger, we can never deny our powerful positions. Valiant fight against time itself and the violent, soul-ruining effects of a day-long over hang, something to peel that label off, all colorful and taut, something invisible otherwise, I might just look disheveled, like a dreamer, like someone lost in space for a moment, adrift and devoid of material possessions, an earth-bound realization that the money was never worth it. The essence is something deeper, the trees are much more knowledgeable about it than I.
Cigars and liquor, all of the subtle influences of a day dragging on behind us like a dying animal. Always honest, dressed to impressed, fluent a dagger through a cold heart, glorified resistance and violet afterglow. we are that spark, that sparkle of a falling flame, the arrow through the apple on our heads, the matching clothes for expensive little children, quietly finding out those small purposes, a reason behind everything...
Driving gently down a neighborhood, through twisted trees nearly embracing directly overhead, though these trees only grow up not out, dreaming blissfully about all of that green goodness, I came close to reverie. I can securely say that I was damned close to something. An idea I can never directly pinpoint. A realization, maybe a thought like none other. An original thought. A breeze scattering fallen leaves. I am alive. I am so fucking alive. It felt like a gasp. Like barely catching that invisible monster lurking in all small beautiful moments. A lighter than air feeling. I was weightless, instantly detached and fully involved in that dashing detail. Of course moments collide with one another and my reverie is interrupted by traffic lights, car alarms, fashion statements, cologne and perfume, cigars and liquor, all of everything... the trivial matters...
Motivation to elevate myself in order to keep moments like this alive in wild glory. I must remember all it is to be a curious creature in the depths of these strange and disastrous times. I can no longer feel disgusted by the world, more likely by the human nature plaguing the world, I must feel content and safe in the typical thoughts... no more disgust, replace that with awe and curiosity. An insatiable lust to try all do all and feel all. Something wonderful, aspiring to greatness. Loving everything and everybody equally. Feeling happy and satisfied. Caught off guard by brilliant simplicity. Distracted in equal parts by philosophical and comedic thoughts. Something sympathetic and self-aware. The awareness being all that matters. To be aware of all and to have a full grasp on what was once thought to never be able to grasp. something elusive. A new personality in the works. To become the greatest person in the world rather than an anti-social cave-dweller surrounded by broken bottles and scraping up resin to place in pipes to exit reality and to enter something less superficial. The way my brain works must always be so open and quick to laugh at myself. I can no longer be determined as a wasteful person or an asshole by any other name. Generally label me something incredible. Why aspire to anything other than personal perfection? Whiten those god damn teeth and look in the mirror now and again. This is a new world. You are not who you were. You can be whoever you want. Be it! There is joy in meaningful social interaction, in relationships developing and the indifference reduced to oblivion. Care and try to care wildly, with ultimate ambition to create beauty. To take beauty away without harming it for others! To watch sunsets on the beach. To count birds and police cars, witnessing a poor fool get arrested and the children all go back to school without any other thoughts beyond complaints. Understandable. The summer is a mystery. A playful oblivion to enter for awhile, to take the load off and to really find the meaning behind what it is to be a kid.
These revelations. I want more. I want it all.
Cigars and liquor, all of the subtle influences of a day dragging on behind us like a dying animal. Always honest, dressed to impressed, fluent a dagger through a cold heart, glorified resistance and violet afterglow. we are that spark, that sparkle of a falling flame, the arrow through the apple on our heads, the matching clothes for expensive little children, quietly finding out those small purposes, a reason behind everything...
Driving gently down a neighborhood, through twisted trees nearly embracing directly overhead, though these trees only grow up not out, dreaming blissfully about all of that green goodness, I came close to reverie. I can securely say that I was damned close to something. An idea I can never directly pinpoint. A realization, maybe a thought like none other. An original thought. A breeze scattering fallen leaves. I am alive. I am so fucking alive. It felt like a gasp. Like barely catching that invisible monster lurking in all small beautiful moments. A lighter than air feeling. I was weightless, instantly detached and fully involved in that dashing detail. Of course moments collide with one another and my reverie is interrupted by traffic lights, car alarms, fashion statements, cologne and perfume, cigars and liquor, all of everything... the trivial matters...
Motivation to elevate myself in order to keep moments like this alive in wild glory. I must remember all it is to be a curious creature in the depths of these strange and disastrous times. I can no longer feel disgusted by the world, more likely by the human nature plaguing the world, I must feel content and safe in the typical thoughts... no more disgust, replace that with awe and curiosity. An insatiable lust to try all do all and feel all. Something wonderful, aspiring to greatness. Loving everything and everybody equally. Feeling happy and satisfied. Caught off guard by brilliant simplicity. Distracted in equal parts by philosophical and comedic thoughts. Something sympathetic and self-aware. The awareness being all that matters. To be aware of all and to have a full grasp on what was once thought to never be able to grasp. something elusive. A new personality in the works. To become the greatest person in the world rather than an anti-social cave-dweller surrounded by broken bottles and scraping up resin to place in pipes to exit reality and to enter something less superficial. The way my brain works must always be so open and quick to laugh at myself. I can no longer be determined as a wasteful person or an asshole by any other name. Generally label me something incredible. Why aspire to anything other than personal perfection? Whiten those god damn teeth and look in the mirror now and again. This is a new world. You are not who you were. You can be whoever you want. Be it! There is joy in meaningful social interaction, in relationships developing and the indifference reduced to oblivion. Care and try to care wildly, with ultimate ambition to create beauty. To take beauty away without harming it for others! To watch sunsets on the beach. To count birds and police cars, witnessing a poor fool get arrested and the children all go back to school without any other thoughts beyond complaints. Understandable. The summer is a mystery. A playful oblivion to enter for awhile, to take the load off and to really find the meaning behind what it is to be a kid.
These revelations. I want more. I want it all.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Oct 10
It's an 'us vs them' attitude but I am the only 'us'.
You were more than just a terrified witness
----
A house haunted by something evil and hateful. A hallway into the depths, like a mine shift. As it collapses, running and asking politely if there is a way to enter the small building at the end of this long hallway. Tasteless jokes and the house shifts around. A blind seance.. a topless women, the demon could capture anything and turn it against us. Something horrific in the fact that people walking by are affecting, turned evil, then returned to the world. This is a dream, yes. But imagine it all. So much fucking darker and lewd. There is a sinister feeling in the air, like something is waiting to murder you. The other two or three treat the place with ultimate disrespect and I sense a feeling of something tensing up before an attack or at least an inhale before an exhale with the power to wipe us all off of the face of the earth. An endless mine shift-like structure. Discovering that beneath a house. What once was an underground community. People lived here. Whoever lived in this house once brought them food and supplies in return for infinite sexual pleasure with the women who lived in the dark tunnels. This arrangement worked out for years. Dirty, disgusting... the man lowered provisions down and heard them feeding like wild animals. (Somehow he is coaxed into doing this. The women who exist in these caves could not be very attractive.) But one day he is thrown into a jealous rage, boards off the exist and cuts off the electricity to the people in the tunnels. Many of them die by blindly falling down deep chasms or by infrequent, then frequent, cannibalism. Many years go by. This man still living in their with numerous mistresses who claim to hear screams from the basement. but he cemented over the opened with layers and layers. He tells her the place might be haunted, jokingly. Though he has constant nightmares, as an old man, of vicious mole-like people coming up through the depths and seeking revenge. He wakes up in the middle of the night with a start due to one of these gory, awful dreams. His mistress goes down on him. He lays back and calms down until he feels a gathering dark presence from all sides. Creatures lurking. They are no longer people, they have existed and procreated in that dark chasm. Peeling off fingernails by trying to tunnel out. They got out through the earth and through the mold. In the nighttime. Lights on in the house. Screaming violently and breaking through windows to find the master of their entombment and they tear him and his mistress to shreds. Some came out and tried to live about ground but committed suicide due to exposures and pressures never felt down there. Many remain down there. Tunneling everywhere. Haunting. Logical. Illogical.
Pictures in short skirts and all diabolical plans against my involvement. You are so photogenic. Big mirrored room and every provocative pose possible. all angles and all heart ache reduced. erase the past. it is not even there. you are not that little boy you are this man.
You were more than just a terrified witness
----
A house haunted by something evil and hateful. A hallway into the depths, like a mine shift. As it collapses, running and asking politely if there is a way to enter the small building at the end of this long hallway. Tasteless jokes and the house shifts around. A blind seance.. a topless women, the demon could capture anything and turn it against us. Something horrific in the fact that people walking by are affecting, turned evil, then returned to the world. This is a dream, yes. But imagine it all. So much fucking darker and lewd. There is a sinister feeling in the air, like something is waiting to murder you. The other two or three treat the place with ultimate disrespect and I sense a feeling of something tensing up before an attack or at least an inhale before an exhale with the power to wipe us all off of the face of the earth. An endless mine shift-like structure. Discovering that beneath a house. What once was an underground community. People lived here. Whoever lived in this house once brought them food and supplies in return for infinite sexual pleasure with the women who lived in the dark tunnels. This arrangement worked out for years. Dirty, disgusting... the man lowered provisions down and heard them feeding like wild animals. (Somehow he is coaxed into doing this. The women who exist in these caves could not be very attractive.) But one day he is thrown into a jealous rage, boards off the exist and cuts off the electricity to the people in the tunnels. Many of them die by blindly falling down deep chasms or by infrequent, then frequent, cannibalism. Many years go by. This man still living in their with numerous mistresses who claim to hear screams from the basement. but he cemented over the opened with layers and layers. He tells her the place might be haunted, jokingly. Though he has constant nightmares, as an old man, of vicious mole-like people coming up through the depths and seeking revenge. He wakes up in the middle of the night with a start due to one of these gory, awful dreams. His mistress goes down on him. He lays back and calms down until he feels a gathering dark presence from all sides. Creatures lurking. They are no longer people, they have existed and procreated in that dark chasm. Peeling off fingernails by trying to tunnel out. They got out through the earth and through the mold. In the nighttime. Lights on in the house. Screaming violently and breaking through windows to find the master of their entombment and they tear him and his mistress to shreds. Some came out and tried to live about ground but committed suicide due to exposures and pressures never felt down there. Many remain down there. Tunneling everywhere. Haunting. Logical. Illogical.
Pictures in short skirts and all diabolical plans against my involvement. You are so photogenic. Big mirrored room and every provocative pose possible. all angles and all heart ache reduced. erase the past. it is not even there. you are not that little boy you are this man.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Oct 9
incense smoke in my eyes, a cross breeze from the finally cool California air, asking advice for how to warm up to the new cold, and asking how something would work out. I say, "It should work like that but we won't know until we try." And that becomes and attitude. Overs firm believers of multiple personalities and persona to enter when in the right crowd, a crowd of actors ideally. Wishing to succeed in the amassed sarcastic daze. Learn to keep the mouth shut regardless of all the wastefulness. Playing dress up and never becoming sweaty. Lose masculinity to appease some golden rule of thumb. The attitude of looking at a girl and feeling guilty for thinking anything sexual about. This is in direct conflict of human nature. It's a train of thought I'd rather never entertain. All high strung and tightly wound. Different attitudes I find so clashing. I try to tolerate but I know one day I will be permanently affected. Something coursing strong and steady through the blood. A crazy new experience and all of the valiant weed scientists become new and sturdy. The paranoiac feeling where I feel I must constantly correct myself for validity... Or constantly feel the need to clarify a thought or to be able to think over what's been said and to return to the subject later. I wish to never let any bullshit build up for the unsaid. Rather say too much but I know nothing of tastefulness. I gauge reactions but then end up outside again feeling the opportunity to be ignored wholeheartedly once more. I feel I need to clarify. I meant to say that your golden shining moments always seem to happen when no one else is around to see. To witness. To experience. It was a joke and I'm sorry. It was in jest. The best things always tend to happen somewhere by accident and then you try to relive and it is never quite the same again. Communication falls flat. "He needs to read something else other than the bible!" I feel my face hot and then suddenly sullen, stupid. Gossip about this but no one enjoys to talk crap. I hurt inside from the actions I take automatically so therefore I think in order to change this but constantly am interrupted by that crucial life or death train of thought. God damn I fucked this up! but now I'm fucking it up more by thinking too hard about what I said! If I said anything bad bring it the fuck up to me. I feel something astir but it is also probably my paranoia.
the world is a business. rise or die
-------
The inability to act in the face of immediate action. There is a world of people better than me out there. "this has more potential than that." Why? because of money probably. corrupting influence. recording albums weighing the pro's and cons of a scream versus a voice. drinking beer in bed and sudden exhaustion, a huge god damn sandwich, hire a ton of people and cut the hours down for nearly everyone involved, full-time musician, through some strange miracle... how to get the work necessary down?
practice. practice. practice.
write accurate, grammatical sentences. exercise the brain and body at once. feeling like there is someone somewhere better at what I am doing that I am. How can I carve anything? I had memories attack me last night. They will tonight again. Scar tissue and heartwarming hold-holding subway-riding. In love in a city of angels. Everything incredibly accessible and suddenly working towards a collaborative good-time goal. Will I manage to pull through? I was just playing this cool riff and then I tried to count it out and everything fell apart. In different time signatures and radio-friendly songs with little or no meaning behind them (for me). I wish you shared the same love and enjoyment of our language as I do. The extra sauce on the lyrical content. Really go deep and thoughtful. Whatever improvised becomes genius. musical and effective. efficient and crazy lyrical.
let me write! I love to, mostly. I have experience. I'll work with you if you work with me.
the world is a business. rise or die
-------
The inability to act in the face of immediate action. There is a world of people better than me out there. "this has more potential than that." Why? because of money probably. corrupting influence. recording albums weighing the pro's and cons of a scream versus a voice. drinking beer in bed and sudden exhaustion, a huge god damn sandwich, hire a ton of people and cut the hours down for nearly everyone involved, full-time musician, through some strange miracle... how to get the work necessary down?
practice. practice. practice.
write accurate, grammatical sentences. exercise the brain and body at once. feeling like there is someone somewhere better at what I am doing that I am. How can I carve anything? I had memories attack me last night. They will tonight again. Scar tissue and heartwarming hold-holding subway-riding. In love in a city of angels. Everything incredibly accessible and suddenly working towards a collaborative good-time goal. Will I manage to pull through? I was just playing this cool riff and then I tried to count it out and everything fell apart. In different time signatures and radio-friendly songs with little or no meaning behind them (for me). I wish you shared the same love and enjoyment of our language as I do. The extra sauce on the lyrical content. Really go deep and thoughtful. Whatever improvised becomes genius. musical and effective. efficient and crazy lyrical.
let me write! I love to, mostly. I have experience. I'll work with you if you work with me.
Monday, October 8, 2012
oct 8
Of course I enjoy fiction. The poetic and the inspirational words. It is the movement of them. The rhythm like a train chugging along, or quick, feral attacks against your conscience. The story jabs at you. Breaks down defenses. Brings inside warm, pure and honest joy. It is the reason beyond all. The huge capacity of human potential. "It's on the best-seller list" does not mean shit to me. That is never a sign of great literature. That is a sign of great marketing or a whimsical narrator that everyone knows. A joke of novel, mostly teenage drivel. I'm of course being much too harsh. The world has shifted. People enjoy video games. I enjoy learning and reading. They argue for eye and hand coordination. True. It is stimulating the brain. But at the absence of self-revelations? Do they play these games and find about the true nature of the fabric of their being?
Worry about the next fix and entirely forget the concert we should have been in attendance.
"I'm worth so much more than you can offer me" - attitude. Awful excuse for humanity at its worst. The person who enjoys historical texts but considers themselves a forward thinker. Definitely not a contradiction. Simply an interesting thought. I seem to be all out of interesting thoughts at the moment. All hope slipping through the cracks because I've allowed them to widen.
---------------------
Global sensibilities. Why would anyone give a fuck about anything I write and put online? We all sometimes have feelings of incredible inadequacy
Worry about the next fix and entirely forget the concert we should have been in attendance.
"I'm worth so much more than you can offer me" - attitude. Awful excuse for humanity at its worst. The person who enjoys historical texts but considers themselves a forward thinker. Definitely not a contradiction. Simply an interesting thought. I seem to be all out of interesting thoughts at the moment. All hope slipping through the cracks because I've allowed them to widen.
---------------------
Global sensibilities. Why would anyone give a fuck about anything I write and put online? We all sometimes have feelings of incredible inadequacy
Sunday, October 7, 2012
oct 7
Here I am, straggling behind the very essence of the generation I was born into. Everything moving so quickly. I know you were also alive before all of this stuff happened and the pace of the world shifted into hyper speed. How can you ignore that? Where does your memory go? (Doesn't happen with people who claim to exist only in the present and future tense.)
I'm offering you a fucking suggestion! (What I'm saying is already powerful.) Make it more powerful. Never whisper given the opportunity to yell.
Here I am. Alone with a bottlenecking generation all excited to enter a stupid and less productive lifestyle. A type of living where you are lazy as fuck in the face of ultimate responsibility.
Remember how it was before all of this bullshit!
No? Me neither.
----------
play until fingers sore though no blood pouring out. would have to play that rigorous for hours due to the already formed callouses on my hands. all of the blisters and huge sores. go for adventurous times. drive up for the holidays. delivering bullshit I do not need any longer and returning with equipment I can potentially use from now on.
sussurus: whispering, murmuring, or rustling
I'm offering you a fucking suggestion! (What I'm saying is already powerful.) Make it more powerful. Never whisper given the opportunity to yell.
Here I am. Alone with a bottlenecking generation all excited to enter a stupid and less productive lifestyle. A type of living where you are lazy as fuck in the face of ultimate responsibility.
Remember how it was before all of this bullshit!
No? Me neither.
----------
play until fingers sore though no blood pouring out. would have to play that rigorous for hours due to the already formed callouses on my hands. all of the blisters and huge sores. go for adventurous times. drive up for the holidays. delivering bullshit I do not need any longer and returning with equipment I can potentially use from now on.
sussurus: whispering, murmuring, or rustling
Saturday, October 6, 2012
oct 6th
meditate on that night of absentia, a big void where the jazz should have been though it was all premeditated in the minds of the addicted, the selfishness and the waxing then waning ambition, in comes in spurts, small segments of pure adrenaline, driving recklessly, swerving violently, over correcting in the sense of attempting to make the car move directly forward in a straight line, sickness over flowing and crashing on my shoreline in waves, the nausea and the sea legs never developing, the directional atlas and everyone is too high to drive without fear, but that was never the original problem. make compromises and make it out to be something small but intimate and awesome, ridiculous to me the negligence of a night out for something stifling. margerita and a chica, no jazz runs too late and the musicianship is too much for a night club hair cut, all of the stupid songs on the radio. Before now I hardly called it music. I can't open my mind that wide.
activate the neurons and synthesize a crowd of like-minded, forward-minded individuals with enjoyable and compatible personality traits. I am made out to be a monster due to my vagrant opinion. Fine. A reason to exist. Music. Feeling like a vagrant with my monster opinion. The world is not small enough for us to reintroduce. beautiful lesson learned on the acid reflux fusion withdrawal symposium, flying free and healthy with guns and drugs and lovers in arms, over abundance of life flashing before closed eyes, missing moments based on faulty visual cues, flower design reminiscent of past psychedelia, the superficiality and the movement of the dress on the figure, we, the jealous, the unworthy and heart-ached, falling to puzzle pieces in the juncture of disappointment and further excitement lost afterwards, all silent and angry, square pegs and round holes or the opposition though I will have to watch Seahawks games in a sports bar somewhere around here, good cheap fun and full of comrades, in arms, kalisnokov, the soviet memorial union transfer student center-fold out couch potato bug infestation. frightful basket weaving around cars and quarters. though it never made any sense to anyone in the world.
red wine poetry or caffeine addicted consciousness. we must exist somewhere without fear and without disobedient energy inside of the soul, stepping in front of desires and stomping down the feet of good intentions, quickly and through a time lapse, we once believed that dinosaurs were buried by humans in order to appropriate the mythical legend of man becoming man through evolution and not the dividing spirit of a hand of a sentient god, something beyond history books and all of the evidence. we research these myths and fall into a stupid trance developing contradictory theory about everything. dinosaurs are real. mostly due to that last statement I've made. arguably I've just invented them into my own belief system. how did they all die? asteroid in the gulf of mexico and the impact crater now buried by an ocean inlet. the impact was not great enough to kill them all but the amount of rubble and dirt in the air would have blocked the sun for enough days to destroy all vegetation and food supplies dwindling in the darkened, lung-decimating air. Molecules collecting and expanding. Unbelievable ignorance. It is willful. Self-appointed. Present and forward thinker. Fine. I exist because you exist. Something huge is missing due to certain points of ambiguity constantly discussed without any evidence or anything backing. the current news. ruining the brain cells.
How could we go on so long without the sounds of pretty birds above our heads?
----------
sudden cosmic sadness drenching everything green and thriving prior, feel urgent to call dad for advice. how to deal with certain things with cross cultured ambitions. how can I exist so simply yet still fill myself to capacity with fresh and exciting experience? I need the dangerous mountains and flowing slipstreams to justify any sort of potential living in this city. I had terrifying images of my friends and family all turning old before my eyes, deteriorate into the small piles of ashes they started from. (see a spoiled kid and think of the possibility he knows not that he is alive and he may never know. he eats a tiny bag of 5 dollar popcorn and has never known true fear or true excitement. it all surrounds the necessity to get everything he has ever wanted. if his parents have the resources I cannot blame them for spoiling him, especially if the word love is involved beneath the surface.) Who knows. Maybe I would too if I could, but I am too much alive in this very moment. Better myself and feel awful guilty for wasting time and money getting wasted.
here the price increases but the value diminishes. people begin to confuse those two words replacing an expensive car with an economically viable one. I am not "economically viable" and that phrase needs to be murdered, screaming, in a silhouette dark alley. Masking the violent notions. Go to that desire and never turn back, motherfucker!
Everyone impress each other and cut the throat of all opposition even if friendly. Don't they understand that the only way to succeed with any truth is to rise up together. To influence and build off of each other with friendly encouragement and helpful hints. Give each other favors. Become a part of humanity once again. Rejoin and feel that joyous connection that we've lost since the renaissance in our now garbage-burning culture without much hope for anything stronger and more potent without star death. The apocalypse would certainly bring us together more than any bullshit second coming. We are here each once and it is forever at the same time! One in the same. We are all responsible for all manipulations to our unique universes. Hug everyone and feel a fire burn inside your heart, a candle from 100 yards away, flickering, an old engine stirring up, attempting to turn over... heart-death is not body-death these days. no one dies from heart sickness because we are all so desensitized to feel anything beyond the consumer interests preached and pounded into us from television and all media, killing our souls one screaming infomercial at a time, there is no learning to be had from there aside from what to buy and ways to market a stupid captive audience for the myriad Americans who believe tv shows depict reality better than everything you can see outside. listen to music, learn and grow. write and read joyously soaking up the minutest details between those worlds. alcohol and breath mints. left in the van and called a coward. all dressed to impress no one. tone deaf, non-musical people singing along to popular music at the weekend tequila bar. something to lower the bar and all expectations are murdered individually. somehow suddenly everyone understands the depth of shit we've been standing it and says. "I can't fucking stand it anymore!" Smashing a coffee table. Yelling until the voice goes hoarse, straight into the yawning void. So bored with your insolent outcries. The effort and the forward movement of all of history's leaders could not deal with this violently unforgivable world. the void remains. now smiling at our frivolous nature as we run through the rat race in marked off lines, the queues that kill us slowly but violently, like boiling our skin off in a vat of acid, getting excruciatingly high at the same time and feeling incredible stupid and lacking in genuine experience. all I remember is car sickness and other violent behemoths.
I will say something I believe to be meaningful. An unconditional outcry of my entire being. Screaming it and with more passion than I've ever before dealt with. No person answers. It is as if I have said nothing and no one listens carefully to the words I say. I need to gain respect by giving it out. Dishing out more than I could possibly ever receive. The reciprocal nature of personalities and different killing emotions and motives. Humans ignore the outcry of my passions. God doesn't listen. He is bothered by the multitude of prayers for bigger paychecks and then analyzing these lives of scum against one another for any moral ineptitude greater than the other... millions of filing cabinets full of paperwork to weigh they against. He is more of a magician than anything. Or akin to a wishing well. Dear god, I wish for a new car. Something with fast-acting air conditioning, automatic locks and leather interior... So god doesn't answer. He doesn't even listen to any honest outcry, there is too much shit piling up outside heaven's gates. Too much trivia. People don't listen. They smoke and ignore. They give a shit about the environment. They fill up their bodies with repulsive shit and fall into ignorance like something spiritual. I empty my soul into the words I scream at this moment of violent rapture. Everything stops for a moment at least but nothing reacts. Only the void. The void is there, listening. Reacting the most powerfully by listening carefully and then deciding never to answer. Never to reply or respond or explain why. This is the way of things.
"That's a good color on you especially if you don't like to get hit by cars at night."
"He was a man who did not suffer but pleasured in sleepless nights of brooding on the great clock of the universe running down or winding itself up, who could tell?"
-----
volcanic resurfacing, moving faultlines
redder light has longer wavelengths therefore lower frequencies
bluer light has shorter wavelengths therefore higher frequency
if there is a hole where a mountain used to be it must have been internal. if there is a hole where there was nothing, must have been external
ascension control, light gathering power
the isoprinciple constantly in action: matching music to a mood
88 constellations
velocity/distance... labeled 'something moving'
"to properly appreciate beauty, the viewing conditions must be optimal"
math homework < getting stabbed
the night sky should be bright
calm high dark dry
mt rainier is continental drift
an asteroid with our name on it
"in slower paced courses I'd take notes with my left hand"
thinned it out.. all of my knowledge... feeling dumber having done it but I felt there to be no real reason to keep those documents. the reason behind the 4.0. lost forever. I realized suddenly, achingly that I would never see those things again. but hey. I don't have documents from other semesters to look at. I just wanted to horde them. keep them in my records. look back and learn everything.
-----
rooting for the opposite team. I went to the bar to waste money and destroy all self-esteem. because I went alone and was judged instantly and unforgiven for that fact. different team judgement. why does everyone here root for the winning team without discrimination? interesting psychology. fuckers in sports bars root for the winning teams no matter who they are, and they take home women. get that drink on the rocks and work all day to afford the burger and beers. help me god. I had a burger and a couple of beers watching the game. losing in all senses. no one approached. it won't happen overnight. I have to change in order to approach anyone here. or there. scoot over fuckhead. all negative emotions flying through me.
activate the neurons and synthesize a crowd of like-minded, forward-minded individuals with enjoyable and compatible personality traits. I am made out to be a monster due to my vagrant opinion. Fine. A reason to exist. Music. Feeling like a vagrant with my monster opinion. The world is not small enough for us to reintroduce. beautiful lesson learned on the acid reflux fusion withdrawal symposium, flying free and healthy with guns and drugs and lovers in arms, over abundance of life flashing before closed eyes, missing moments based on faulty visual cues, flower design reminiscent of past psychedelia, the superficiality and the movement of the dress on the figure, we, the jealous, the unworthy and heart-ached, falling to puzzle pieces in the juncture of disappointment and further excitement lost afterwards, all silent and angry, square pegs and round holes or the opposition though I will have to watch Seahawks games in a sports bar somewhere around here, good cheap fun and full of comrades, in arms, kalisnokov, the soviet memorial union transfer student center-fold out couch potato bug infestation. frightful basket weaving around cars and quarters. though it never made any sense to anyone in the world.
red wine poetry or caffeine addicted consciousness. we must exist somewhere without fear and without disobedient energy inside of the soul, stepping in front of desires and stomping down the feet of good intentions, quickly and through a time lapse, we once believed that dinosaurs were buried by humans in order to appropriate the mythical legend of man becoming man through evolution and not the dividing spirit of a hand of a sentient god, something beyond history books and all of the evidence. we research these myths and fall into a stupid trance developing contradictory theory about everything. dinosaurs are real. mostly due to that last statement I've made. arguably I've just invented them into my own belief system. how did they all die? asteroid in the gulf of mexico and the impact crater now buried by an ocean inlet. the impact was not great enough to kill them all but the amount of rubble and dirt in the air would have blocked the sun for enough days to destroy all vegetation and food supplies dwindling in the darkened, lung-decimating air. Molecules collecting and expanding. Unbelievable ignorance. It is willful. Self-appointed. Present and forward thinker. Fine. I exist because you exist. Something huge is missing due to certain points of ambiguity constantly discussed without any evidence or anything backing. the current news. ruining the brain cells.
How could we go on so long without the sounds of pretty birds above our heads?
----------
sudden cosmic sadness drenching everything green and thriving prior, feel urgent to call dad for advice. how to deal with certain things with cross cultured ambitions. how can I exist so simply yet still fill myself to capacity with fresh and exciting experience? I need the dangerous mountains and flowing slipstreams to justify any sort of potential living in this city. I had terrifying images of my friends and family all turning old before my eyes, deteriorate into the small piles of ashes they started from. (see a spoiled kid and think of the possibility he knows not that he is alive and he may never know. he eats a tiny bag of 5 dollar popcorn and has never known true fear or true excitement. it all surrounds the necessity to get everything he has ever wanted. if his parents have the resources I cannot blame them for spoiling him, especially if the word love is involved beneath the surface.) Who knows. Maybe I would too if I could, but I am too much alive in this very moment. Better myself and feel awful guilty for wasting time and money getting wasted.
here the price increases but the value diminishes. people begin to confuse those two words replacing an expensive car with an economically viable one. I am not "economically viable" and that phrase needs to be murdered, screaming, in a silhouette dark alley. Masking the violent notions. Go to that desire and never turn back, motherfucker!
Everyone impress each other and cut the throat of all opposition even if friendly. Don't they understand that the only way to succeed with any truth is to rise up together. To influence and build off of each other with friendly encouragement and helpful hints. Give each other favors. Become a part of humanity once again. Rejoin and feel that joyous connection that we've lost since the renaissance in our now garbage-burning culture without much hope for anything stronger and more potent without star death. The apocalypse would certainly bring us together more than any bullshit second coming. We are here each once and it is forever at the same time! One in the same. We are all responsible for all manipulations to our unique universes. Hug everyone and feel a fire burn inside your heart, a candle from 100 yards away, flickering, an old engine stirring up, attempting to turn over... heart-death is not body-death these days. no one dies from heart sickness because we are all so desensitized to feel anything beyond the consumer interests preached and pounded into us from television and all media, killing our souls one screaming infomercial at a time, there is no learning to be had from there aside from what to buy and ways to market a stupid captive audience for the myriad Americans who believe tv shows depict reality better than everything you can see outside. listen to music, learn and grow. write and read joyously soaking up the minutest details between those worlds. alcohol and breath mints. left in the van and called a coward. all dressed to impress no one. tone deaf, non-musical people singing along to popular music at the weekend tequila bar. something to lower the bar and all expectations are murdered individually. somehow suddenly everyone understands the depth of shit we've been standing it and says. "I can't fucking stand it anymore!" Smashing a coffee table. Yelling until the voice goes hoarse, straight into the yawning void. So bored with your insolent outcries. The effort and the forward movement of all of history's leaders could not deal with this violently unforgivable world. the void remains. now smiling at our frivolous nature as we run through the rat race in marked off lines, the queues that kill us slowly but violently, like boiling our skin off in a vat of acid, getting excruciatingly high at the same time and feeling incredible stupid and lacking in genuine experience. all I remember is car sickness and other violent behemoths.
I will say something I believe to be meaningful. An unconditional outcry of my entire being. Screaming it and with more passion than I've ever before dealt with. No person answers. It is as if I have said nothing and no one listens carefully to the words I say. I need to gain respect by giving it out. Dishing out more than I could possibly ever receive. The reciprocal nature of personalities and different killing emotions and motives. Humans ignore the outcry of my passions. God doesn't listen. He is bothered by the multitude of prayers for bigger paychecks and then analyzing these lives of scum against one another for any moral ineptitude greater than the other... millions of filing cabinets full of paperwork to weigh they against. He is more of a magician than anything. Or akin to a wishing well. Dear god, I wish for a new car. Something with fast-acting air conditioning, automatic locks and leather interior... So god doesn't answer. He doesn't even listen to any honest outcry, there is too much shit piling up outside heaven's gates. Too much trivia. People don't listen. They smoke and ignore. They give a shit about the environment. They fill up their bodies with repulsive shit and fall into ignorance like something spiritual. I empty my soul into the words I scream at this moment of violent rapture. Everything stops for a moment at least but nothing reacts. Only the void. The void is there, listening. Reacting the most powerfully by listening carefully and then deciding never to answer. Never to reply or respond or explain why. This is the way of things.
"That's a good color on you especially if you don't like to get hit by cars at night."
"He was a man who did not suffer but pleasured in sleepless nights of brooding on the great clock of the universe running down or winding itself up, who could tell?"
-----
volcanic resurfacing, moving faultlines
redder light has longer wavelengths therefore lower frequencies
bluer light has shorter wavelengths therefore higher frequency
if there is a hole where a mountain used to be it must have been internal. if there is a hole where there was nothing, must have been external
ascension control, light gathering power
the isoprinciple constantly in action: matching music to a mood
88 constellations
velocity/distance... labeled 'something moving'
"to properly appreciate beauty, the viewing conditions must be optimal"
math homework < getting stabbed
the night sky should be bright
calm high dark dry
mt rainier is continental drift
an asteroid with our name on it
"in slower paced courses I'd take notes with my left hand"
thinned it out.. all of my knowledge... feeling dumber having done it but I felt there to be no real reason to keep those documents. the reason behind the 4.0. lost forever. I realized suddenly, achingly that I would never see those things again. but hey. I don't have documents from other semesters to look at. I just wanted to horde them. keep them in my records. look back and learn everything.
-----
rooting for the opposite team. I went to the bar to waste money and destroy all self-esteem. because I went alone and was judged instantly and unforgiven for that fact. different team judgement. why does everyone here root for the winning team without discrimination? interesting psychology. fuckers in sports bars root for the winning teams no matter who they are, and they take home women. get that drink on the rocks and work all day to afford the burger and beers. help me god. I had a burger and a couple of beers watching the game. losing in all senses. no one approached. it won't happen overnight. I have to change in order to approach anyone here. or there. scoot over fuckhead. all negative emotions flying through me.
Friday, October 5, 2012
oct 5th
door slamming anger and sudden connecting of dots, whispered dreams in between awakenings, we are all at fault though if a scapegoat is necessary I'll take the blame. It's probably entirely my fault anyway. Laughter. Negligent without recognizing it. Have I been a huge asshole this whole time? I don't think so. I'm honest. I tell it like it should be when I can. Frost on the windshield. Count your considerable losses and rewrite crazy psychotic symphonies. "No secret songs." But I need to with this one because I want every single word to count. As they mean so much to me. I spent so much energy in them and have so much faith I could not allow to see a single one disappear. But I have some scattered parts and melodies and it will come together like glue when I have a proper voice. Warmed up like a well oiled machine, the missing ingredient of honey in the tea and the voice box tightens, constriction like a boa that crushes its victims in a powerful clutch, the birthday cake fiasco on the summer dress, the friends on the breezeway, all of the others I call bullshit towards. There was never any negative energy to be had from that. I have a lot of friends though they simply aren't around and I have difficulty serving up conversations with them through technological sources because I always attempt to remain entirely in the present. as often as possible. I probably could take advantage of my technological freedom to communicate with anyone I please. random outcries and grasps toward those few people I can call consistent. They are there. Always. I simply have a hard time calling and updating. I live too deeply in the moment. In my own selfishness. I rarely hear myself saying awful, unforgiving and negative things. For no reason. I'm just kidding around. But the amount of it is too much. Everyone hates the jester, the joker after awhile. But I'm not always like that, believe me. Trust in me and you will be told of all our worries in time. In due time.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
oct 4th
3:30 - 3:50
Refrain from using bad language though colorful language is accepted as by definition it allows deeper access into the realm of the figurative. Listen to exciting and intriguing music, with all sorts of musical delight that allow my ears to open in joyous celebration, hearing the individual tracks and yearning to create something to be dissected as such and as gorgeously, just as that hearing specialist offered it all up.
Put me on the spot and I'll perform to my greatest inherent abilities, the spotlight is on and the crowd is roaring drunk with personal revelation, all of everything reversed and slowed down until incoherent, but I am sitting in a maroon room, with chapped lips and restless legs, scars on my hands from different violent motions, accidental. All of it accidental. Pull off chunks of skin like a snake shedding. Gore and guts. The foundation of glory and our fantastic world soldiers die for. But the image of a perfect world held up by them is a propaganda image to make the soldiers believe they are creating something meaningful in their self-conditioning, no one wins in that sum-less game, personalities are broken down and reformed in step to the rhythm of stomping boots, chiseled and shaped uniform, stars and stripes for ever. I would break my own legs before I could allow this kind of personality destruction to occur in me. Have a wonderful day and call out all of the shots before you take them, killing innocents with fire from air and water from the earth, opening to flood gates to just that necessary detail. nothing worth bragging about.
this affluent city, moving so quickly and aimlessly. taking the eyes out of a pilot. the plane is no longer traveling straight. we'll do handstands and drink things upside down. rainbow colored tea bags, all involved in the same sexual tension prior to any predetermined hook up, unlatched, date. the kind that no kid would ever tell a mother about, despite all boundaries crossed in past situations. women looking fine in sun dresses, and I am too afraid to ask them anything personal, or to comment on their beauty, maybe a legal drink or two and I'd be able to become that casanova that I have all potential of being. Regardless of how it is spent. I AM POTENTIAL. Just like you can do.
Flowers in vases though neither are real, living. both static or plastic, masquerading as the real thing, like many of these human machines I encounter every waking second. earn your stripes. Our darkest roast.
benevolent in dreams though malevolent in person, and inexcusable either way. carve yourself a happy path through those dark forest service roads, the ones you could ditch a body and no history would ever know of this, great god of hidden bodies, there is nothing more horrifying then the idea that your life caused no imprint in the grand scheme of things, or any lives. if you hurt more than helped than it is time to change or to die. nothing else. there are no side options for that kind of debauchery.
writing songs that serve as marketing capers for things that the top 1% of super-consumers can afford, strictly. no one else has the wealth to waste on such meaningless extraction so freely. (fantastic vanilla scent from passing beautiful women, wondering if they love the music I hate.) lyrical content like a barrage of theatrical advertisements that you cannot skip and have no heart to release. but you release them with a huge stack of one dollar bills surrounding your buried heart. go far from the industry, leeching thieving mess of a human artist.
reaching the pinnacle. that upper tier of global, interstellar success. the ability to write words down that speak to large, dark masses of vibrating people. glowing and floating souls of contemporary humanity. reaching that full extension of personal growth. the top of the mountain. the precipice with enormous drops surrounding on all sides. the wrong angle and the wrong perspective would cause everything positive in the foundation to crumble though if you are steadfast it cannot happen to you. take your pills and kill all other thriving features in the ones who you used to love. at the very depths of that mountain crevasse. they live in the caves and attempt to coax you into the thinnest air without oxygen mask to fall for days until a terminal velocity death-impact on the harsh and unforgiving ground below. they holding up spears to catch your rag doll body like a subhuman species.
Refrain from using bad language though colorful language is accepted as by definition it allows deeper access into the realm of the figurative. Listen to exciting and intriguing music, with all sorts of musical delight that allow my ears to open in joyous celebration, hearing the individual tracks and yearning to create something to be dissected as such and as gorgeously, just as that hearing specialist offered it all up.
Put me on the spot and I'll perform to my greatest inherent abilities, the spotlight is on and the crowd is roaring drunk with personal revelation, all of everything reversed and slowed down until incoherent, but I am sitting in a maroon room, with chapped lips and restless legs, scars on my hands from different violent motions, accidental. All of it accidental. Pull off chunks of skin like a snake shedding. Gore and guts. The foundation of glory and our fantastic world soldiers die for. But the image of a perfect world held up by them is a propaganda image to make the soldiers believe they are creating something meaningful in their self-conditioning, no one wins in that sum-less game, personalities are broken down and reformed in step to the rhythm of stomping boots, chiseled and shaped uniform, stars and stripes for ever. I would break my own legs before I could allow this kind of personality destruction to occur in me. Have a wonderful day and call out all of the shots before you take them, killing innocents with fire from air and water from the earth, opening to flood gates to just that necessary detail. nothing worth bragging about.
this affluent city, moving so quickly and aimlessly. taking the eyes out of a pilot. the plane is no longer traveling straight. we'll do handstands and drink things upside down. rainbow colored tea bags, all involved in the same sexual tension prior to any predetermined hook up, unlatched, date. the kind that no kid would ever tell a mother about, despite all boundaries crossed in past situations. women looking fine in sun dresses, and I am too afraid to ask them anything personal, or to comment on their beauty, maybe a legal drink or two and I'd be able to become that casanova that I have all potential of being. Regardless of how it is spent. I AM POTENTIAL. Just like you can do.
Flowers in vases though neither are real, living. both static or plastic, masquerading as the real thing, like many of these human machines I encounter every waking second. earn your stripes. Our darkest roast.
benevolent in dreams though malevolent in person, and inexcusable either way. carve yourself a happy path through those dark forest service roads, the ones you could ditch a body and no history would ever know of this, great god of hidden bodies, there is nothing more horrifying then the idea that your life caused no imprint in the grand scheme of things, or any lives. if you hurt more than helped than it is time to change or to die. nothing else. there are no side options for that kind of debauchery.
writing songs that serve as marketing capers for things that the top 1% of super-consumers can afford, strictly. no one else has the wealth to waste on such meaningless extraction so freely. (fantastic vanilla scent from passing beautiful women, wondering if they love the music I hate.) lyrical content like a barrage of theatrical advertisements that you cannot skip and have no heart to release. but you release them with a huge stack of one dollar bills surrounding your buried heart. go far from the industry, leeching thieving mess of a human artist.
reaching the pinnacle. that upper tier of global, interstellar success. the ability to write words down that speak to large, dark masses of vibrating people. glowing and floating souls of contemporary humanity. reaching that full extension of personal growth. the top of the mountain. the precipice with enormous drops surrounding on all sides. the wrong angle and the wrong perspective would cause everything positive in the foundation to crumble though if you are steadfast it cannot happen to you. take your pills and kill all other thriving features in the ones who you used to love. at the very depths of that mountain crevasse. they live in the caves and attempt to coax you into the thinnest air without oxygen mask to fall for days until a terminal velocity death-impact on the harsh and unforgiving ground below. they holding up spears to catch your rag doll body like a subhuman species.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Oct 3rd
An ulcerous moment (a moral blemish or corrupting influence). Here once again, in the present, collecting my thoughts. I spilled them out on the ground, uneven, and they scatter away like marbles. Now I gather them all in my arms affectionately. I am a vessel for them. They will sink with me.
Indigo blues and red wines. Very fortunate to be alive. Draining account of tasteless belligerence on behalf of all consumed quantities of alcohol. Lips are sealed around a bottle. I swallowed the key and will refrain from any future negative phrases. There was no hate in my heart. I was possessed by something beyond me and inevitable. Just as the philosophical mind fuck begins to gnaw away at defenses, vodka soda rebuilds barriers. The flood could not erase every memory. Someone will remember the flood.
The viper room. Stage in the corner. Bright gracious lighting all around the bar and the posse possessed a corner table, a booth to survey the situation and to find a purpose behind all of the whispering. A business man produces uninteresting advice and is ask a barrage of potentially insulting remarks. He sat on the stage for 20 minutes too long and everything became pushed back thanks to it. A man with a cane dragged him off. Like in the cartoons. Whiskey and cokes purchased for me. Dangerous to drink too much prior to stage set. "You looked possessed tonight." (I was.) given the birthday shout out on stage. Talked down at people from that stage. Rather tall. Just then. Unplugged my overdrive pedal accidentally. Killed the bass a few times. Light dimming and dying. There would not have been room for an eccentric and elongated pedal board. Handbuilt and with LED lights all around the center. Plexiglass cover and a dream of ideas regarding all of it. Have the time. Break into a high school and use their wood shop classroom. Building things. Becoming good with your hands and tools. A certain shape of training that no man should ever be able to exist alone in a crisis situation without.
Man hands me a beer on stage. Great guy. Also plugged in my pedal when I was too far involved in the music to notice it missing. You are supposed to ignore big mistakes when on stage anyway. Never look at the person who fucked up. Just smile and continue as they burn your youthful energy to pollute the air with grander smokestacks. Drummer breaks the head off of the double pedal and feels bad-guilty for it, though I was laughing because I thought it was awesome and metal as fuck. Indicative that he rocked out too hard to be limited in any sense. The heaviest set we've ever played and handsomely at that.
Complimented eyelashes. I say they are extensions. Woman says that can't be true because hers are extensions. I walk away. Made fun a fellow for wearing a sweatsuit and he calls me out. But I can be reckless and everyone allows it. Receive a phone call after mingling with the lady drummer of the headlining band. She had dreads and stopped me from getting past her due to her enjoyment of our set. There is a shot of tequila waiting for me somewhere inside. Birthday shots. Double fisting. Duct tape me to the bathroom floor. Lights and static. A cigar from the humidor of a cigar shop. Small. Intense. Hardly viable. "Whichever is the least damaging." Long island ice tea at the rainbow and some incredible pizza. a rowdy crowd and we all fell under the spell of the same fitful buzz. no argument a wonderful day.
no argument a wonderful day.
then the last night after conversations regarding everything most disgusting in the world. all hilarious and loud. listen to metal through the television surround sound speakers. practice screams. crash helicopters. shoot the cops. mixed drinks all day. drink straight from the bottle after a familial argument. something blood born and beyond my immediate comprehension. I'll never pry.
I sat and drank, listening to loud music. My favorite tunes. For some reason then I walked home. Second night in a row having the drunken ambition to stumble down the streets. Guilty of criminal mischief. Stepping stones on someones lawn. I moved them all one by one about ten feet to the left. kicking mailboxes. changing the lid of the garbage can and recycling bins. chewing up chocolate candies and spitting them on driveways. appearance of shit. stealing fake plants and replacing them with real ones. attempting to lit a cigar with a burner. rearranging tasteful landscape architecture for my own purposes. absolutely no reason for these tiny acts of anarchy. lawlessness. the reason is precisely that. I love fucking with people. I want them to scratch their heads in confusion and go about their day in a state of heightened awareness to the small details. The smallest. I wish to move yard ornamentation from one lawn to the next. Or swap things. They will never understand and I am the wiser for it. I am the shaken up carbonated beverage. Stirring things around in utter dismay. There is a huge indifferent world out there though sometimes it seems to line up and make sense. These times are when I surprise myself. My reflection in the mirror grinning and triumphant. The random act of lunacy. It is a kindness to preach some sort of enlightenment to all of the others. "I warmed them up for you." I consider myself a sort of messenger.
Writing breakdowns with a deck of cards.
Indigo blues and red wines. Very fortunate to be alive. Draining account of tasteless belligerence on behalf of all consumed quantities of alcohol. Lips are sealed around a bottle. I swallowed the key and will refrain from any future negative phrases. There was no hate in my heart. I was possessed by something beyond me and inevitable. Just as the philosophical mind fuck begins to gnaw away at defenses, vodka soda rebuilds barriers. The flood could not erase every memory. Someone will remember the flood.
The viper room. Stage in the corner. Bright gracious lighting all around the bar and the posse possessed a corner table, a booth to survey the situation and to find a purpose behind all of the whispering. A business man produces uninteresting advice and is ask a barrage of potentially insulting remarks. He sat on the stage for 20 minutes too long and everything became pushed back thanks to it. A man with a cane dragged him off. Like in the cartoons. Whiskey and cokes purchased for me. Dangerous to drink too much prior to stage set. "You looked possessed tonight." (I was.) given the birthday shout out on stage. Talked down at people from that stage. Rather tall. Just then. Unplugged my overdrive pedal accidentally. Killed the bass a few times. Light dimming and dying. There would not have been room for an eccentric and elongated pedal board. Handbuilt and with LED lights all around the center. Plexiglass cover and a dream of ideas regarding all of it. Have the time. Break into a high school and use their wood shop classroom. Building things. Becoming good with your hands and tools. A certain shape of training that no man should ever be able to exist alone in a crisis situation without.
Man hands me a beer on stage. Great guy. Also plugged in my pedal when I was too far involved in the music to notice it missing. You are supposed to ignore big mistakes when on stage anyway. Never look at the person who fucked up. Just smile and continue as they burn your youthful energy to pollute the air with grander smokestacks. Drummer breaks the head off of the double pedal and feels bad-guilty for it, though I was laughing because I thought it was awesome and metal as fuck. Indicative that he rocked out too hard to be limited in any sense. The heaviest set we've ever played and handsomely at that.
Complimented eyelashes. I say they are extensions. Woman says that can't be true because hers are extensions. I walk away. Made fun a fellow for wearing a sweatsuit and he calls me out. But I can be reckless and everyone allows it. Receive a phone call after mingling with the lady drummer of the headlining band. She had dreads and stopped me from getting past her due to her enjoyment of our set. There is a shot of tequila waiting for me somewhere inside. Birthday shots. Double fisting. Duct tape me to the bathroom floor. Lights and static. A cigar from the humidor of a cigar shop. Small. Intense. Hardly viable. "Whichever is the least damaging." Long island ice tea at the rainbow and some incredible pizza. a rowdy crowd and we all fell under the spell of the same fitful buzz. no argument a wonderful day.
no argument a wonderful day.
then the last night after conversations regarding everything most disgusting in the world. all hilarious and loud. listen to metal through the television surround sound speakers. practice screams. crash helicopters. shoot the cops. mixed drinks all day. drink straight from the bottle after a familial argument. something blood born and beyond my immediate comprehension. I'll never pry.
I sat and drank, listening to loud music. My favorite tunes. For some reason then I walked home. Second night in a row having the drunken ambition to stumble down the streets. Guilty of criminal mischief. Stepping stones on someones lawn. I moved them all one by one about ten feet to the left. kicking mailboxes. changing the lid of the garbage can and recycling bins. chewing up chocolate candies and spitting them on driveways. appearance of shit. stealing fake plants and replacing them with real ones. attempting to lit a cigar with a burner. rearranging tasteful landscape architecture for my own purposes. absolutely no reason for these tiny acts of anarchy. lawlessness. the reason is precisely that. I love fucking with people. I want them to scratch their heads in confusion and go about their day in a state of heightened awareness to the small details. The smallest. I wish to move yard ornamentation from one lawn to the next. Or swap things. They will never understand and I am the wiser for it. I am the shaken up carbonated beverage. Stirring things around in utter dismay. There is a huge indifferent world out there though sometimes it seems to line up and make sense. These times are when I surprise myself. My reflection in the mirror grinning and triumphant. The random act of lunacy. It is a kindness to preach some sort of enlightenment to all of the others. "I warmed them up for you." I consider myself a sort of messenger.
Writing breakdowns with a deck of cards.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)