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.
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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.