800 - 808
Rely on the caffeine to arouse the passenger line between aching mind and the output of the hands. Draw a pretty picture then. Drum with your hands on the table. Anything but writing like this because it becomes a monstrosity of verbs and nouns, all abstraction, without a defined shaped to contain the meaning, the personality of a confided set of letters all arranged into words based on the English alphabet, our gregarious bodies harvest the disiduos forests near the skyline, our knees buckle with gravitational pull and the vortex this time pulls out Satan's hot breath from the center of the earth, the place wence the green knight came with his troubled request, the comely court all confusded at his strange and magnificent virility, the same reaction to the eloquence of Satan, of the creature, the psychoanalytic split between yin and yang though no one talks about it.
I sat on campus watching clouds forming over the blue sky. Anxiety is heightened in the grey clouds with vague distances. All seems so closed in and impossible to penetrate back to the brighter colors, it is a hovering castle, the mote dried out just a huge void where water and alligators should be, those cement slave-slabs piled up high from east to west with the passion of an unwilling participant, thus lazily arranged and poorly archictured. Here I felt that communication desire well up and forget the cold wind, walked a mile or two to calm down, I sat forever under the whitening cherry blossom tree, all pedals little miracles, the headaches with noises as garbage men do loud work in sleep neighborhoods, feeling like constant assholes...
Can I describe all of my sensations? Dare I continue?
No. Not now. It aches and I feel forced.
------ later that day ------
12:03 - 12:43
All sounds resonate in here like pipe organs, the cathedral windows illuminate my failed memory, oh how I studied those ancient architectural terms for arches and causeways, all the terminology faded out with time though sped up with consumption of viral drugs. He is studying for final exams and his breath smells like bad whiskey. The red smeared lips and teeth of a gulp of wine taken directly from the bottle, chosen for cheap price paired with the pretty image on the label. Here I see stained glass windows, here books stacked up near wooden chairs, dangling chandeliers and curtains drawn open with quick strokes, the delayed emotional response of a thunderclap, here there are others like us, in community. Our down trodden eyes glued to the bottom shelf of the wine section. Manager's special for 7.99 if you have a club card. Wondering why the sad fixed gaze is necessary to pick out a decent wine for a night. Shuffling feet in the speechless line. Self check out with headphones is the most isolating moment of the moment without fail. Silently hand the cashier the legal credentials for the booze, the dreary eyed image of brighter days, golden smile and teeth without decay of passed days.
"... the simple minded primitives, whose inherited fear of change was merely a conditioned reflex..."
Intricate woodwork built to keep out the commonplace minds who can't stand the silence of holy pursuits of ambition, in the intrinsic violence of spark noted debauchery, the condensed versions of histories where lives are but passing phrases. Sentence structures, in the editing process, can extend or diminish these life spans by infinity in either direction. Sounds logical.
Tear off the costume of quiet Friday nights in self-study, where the world dissipates into a blue-green mist like the distant landscape of Canadian exploration dreams. Here there can be a kind Seattle party with musicians or intelligent researchers, blessed comparisons to the gifted minds who shut themselves away from the world in the selfish conquests of innate insane ambition fueled by no direct outside sources at least in positive light. There are many instances of absorption of personality traits or actions, tones of voices, gestures... that I commit to memory to avoid seeing myself become that. Horrible traits and nervous tics, catalogue them filed under 'what to never become' along with the thousands of other violences out there. The artificial and elaborate hoax. I give a snide sidelong smile and avert my mind from those dark tracts. Walk them talk at each other with the grace of a tourist in a native holy land, disrespecting the peace. "Never allow yourself to sound like that," I say to myself, comforted though annoyed.
It is probably better for the mind to seek out the beautiful traits and nervous tics in people. Despite the pained internal expression of grief at their insidious proclamations.. it is good to find the good in others... those who have redeemable qualities, at least one of them anyway, should be forgiven and listened to with scrutiny of a sponge. There are some who seem to have such slight redeemable qualities that searching becomes futile. They are so deeply buried under the bedrock of their ignorance. Embedded into the stone of fortified beliefs although all beliefs are questionable to the educated man. This is the fear of the blissful ignorant. Their warm systems exploded like nuclear testing offshore, and those dull witted scientists who failed to recognize the disastrous ecosystem effects.
Find the redeeming qualities. The intellectual and discerning eye of them, the conversation and artistic intent, the no bullshit, let's do this, attitude... I have decided not to let anyone horrible enter my life through my passive inattention to their missing qualities. In this sense I am way more guarded than before, having already been guarded with sniper outposts and tripwire. I want the infectious warmth of pure ambition, of crazy ideas executed because growth is beautiful and practical in all fields at once, the renaissance men and women, the binary lives of the loved and the lost, lead me to the holy grail golden age youthful excess of pure selfless intention where our paintbrushes shared palettes and guitars harmonize accidentally after a few failed attempts in the dark room where images of our most recent hiking venture hang to dry after the red ink crosses out all flaws without remedial courses, the waterways of the culture here ebb and flow with the ghostly embrace of dead parents, figurines laid out on the table like photographic memories, heralded albums of music or art, our existence will not be lost or misguided, be extreme with me, my transient loves, let's explore our minds together with the consternation of cave explorers, dig out the gritty truth of our existences, our psychoanalytic art, the free form improvisation of our words, without the pretension of guilt or exodus, we can talk all night with the colors of our sensations pouring into black and white words like a child and a box of crayons, eventually the hands of god will tear the child away and he is left crying until sleep comes. Now my warriors there are no condemning hands to tear us away from our honest ambitions and we can explore the darkest recesses of our minds without telling our parents how these thoughts were able to take root there. They don't need to know because they would weep. We can weep and trip together. Our existences linked through shared experience. Conversations kept lively and sparked with frantic observations at the closest human speed to light. Let's burn ourselves up with the virtue of passion, close the doors with a six pack and yell at each other all night about the mysteries of the universe, no more delirious antipathy, the passive removal from life when there can be so much gorgeous potential in every interaction. Think of the network they consist of. Think about how valuable you are. Your advice giving mind. The experiences to convey and instead of waiting for a few peers to catch up to your rate of being, or instead of slowing down to stoop to them, continue moving at the quick solitary pace like a fox. Wait in motion at full stride toward the person you want to become for others to join your quest.
