January 31

Lighting a meditative candle with a spark and some butane. Watch it melt and describe what happens. Burning wic, flickering light illuminating my room and myself. The negativity is a darkness on the outskirts. Cannot visualize the walls on the other side of the room. They may as well be invisible and the murkiness I see may as well be infinity. The candle is green and due to age without strong scent anymore. Old gift from old love. Burning that past connection of hearts to analyze current. To meditate calmly and breathing with a rhythm that creates dancing resonance with the flame at the end. The light flickers and I stare into it with a moment of empty space. There is not much sound and all is quietly... (interrupted by slamming doors and barking dogs).


give my pupils a break and filter the lens through shattered glass and reflections. empty the mind best as possible. with all thoughts compounding. to exit the world of electronics is the best route. find a focal point and erase all stress into it like a holy mandala, a geometric circle of life as we know it best and all of the eastern philosophies to epitomize a more peaceful mind in the face of horrible atrocity. the devil and god raging inside of me for attention. a peaceful sleep is required for better clarity of words. this is the transition into a semi consciousness prior to sleep and the candle will put me into a daze until I can't remember my name.

Jan 29

I wake up and it is cold. Getting out of a warm bed is difficult. There is a bad flavor in my mouth. I dreamed of ruining family portraits and then of driving full speed down an endless feeling highway with gorgeous expansive mountains on either side without reception and then suddenly the road disappears and we plunge headfirst into a body of water caused by glacial melt, the runoff from huge chunks of ice that move sluggishly through valleys in order to form them. Now they all melt. All valleys are formed.

I'm trapped in my dreams. I'm shivering although my legs are too hot. Space heater heats a limited space. Listen to Bob. Clean my fingernails. Feel shitty. I cannot rouse myself to get a solid exercise in before heading to the social security office and showing my paperwork in order to work a temp job for the week. I received the pity of two separate bartenders yesterday. One I already knew. The alcohol jokes only go so far and then are demolished by truth and addiction. Logic breaks addiction. Addiction breaks logic. It is a cyclical process and we sit there stewing in it and waiting helplessly by the phone for a call that won't come. Your phone is dead. You may as well be too.

There are model citizens. There are supermodels too. They are not the same though I wish to become closer to an ideal physique than I currently am. I want to run with lions and keep up with the most active and happy people in the world. "Ah boo hoo." Making admittances and getting shut off from the world instantly. Talk of writing. Talk of love and education. We are all in this together. I love my mind and I wish to cultivate forever. Always learn and always allow the award to be self evident. It's not about the information. It's about the way it sets up your brain for the real world and real reasoning and more. I do not remember any calculus equations at all but unless I was a math professor or an astronomer or a mathematician, I do not need the actual information. It is a mirror to reveal our true nature and our true potential to ourselves.

I sometimes can't find something to do with my hands. Someone pointed out that I pop my knuckles when I'm nervous. Today my knuckles hurt. Last night was a real killer. Drove past the Getty Center and imagine the beautiful view from up there. The landscape and the ocean. The city lights like constellations on the ground shining up. Driving down that over populated, polluted, stinking highway....I would have never thought such philosophical beauty was over the other side of the fence.

Talk of how we wish to summit mountains. One day, all of them at once. Explore the mind and the world simultaneously.

How can I pull myself together? After noon today I will be busy working or sleeping, burning hours like dying light, until tomorrow evening. How horrifying? I will not have exercised in a weight room setting for two weeks. I would not have ran. I would not be sedate either. Walking around with a vigor. Exhaustion unjustified. Where is the heart I seek? Is it beating? Just born? Alive for thousands of years?

Seek that V and lose all interest in sweets and sugar. No soda. Kill the thought. Work out constantly and make the lungs happy and preserve the body. You cannot prevent everything though. There is a disease or an ailment growing inside of you at this very moment that you never expected until symptoms show. Then it is too late. Your preventive measures failed and you will regret your lack of action.

Did you know the things you never do can stay with you forever?

The Symbolism of a Possum

Colloquially we call it a possum and drop the phonetic 'o' for some cultural reason. They are western hemisphere marsupials like koala bears. Late one night I nearly killed one with my vehicle while staring at a waning full moon. It was full earlier in the dark, now just partial. I had a lot to think that night; a long day of paralyzed movement in the crowds of rushing faces. They come and go to and from dark places. This wish for longevity and hate themselves for their security and shitty workplace attitude. They print off receipts with heartless desire for something beyond.

"What makes his heart beat?"

I saw into the soul of this creature. My headlights glinted off his eyes like a common mirror. This possum, however filthy and riddled with neglect and rabies, is a part of this earth as much as I. The possum lived with a more distinct purpose than I. Without obvious intellectual capabilities, this creatures lives simply to survive and in a nowhere near natural situation must do horrible things in order to accomplish this survival. The longevity this creature wishes to have is based on a pulsing of blood through it's tiny corrugated veins.

Dream dictionaries describe an opossum as a symbol to use appearances to our advantages and to become strengthened by a masterful working knowledge of this. We front and succeed. If we front, we can also easily spot the ones who are fronting, who are lying through their teeth for personal gain and it becomes more obvious than ever with years of garbage-eating and willful experience of incredible tragedy. The possum represents how we can use deception to our advantage or conversely how we can spot those using deception to their advantage. (though if spotted, to their detriment.)

Then there are sources that align the movement of a possum with the moon. This is a spiritual belief due to Native American animal totems. These are virtues that the natives believed animals held in their very beings and thus can be transcribed into our lives for a deeper understanding of ourselves and our places in the world. Use these symbols to enrich your own life, even if not every possum you meet is a deceptive creature. They are metaphors and without metaphor we'd have to take everything at face value, which would destroy all of the creative people in the world without recognition that they were ever creative. We must believe in the abstract in order to survive the real.

Opossums have prominent sagittal crests, much like earlier hominoids prior to the break of in the lineage to form the musculature of modern humans. It took a few years to diverge but we both were better off. Evolutionarily fit to survive in diverse situations without the assistance of one and other. There is no communication between possums and humans. Neither understand the role of the other. They must be terrified of flashing lights and cars because these are not inventions of millenia and the forest growth. They are our technological advancements that diminish the mothering role of mother nature in our age. She was a god damn helicopter parent anyway, constantly hovering.

They can survive the bites of rattlesnakes and cottonmouths. Their immune systems are ones we study for anti snake bite vaccinations and remedies. Many possums are killed on highways while scavenging for roadkill.

Do you see the similarities?

What do we symbolize for them?

January 27

Have you ever had an obsession? The tunnel vision fixation of your evasive muse. Fogged up windows of cars and bathrooms, throw away the sheets or burn the smell of sexual aggression off of them. Wear strangers clothes. never met the designer. the prototype or the overseas work for cheap, cut up hands on sewing needles and historical accuracy. melting wax and emotional departure from routine, spray paint cans and ID badges required to provide access...

It's easier to leave what you love behind than to be left behind by it. The body recoils and shudders with shivering weakness. Unfortunate for us to have spun this intoxicating web like the silly and strident spiders we are. something to intimidate the others as we invade their dream world of bubble baths and champagne, star gazing on cloudy nights, and only letting go of each others hands when there is only enough room for us to walk single file, so many other intrinsic couples milling about without apparent purpose and it may never become apparent, walk along the edge of this destruction, die in each others arms and find a buzz never before accomplished.

jan 26

Take a cold shower to revisit all of the sense that become dormant in a safe and comfortable life. Naked bodies are not used to the cold and icicles form on our dendrites, we take precaution but are never used to the kind of vulnerability unconventional love causes in us. Nobody ever knows how to react to love sent, the heart becomes convoluted and full of body-shaken remorse. You, my audience, you caused ulcerous sores in my mouth, something that could lead to cancer or worse. Finding the elements incongruous. I stripped myself of my dignity in the face of yours. there were words like lightning at our fingertips and we shocked each other until our hair stood up straight. delirious thoughts about alcohol and suddenly we hear all of the sounds we wish to all at once. let the mind wander and capture every manic verb, frolic stupid through dead flowers, we are yuppies at heart, something that will die without much intention, though it's simple, I know you can't die without a more diverse life of sexuality, it would extremely difficult to be chaste to marriage then to retain purity throughout adolescence and to remain until the honeymoon suite in some foerign view that we both enjoy immensely. "I enjoy you," you'll say... "...and I enjoy you," I'll say. that will continue for a while until we can no longer tolerate our virtue. we will be closed off from the simultaneous feelings. I know the childhood friends now married and having flown out to some ridiculous expanse of incredible love. that is a dream to hold on to. golf course and chariots.


---

speak of lovesickness and how dumb you have to be to fall in love so young, and eat your fucking heart out, how you do not trust education or history how everything media says these days dictates and how close it all becomes to something close to Orwell or Huxley. it is fucked up and I bit my tongue to avoid being singled out in any sense. education is beautiful. how could you proclaim yourself happy to avoid being booksmart. that word is one used of ignorant and incredibly dull individuals. but then I'll drink and write with a ferocity they never understand. not a god damn sad empathic bone on his body. I hate them some days. and I sleep or numb myself to avoid conversation. do not fucking question me. let me alone. sometimes I need to be apart from you. it is not what you assume because you are worlds apart from me and you will never be right if you guess anything about me. unless you got to know me but I doubt you will. it is something superficial and light. something hopeful and enlightened. I will ruin opportunities by letting this love shit hand over my head. this in the back of my head. the difference between genders and the general sexism kills me forever. high school sweet heart my god. there is nothing longer than two years' time. we are something outside of what you've ever experienced therefore your advice I will avoid.

---


1:15

deprived of sleep like those involved involved in tantric sex deprived of orgasm. we are at the mercy of each others lingering scents and this is nonsense. hearing constantly through the walls other sounds and I pay you a good god damn amount of money so fuck you if I am loud. I wish to be just what I god dman am. I wish to swear less but live harder and louder. so help me god. asipdnfas;iob ,

there was a bandaid on my steel reserve and everyone is destroyed because of it

jan 25 2:40 am

sleeping beauties, opinions opted out of and we are left with our own thoughts echoing in our heads, forever they echo without recourse. without rhyme or reason we drove through snow drifts and caused landslides down partitions in the high ways, streaking naked and screaming fluidly through clenched teeth. our opinions become of little consequence when we speak so much and there are many prescriptions to sign off on, there are words to say, there are secrets to profess and to confess, there are regrets and enlightenment, there are air conditioned worries, concerning all of us in the end of a flooded blood red river.

juxtapose our relationships and shimmy down fire poles in order to get to achievements beyond normal activity, sounds in foreign languages, songs and familiar rhythm transposed across national borders, burning our eyes with sulfur and fumes, the dreaded longest sleep and without company unless dying simultaneous, one too many jokes about our transactions, crying eyes and robbing us blind, of days spent living well and healthy, plentiful good vibes in corridors and playgrounds, making sense out of cross hairs, aimed up at the sun, fall apart at the seams in confused reality dreams, there are no boundaries and we lose ourselves in the hallucination.

loveless and sick in shameful recurring nightmares of knowledge and execution, we refrain from spilling our souls to avoid vulnerability, which is a trait to share and many hide away from it all, resenting fathers who treat them all incorrectly, never really getting to know someone until they are far out of reach, a feeling that you cannot teach, no parental guidance could explain the way we sway in the presence of one and other, the nightmare falling to pieces, we pick them up and create a masterwork, something to show our kids forever, something eternally existing and they generations will always realize the big things the grown ups did.

and then the question became one of intellectual and poised conscience, the methods are incorrect and the backwards nature of this environment are obvious, resentment comes from jealousy of a kind or another, it is a cycle and it is nasty, no odds and ends to discover, simple patronage and spiteful accusations, there are words to end other words, something like an eternal stain on our hearts, forever grasping and grappling for the correct phrasing throughout each and every sight and sound, hard to break away from such real life happiness to attempt to make sense of it, to discern from confused hatred, and to embark on journeys through space and time, through exploratory consciousness, attending lectures on campuses without reason or rhyme, the huge lecture classes where no one takes attendance, a free education for a day, or to observe the actions of the clowns taking swift notes and no pressure to learn the information for a test of any kind, hang out at campus book stores and find continuous friends with benefits, a working knowledge of something fascinating or life affirming. nothing too magical or else we fall into hate. 

Jan 16

Childhood.

I wish I could go back and interrupt myself on the way to the school bus in the morning. This is the best it gets kid! Enjoy!

To tell that little boy version of me what big kid version of me now knows?

What could that do for me?

Would I still be alive?

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Feet kicked up with a purpose, like a king and this entirely world is his kingdom. This is truer than metaphor in many senses. Philosophically speaking, I could suddenly turn inside out. There have been many widespread cases of internal spontaneous combustion across the world all throughout recorded history...

Jan 14th - Words with Rhythm

Eyes blur with passing cars
until I can see is the other side
of the freeway
a free sprint through delirious spirit
the words are meaningless again

---

my feet are cold and commitment is a terrifying prospect
words with a certain hue demand a certain respect

but I have none left. this is spent

garner up courage and permeate across landscapes

your words will have to matter one day

despite all of the horrible sniveling comments people make

they are the source of the problem

not I
never I

nevermind 

January 13th

Water flowing upstream and trees growing against the grain of gravity, this is the wild part of the earth bursting through all of the inconsequential acts of us humans.

"no matter what the coast, we toast the same PBR"

Roasting words up from cavernous depths, form them like heat rises, listen to lyrics and ruin personal flow to listen to and react to the writing of other human beings, something meaningful, don't let them chose for you, you meet up with your destiny, you take chances that change us, you meet up with everyone. every single girl you shamefully saw somewhere near pacific avenue and then coming back to a grateful friend who was a manipulative person with a party at his house. something awkward with family members in close quarters and we lost interest in each other instantly in the wreckage of family life, because something awful was involved in here and for some reason I drove all the way out there and back with a fifth of yukon jack. taking shots of it at my car with the girls and smoking a cigar which was unheard of at their household at that space and time. If I had behaved myself, everything would have been different, there would have been parades in my honor for such a decision... there were birds in the trailer... thin walls... kicked out after having walked around the block to smoke a cigar and sober up, they did not allow me to return and I left to arrive at a party, getting drunk, sleeping on a foreign bed, in a pile of partial friends passing out all at once, on the drop of a dime, shaking drunk after that energy drink, and the experience of getting kicked out of a person's place after having had many shots of difficult liquor. they drove away and no one ever noticed. there are stories... I wonder what my friend who did this ever thought about himself, the motherfucker.


------

making friendships last like all beautiful things. they are on their way entirely. 

January 12

Underneath the Fox Island bridge in Gig Harbor, Washington. This is the Puget Sound and the water is normally mild aside form violent churning tides and there are meditative moments to be spent on the shores of it, however rocky and inhospitable directly, some listened to music and wrote lyrics in notebooks at this location, others attempted to grow marijuana, this was just the place to go and disappear in plain sight, admire the graffiti on the walls that would soon be replaced with flat gray covering, and we went back in at night to ask a simple question, old spray cans so they wouldn't be traced, and now leaking the information, but hey, I wasn't the one, it was the narrator of the story. I love graffiti. the simple expression and the dying breed of people who believe it to be vandalism. But with the kind of murals people can make.. or the ancient high school graduating class of 89 or some past year, so far beyond my idea of perception, and it blows my mind, I can't think of life as it was in 1889. There is no fathoming that hysteria. This place was a solemn sacred sanctuary. To watch boats drift by. To smoke cigars with girls. Or hookah in the woods near cromwell. No worries there. A nice idea executed perfectly. We drove off victorious for random awesome moment of random inspiration. Used to listen to cars rumble overhead and coat boats driving underneath at lethal speed. climb down and hold hands the entire way. just for the fun of it. it was a place to sit and think with rocks to lay back on, listening to music harmlessly and with considerable notebooks and advantages, already thinking of the days ahead, lyrically speaking, and all of the impressions of a high school kid with ambitions and a fire in the pit of his stomach, burning away moments of inadequacy. nothing left to do but enjoy the summer as if it were the last of your life. the dry day captured above is something divine. no rain to ruin the tranquility of this moment forever captured in time. something forever remembered.

we slept under the stars
sleeping bags in the back yard
forest trails and their hidden mysteries
let our imaginations run wild
thought of all the beasts of night
lurking and snarling throughout
that dark and inviting place
under the canopy of tree branches
jumping into gathered snow
making our impressions as angels
soaking in a hot tub
given to us from a distant aunt
from winters frozen solid
becomes reclusive resort
from brown recluse
or something worse
rats or mice, gardener snakes,
something to bite the fingers
we pointed at shooting stars
we shared the sights and the words became farther and farther melting away into distant specks on a huge horizon
cross out the stars. we are here eternally.

Wavering Thoughts on January 10th

Warming up my hands to the idea,
of melting chocolate,
over an open fire
s'mores on the shore
lines drawn in the sand.
at night
try to keep our treasure
separate.

Churning up my mind for the idea
of gathering darkness
after an ancient day
some old song
echos, long gone
from childhood's end.
try to avoid appearing
desperate.

Searching through the memories
of impending nostalgia.
over a buried casket
only fools forget to live
in soothing youth.
they believe their task is
imperative.

Fixate on the melodies
of defining reverie.
under the looking glass,
back at last to past habits
break away from chaste cast.
the new crowd becomes
superlative.

Realize this party is full
of haunting ghosts.
inside the inviting apartment,
tears cause by beers and fear,
clearly steer to a bar that is near
gun in the glove compartment
your gracious host
abandons his post
inconsiderate.

Washing off the mistakes
of broken opportunity.
on the streets of every city.
I'd die intact with some eye contact.
otherwise live a lie until my demise.
infinite intimate sentiments
with every lady, shady daisies
call me crazy, or hazy
this wouldn't phase me.

fill in the blanks with empty plates at the end of a hot date
the decision becomes a collision between the blinding sun and night vision
we are all in this mess together
so far all crisis is blessed forever.
time to wander and ponder with mind
leave bad luck behind
the winding road unwinds

you will find
a four leaf clover
then it's over . 

Jan 9th (late night)

When I think about ten years ago I think about the 1990's.

Feeling of family and a strive to win and to overcome. Emotionally wrenched from situation and realizing that we are witnessing some powerful stuff. Incredible humanity. Spread a message of love and happiness. Kind to others without any expectation and free floating with the world. What will happen will happen and we will prevail regardless. With an effort our spirit will live on in the clouds on a grey day for future generation to rain down creative thoughts on them all. That feeling of sudden inspiration one gets. The light bouncing off a reflective surface. A tranquil moment. The leaves in the wind and the yellow trees against bright blue skies, the bar scene floating up toward the ceiling no matter what and a profound day for emotional tensions. broken meditation to burn up warm and positive feeling to portray a strife that had no purpose. there was no real conflict. energy waste. blow off steam and relieve tension. no reason not to. it's obvious all the friendship remains and the testing of opinions is something new though never too deep or fury sparking. one doesn't much care the outcome, always hoping to neutralize a situation before anything heightens in a negative way and if they do to escape quickly and quietly into the night, to slip away... he speaks in a dark manner sometimes and should much more often hold the tongue and vibe with each situation and feel like at home with the right people, hold on to those warm moments, and feel more than privileged, the moments never could last too long and we held it against ourselves to coexist happily. we are all on this planet. regardless of purpose we should work together because as a huge positive party we could change everything at once. in a collective sweep. no worry what mindset or opinion. I'm there with you my brother. I highly respect your ambitions. Your belief. There is no doubt about that. Despite any differences it's all just in that I can't accept anything specific as absolute truth. I can't subscribe to any one idea. It's all great if you are committed. But I bet there is truth to take home in every single religious idea ever created or heard or passed on or conjured or magically appearing on cliff faces in the high mountains. Every grand idea that collectively could bring happiness to entire communities should be expressed universally. Bring it together. Every belief. Educate the public that everyone has an equal opportunity to enter a heaven or a version of heaven here on earth in happy union. find happiness and contentedness here on earth as you breath and live. the way is to create legacy. or to become a part of a huge social movement. everyone carrying everyone through the deepest confusion and the most uncertain musings of all philosophical history. the mind is huge and on fire. we are not aware of what it means to have that kind of higher calling. but if you feel blessed on your journey, more power to you. with a heart of gold anyway, I couldn't think it would be a bad thing to feel like you always have someone to cover your back in any sense. To lose yourself and believe there is a drive in you powered by someone else when you need the strength. Some grand mental tricks. Athletes use this to form certain confidences in themselves. It is all positive effects for your mind, probably. The type of positive social control that people shouldn't hurt each other about, ever.  It's such a horrifying contradiction to kill or be killed because you disagree about what happens to you after you die. A terrifying conclusion to a life of servitude. There must be truth in all of the doctrines that elicit positive change. Damn it they work! But isn't it possible that we could some other strange tradition at this very moment and call it a religion based on powerful stories regarding the activities of a kind of savior? We could take on a tradition that becomes meaningful in the future stories of people. Why fixate on something that happened so long ago? There are plenty of heartfelt words and phrases, pieces of writing to inspire positivity and virtue but without preaching or a suspended belief or any kind of phrase involved on websites, online personalities and believes and collective derision weird feelings of inconvenient cold on the back of neck, hairs bristling like an alert wolf. it is hard to tell what is real when many believe in unverifiable things. the reason the stories of the past stuck is that there is no possibility to have any photographic evidence to prove or disprove. they could be anything and there are many lunatics who take much of it verbatim as opposed to something more personally meaningful and something to ponder, people still read it and many do now as I type though not enough understand it, I believe, there is a mass misunderstand and the whole world hurts due to it in some form or another. either by fear of falling into a potential mass delusion. logically possible. a tradition of all kinds and a bandwagon of sorts. or by reading and misinterpreting in order to justify actions that can psychologically hurt others. there are no just ways to hide such awful contradiction. but I love you. I hope for the best that you come to a realization about the world. that all is great and beautiful. you are lucky to be breathing and therefore you cannot pretend you are better than another life in the sense of sacredness. everyone is beautiful and present. in the present tense. love everything and it will love you back. it has to. otherwise all is for nothing and the end is lonely and dark. 

Jan 9th (morning)

someone had the genius idea of a grow operation.. of course I'm down! I'd say, exuberant. Feeling a bright purpose once more. Move crates in through the walk-in closet. Get a dresser for newly homeless clothes.

I could write a story about a person and a grow operation in the first person. Someone who desires something greatly. The money to pay back an estranged relative perhaps. Maybe to buy a father that old car back from the lot. His fathers old pick up that held much meaning with him. Repossessed. Or a tough financial situation. His father is in a tough financial situation.

But I'd rather let my mind wonder a little more expressively. With no specific direction. Something like a stream of consciousness jam session. Fresh thoughts as they occur though a little more structured than simple random ideas. Otherwise I'd be ranting about back pain, bass guitars, space heaters, balcony lights, one look from you and I'm over, a relaxing beat, locked doors and windows... I would quickly lose that structure and enter a primitive state. Something elastic.

It cleanses. I do not have to describe to anyone why. But it is a meditative, calming state to enter prior to rest and allows the wondering mind to recollect potentially important thoughts and feelings and advancements in the story of my life. My human romance, a legendary tale of exploration and trial and error learning, of hard work and shame, of big moments wasted and little moments precious and remembered forever. To make sense of this life while I'm alive. To write the life down in details beyond immediate observation. The details can come from chemical sparks in my brain. Areas light up. Regions flare up and doctors can analyze the processing of my brain through content, context, Freudian word choices and more, whore.

Recording. Hitting record on a mental tape player. Though it bungles the strips and I'm left with a scattered and wild projector shooting seemingly random or violently abrupt images in flashes on flat surfaces in my periphery. Something secondary that you can only barely think to notice. That is the pulsing inspiration available to us all. An infinite inkwell high above the city. Something to draw from forever and ever. Its the abstract thinking that changes worlds. 

Jan 6

Well it's obvious at this point that you've stopped listening fully. You are sitting in your computer chair and sipping on something alcoholic, reading slowly and with trepidation. There are fears returning to your head of things you thought you had abolished. There are foreign words on the tip of your tongue. You are lifeless.

You have to read and the re-read the sentences but with sighs of contempt. They are too complicated for your busy schedule. Now your time is tainted with the consideration of words. You want to know precisely what happens and in the slightest amount of words. You do not want to have to read through the references and understand. Many of these references are personal though if you read deep enough they are quite obvious in their denotations. You do not read deep enough. You are a dirty piece of human meat. I am a dead French author living vicariously through a nameless American pseudo-writer in the modern age.

Regardless, the words are too rich and the fame just isn't there. Do I realize now that suddenly the editor is an important tool for this kind of writing and someone else must revise and work through the words and make their own sense of it. But there are two different kinds. Writing purely for artistic or material purposes. The true artist works for artist integrity and gains respect and momentum in such a manner. Word of mouth about his honesty. Shake the world with these realizations.

become too careful
lose the audience
due to so called
artistic integrity
but the true meaning was
hidden behind the stacks of cash
and suddenly the entire world
pays attention like paying rent
in a casual and attentive manner
wary of obstacles
though transcending them.

----

he listens to TV On the Radio. Drinks a dark beer that once would assist monks in fasting during periods of solemn months. They would curb their appetite quickly. Chips and salsa and donuts. Christmas lights decorate the ceiling of the room. It is comfortable despite a bit cold. Hats are scattered everywhere .

but then it becomes too intimate once again and no one understands. turn away reader. shake your head at me in shame. this guy can never make a point or solidify an issue. it just never makes sense. and he uses big words in order to sound high and certainly mighty. but they don't work because as a layman I wouldn't have dared to look up the word I would have happily died without ever knowing the meaning or the context. the author instantly becomes a mystery. the motive unknown. the sentences scattered and never reworked into perfect order.

it is all just a wasteful first draft.

we can always cut pieces off from this.

but tend to hold onto moments dear to us.

due to emotional connotation or significant reference.

no reader would have understood

no one ever does; this is certain to be true.

avoid that verb and every possible consumer dies

in the process
they die with their arms full of bogus interpretation.

Jan 4

Maybe the heat is too great. Everything melts into the slipstream. Get lost in eyes and for words. Dimples to define a generation. Heart picks up speed with each rhythm and beat. Musically speaking I've been quarantined to understand everything with such depth and intensity that I could translate freely and without any logical reservations. Designs fall apart at the seams. We are left now with remains of ideas, scattered like ashes. Kill the momentum this feels like I'm taking you nowhere once again. But that might be expected at this point.

Jan 1

First numerical day of a new calendar, we are hung up on mistakes to be corrected when the only possible motion is forward, tonight we make vows to better ourselves in some such cultural biased way, a motion of crowds as opposed to individuals, a lunatic started it then justified it then it caught on, that's all it takes for a phenomena. She had beautiful eyes. There were moments of excessive bar hopping and cordial invitation to empty seated caravans. The party should become off the hook though there was no hook. Bait and switch. Fishing techniques. Reel them in. Minnows and sharks. Lurking and hunting through the dark and dreary waters.

Break the trance and fall back into distracting reality. There is warmth here. Though in waves. Constantly changing and forming. A psychotic borderline personality disorder, something anti-crowd, or anti-mainstream conformity, and then again that mindset fits perfectly the one who places the diagnosis. Something antisocial and sitting on corners of boxes. Looking for excuses and random ideas to transcribe said opinions. I have been in here and cold. Silent brooding and losing consciousness. Called a nervous individual. Hearing fireworks through the wall. Remind me of home and an exploding space nettle. started off a new years countdown five minutes too early for shits. and ruined the legitimate countdown. which many of us missed out of confusion. however stupid and innocuous. I'm giving you hints. though my identity is extremely clear at this moment. a song about a girl. once loved now despised. forever feeling melancholy and colorful. this is the beginning of a new mindset. I've already told myself what needs to changes for me to survive in this world as a musician and artist. There are no excuses and I must not have inhibitions wherever possible. I must discuss scenarios with others and exit the box I've fallen into.

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how to describe the feeling that all I love is elsewhere tonight and through random chance wound up in the same city simultaneous. somehow everyone met and kissed each other passionately. fake the silences because they are not enough and suddenly people are gone. anxious to think of all of the possibility. something recent and nothing embarrassing. is this faithful embarrassment? realize there will be haters based on job title alone. it doesn't matter. I could enter any shitty job and get great at it for the rest of my life. have a happy family and realize that to raise a family is to raise my own spirits simultaneous... I think about lost love and fireworks. I think about eye contact and the deadpan isolating humor. the challenging of ideas by everyone and over analyze the quirks of all of us individually. something confusing and rapidly changing. I fell in love. They are in the same place at the same time. I wish a bomb hit.