900
Editing composition. Decomposition. A dull knife, tries to cut wires. I should be memorize cladographic lineages and the origin of primate behavior based on osteoperosis and paleontology. I need to remember the biological names of creatures like us, including us. Pan. Pongo. Gorilla. Homo. Etc. No stress, studying, like last term. Open note. I can't afford to waste away studying the material so darn heavily. Burn my chest. Fall down the stairs. Stand up and it's St. Patrick's day. a thousand miles away. (Write in coffee shops?) Even if on vacation I cannot give up the writing. I am uninspired this morning and I feel like I have nothing special to say.
will resume.
1230am
found a free live white denim concert to watch and witness this night. after such a long and bipolar/split day. the one that goes from morning to evening in two entirely different colors, merging at the center in some brown haze of transformation, this day, (tempe campus purple flowers in trees scent) out, somewhere the sun brightened and jokes existed in a brighter foliage. A different haze of intellectual safeguards kept me from mouthing off about this or that. Mr. Smart Cross Fade. Her name was Nashville. The stories of gang bangers and the videos of screaming cartoons, spiraling out of control, a shroom trip nightmare. "I had an awakening." I dropped that class. I got kicked out of the dorms. I shove beer bottles in my jacket pockets and disappear into the night. The warm and unclear night. A wolf prepares to howl. Locates ideal position on an exposed hill. Long casting shadows. Dark impenetrable branches entangled like clasped hands. (go away you god damn self-editor). I will talk to myself as I listen to reggae and drink my tea. "skrillex through the car crash" although I truly meant to say "skrillex through the carwash" because I thought it was a novel idea, bro. Monkey chanting in the hidden temples of Cambodia. A silent documentary. Without narration. Supposedly, some visionary filmmaker decided his images of the world would be beautiful enough that they explain themselves. Beautiful Tibetan imagery, of cliffside tombs and dwellings with candles and flower pedals and straw mats. Hostess Bar or the W Lounge. The light of offering and Zen rock gardens. Supremely quiet and well kept. I think of peaceful exuberance (growing luxuriously or profusely) among small pagoda villages, but higher and farther isolated. Wandered off one day with high intentions to find and conquer inner quiet and peaceful organization. Vows of silence. Bowing and kissing the hats of the young initiates. Kissing a lock. Smoking vials down the stairway away from heaven. Waves crushing through the (grand intimidation at night when the sky and the sea look the same) large rock faces on the shows of big sir. A tiny white bridge. Some rusted car at the bottom where some poor drunken bastards suffered fiery deaths or drowning impacts with the seafloor. Making it in the car, they didn't make it. Another crawled under and wrote a book about it in scattered, tattered, freeway worn old shoes and a lunatic hangover after month-long, life-long, year-long benders and ragers. One day awake in a dark shivering mess, hearing and remembering stories of such adventures, possibly waking in a different city altogether. Skipping down the, bacon-cooking, railroad tracks. Near the drain that the gangs or spouse-murderers shove their victim's bodies. It's certainly dark enough. A five minute walk from here really. Near the orange fruit tree and the cracks in the sidewalk. Small ones. The joggers who dare to sprint across the road for fear of upsetting their rhythm of breathing and pace-keeping with the hot 40 playlists on infinite repeat crushing blood vessels together in your ears. Unpacking and repacking the suitcase. Take out some memories. Remove some old exciting feats that may pop back at the mention of a intermediate. An acquaintance remembers that one specific jaunt and leads you to speculation about your own understanding of the events described. Whatever spills out onto your conscious is recalled in a foggy glass frame. A watch with a blinding glare. Now I will watch a video. Coincidence met me on the street and I felt fully convinced of what sort of thing will happen if I allow fate to work in my favor. For the band to recognize me as stoner of a kind (stoner of a kid) and a musician. Workout twice like a guido. Test in the library, stunning elf-like girl seemed to be going for the same results, an A with an open notebook. I guiltily take on extra-curricular activities with the relief of an open notebook. But these are singing. Exercise. Reading. Writing. Playing guitar. Watching planet earth. Playing bass. Increasing finger strength. Watching music videos. Discovering bands. Vocal lessons. Errands. Chores. Cook. Clean. Make bed. Plan future events. Scratch my head and turn back to the burner.
