27

burning legs and a thick cough, something to awaken sleeping demons, the messages and murals on churches, the rocketing skies and feelings of self-disintegration. practice your heart out and become the very very best. you are worth it.

percussive words like shrapnel in our sides, bursting at the seams, always there and always available for use, no matter how habitual or disrespectful, each combination is a drum fill of lost consciousness, the kind of fill that sounds like the drummer fell headfirst down a flight of stairs with shells and rim clicks, the cymbals ring and breaking with cheap sticks, kick nightmare, mic up the afterlife and lose self in the void of words and new found love, glory be yours, intrepid navigator, you are in the realm of the gods with such caress or flow, jaunty excursions through time-space and keeping tempo with the rhythm and the heartbeat of the world.

realize genre-specific go-to drum fills.

practice to metronome and grow robot arms.

26 - PROGRESS

The light levels fluctuating gently, a windless phenomenon, contemplating what the others feel and do in their our dark homes, this inconsistent light and the cold breath, paralyzed in bed for the sake of heat not laziness, sleep in clothes and monsters under the bed have chance to take advantage of the vulnerability of nudity, hot coffee and water and a powerbar, these are the elements of surprise for the perfect breakfast, though sarcastic.

Wake up with your tongue curled up, your throat dry and cracking, your voice feeling pulverized by forgotten horrific dreams. The kind that will come back to you during daylight and make you freeze where you are. Insanity and fear are powerful feelings. They are healthy. There is one life and confusion is a great incentive for growth. You will be clinging and climbing sporadically up the sides of brick universities like ivy. There will be many tunnels. They all seem to have a light at the end. Many could be elusive; a build of reflective phosphorous. Reach the surplus, light fades like a mirage in the gobi desert, the heat waves and the sun, this is a cave setting, the light now is at your back, like water in a vast spread of burning, putrid sand.

We crawl toward enlightenment. Dignified planets spacing out around a sun with centrifugal force. No reason for humans to be in orbit around ambitions. We have no cause to be mindless drifting bodies of mass. We have the potential to be individual suns. Let lesser bodies orbit around me, if anything. A sun in a new formation of a galaxy, so no planets are there yet, many years of small impacts to create large enough pieces of precious and filling-space metals or gases. All based on the gravity and laws of attraction you produce.

Dense and naive. You ignore moments that make you uncomfortable. You avoid growth. Everything is murdered by political or social motive, nothing is honest or worthy of believing in. This negativity through one tentacle and then a positive reinforcement of the same status quo you reject. You believe strongly in social roles in order for this machine to continue running as is. But then I must ask, what the fuck is so special about this machine? In order to be in solid working condition it must be regularly checked up on and examined for defects. The great mechanic would find many. Parts would be replaced or tossed out. Stoke the fire we need to fix ourselves in order to fix the world. Then I face the fact that I am swimming upstream. No one understands why I wouldn't want to watch television like a normal person. I just can't handle it. I won't buy in. This society saddens me with its conditioned stupidity and servility... You believe in this machine? You believe in a vague superiority that someone entitles you to the blessings you've received in your life. If only I could feel so god damn justified for my actions. The unintended consequences are plastic bags in the ocean floating like jellyfish, the recycling center is overflowing with disgusting personalities, hang out in loiter free areas and no transients are allowed, then what am I? Is there a permanent place for any of us or do we just dig our heels in deep? Deeper than mariana's trench at the bottom of the ocean... sinking and falling in our own subservience to the grand scheme? Believing every falsehood that is presented to us on gold platters labeled 'non-negotiable truth' and then we have to digest that without dying inside. Many of us die inside without ever knowing it. Simply wasting through existence the kind of mindset that most tv shows aim at. The stupid servants. They hate or love what they do. What does it matter.

Poor bastards.

Never ignore your own consciousness. Your own appraisal of this maniacal and deranged world order. This is the key to progress. A fucking positive term. Always forward progress. Not diminutive diversions away from this path. Taking the low road, more often traveled, always. Crushed by boulders from those on the high road who are unaware of the landslides they cause.

This is YOUR WORLD.

Moon

Spaces smells like seared steak due to high energy ions moving frequently in the air. Why wouldn't everybody in the world want to know this? The populace is concerned with superficial goals and means to an end, something horrific in its insincerity.. under a false name and intent, there are nefarious ways to achieve that kind of recognition in this illuminated evil world. The curiosity is killed. The 'fuck it' attitude is common. It is a war between laziness and fear and no one will make it out alive. It is your appraisal of truth and your new words to describe it all. You will not be remembered. But your corpse will be turned into ashes into a biodegradable urn that grows a tree out of it. Chose the tree you wish to die and become. Now I think about trees I've seen. How many scattered ashes of human beings? How many supposed spirits am I inhaling on the daily?

Lose the audience gain freedom.

Lose your voice through neglect as opposed to the hoarse and violent screaming potential from rooftops of the city. The opinions regarding our perverted servitude. Our slave culture and the bury-your-head deny-the-facts social standard. The ignoring of problems rather than the active participant in the world.

"when you stagnant you grow stale"

Yell and live well! This is fucking it. Love everyone and never trust an outside opinion for what you need on the inside.

23 February

I am your ticket to a fairy tale ending, young lady with an older heart than mine, hiding behind shining facade of bottles and clapping loud and off rhythm with Bruce Springsteen, sitting and analyzing art and remaining outside of museums and never understanding the concepts, we are alone here in this tangled web of enormous spaghetti strands, of false columns or british lamp posts with political agendas, but we are apart from the politics of the world, and we can mention this or that as we please. Leaving out all of the true details and using body language to describe stories and happenings between moments of awful and tense silence. Getting high to fight off demons of self distrust and legs shone in sunlight, dog killed on highway, wrong turns made in alcoholic frenzy and we speak freely about nothing, everything light and nice, the ugliest words from the dictionary listed, I am a couch potato and smoking pot is a sign of mutual awareness of evident boredom in this free form and wasteful existence, temporarily at most, hold on tightly to this device as we ride out of control and never argue, we kept light and simple, stupid metaphors in between our teeth, free residency for the museum, 20 bucks to see kubrick and the whole rest of it, someday soon, the tar pits swallowing the mother of ancient elephant descendants, we are not the adolescents, but we are funny and nice. Polite fucking versions and money wasted in piles. Go to shows. That was fun. You are funny. That was a nice thing you did there.

Such simple and wasteful language. Do you care to understand such drivel?

21 Feb

Creatures of repetition and conditioned habits, continually circling to find our tails, inevitably between our legs, and we shiver in cowardice for shame, worried to the point of pissing in our pants for the preservation of our stupid and insolent reputations, the way others perceive and the warped inflection on the words we say about ourselves, the denial in the mirror, the forgotten commitments... you are the only member of the family who has forgotten and the rest look on with disgust but also thin pity, there are numbers in your eyes, dollar signs on your breath, your heart is gold and your hands are bronze like a statue... realize sickeningly, with distrust and distaste in my mouth, my veins bulging and bursting, grind the teeth. There is a constant grimace plastered onto my face with jaw tight and the reason is petty ignorance and the lack of reception to my personality, the denial of understanding and the fear of the unknown, the history repeats and we may as well die today with such blissful repetition to have in the future, I want a bigger question mark, though we all deny until we die, we fight within ourselves until the self is killed and the social standings mark our bodies with pins and needles, the yearly tribute to the downfall of America as we know it.

Realize sickeningly that I rarely tell good stories. I am immediately thwarted and duped. It's the crowd. It is the oppressive nature of my world. It's my head. It's everything. Misunderstand me please. I fucking appreciate it. Everything should be out in the open. Be expressive. Let me know your darkest secrets. Forget your trivial reputation. To live your life based on the opinion of others will poison your heart. You soul will burn in a huge societal fire. Every building will collapse! Yes Jesus! Strike down the liars who earned their keep through nefarious means, let them suffer a sudden ailment, in order to reduce traffic, congestion, the spread of illness through the air, or procreation and contraceptives and infinite sadness through their dried up veins.

A hollow promise, the reputation, the faces to impress. The lack of concern for such awful things. These things are the plague of existence. These are the reason so many men die happy lives without any meaning. Devoid of honest hours lived. Based on the sensory pleasures and a constant ability to numb the senses other than pleasure. The ability to stay numb and sedated. Head in the clouds and the anger resounds. Unhappy again with the situation based on my appraisal of it. Repetition. Alone again in the cold place to write and then probably drink a few. Ridiculous to think of why not. No one wanted to listen to me or my stories. I felt the stagnation and the stuttering. The horrible feelings based on my past. It is a forgotten mystery. No one gives a fuck about it. Sad and angry.

I need to change my life.

Your reputation does not define you. Stop wasting time.

Feb 20

There is a cold ghost sitting across from me at this seat that chose me. The chair is empty and always will be. I can hallucinate holding hands with this ghost as if she would appear and resuscitate suddenly. The movements of her broken body are death spasms. But she is alive somewhere in spirit. Not here. Not in this chair. Her blue hands at the cemetery gates, pulling me in again the various kept and unkempt tombstones, depending on familial love or lack thereof, or the lack of remaining ancestors, the legacy ended at your feet there, the flowers are long dead, but all of them will eventually, they are in states of semi-death all around our feet and it is horrible, you blue ghost, have you coaxed me into this cold night with such a mindset to murder me?

Tell me what it is like to be free floating of all concerns, perhaps in a state of prolonged confusion, your body somewhere in ashes.. Why do you visit me out of everyone in the world? Is it a valid metaphor, the waiting room before the final deciding factor, once the results are in, and you go into the clouds or under the fire. But this is a fairy tale, ghost, is it not? Tell me you are real. Show me. I want to feel your dead hands on the back of my neck to make my hair stand on end. Your hair feels like a cold breeze. You whisper incomprehensible words into my ears with poetic intent.

Will you tell me my worries are trivial? I'd imagine so. You would laugh at my petty concentration on the absurd banalities of modern existence, especially here in Los Angeles, the entertainment asshole of the world. This is where all the shit god hates comes from, you will tell me. You will say the city of angels has fewer of these winged beast now than ever before and the numbers shrink and shrivel...

You will laugh at the direction of stupid humanity. Following this or that trend. It is about immortal originality, you'll say. Your dark eyes like mist in forest groves. And you reel me in, telling me all of things I want to hear about the mysterious existence I find myself in... and then strike.


------


from The Land At The End of the Earth 

".. I thought about the daughter whom I had so wanted as a living witness to myself, in the hope that, through her, I might be granted partial redemption for my mistakes, my defects, and my faults, for the failed plans and grandiloquent dreams to which I dared not give form and meaning. Perhaps one day she would write the novels I was afraid to attempt and find for them the exact color and rhythm, perhaps she would enjoy with other people the close, warm, generous contact that I both wanted and feared, perhaps she and I would achieve a patiently won understanding that would, in a way, justify me, and for which her mother had waited in vain for years. You see, I, too, often let sentimentality stand in for a real desire to change and blithely inflict wounds on other people in the name of that peculiar blend of self-pity and repentance that more often than not disguises a fierce egotism. The lucidity bestowed on me by that second bottle of vodka is so unbearable that, if you don't mind, I'd rather move on to the muted clarity of Cognac, which dyes my inner mediocrity the faint lilac of painful solitude, which at least partly justifies and pardons me. Isn't it the same with you? Don't you ever feel the urge to vomit yourself up? As I grow older and the need to survive becomes less pressing, less urgent, I see myself more clearly than... But here's the Cognac: by the second sip, you'll see, your anxiety will change direction, existence will gradually take on a more pleasant shade, we will slowly begin to appreciate ourselves, to defend ourselves, to be capable of continuing to destroy. With this ninety-proof bandage on my esophagus, I feel free to take up my narrative where I left off a few moments ago..." Antonio Lobo Antunes  

Anarchy

"... a middle finger to the societal standard of proud shallowness and diffusion of cultural responsibility. It's not enough to get people to stand up for what they believe in -- they need to be reminded that is okay to invest themselves in changing things."




"The illusion of freedom will continue as long as it is profitable to continue the illusion. At the point where the illusion becomes too expensive to maintain, they will just take down the scenery, they will pull back the curtains, they will move the tables and chairs out of the way and you will see the brick wall at the back of the theater." Frank Zappa

Feb 19

There is a damn pool in the backyard, the sounds of the highway as meditative as crashing ocean waves and I've consumed the elixir of dreams, the deja vu that you feel the next day without much subtlety, this is exactly what I dreamed about seven years ago, somewhere in a deep past of forgotten present and the terrified thoughts of a future, now in hindsight, through that backwards optic nerve, the looking glass illuminates truth powerful enough to burn retinas, or melt the frames of cheap sunglasses.

If I only knew then what I know now. Would have been like showing Mozart or a Quentin Tarantino movie to a caveman. Imagination a sudden, transient, tear in the space-time continuum. You will make quantum leaps and you are given time to decide what you bring on the journey with you in order not to be hunted or killed ruthlessly, or to survive in at least mild comfort, what pieces of you bring in order to survive in this distant and foreign land, even if it is your own backyard, fully familiar even with hundreds thousands of years of growth and climate change, continents shift, sky darkening and shrinking.. You will notice them look at the sky and feel small just as you would in present. The cloud coverage burned off just perfect to frame the moon. The rain weighs things down, makes them heavy, and the appeal of warmer temperatures is what causes lemmings to follow one and other to their deaths off of green cliffsides... scouring the beach for their lost horizons..

And then after all that observation, the scent of an angel drifts in through the paper thin walls, they conceal nothing at all, and fills the room with a melancholy stillness, accentuated by the string lights in the ceiling and soft music from the speakers on the ground, no neighbors below to complain of stomping around, general lime dance disarray, the tango and other famous moves from famous movies, and the jukebox will spit out quarters at you to prevent another selection of Louie Louie...

The scent is one of warm nostalgia and fills the heart with the lungs, and the eyes with the heart, bloodshot and watering like garden hoses, in the blossoming spring, the colors of words that are untraceable, the origins unknown and of sovereign quality. If I traced the scent back the curiosity would kill me like an alley cat, begging behind the jazz club for scraps or inspiration... I would be dead on the floor to recall that summery smell. The feelings of fresh love in the face of mockery and ultimate crowd disapproval. But then realizing how enormous the world is... To travel and to soak up the adventures, to experience full versions of every emotion possible and I realize with wide optimism that once I develop a more articulate voice I have powerful things to say based on what I already know. Words to the wise. I can recall specific instances of bravado or cowardice and then you can use them for personal reflections. If I can write, the stories may as well be based on something truthful and then with something important to say through it.. The meaning resides in the ability to portray an accurate, researched, novel with the importance of a tide turning story...

Fragrant waves of motion toward me. Refreshing sense of what it tastes like to be in the perfect place at the right time. This is where I need to be, you say, damn proud of yourself. The smell of a tangled web of commitment, something beyond spoken word, slam dance poetry, with lesser intentions of prolonged coexistence, but hey, we said, it sure would be a treat. The move in date and the desert. Boxing up hopes and enlightened light bulbs, with black light intent, the pieces of glass that are artfully manipulated into things that will immediately make you paranoid if you smoke out of them, wait what the fuck am I holding? but then. this is the question after all, the self doubt and the reassurance, there are beautiful blue vibes emanating from this scent, this singular scent, this idea of perfection that we encapsulate so well in the past, distractedly, that we have to see if our brains played a trick on us, the way separation anxiety can cause the distance to make the heart grow fonder, and there are similar sayings of such nonsense that normally would not apply, holy christ, then at that point you begin to believe in the words of others as if they were your own and you are caught in this spidery web, indisposed like the rest of them.

Contemplate the contained fire. Congratulations on your entrance into a deeper catacomb. Open the caksets, they have been emptied by god. This catalyst will cease if fully replaced. But the coexistence is important and diversity is not our biggest fear.

2/16/13

Horrified at the words. Where they even mine? What angry demon avenged himself through me in the night? Lost in the woods and the branches scratch away at my flesh, burning fury, the darker clouds opening up to absorb lighter ones, and the top of my head is wet from upside down rain, we move backwards quickly and without hesitation of any kind. But there are motives and backgroudns to prove us right. We are existing in full blown technicolor. Life is beautiful and diverse. Go crazy every now and then or else you'll never understand. I felt alone and misunderstood but I realize it is through music that I have salvation. It is time to work double speed in order to cultivate the necessary talent to become a handsome rebel and a A-Team guy, the first pick for dodge ball and also the spelling bee, tournament mode, this is it, this is the life and the life will not end, feel out for ideas in the dark and come up with everything separately, cheating on her musically, it is a similar feeling of release like sex, but nothing so intimate or demanding, and we should be out in the streets signing tits and pretending to be homeless, but our energy could be one of intelligent release, having nice legs and the will to survive despite ceaseless internal struggle and indecision, but hey, we are the sawdust on the floors of shady dive bars, we are the fat paychecks and the struggling writer's effigy.

----

11:09

homeless man buys an old couch
dies on it that night
a safe passage
because no one cries
it is too cold for spare change
to feel pain in your hearts
for the less fortunate
in simple terms
the diseased and dying and needy
the programs installed and the money
for drugs or booze
just like any normal citizen
who puts on a suit
and smuggles happiness
out of a brown paper bag
and make them feel like we should all feel
the universal benevolence
we are one pulsing artery
a single electric current

many are crushed
for skyscrapers to rise
trampled underneath
enormous capitalist feet
dressed to impress
in clown shoes

do you ever feel that cosmic sadness?
the kind that prods at you from all directions
with tiny painful jabs
like little muscle spasms
and you want to yell
for it to stop
but the machine keeps on rolling
crushing people underneath

it's the kind that hits you like a tidal wave
from within
provoked by a frivolous magazine
or an understanding that the world lacks understanding
we are not living in a fairy tale
nothing is perfect
the second you realize you were lying to yourself
and that no warning will come
before you die
dark, in a small corner

the interest of the masses
as a main concern
the bullshit spoonfed to us
or the lowering standards
social as a huge indifferent cloak
we are mirrors for media and vice versa
they believe this is what reflects us
and if so we are fucked
we are that?
what happened to the renaissance?
what happened to love
and the dynamic human spirit
that refuses to submit?

why do we buy into this shit?
privilege. public opinion. a positive outlook.
the pre meditated murder on our attention spans.
nothing can stop the wheels
the hell bound ship
on a mission to devour all truth.
the only thing that can change is our opinion of it.
we must look into things and acknowledge any bias.
we must seek truth and hope for the best.

2:25 am

Everyone is so fucking safe, concerned with the language they choose. The majority concerned with how they present themselves to others who use the criteria conditioned into their hollow fucking heads to decide what you are worth. So safe. Too careful. Beware, if you are too careful you will die without any imprint on the world. A wasted life spent in dive bars and wasted beyond recognition. You will not be yourself. Your confusion is what the media and your fuck up friends will take advantage of. Oh, this is cool? you'll say to yourself and then you will be open minded in the undertaking. removing your clothes for the pile on orgy created with this kind of intellectual mistreatment. you, the parasite of our culture, the consumer buying up things with misplaced value, when we all realize how small and meaningless we are. of course to live with privilege of with high standards in the the eyes of others is probably a positive feeling. but not something to take with you to your grave, your tombstone made of ivory, the murdered elephants had more heart than you. you leech of existence. what kind of conditioning the television creates for the stupid and lame populace, the majority of thousand dollar spenders sitting content with a fresh buzz beyond being content with new and impossible career goals, to be underwater and drowning stupidly in the watery graves of our fallen comrades even though they were dumb enough to believe in the stupid ideals as well. it is much worse than I originally thought god damn.

careful with our words. try not to be offensive or slight or proper. etiquette be fucked. we are human beings with real emotions to convey and the obvious discrepancy is what damages all words and hateful feelings toward the enemy, selling cocaine in school, and the past never lets us go, you contradictory fuck up, and the passive aggressive false understandings, the reading of poetry to find the words relevant, it is not about understanding the purpose of the author, it is about your own life, making a new discovery about yourself or the construction of the language, it is about the expansion of standard talking. It is about the hollowed out shells of thought and the investment of life inside of these words.

it is about real fucking life. the pain and suffering we all feel, but some are rich enough to ignore or to lie to themselves constantly with alcohol how shitty their lives have become and then suddenly I will quit cold turkey and hate my life for awhile, as there is no reason to drink with some vehemence in a land of stupidity, sitting on the couch and worried wishes unfulfilled.

I'm afraid to live and not remember why.


-----

I just know that my hate would cease in the arms of someone loving. someone who feels the same way. someone who isn't lying to me. or at least I am fully convinced in their lie despite everything. I would kill the train of thought and derail it, let the conductor sleep. I would feel the warmth. I would seek out enlightenment. I would find happiness briefly and see through this veiled scheme. I would constantly hate those who hate our words and our moves. I would feel the shit storm of unenlightened enemies. Enemies with self fulfilling prophecies of self harm and the forgotten bands of dead brothers. I would hear the words underneath the ocean and believe many of them. I would justify my own anti social actions with those of another. It is my own god damned life and a little bit of fucking emotion would not hurt anyone. I need the lack of structure. I need the fucking mental stress and the breaking point. god damn it.

and now to sleep without anxiety. impossible. I hate every motion that I make. it is exactly what they fucking wanted.

feb 14 13

swirling skies, melted eyes, poetic sentiment, encompass the music with a catchy name, the same that others search their minds for without recourse, the break away from the current situation and the demands that others have placed on me and that I have placed on them and the call and response of any healthy relationship, I will depart from this briefly because I'll be in that world the rest of the day and the library only opened ten minutes ago. I've wasted nothing.

searching for meaningful references, the kind of thing that sticks and lasts forever. someone while searching will encounter it.

---

this day of broken hearts and feelings of restless loneliness, it is self imposed and it is silly, it is a pagan holiday and the family of four hates it with passion due to the nature of love and the hallmark greeting card companies that still tap into our emotions presumably better than we can otherwise we would have simply written a letter or a better excuse to get lost.

---

wish each other the best and be on your way, there are attempts to divert our attention, missing children, cop killers and more, but the buzz words remain we are forever indebted to our ideas and our ideals, everything is spinning, insane and incomprehensible, the forgotten longitude, having a beautiful day in a place no one thought existed, this plane of existence to the extent at which you are fully consumed.

consumed by a dream like paper in a fire. going all in on a bet, a dangerous proposition but the only way to make anything happen for yourself in the end, glorious nosebleeds at high altitude, the sickness is the inability to perfect forward momentum, and we are stuck in our tracks for a moment, gesture onward toward new names and realms of possibility, we are men in the end and we have our say entirely, be optimistic for the foreign chance of ultimate success, to become a millionaire in this field is a pipe dream but to create beautiful and meaningful music to reflect the problems and psychological feelings of every individual... to relate to others and to make them dance and move. to move them too. to fill everyone full of love like dispersing free hugs and kisses at a downtown city block. one dollar for a kiss. or a pie with a naked picture at the bottom.


---

paper lanterns. powerful imagery and a representation of full musical ideals. wasting life away with predicament. nothing encompasses. and I have given it thought for 24 hours without purpose. seemingly having no genius ideas left in my alcohol soaked head. the delirium... fucking.


color description. something artistic and voila! we are in business. something esoteric, edgy, but a grand definition of the artistic statement, the music, the dreams behind our backs, the dreams of pipes, invisible walls, the gorgeous effort... something positive, meaningful... in reference to something wonderful and how to run into this without awful self harm? how do we know what we are? what can we label ourselves as? very dynamic and boundary pushing. artistic and torch-bearing. spearheading the operation. eternal. energetic. spirited. wild. every spirit. underneath the mountain.

poetic word. dying inside with these impossible words eating away at me. I can't seem to find what I'm looking for but this is not writer's block, it is much worse. To find an incredible combination of letters to describe the name of the project I'm most proud of. Starting fresh with something natural and agreeable. 

Feb 13 2013

Rant, you beautiful cynic. let the words fall out of you like dominoes on a sloping hill, the ridiculous contraption, with extraneous steps to achieve a very simple goal, the human body is a large, gluttonous Rube Goldberg machine, one that stays up late giving champagne toasts to the mirror for the perpetuity of the species, or for late night cravings for 24 hour bungee jumping school or something crazier, and the body continues to grow and take on different shapes depending on the order or arbitrary motions the human conductor decides to accomplish, what is the goal and the body will react fitfully at first if the goal is physical independence or dexterity. The man behind the mind will always try to create the best outcome for the body, to receive the god given pleasure and reap the sow of the land and to grab handfuls of grapes from high forest trees, the tropical paradigm and the seasonal affective disorder, the body is amorphous, continually manipulating space to fill like a bubbling lava lamp or a poisonous yet edifying drug addiction, there are neurotransmitter that this machine gets hooked on and begins to jones for the same rush felt years back in dark garages, cold and illuminated with high ceiling black lights and lotion on the skin glows disgustingly or provocatively, there have been moments of sheer terror in there with the song of our hair growing out, lighting fireworks on the ground and falling into the drum set without inhibitions whatsoever, the ability to drink so much that you are unaware of who you are, dipping cigarettes in children's cough syrup, an epidemic of the epidermis, the epic internal struggle when you continually question what is going on around you, quiet in the corner, buckle in to the car seat and the others simply use your locality for a free high, maybe stealing a beer out of the fridge if it was a poker night, and the stars shine bright but we were never dumb enough to go too far outside, just sit stupidly in a garage and listen to loud music, missing the times we had the enormous PA system speakers that we would run both vocals and keys through back in the days of At Night. Some summer nights, bring the tv down, borrow and xbox and hook up that massive wall of speakers to war video games and at ridiculous volume. a war on the hill top in the woods, may as well have been an insane asylum, that description of fairy tale creatures and mythological stories to find written on tree trunks out there, years and dates and time capsules buried underneath the growling moss, the serpents beneath the willows, the fallen giants of trees, hollowed out and used to heat up and cook our drugs for us, we rape the earth here and live in the middle of a jungle the property value sky rocketing after 20+ years and the working man was able to provide something special for his family, despite shutting down and away into a tiny gold pipe and an old, dry, collection of thc. the daughter, the sister, perpetually high inside the building and the ceiling of her room now takes on the tarnished look of a blackened lung or liquor stained kidney, something impenetrable and the fat cells grow around the midsection of our bodies if we allow our vices to take over entirely. Sex is different. A healthy release and a work out to keep the spirit fresh and the hands from shaking with severance anxiety, with creaking beds and horrible approximations and the loose handle of friendships with others and no stupid jealousy, it was very simple then and I did not react as well as I'd thought I would and getting in the mood, the vibe of those girls, whoever they were, by god, they all showed up nicely scented and recently bathed (at least a few months prior), their clothes done up and the description of the house is one of haunted eyes and harrowing plot summaries, I wonder the words expressed for the freakish movements, the couch and television moments, the wondering aloud what to do and then the ultimate decisions to dust off the old punching bag and go to town, print off the face of a mutual enemy to dream of mutilating, or the old walk around the premises, the estate and the forest growth overtaking, the lack of embarrassment for a place impossible to have consistent upkeep, the lawn becomes a jungle and when we walk there is potential to step into dried up old dog shit from an animal who has been turned to ashed and released into the cool air atop of green mountain, he was a good friend but in a time of intense mental stress, something I couldn't love entirely, I was afraid of everything and his good-natured slobbering and squealing, and at the end the terrifying arthritic back legs and white around his old eyes, a good life, never yelled at aside from when he ate incredible amounts of chocolate cupcakes when I was a kid and mom had to force him to throw up every few hours for the rest of the day, I don't know if he ever forgave her for that, not understanding with bestial stupidity that it was her love for him and the desire for him to continue living in our huge complicated house, playing fetch and never understanding what kind of relationship a man can have with a dog, to be a god to a creature, I am responsible for your life and your well being and you look to me without discrimination unless we played rough one too many times, to make you bark and then to quiet you down and the beautiful breed of creature to feed and love and the human element removed from me, the cat was more reliably nice to me, always follow me up the stairs to sleep near me as I did whatever, typing on this same lap top probably, listening to the same quiet music, nothing too loud otherwise he would be afraid and run away, clawing at my heels as I walked by, coax me to follow him up or down the stairs in order to suddenly pull a reversal and be partially on his back, hooked around the ledge of the prior carpeted step, in order to have wonderful attack position, scars and claw marks but never felt the need to be mean, always pawing away at a pencil on the ground or a fallen leave, the unstable condition of the big play toy, feathers to scratch at, and the madly waving tail... poor creatures...

Feb 12th 2013

I know the colors you'd choose to describe your mood.
Grey and blue. With nothing to lose.
Find a soul shaped like yours. I can't refuse.

Your ankles tied to heavy anchors
don't let them drag you down
a city run by fools and fakers
it's good to have you around

I always try to smile at strangers
we're all in this together

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Letting loose from the prescribed statistics, meandering thought processes, a vibe represented and the lyrics to fit the bill... make it numb.


purple melancholy and the scent of a salty ocean breeze on my lips, the tip of the tongue is cut and the mouth has an iron flavor and an iron constitution, though women bring these fine soldiers down into small children, the weapons drawn and recreated through various techniques of texture and resolution, they drink beer to diminish their fear for what they have done to the wondrous landscape and there is no escape for them, the bottom of an empty cup calls for a refill and this is a cyclical process until the end of time, a drunkard, a coward, a thief, there are moments of life on the streets, the homeless men begging on their knees for a drop of drink, and the deaths under the overpass, the pissed stained walking bridge, the pheromone spray-painted ceilings and the mixed up feelings, we were alive when we knew we were about to die, there are times when the heart skips a beat and the rhythm subsides, the health problems that take us all over, many of the conscious concerns and the black out girls, there are times when we have to consider what is right but that is life and so many fall victim to subordinate desires and wasteful pipe dreams of unsuccessful ventures, and the assessment of a life poorly lived and the regret to drown in, better for the tobacco wastage but the alcohol clings on with a heartfelt fury and ties in with sleepiness, late mornings and the irritability associated with those in rehabilitation centers but if this is a rock star life that is paved out in front of me then these issues are non-issues, suitable diversions from the normalcy of blue collar nine to fives, moving cars in parking lots, pushing carts, dragging garbage bags and wondering how much you are truly worth in the world, as a cog in the wheel, a predestined determined causality and the words fly clear over your god damn imbecile head, a tasteless remark and a tasteful apology, to clear things up and the beds are uncovered and the anxiety is strong and intense and the waking hours are filled with stupid regret, the nights where control is lost and the words that cause blood in mouth come out.

nobody thought we would last this long. they hated the people we are. I closed myself off as I have now. that was the mindset. get the work done. play later. play included the substances that AA meetings are run for. or against, rather. locked myself up in the tiniest room in the biggest city. and I continue by god! but the run of the mill is dead. i need the new unforeseen life with new relations and money to burn in piles in order for fun to occur. the free fun will take a long time to drain but once it does I will realize how awful it is to live with dollar signs in my eyes. may as well be tombstones in my eyes. god damn the pusher man.

plot your revenge. your schematics are fail proof. your motives are masked by lies in a confession booth. nobody can tell if you are telling the truth. but your heart always knows. when you take off your clothes.

happy to fall apart in your arms, if they only could hold me, up against that awful gravity, there are times and words for this scheme and if you aren't offering me substance or anything than I'd have to delete your memory as soon as I've left yours. around here we don't often close doors. it's all up in the air and we understand each other the better for it. sing along in chorus if you know the made up words of it. we play pretend. make believe to achieve new realities.

Wild Flowers

I tend to allow ideas to cultivate themselves and grow naturally,
preferring the wild flower over the domesticated garden.
the colors are more vibrant and rich,
beauty is found in asymmetrical, random design.
open your heart for a little nonsense,
it's healthy.
seek new perspectives, however insane.
it's a bizarre world and dreams don't happen over night.

the flower that blooms and dies simultaneously
under a greenhouse roof
and the negligent care of a geneticist
scientifically crossing strains of DNA
to achieve a contaminated breed
the colors that don't belong together
the thorns never pop through
this specimen would never exist in nature
and if it is allowed to grow up tall
it will seep poison into our precious air

let them grow for god's sake

ideas rooted in belief, planted by conditions
the controlling factors and how much you buy in
but the ice is room temperature
going through a phase change
if you never question your beliefs
you will never know who you are

Feb 9th

Crush those late night cravings,
let them out on the porch with
the rest of the artifacts.
no mystery the source of the inscriptions.
the brand of paint inside those ancient caves.
the same ink they use today on billboards.
they did not have nicotine habits in these days.
they created the wheel and the ashtray at the very same time.
a simultaneous device, seeking and finding respite
in the face of other exploratory activity.
constantly breaking ground whether aware of it,
or not
or never lucid to enjoy one hundred million new discoveries.

how often
high school kids sneaking liquor from cabinets
ask someone older for tobacco at the nearest gas station
Valero in our case, though it used to be something else
back in the day
the day before my time of intense memory storage
the days I continue to think about..
but how often
these days of reckless exploration
that drunken night cigarettes
become impenetrable habit
and the alcohol and late night mood
shifts into quiet self enjoyment of moment
interspersed with shared information
and ideas for further complacent enjoyment
raw entertainment and expectations exceeded.
ash trays filled with a sense of purpose
perpetuate this new buzzing feeling
all the while
infectious music plays in the background
introspective and consistent
the back drop for adolescent memories
once I have memories tied to a song
tide to a song (go tides)
the song speaks to me on a new level
allowing that connection to happen
without over analysis of the recording
never listen to songs for their musical quality
just the spiritual and sonic effect.
catching dreams in a net and finding comfort in the name
of some new leveled ground.

lose interest in the train of thought
wait in long line for tickets
for the next departure
and the platform is uneven,
crowded with stupid patient humanity,
impulsively staring at wrist watches
letting the windows close around them
the signs of social order
followed in total and condition obedience
let me question you
shake your foundations
and pose like a threat
in your immediate surroundings.
we all lost the collective effort
we are all in this together
I told a working man earlier
and moved out of his way to perform his duty
understanding the working man
never allowing them anxiety
or the inability to carry on
working in a failing restaurant
with an eventual foreclosure
and bills to pay on housing expenses
and credit card bar tabs,
the after dinner sodas that carry on
and perpetuate drunken rage
for days to come
but let that train take you to next platforms
without structure
or planning
allow the transitions to fall short and empty
no one else will understand.

I know I personally will look back
and wish for continuity
the execution of ideas
like beheadings under the reign
of one of the King Henry's
if not all of them combined.
heads will roll.
attention will scream for space required for perfection
of new ideals
and they will succeed
the life for the individual improved
society wins
but the system is warped
to dissenting opinion
and his influence

I will wish for more logical clues. Pictures. Specific names of people and places. Honest and even too deep or personal to share. Stories are brewing right beneath the surface. Writing about the family disputes or the parallels to the family I now joined in a non physical sense, it also does not depend on marital status.

I wish for more clarity. Some collective story about this or state. These exercises cannot compete alone against the competition. The competitive drives spread out among other elements of my life. But the attention divided perfectly will capture the full effect. 

Feb 4th

Dizzy but not in a blissful intoxicated way. The world is bright in an offensive way. It is bright enough peel the paint off of a house. It is too bright for scientific shades. There is acute pain in my head and now developing in my stomach. Something approaching nausea. When I stand to walk I feel as if I've just stepped off a mariner's ship onto land for the first time in months. I stagger slightly, my equilibrium to the wolves. Either something is wrong with me and my senses or I am in a fun house. High frequency noises make me cringe and shudder. I have to pause briefly to recover my poise. What good is poise when you are alone? What good is image when you have 7 years of bad luck hanging over your head? Thank you Omar for employing me to break mirrors with you out beside the parking structure. We red boxed the same movie. I was too drunk to remember most dialogue. The make-up and special effects were spot on. Exceptional budget does not mean exceptional product. It is a lot of smoke in the thinnest air. My body is tired without justification. Eyes aching with electronic fatigue. The glowing scenes we invest ourselves in will eventually and evolutionarily change the structure of our brains and the way our eyes take information. Neural networks rerouted. The faint pain behind my lenses blocks out logical inquiry. No need to do math here on my own. Weights tied to my ankles. I am grounded. Stand in the corner and stare at the wall for fifteen minutes for self punishment. I drew on the back of my hand. For no reason. There does not have to be a reason for every move. So concerned with the opinions of others that you can't even form an uninfluenced opinion of yourself, however incorrect. Disgusting human nature and all the conspiracy theories surrounding. Enough excitement over such bullshit to give any logical human a splitting headache. Thank you god for granting me an excuse to digest the information and bite my tongue until blood pours out of my mouth. Don't talk damn it. Call their bluff but let them live in their fantasy world of sky rise mercedes benz factories. Power outages to entice ratings and momentum. Psychological warfare. Someone was paid off. Nothing happens for a reason. "You're on the road to golden houses."

I wanted to see explosions. Crowds rioting, drunk and violent. But no. They are orderly and sedated. Stupid and blissful. This is an entertainment venue and a quest for ratings despite everything else. There is no honesty, no truth. Just advertising space and huge budgets of confiscated bullshit. Cynical in the face of millions. Your time to shine. But you were dull and blotted. Black and white. Nothing special about you, you fucking fool.

Feb 3

Morbid dream a young man has who purposefully overdoses on pills to reconnect with his dead friend. The story is first person perspective from inside this suicidal kids mind. He instantly wishes to live and tries to make himself throw up when the walls start spinning. He calls the police. They say they have a tragedy at the station. They can't help. He decides to call anyone. Desperately calling numbers and receiving no signs. He mentally feels helpless and begins to get sleepy but in the back of his head is the sensation that if he sleeps now he will never wake up, so don't sleep you asshole! His mind screams at him but his body withers and crawls about. Until he wakes up for good. Poorly rested from that awful night of rest that felt like death.

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Feb 1

The drive. The drive. The drive is hardest to survive. We commute across landscapes to find meaning for people to give us odd jobs and random tasks. We thrive on this ability to move on. Kill the radio. Let the scenery unwind. Let the maps erase themselves for shame. If we didn't have the drive we would be lost entirely. I hate it though. There are rules to follow. "Outside your comfort zone is the best place to find yourself." Push your boundaries. There is no other life here but this one. It is now or never. Experience the world as it passively allows you to. Mother nature does not judge.

a miniature ship inside a bottle. someone delicately opened up the sail and glued the parts together. there is liquid in the bottle. xxx. alcohol probably. the bottle is broken and the ship is surfing the liquid.

Save face. look to yourself. find meaning. search through the meaningless trivia to pick out moments worth repeating. or die searching. feeling stupid forever.

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