March 31

Receive a tireless vocal lesson in the throngs of curious researching and all of the discoveries for vocal capacity inside the throat. The ability to yell the lyrics that pervade a daily mind without standard voicing.

Read out a wonderful speech in regard to the fragile night. It is lost in the wind like conversation in the midst of a hurricane. I have forgotten everything and the weight of the night has descended upon my stupid frowning figure. I will take my umbrella out and weather the storm. Defenses are certainly strong enough.


----

4:40 pm

Spend the day detoxing and peeing as clearly as possible. There are so many toxins in my body that have the potential to destroy my well being over time. I'm aware of my demons as they devour me. But today I fight back. I allow myself the footing to move forward on this slippery slope with vacant death in the tired fleshy eyes of those who have given their life to toxins and chemicals. Intoxication is a slave state of bliss. Armies wave confederate flags and yell racial slurs into our bloodstreams.

To find a conversation intoxicating is one thing. To believe yourself original and interesting only when you are drunk is a faulty belief that will eat at your sober well being. To allow an instinctual animal impulse to exude your phrasing after a few cocktails is a healthy severance from reality. Every vice in moderation is healthy for the sake of skirting with disaster, it helps the blood pulse through your veins and it helps your eyes clearly see the surrounding world as a life-filled ambient-lit wonderland of curious development in thought and science constantly blossoming.

Life is gorgeous and death illuminates this fact.

march 28

The names and faces etched into the bathroom stalls of my mind. How could I ever remember those forgotten exclamations? The drunken revelry that brought us back together constantly like magnets or a worse metaphor. Airports are as sad as they are happy as there are departures as often as arrivals depending on the time of year and the appeal of the place as a vacation destination for sweating tourists complaining of heat or rain. I hug you goodbye with the same ferocity a tiger attacks its prey. I earned my stripes. The hello was a quick tentative kiss with eyes glancing sideways to the white haired angel floating beneath her halo a few yards down the runway. There she was with a secretive smirk, analyzing the world with its nauseous rotations and the drinks imbibed make the straight lines swerve chaotically. She remains static in this chaos. That relaxed countenance with a knowing glimmer in the eyes. Reveals the world to itself. Hides nothing under that frosted looking glass.

Advice given out like pig slop to hungry, snorting pigs. Did they give a care for what they have consumed? The inspirational quotes and the harrowing details of love lost and ambition found. It seems time to work more now than ever. This is the time to become the beacon of excellence the others have failed to see or to ignite or it becomes dowsed in a torrential downpour of mediocrity and trite condensation. We use literacy with intention to provide warmth in the hearts of likely animals or the cold sweat down the necks of unlikely souls. For when the words come at you from a random source, and you are in a vulnerable position, they have the ability to crack the foundations of your thinking. Your mind can be destroyed by the senseless words of a magazine add. The combination of letters and the meaning of those random swirls as your mind becomes receptive... this can uproot housing developments. this could unglue the wallpaper from the old hospitals. this could guide us through dark alleyways without prejudice.

-----

I saw the glow behind your head. I envy your genuine interest. We drank beer that tasted like lotus flower tea and I envied the glow behind your head. I saw the gleam, the glint in your eyes that my mother also noticed. Some courageous glance that conveys honest longing and appreciation. The physique of a young couple with something to prove. We can get it together.

Tired enough to sleep alone. My exhaustion allows me to ignore the beastly heart of mine, gnawing away at defensive arteries and without chemical release. I will become a wretch for the time being. Huddled in corners over books of musical composition. Learn, I will. Sleep, I will also. There is much to learn from sleeping naked and alone.

March 26

There have been so many days of pass out drunks and late night liquor runs that I've lost track of how much change I have left in my accounts. There are whiskey spills in antique diners and all of the muted feelings transformed into solid thoughts over time, through time and with time. The people who where once circles have remained as circles and we see those who are not entirely here as they are here, funny feeling out for land as it slips away from you and the amount of years compiling over us like the tidal waves cascading over beach sediment... we are not foreign to change, we are accumulating and finding rhythms between the worlds without white affluence and the ability to roll up with the exaggerated crowds, a sense of humor got you somewhere and an influence of this comes out of me every now and then, the quickness and logic of instant classic humor when you are sloppily drunk carrying yourself up the stairs of my childhood home, the same placards on the walls and the same isolation once we are both gone, some rigid contentment that we are young and free, exploring the boundaries of love at its most crucial and developmental point. We are basically surgeons with scalpels of shapes we've never seen handed to us. We could never conclude that we knew what we were doing. In those silent and lonely expansive nights, spending that time writing vulgar thoughts of childhood friends who experienced the wrong side of life at the edge of the morning mattress, something grumpy and life-consuming on his part. We are losing weight with precision and tactics of religions exposed beyond elaborate rehearsal with dresses on and our eyes face painted into life. Expensive beer bought and consumed in rapid and unthankful manners. The body parts eliminated necessarily when prevalent.

we said we would talk but we haven't. there are beds to enter elsewhere and we will not hug freely in my shattered bedroom, the very first girl you've ever made out with and a willpower to ignore the awful crushing sensation of disquiet and doubt, at a young age as an unfree child, there are no limits to imagination in the end... it always seems better when on somebody elses lap in a field somewhere, in a small tent on the sea shore, on an ottoman with sheets pulled over, underwear strewn about in disarray, the descriptive words defiled from the English language and understand quickly to become a certain break from the malicious execution. How fun it is to play with words in such a free manner! There are no boundaries to withhold me. There are no penalties to destroy me! It is a pure and luxurious endeavor, through vigor, runny nose, and spit. All of the vital ingredients to a present-day parade. This clear communication is in effect of the constant drink and the sporadic inclusion of the weed leaf. There are open accusations to make, on any level. Search that level clear and through with direction of online forums and never find anything worthwhile on a day-to-day basis. These are the proportions of the moon and the toothaches to prove it. Tooth decay in the ancestors of modern man. The fossils to be discovered by future humans of our stored remains. We would remain as frozen silhouettes of known people, fermented in cavernous mass graves for future research. They are intended as a heightened statistical increase. They are present day hieroglyphs to study in future holographic classrooms.

There is a sickness taken over my sense are screwing me over. Described prior as a treatable influenza, their may be a base in the happy diet out of a healthy actuality, vacation shouldn't represent a healthy way to live in the most general, lack of inhibitions self, but I am discovering I can't even inhale correctly with seeping tears and searing pain.

---

later, with eyes running inconceivably, at 1:51 after meridian, in the morning, I feel as though this
allergen is in effect caused by  previous location and a very centered pain and numb digits, the fingers reaching through steel wire, the constant obstacles with specific green blips on the radar. These outward ripples are caused by propeller movement and an understanding of the opportunity and the excitement in which personal definition is involved, a sick an unwarrented reaction to the moving parts and the confidence is success, it doesn't even feel like you won't make it somewhere enormous and a cautious tale to warn off predators, a cautionary tale against allergic reactions to certain creatures, their fur included in derivative forms, flustered and awfully infected with some stupid temporary disease and a strange glance at the dichotomy and the less drank hero, overcome by horrible judgment of value, an ailment overcomes the obituary headlines, the bigger the advertisement, the better, the right hands full of gold coins, and elysian fields span the expanses of time. I hear my sister coughing loud through the door of my broken door toward the upstairs bathroom. A privileged set up finally lined up to feel fully connected and sometimes the alcohol upsets that forgotten equilibrium, the meaning disclosed beneath the words is heard and the addiction settles nicely into the bones as a dry mouth horror unfolds alone in the dark house of my dreams of paradise.

silent nights

where the sky seems hollow. the shadows of certain door frames have sinister intentions to capture you and consume you. everything echoes inside your head. rattling gears of a broken machine. the day passes by you like a slipstream, do you feel the pull of the tide? do you feel earth's shaking bones? all of the minerals and fossilized rodents that make up our carbon. looking forward to becoming carbon yourself?

you are well on your way, oh consuming of biproducts, of unhealthy life decisions in order to sustain the burning sensation of pleasure receptors in your brain, they constantly firework in that numb skull of yours, you wish to keep everything simple and to put absolutely zero thought into your surroundings. stay small, it might be where you belong.

nights of silent suffering, with no power for the radio, with only vehement thoughts, cultivated by previous drunken rage, and exaggerated by splitting headaches compounded by the lack of soothing music to carry me off into that sweet blissful reality-exit. It's safe to assume that sleeping is much like death. A dreamless night of spacial unawareness. where you float through your astral body until the sun dies and the world turns into a spiraling block of ice to collide with comets or other bodies, I will watch and laugh in an eternal lotus position, through space and time, watching my whole life unravel before my eyes and always regret how I failed to soak up the essence of situations, but I can't drown in regret with a dead liver, and no sustenance is required after you die, your heart is now an object of science and of brevity, we lick our lips at the taste of cigarettes and smoking through vomit and the excellence required to be fully committed to present moments as they occur, the ability to remember and to forget all of the vices that fuck with this remembering self. the experiencing self says pour another shot. the remembering self says you will not remembering this shot. you pour it on the nearest planter, killing life without remorse in your heart, a raw answer to supposed divine questions, we will decompose like fruit in the grave, tombstones in the sky, launch me out of a cannon and over the sea, I'll laugh and cry and explode into oblivion, can you do that for me jesus?

fall into an unforgettable rhythm, although a dark tangent, the excuses almost always instantly lost because there is never validity, the truth exists and we ignore it for personal warmth or for societal norms which need to be crushed beneath our feet like cockroaches who will in turn outlive our species after the next cold war turns hot.


life is a cool colored twisting confusion. we are elements in a machine we can't comprehend. cogs in a wheel know nothing of the concept of the wheel. they are cavemen before they entered caves. they are our ancestors though somewhat got it wrong a very long time ago and now political beliefs consume people and they use the words of others to justify their atrocities, their incongruous thought and action, the polyrhythm of life, where we sleep soundly in baskets pushed down vast rivers, we experience the world with blinders on to cancel negative thoughts.

I'd kill to be more self aware.

Understand how this body works and how the mind unravels.

constant new discoveries

be humble

don't buy into the standards.

the expensive watches that have the time wrong

constant disappointment in humanity

all following each other like lemmings

because we don't know who to trust
or who to love or who to fuck

the nights are not silent

they are full of the dead eyes

of brilliant liars

all of us involved in a massive scheme

keep progress to a minimum

so we can rape the earth a bit longer

march 18

Days later, it erupted like a deep sea volcano, with the magnitude of Hiroshima earthquakes and the kind of tidal waves that are high enough to wash away the history of ancient coastal civilizations and to sending the wretched moon whirling off into space without purpose or direction, photographs and memories of this rock that unites everyone on earth with eyes and minds will take the place of relatives on the mantel, a moon rock acts somewhat like an urn, an urn that you've scattered your own ashes inside of, what part of you has broken off and falling to earth like twinkling star light, you burned and cremated into a fragile pile, but is it any more fragile that your arteries?

How do you deal with insecure feelings of ineptitude? Do you drink into a stupor, with paralytic intent to squash haunting demons from your darkening mind, or free yourself from government counter logic with leafy greens and pipes, in that desolate space you resembled a smoke stack with fumes spouting out from the cavern of your mouth, your lungs attached and your spine stretches out in a hot yoga pose, the most difficult to perform without tension, and you smoke your paychecks like cigarettes? saving cans and bottles in order to trade them in for spare change... the precious material inside your heart that you often forget exists in that prison cell of a rib cage and many centuries of civilizations have invented ways to pierce those cemetery walls and to rip through the anatomical skeleton in such a way that crowds of people would foam at the mouth in a frenzy, rioting in the streets with drunken cajolery, at the sight of first blood, we have bandages though, they cover only tiny area.

Are you certain you've taken the right essences out of life?

What makes you so sure.

March 15

I remember when Friday night used to mean something special. The air would be full of bright expectation as we exited our last lecture before the weekend, availability for drinks and adventures with friends. The stories worth sharing when you are old. They are formed here. These holy evenings of full potential and alcoholic delirium. The myriad new experiences and everyone has a philosophical idea and an agenda. Daylight spent mildly relaxing or preparing for the conquest of night. The keg stands and the anguish. The shots and shock collars, under the skybridge at the church, or in the parking lot of the supermarket, all of that clean pavement and the kids with no destinations. Then in the future, the wonder drug with a love, and the effects lasting longer than the life of a flower after being pulled out of the ground, the baby turtles dying in tiny bags, sold as trinkets in warped Chinese markets...

Used to mean something of a release. An ability to relish in the young and stupid aristocratic present. The polarized decisions but every option is wonderful so one side will relent or the crew will split and rejoin. Everything open and intentional. We live and love outside the boxes. This is the hype for the glorious weekend. We were warriors and we smoked all kinds of things out of hookahs just to say we did. Packed tight with sticky tobacco scented like candles and playing tricks with smoke and the exhale is grander than the inhale for the vocal cords. There were no concerns. No obligations. This represented the one night of the week you could get away with pretty much anything. You could stay out drinking and sleep off the hangover through a dazed lazy saturday. Taking uppers in order to execute your homework at a manageable level. The coffee stained eyes and the spills on the carpet. We were not invincible but we felt it. Even as black eyes swell and lungs develop dark lumps of phlegm, we were not harmed, our emotions sky rocketed, prone to tears or beautiful laughter, the music always important, perhaps a decent amount of time is spent on the playlist prior to the party in order to keep things lively and moving until drunk asses take over the stereo and play the music they want to hear without asking the host, whose glorious party playlist of new rock tunes and grooves that many recognize, is silenced in a crowd of booze, they throw beer cans out of windows at cars and stagger numbly onto trains to get crazy drunk toward the unknown light at the end of the tunnel, alcoholic relationships were formed and the weekend meant so god damn much.

It was a mental release.

Now it's nothing. I am alone. There is no evident night life for the poor 21 year old. The night life is not for me here. Only the waitresses at these places are close to my age. Six dollar beers do not sound appetizing in a hostile environment where no hats are allowed and the soccer games are blaring and drunk fools are clapping off time. Oh lord oh lord. There is nothing of consequence here. I might have to go down to the convenience store and pick up a can of something intoxicating. I might just do that. That is a dead and diluted version of what it used to mean. There used to be so much promise! The unexpected was always present. There were like minded people who wished to experience the same sense of urgency in their diminishing youth! So many of us loved and hated on these weekends. I loved you all and the best memories with black light jam sessions and jazz chords and cat toys and drives around lakes and kegs in cabins on the ocean and sharpie art all over passed out faces and the bathroom tiles serving as a bedspread and the porcelain pillows and our friends making fools of themselves without reservation and the toxicity of the social relationships vanished into thin air like mist on a morning lake and all of those standoffish girls with their spoiled countenance gravitate toward the boys with nicer cars, ones with automatic locks and neon glow underneath and the hot tub covers that served as chairs and the car seats that we strapped ourselves into to get high and the stars looked like eyes, majestically watching over our foolishness.

I miss everything.

March 14

The experience of flow.

1. intense and focused concentration on the present moment.
2. merging of action and awareness
3. a loss of reflective self-consciousness
4. a sense of personal control or agency over the situation or activity
5. a distortion of temporal experience, a person's subjective experience of time is altered
6. experience of the activity is intrinsically rewarding, also referred to as autotelic experience

autotelic experience - the activity is its own reward

auto = self
telos = goal


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

It takes the heart of a lion with the ambition of 20 business women, climbing up through corporations for equal opportunity and god bless them for it, if you are there god. I am disgusted by my disregard for conventions and grammar. Every now and then. These days, this is the only writing practice I get. Rarely anything formal and with citations. This is it. This random floating. These random words in a potentially useless pattern being shot out into the void of internet with minimal activation.

We plug our heads directly into computers and feel electro-chemical pulses through our shocking wrists and the weird frustration remains. The range is higher than before with an openness rarely expected.

Write you fucker, and write well. Use conventional English and know the correct grammar for all necessary moments of intellectual communication.

Then again, this structure eliminates the mind's ability to explore uncharted terrain of thought, in a stream of conscious manner, through the fields of vision in my head, those orange flowers in vast gardens and the spiritual quest through positive skyscrapers and negative caves, the american dream is found in cambodia and we are not invited to succeed in such a manner... there I go again, losing the structure... and the words come out so much easier, no editor involved, but the conventions... at least a deeper understanding, would certainly help direct the course of thought into more eloquent and correct phrasing, however free-written. In short, with enough practice, my most insane nights of free writing might begin to consistently show a form... a constant voice... my voice... my developing voice. This applies to my physical voice as well. Listen to vocalists. Practice the structures. Develop confidence in the ability to grow at an exponential rate.

Learn the rules in order to know how to bend them. Grammar, vocal articulation, music theory, bass basics and others. Muscle memories in collusion with a vast network of classical knowledge. This is the key to better communication. I am a student of communication in one manner or another, but often I find myself at a loss for words depending on the company. The times I can truly find myself are not easy to figure. There is no constant trigger for the full-bodied voice I feel in my soul that screams to come out of me. To yell into the ears of the texting/drivers....... and then fall victim to the same sort of fucking adhd. but there are pills to take to win over the material I need to cover. I wouldn't dare though.

march 11

spread your attention to all directions, every random impulse to dive into an idea, however fragmented. That abstract side of my personality that I've nurtured in freewriting comes up in conversation like turrets if I go days without getting a fix. Days without an unloading of mental burdens and an exercise at classic meditative departure. with right conditions and isolated comfort, the physical relaxation of a horizontal lotus position and the backs turned until the spinal column curves naturally like a tree on the ocean front that grows crooked, shielding seeds from the incessant wind and erosion. Then you spend time idiotically gathering your thoughts for presentation of idea and it becomes confused and there is nothing but a stream of aqueous words all filling space like water can fill cups of any shape, the depth is perceptive and everyone called it quits before the gun went off overhead, bombs drop with awful concussive force and the city becomes ruin, belong to the ideals of the past that are proven incorrect or impossible and hard wired to seek perfection, like some conditioned bones that land themselves in shallow graves on cobble stone archways, juxtapose the shapes from that crooked mind and discern a new truth about the world, in run on sentences. It is easier to gather thoughts to examined at a later ay in a structured manner. The necessary conventions to allow for most honest and direct communication. Very understandable to abide by many of the same rules that literate individuals have gotten used to over the course of their lives with pea brains and pot bellies, and pot brains, pea bellies. Harrowing adventures thrown into bridges between spaces of contempt and idiocy. Feel the guilt of a thousand narrow suns and the literal trail of light and anger toward friends and holes in walls with broken hands, we all have a temper that we often ignore to avoid embarrassment, inevitable, avoiding salt on the open wounds but on the rim of margeritas and senoritas in the streets of San Juan, bustling with moral vacancy, selling drugs to children in soccer mobs, the police to reserve all rights and bend laws in their own favor for worse or better or worse.

March 9

Imagine flashing lights and incoherent sentences fleshed out through dry mouth, fall asleep while chewing gum and this morning the jaw is locking up without much positive progress. Live music and bass lessons. Fall for the recording student with blue eyelashes and blonde flowing hair. She is the one who guides me through these slow hours of repetition and fear.

March 7th

The rain is a cascading etude, pattering down foreign scales, sputtering out in the gutter like an extinguished spark. footsteps are muted and everything waits silently indoors for sun and mountain springs. the water after drought. this is the correct nocturne for this party, with moody crescendos hurtling toward enlightened motifs, the black and the white keys, the film angles and famous directors for death squads and random killings, no real justice, the monsters remained as monsters and we only had the sole survivor, trapped in a turned over car and feeling the spine of a sabretooth through thousands of years of tradition. My god my god that is it! there it is the flame shooting through space faster than the speed of sight and holographic memorials raise up out of the grounds as tomes to those fallen seeds to which our bouquets are now derived. The silent audience breathing listlessly, walking on egg shells with our synaptic feet, and taking from each mystery a more formal sense of brooding and the cadence picks up with our hearts pumping fluids to and from places in the body that have no consciousness, I cannot pin point my spleen, and no one knows what it is good for, an important health anatomy question to proliferate this vessel through the deepest channels and into the clouds with all greek gods cheering me on with hands upraised.

Tonight it rains pianos.

Such physical humor, these bodies of ours crushed beneath the wooden frames and starving artists will eat the words of critics until the next generation of sound pulls through the speakers, constantly shifting onward through to the vanguard and we are left echoing in the moonlight. The sky a burning ember in this war torn sovereign cityscapes, bundles of flaming garbage disposing whispers with an heir of arrogance. music is the savior of this city. it is the passageway into heaven and a deeper conceptual understanding could help to guide me there with intrinsic motivation and something more than a therapy and a chaotic swerving. must dive headfirst, deeper yet, into this void and call out to the ghosts of my past mediocrity that this golden city looks much greater when everyone smiles, no longer allowing the body to fall deeply out of touch with that sensory lust, our hands intertwined to the soothing sounds of courteous piano music, have a sensation trap planned for your ears, there is no escaping that wondrous beauty of sound and the introspection it can cause in us, the mood shifts and the terrifying life of words without pronunciation.

march 5

hearing constant reminders of past hurt in every little artifice and the songs sent out on demo tapes to ex girlfriends and the shame of acknowledging those lost condolences and the fear of their discovery of these words about them and the forgetting of a ghost audience and the desire to continue this meaningless crap anyway.

mar fourth

My desires are one huge psychedelic blur of lovely thoughts, feelings, and colors. They exude a brilliance and an obscurity that I can't quite comprehend enough to follow to the ends of earth. I would reach water then I would build a ship. Allow myself simple distractions away the fulfillment of these adventurous and elusive desires. The kind that do not lend themselves to easy solution. It takes preparation for many. Others are for the thrill of beautiful spontaneity. The irreversible roles we perform and uprooted system. The full potential lost, lost, lost.

I want the scenery to spin with me inside of it like a green snow globe, or an ice sculpture and the digital age ruins hand writing and no one seems to care or feel any kind of impressed pressure between the worlds and everyone becomes stupid due to the independence of thought. Dads are stupid. Children are gullible. We rely on technology for facts that we need in our heads.

It's not about recalling facts it's about setting up our minds for full usage of mental faculty.

Everyone forgets.


Cuts chunks of quarters out of their heads and has crazy sex, unprotected.

Lose everything. Your mind is a terrible thing to waste.

March 3rd

Forget I said anything. It is of no importance to you anyway. I was speaking for myself. Merely in passing I mentioned the tear gas and how my land lord might be slowly seeping it into my room through the outside and fictitious air conditioner. I feel my lungs burning and question longevity. It is not for longevity that we perform on such a level. It is for the recklessness and the mind numbing rocking out. The stage moves in small spaces to convey full heart and beating brains. Sharks and minnows. I wish to be the ocean in this context. What is superior anyway. Equal out our awful mindsets.

Mother was right
Mother was right
Ignorance is bliss
Ignorance certainly
is bliss.
To imagine a kiss
is enough for some
never experience
the sensation
of new experience
take out frustration
on children
mother was right, oh mama
do not hit me with your strict illogic
do not strike me down with insults
to my credibility
you are my mother
earth
we are equal
we must be
there is no logic in the sociopath class systems
we need flagrant disorder
we need movies and words
to clarify or to rewrite history
you are forgetting the rest
the students who study
the forgotten geniuses who will
keep the earth from corruption
and corrosion
at least in small numbers
now no longer a part of any solution
mother, what do I do
I did not know what to do, mama
I just froze.

March 2nd

Each of our isolated minds, in a fit of jealous rage, hiding from the scorching sun or the freezing moon, hanging like a glowing fingernail in the sky, the heavens appeased with the blood of our eyes, our peppermint red eyes and our vegetable state for a careless weekend. Elysian fields abound with abundant gold that you can never touch without turning to stone. Then the alchemist takes your dead-stoned body and transfers you into shining golden bars.

Long morning with forethought, the memories swirling around like low pressure systems colliding with the present and we know, in our deepest hearts, that we were, and potentially still are, being incredibly childish. We were, and probably still are, condemned to the fires of our sporadic emotions. We are experiencing the constantly intangible. The mornings of night terror and boiling water coming up from the burbling earth.

Floating on a celestial cloud city, the greek gods mull about without much responsibility. (The possibility that the greeks were right? and that everything else is blasphemous?) They have nothing to do in their tropical cloud city, of large white iron gates and softly illuminated sky-gardens. There are ramparts and switch backs to the higher levels of paradise, to the empty throne of the god of all gods, he is not needed in that sort of power any more and it has been so for thousands of years, eternally having servants feed grapes into the thin air, fanning off empty space as if warding off a fowl scent. Not possible in paradise; a foul scent.

March 1st

From inside I heard, outside, a tragic owl calling out confusion of the changes in weather. There are now blue skies constantly and the winter is a huge denial, may as well never have happened, they say, in small shivering circles. "It's freezing." "It's too cold." It's this, it's that. Complaints of this manner are frivolous, make writing of such people become turgid and monotonous. But the owl, on the other hand, majestic with a head to turn 360 degrees. Can you break an owl's neck? They only fly at night. They only hunt at night. They are narcoleptic daysleepers.

Ceiling fan is on for the first time in months, spreading around winter dust, mostly icicles and a soft showering of snowflakes that coagulated atop the blades. Allergic to the false optimism and pollen. Remove old sex tarnished covers from comforter. The memories weren't comforting and we realize this and remove shades in order to see the world as it is. A huge exponentially diminishing garbage heap.
---------


I don't know who started this whole downward spiral, but our country is a raging alcoholic. All sorts of drunken debauchery to perpetuate a failed system. Nefarious deals in back alleys, black out and ripped off, to keep this fucking useless status quo rolling on to oblivion and to the ether. Why do we, as human beings, allow ourselves to be so subdivided and lost in a script we never prescribed to? We never signed our lives away to be abused like this. To have our spirits crushed by faulty ideals of wealth and affluence. It's all a crock of shit. Houses at the end of culdesacs do not sell because not enough people will drive by to see it. Not enough people will hate their lives due to you in your big house. Them in their big house too, though slightly shorter ceilings and the hallways are big enough for the kids to drive golfcarts through but your ceilings are tall enough for the entryway water fountain you are to have installed when company (family friends, the police, whoever) come trhough and drop their jaws on the granite floors, shimmering and shiny with the blood of a mexican maid who gets paid nicely to never talk to you or your family. A slave culture... Your house is big enough for the kids to drive cars through. Not just golf carts like the envious man's old decrepit dump of a house.

Why do we feel that we need all of these extraneous material objects? Your soul will not thank you for the entry way of your mansion on your deathbed. Your butler will not say a prayer. They will betray you. Every object you place your faith in. Everything in magazines that say you will be happier if you have them... eventually some of this faulty reasoning seeps into your pores. Your bones are hollowed out by these advertisements. They are your cartilage. The water in your brain. Your teeth, whitened to a blinding white, your hair gelled and slicked back or up or sideways based on latest celebrity trends, your clothes and cologne expensive and heart-ending.

I say burn it. Burn it all. Live with less and your heart grows.

Bukowski lived for months on a diet of a single candy bar a day. A PayDay at that.

Suffering leads to a greater understanding and appreciation of life.

Let yourself suffer.