AUTHOR.CALHO: If I didn't write it, I would be hitch hiking cross country to Maine and then Alaska in that order. While taking frequent breaks to spread leaflets. And sit in diners. And write on things because I wasn't at a computer. I may still do that in a few years. Writing this also helps me forget about and better understand the limitations of being human, and keeps me busy enough to allow me no free time to burn the world down.

THEMATIC.ABOUT : Collapse often. The things that hold people together and hold them apart and scatter brains. The things that make thoughts go boom. The things that ooh and aah and [expletive deleted]. Sometimes poking around the margins where responsibility ends and the only one to look to is the Original Equipment Manufacturer and say "but, I already pressed 9 for more options and the menus are exactly the same. Can you just replace it?" The answer will be: "please hold." Sometimes hanging out in dark corners. Sometimes following the train tracks. Looking for ways out and ways in and all the while sharing the things seen and heard and done and drawn and written and scorched and healed and teased and caged and dreamed along the way.

6/19/06

spit is not super glue 06/19/06

Subject : spit is not super glue
Posted Date: : Jun 19, 2006 9:26 AM

using saliva to join two surfaces does not work. so it just occured to me that using saliva to join two individuals also will not work, or at least should not be expected to perform as a lasting solution.

the above analogy further reminded me of that time i tried to fix the wiring inside a vibrator that was broken (those things aren't cheap) using super glue. it also did not work... and was discovered for the small phallus of a paperweight it was at its greatest time of need.

moving from disconnected wires, i was struck by how frayed my nerves have recently become. life is hard. ugh. life can feel like a near waterless diet of celery and peanuts on that fifth day when the constipation finally breaks. my nerves are shot. i can literally feel my nerve endings buzzing and firing off little shocks into my muscles, but not returning any relevant information to my brainstem. that odd feeling of nervous, numb energy that makes you feel cold in the face and palms and hot in the belly. there are lots of things i want to do and so many things that need doing.

i need to write about the economy of eccentricity.

i need to write about the 92 / 8 split.

i need to draft lyrics for a friend of mine.

i need to ... need to... need to...

the repitition of this phrase places a person in strange state of paranoia that swells the throat and keeps the fingers clicking back and forth from the email inbox, to the cell phone, to the instant messenger and back. looking for something to do. anything to do. that weird place where the only comfortable view is the one over your shoulder, except that your neck always gets tired and you must turn around. a place where the only rest to be had is in the security of the tasks at hand though the resting isn't what a person is used to calling rest.

i need to write about the restlessness of need.

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