wine, jazz, and god

Imagine the wine & jazz festival for those with heart, the gregarious under dogs stay under the black light at home, searching for mistakes that are invisible in the daytime, have difficulty waking up happy, the idiotic noise down below sounded like warfare and the self righteous vocal lessons. She can't play scrabble because she is afraid of spelling. Jacob's ladder and the inevitable stupidity. We talk in the shape of an 'x' though we speak with our sad eyes and they talk of awful, contradictory things, speaking from a vocalist perspective, the bitterness overwhelms any chance for sweet salvation, you violent bastard death, laughing at my chairs, the ridiculousness of it all, fine, laugh you moron, the vacuum of space will swallow your soul and bottle openers in the shape of hula girls will fake death and hikes up volcanoes will erupt youthful splendor into the air.

Help me I'm failing. My inspiration to write has been wiped clean by the angry vacuity of those around me. I can't do anything but complain when given time to formulate my thoughts. I can try to discern beautiful moments, there are many, but my first thought mind always goes into the incredulous and painful recollection of unbelievable ignorant opinion. I hear about television shows. I hear about lavish wine festivals. I heard nothing.

Coffee to start my mind. Sleep still clinging to my eyes. Bottles of Corona line up the folding table. The folding red chair for outdoor events. "This is my schema!" you coy beast, unravelling your reactions to us, believing we might be interested. It reveals the absence of critical thinking. We can see through your stiflingly thin veneer. You are an ocean of shallow water. Up to your ankles. No blue whales exist in your grey matter. It is a dead ocean without any tidal motion, aside from the kind that folklore announces happens on full moons, and then again, since you believe in such other thoughtless horseshit, why not believe in astrology or that the earth is flat or in sasquatch with intent to hunt and kill?

"We believe in something invisible."

How about the sun? Let us pray into those rays of light. There is nothing else so life providing on this planet.

If I wrote a nice story with a happy ending, pleasant morals throughout, nice characters, exaggerated out of the realm of realism, into the abstract and blissful ether where the people who believe in god will be taken at the rapture.

If you turned on the tv and saw a mushroom cloud over jerusalem would you see a silver lining? would you be willing to meet your maker?

Wasting the earth because of an archaic ideal of heaven after you die. What about your children? Will you brainwash them into believing in the same story?

august 24

Here we talk, so painfully rigid through all of it, a burning desire to escape scot free... I'm sorry I don't want to exist in your mindless drone-happiness paradigm, free from sin, I can't bend that way. Your self righteousness would be appalling if you had the capacity to look inward. Your favorite color is green because of money. My favorite color is green because of the natural world. I am attacked for my desire to be an outcast. I reply glibly that it is merely a matter of taste, not due to an upbringing without a strong affinity with team sports. I can be a team player when I do not feel like the team is destroying my individuality. Ha ha ha.

To feel so lost in conversation is mesmerizing. I received these attacks, sent with love, they say, mind you, without so much as a fragment of retaliation. It is growing in me now. The gym this morning, with all of the mopped up citizens trying to work hard to stay fit and the illegibly television sets strewn about to make the cardio a little bit easier in such a dull and dreary world, these bastards and their flamboyant jogging shorts, made to look like clowns, with clown dreams of escaping the circus, but until then continually putting on the face paint. There are mirrors and words of weak inspiration thrown about. A really positive environment. With nice positive vibrations.

We are at different levels, different vibrations. We're up here, he says, and you are down there. You do not wish to come up to us or for us to come down to you, therefore there will always be conflict. I agree that there will always be conflict but are so sure that I'm way below you in aspiration?

It's frustrating to never feel understood.

It's worse when they say they do. The passive aggressive, racist, bigot, conservative, enivironment-killing, money motivated, art hating, ignorant fucks.

Now I should throw these thoughts away. They are so damned negative I'll have to carry them for the rest of my life.

Lost Vegas

The land was cross hatched by a drunken giant who shaved off layers of darker, deep orange-red into thin strips of yellow shallow colored intent. Here there are trees that reach for the sky like criminal gangs surrounded by police squadrons, helicopters circling and spraying their pesticide onto the fields of flowers indiscriminately. They think beauty is better on a tv screen. So they plug the quarter inch cables into their eyes and laugh like big buffoons. They have zero secret desires and they feel like god is a puppet master, they are nothing but a marionette with jerky dance moves on a stage that the devil has no interest in because you are too boring and safe and sane. Take a hang gliding risk and gloriously fall through the sky with no seatbelt to strap you in, no trampoline to cushion your suicide leap, another sordid 'fuck you' and we leave in pieces on the ground, our shattered glass faces and the notorious collapse of every bridge in the world, stranding people on one side or the other, never to be fixed because our electronics cease to work in a flash and we're stranded with our animalistic signs, our American value systems crushed by the weight of dignity and passion. There are no good dreams in this America anymore. Everyone is hateful of themselves and their decisions. There is no love. Let's make something good happen once again. Rouse your spirits or drown in a delirium. 

The land  was orange and toppled over. We drove through with wide smiles, filling our hearts to capacity with wonderful sensation. Now, the stark constant, the return to the apartment, has wrought horrible negative feelings. We are so sad to exist in this place these days. It never supplies the same glimpses of beauty in a day then driving through southern Utah. We got the fuck out of Vegas because it is an enormous hoax and a gimmick. The weak go there to disappear in an oasis, swallowed up out of the ocean of desert, draining lakes for tourist activity, and no the water is not clean, it is laced with pcp and lsd from the 60's acid explosion. We hated it and left immediately. We now see similarities for the same shambles of intelligence in everything around us. Nothing is sacred unless we make it. 

Las Vegas is a crock of shit.