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.
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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.
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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?
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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.'
