Aug 30

"A book is a cold yet sure friend."

Felt like gigantomachy was in progress on the inside of my skull. The chiseling and the carving or the actual battle. Fires of vesuvius scorched the inner wall and my brain fried like eggs on the highway, during hot days.

Re-read old writing. Horrible emotions presented. Such anger. Still angry at different things. Rubbed my eye now fills with blood or worse. Crushed large spider crawling up the wall. Compared the Heart of Darkness to the movie apocalypse now! and say many similarities which intrigued me. I exercised under the shadow of the news and soap operas. They called the vagina a 'self-cleaning oven' and the studio audience laughed. Meanwhile, sports broadcasters all saying what they say about the dodgers here that they say about whatever the fuck team is closest to you wherever you are. America, the beautiful? We are a charade. A caricature of ourselves and our potential. I am disappointed and hurt all over. Feeling more and more like I was the only item that fell over on a table top after a struggling magician pulled the fabric out from under. The rest of the objects remained perfect, crystalline. But I fucking shattered. They talk in buzz words, simplified to keep us intrigued and stupid. When something of minor concern is called a 'crisis' we have a different issue to confront altogether. Why are lies so well accepted? Swallowed like melted candies. Like baked goods. Pot brownies at the white house brunch. Everyone goes around blaming one another for personal decisions. We need to hold hands and achieve some harmony together or else we all contribute to this fucking terrible culture. Everyone rushing about trying to cutting everyone else off. Buy on a tour. Kill the competition. I am a contribution to this. But I wish to eliminate my involvement with all of the vast evils in the world. Oh god I am sorry. Everybody fucking lies. There is no god. Everything is false. shrank my shirts, everything turned spoiled and i am made mockery of. fuck it. this is infinite.

Aug 28

Subterfuge in complicated rhythms and all of the dreams considered with percussion and all rhythm section duties. he feels that jazz consistency as I exhale a hit of something far beyond that normal altered consciousness. Something ultimate and eternal but with a more talented section behind the kit consider myself more than just a back up dancer. Something more rigid and true. Drunk early and stumbling, running through the streets, so hot with the day cooling down still, tear shirt off and crawl back to that trunk space of an apartment, that show and venue of every mixed metal, turn up all of the knobs you are going to have a bad, bad time. Consider the source of this activity to be beyond everything else. The best jam with people beginning at the instrument where they are most confident and comfortable. The transition to a less known instrument. Playing bloc party on guitar. Something awesome and involved. That new cover song in between those old elements. "it's too loud and too sloppy." "That's how it feels when you eat my book." Strangely hiding that ultimate doom. The ideas of born in the unlistenable. All songs derived from this kind of melancholic feeling....

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Aug 27

I just rediscovered a bankers box full of scattered homework and assignment notebooks from my sophomore year in collegiate academics at Arizona State University, never to return. Strange relics to come across and with no practical purpose other than to take them out on a day like today in order to feel odd. Feels like remembering the best part of a broken-off relationship. This is the content of the soul and all the repetition should have instilled a good amount of this work into my memory. I recited these passages and felt estranged from the beginning.

The top item is a yellow-covered notebook that says ASU in maroon. In between the cardboard and the first page is a stack of fellow creative writers and their first fiction workshop. Definitely potential talent in this pile. Some of these stories were wonderful, though, many stylistically unrealized. First college-ruled page is notes taken for sociology of deviance dated to january so these papers are madly out of order. I will now dive into them without commentary and write down interesting observations during breaks or lulls in curiosity. It is 10:38 am

"we have internalized society and society has internalized us"

(lost senses of community) when it comes to cigarettes, peers override parental influence. Whose values do we adhere to?

I copied down the questions and answers to online homework like a nerd. All of these notes were optional so I believe I was a powerhouse of a student. (we are all born without self control, says Travis Hirschi)

"going native" 

moral enterprise: the 'crusade' can be exemplified by the racist, bigoted, good-christian man yelling at passersby about how homosexuality is a sin on hayden lawn.

no smoking in bars - spend 8 hours in smoke-filled bar and that is equivalent to having smoked 1 cigarette

folk devil

----- now an empty page with a small doodle on it... the back of which has a random note about Zola for a different class and serves as a transition in the notebook to anthropological notes, in all their painful glory. Biological anthropology. Scattered notes. Not much, really. Just a few pages. Most were torn out of here I think. To serve paper airplane purposes. And the computer literacy class notes. I nearly blocked that one out of my head completely. What a joke it all was.

next item is an 8 page essay entitled 'Long Day's Journey Into Drunk' about the connection between alcohol use between the characters in Eugene O'Neill's play 'Long Day's Journey Into Night' and the characters in his own life, growing up.

now an English titled sustainable notebook. "So you are into being sustainable?" "Oh I don't know. I just got this and it happened to be sustainable." just remembered a conversation that ruined any sort of relationship from forming. Concrete vs abstract.

Magical realism.

my god, remembering the 20+ page study guide anthropology exams. the seriousness of the topic to the professor and his funny outbursts to a class of 100 that should contain 500

what does it mean to master a math equation months prior but then to look at that same equation and see hieroglyphs? it is gibberish. How can I retain anything? Exercised that part of my brain but not for good. Practice must be consistent. No one ever remembers the equations from their college math or science classes.

Just teaches me that anything is possible. This stuff was easy at one point and could be again very quickly. It takes patience and attentive hours spent crafting the ideas.

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11:06 pm realizing my old roommate never called back. his friend visiting I denied conversation with because of my insolence and ignorance when discussing the difference between positive and negative song lyrics. (Buy your own god damn boots I don't care, however you want to assimilate into your new role. I will not oblige.)

I hated feeling clumsy and moving around, in my mind, considerably less. No room on stage as well. But harmonies were nailed. Light box more uncomfortably high. Staggering like a drunk attempting to unlock his car. An idiot without a brain in charge of his functioning. We are all alone again again.
 

Aug 26

Writing from inside a tunnel, with soft lighting, less harsh free-for-all and limited attention to consumer inhibitions. I may never have hung up paper lanterns had you not reminded me of their possibility. Hands sore currently from overdoing bass exercises. No matter. Everything worth doing requires effort. Mental or physical. If it comes to you without; you do not deserve it. Drink a coke and go for a run. Cut back sugar and tobacco. Find yourself surrounded, walled-in by relatives holding body-length mirrors, they are hiding on the other side laughing quietly, faint, barely audible in a dark corridor. Something the length of a football field, a meadow of grey flowers and burnt-umber sky, some place prior to the arrival of color... Full room for entire ancestry tracing back to the first molecule of your grey matter. That first divided amoeba. Apart from the rest, suddenly manifests motive and calls life into action. Jab my back with small needles until I can come the hell down.

Aug 25

We can reminisce romance and listen to new albums by the bands we used to listen to together in wavering candlelight, partially stoned, holding tight onto the moment and embedding it forever in a part of memory. We slashed out way into each others pre-frontal lobes. It's nice and spacious in mine, where I've punched out holes... Or is it you burrowing out? Either way, with white powder on fingertips like a light snowfall, a burning sensation in the back of the eyes and the neck becomes sore for fear of disability, lack of movement, lack of flow, destroy the spine and kill all idols, all rockstars destroy themselves, that is the only way to become legendary, must execute guitar spin and the craziest moves possible. Give myself more time before the drum fill in speakers and go for the guitar flip thing. Do it. O.D. on it. My mind wanders through past love and current love. Women and music.