Feb 12

My suffocation with the tight places I've been lead me inevitably deeper inside, the catacombs of coffee houses and well painted murals, found objects piled up until lost amidst the shredded paper trail of office buildings, those plagues on the landscape and it falls into synthetic pieces. This narrative falls apart as inconsequential and real issues, the truthful assignments become malignant and break off, have you grown a healthy forest of anxious arms around the jewel encrusted casings of your heart, with those diamond pearly whites of your eyes, shattered and broken down into black globe pieces, enormous pine cones, the size of forearms and a fist, musical ledges, those fiscal cliffs of dover, made up of ground up salt in a bloom, a frenzied feeding underneath your floorboards, those haunted smiles that don't seem appropriate even if everyone else is smiling for the same reason, perhaps an authority figure fell into a pile at the bottom of the stairs, that physical humor like sex is infectious, here we lay out and I can't place any objects on the ground without microscopic proliferation, and small bites, intense itches, rolling and turning in the bedroom of my attic house, here we killed our love and I felt so incredibly dead under the weight of those angular words, forgive me, my ambitions, I am not living up to your power. I must reconnect with that better version of myself, who knows what to say and when, never feels lost or helpless.

Harbor ill thoughts, feel melancholic chills when the wind mentions her name and the hearing is muddled, expressive of a desire to live, to outlive and to work, to over work and fall into a back broken fury, a pained expression..... shut up.

Careless with the word choices. They connect no dots and paint no picture. This is just working evidence of pain. Cringing at the sight and sound of these emotionless narratives. There is a girl that haunts me. She is everywhere.

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Caffeine addled frenzy, holy christ is this the end of existence, this is an observation of my flushed emotions, all add up to painful reconciliation, those harbingers of good earth, bad soil and a poisonous attitude infecting the mind even though there is constant beauty, everything changes and can be taken for pleasure so simply, these painful precepts are irrelevant and awful.

This is time for growth not rolling about the floor in existential pain.

Flaming Lips references and a smile to ease the tension. One to replace words with. I am now smiling. This is all over and I will come up with elegant solutions to my woes faster than I could possibly write them all down. I will be a solution dreamer and there, the blueprints, I will wake up with crazy clarity and an itchy feeling to grow beyond the normal tendency to fall through... These cracks are not wide enough. I am on an upward flight beyond the limits of my personality. These obstacles are all internal monologue... they are depressive tactics for the justification of sadness and inhibition. Did Mozart ever have days he felt inadequate or did his dynamic spirit murder all doubt and deliver him to excellence?

Where do I stand on my own two feet. behind books and inside the market place of vibrating sensations , waves of grandeur and all of those ideas that become increasingly difficult to micro manage, though easier to spot because they are huge, consuming the horizon and the leading lines all condensed into one straight forward arrow... there my future self waving back, coaxing me along.

"It will be alright. These awful feelings will pass and you will become me, organizing a stack of papers on the desk of your study with perfect health and clarity of action. These emotions will pass as soon as you accept them as a part of you... us...  Escape from them with full disclosure. Feed the parts of your personality you wish to flourish. Let the negative parts starve. They aren't worth your time. Become electric, festive.... and follow me into every sunset."

Hear from the outside what sounds like nice, youthful adventure on the inside, that abandonment issue I have when I get drunk, those scantily clad part going girls in the 20 degree February weather, looking for a valentine to take home and try out with creaking bed coils until the true date approaches and many suitors battle outside, gently without trying to rough up their bouquets or bloody up their tuxedos, and quietly as to not offend the neighbors, hey, hey. I was distracted by a mess. Telephone dissonance and a bar scene indescribable. I nearly started crying. Here I am once more missing out on the present tense, the insanity of this greek life I can't fathom, those spray tanned, long legs and their disciples at their heels, gnashing.

Good Morning Sunshine

Cold lower back, grazing the tan/brown carpet where divots form from chair legs, that black beauty acoustic gem of sixth string is to the immediately vicinity of my right side, glowing restless in the morning fog, those lowered clouds elevate my clarity although the views are obscured, vague and defiled, made like Bob Ross paintings before completion. Stacks of books and psychology yesterdays, mirrors in water sources or shiniest reflective windows, into the soul of it, the heart of this raw earth and our horrible tendencies, shake it off like a bad cold one morning suddenly dissipates, pull apart the infrastructure of those sad dreams, the ones with countless animal deaths and awkwardly silent funerals, no jokes or anecdotes, nor eulogy, or pictures, just downtrodden families dressed in a mock up of black grieving robes, purchased from the funeral director's wife, who makes these weeping outfits for rent each day someone is lowered into the ground. You can wear one around your face like a blind fold if you wish not to know who died. Is there some pane for broken glass? Excessive, gratuitous love on sheer cliff faces, belonging to the parable of Zeus, almighty with sharpened scepter, glaring down at unarmed mortals with an anxious, testy look in his eyes. No one has believed in him for so long, with all of these modern gods and jesuses, that he no longer gets to punish anyone for misbehaving. Poor old guy. He was able to decapitate those who stood against him in the olden days. Now vishnu would send elephants the size of meteors toward his castle battlements until it all crumbles back into those low flying clouds I earlier mentioned.

Seagulls and crows picking worms out of the ground water mud. Soft low voices humming from without like radios left on in between stations. All low frequency mumbles and static. A hen from the chicken coop next door calls her sun salutation as the rays grow downward, angular through my window like a plotted graph of increased solitude between here and her mighty, fiery globe hanging up there with eminent, unpredictable implosion or extinction. I hear the cooped up animal cawing for the sake of sun's warmth after a night of silent huddled shivering out in the tundra of cold waste. It is a rejoice for newfound life in sun light. An affirmation of existence and I should have a similar habit, my god Zeus, what do you have for me for my morning affirmation? Is it the written word, yoga, prayer and candles? Or something physically active. A icy breath jog up the icy death stairs, the grand stairway toward orion. Twenty minutes writing. Ten minutes cooking. Ten minutes eating. Ten minutes preparing for school. Ten minutes playing guitar. Or should I let the day come at me like a surprise attack each morning? Halfway through my second cup of coffee, I realize I have to run out the door and have time for no else. Good riddance morning. I'll see you again this afternoon.

jan 26

A hangover from sleep alone, off to a bleary start when these eyes are so inflamed by visions of beautiful sunnny Seattle days, hard cased under layers of sea ice melting. fashioned a boat out of found objects though it doesn't float, it was an attempt to paddle across this ocean of sleep and find an awakening that is appropriate and inviting instead of past noon and confusing like some dusty angel had their weight on my chest as I tried to breathe through the night, great helper, she, to find me when I'm most vulnerable. Forget those subtexts, here is pure flowing water, tainted from oil poisoned wells and logging horrors, chopping down the trees to maintain plastic worlds and living expenses for millions of drone armies, just men, men with christian values who must chop down trees older than their settlement in this land in order to raise up a greater number of churches, churches, churches. Temples for war ships. there will be booze and hazards enticing us to sin throughout. these wasted bashful idiots lighting candles at bleeding altars and the mother they have abandoned in order to fund a worship for a false deity. there is no justification for this blasphemy against nature.

Stupid words.

Blurry mind and pained back. feel like I overslept or something. not sure how to resurface from this spinal injury.

trash vortex

There is a fragile balance between cities and nature. Over crowded cities rarely have widespread respect for nature due to a lack of exposure to it. When all you see is a suburban sprawl with sorry, human planted trees lining boardwalks of the elite, it may be difficult to consider the dying rainforests, the gathering trash in the ocean, the littering uncertainties of our species.

I say the world's most powerful nations should band together for a massive trash pick up service. We will all join hands, climb aboard boats, and address the plastic issue. Then we can build a projectile to house all of this trash and shoot it at the sun. Where it will disintegrate and our damage will be a bit less than average that year.

It is not comforting to think that even if we drastically cut back Co2 emissions, our atmosphere is still mapped to warm. All we can do now is try to slow down the results of our collaborative fuck up. The change will happen anyway because the elements are already up there in the air and we are addicted to oil and the burning of fossil fuels. We love the taste in the air on a smoggy day. Red tides with vengeful poisonous jellyfish with styrofoam cups lodged in their watery intestines. They will consume one human body in the shallows at night but it will not be enough.

Where is the black plague when we need it?

Maybe we need a plague of disappearance instead. A person disappears. The disenfranchised get his material possessions in equal proportion.

but Fox news first must die a horrible, violent death for any hope for change to become likely.