The moral of the story is if someone offers to make you french toast and you just met them at a bar, the chances are pretty good that there will be no french toast at any point in the upcoming hours and what they really wanted went so far over your star eyed head to begin with that you probably should have just stayed home and had french toast on your own. And for that matter, why would you even go out if french toast was what you wanted to begin with. And attendant, if you are turning conversation toward food at a bar at 1 A.M., why would you believe anyone would take it any way besides having breakfast for dinner.
I don't know who outsmarted whom. I do know "well, if there's not going to be any food, I think I'm going to go" is probably the most awkward exit line in the history of exit lines. Probably right up there with the food poisoning excuse and the "I'm tired, I think I'm going to go to bed" excuse when there is a bed not ten feet away from you at their place.
It wasn't that strange of a night though. I did a lot of dream hunting. The hard part is disconnecting from yourself to a degree that will allow the prey to make an appearance and still be equipped well enough to make the kill. Like playing chess against yourself. It takes skill to make that sort of divide between consciousness and unconsciousness.
I had the shakes all day. The stupid and silly repetitiousness of motor action. The thing is, it's not stupid or silly, but necessary. Very really necessary. Very nearly. Part of it was tracking time. Part of it was sonar. Part distraction so I wouldn't have to think too much about time and space. The knock knock go of music in lieu of music. It got better and then worse and then better. The never ending search for answers. In lieu of. The important thing is I washed my hair for the first time in a while and that was an achievement because washing my hair takes forever. On the scale of 1/8th of a day dedication.
I am supremely disappointed at the failed hunt. But I will take another crack at it now that I know what I have to do. My scars have been itching more than usual. Someone asked me what happened to my face. It's all history. The local bar opened up again after the drug sting with some new bits and pieces, but it is essentially the same place with some new jerk wads there who saw the sign out front, I guess, and thought "aw yeah, a new bar", but it's the same bar. Exactly the same except for them. I don't think they understand that. Understand that the only thing new about it is them. Which is fine. I just hope they move on sooner than later so I can get a damn game of eight ball in without having to ask to be cued into their relationship roulette.
Things are going to get weird tomorrow. Not because I want them to, but because they're not going to work any other way so you embrace the weirdness, after a fashion. A familiar clip.I'm getting closer to something. I made some art today. I almost started to read a book in my spare time. I am trying to turn that almost into an already. I still have to pierce my ears and my eyebrow. Things aren't stacking up though. Not the way they used to. Now they're just roads waiting to be walked and sometimes I stand still.
Carnival is rolling around. Basically a reunion. I don't know who wants to avoid me. I want to see all of them, but knowing who wants to avoid you helps to make things easier to handle. Expectory. It's like a rectory of memories that maps outcomes over logic trees and points, graphically, to ends. It's not a place any more than a chalk board or map is a place, but it places places.
I don't know what I am going to do when I find him.Not exactly. I am going to try to bring back a trophy, if at all possible. It's a big world in there, though. A lot of places to hide to say the least. I've never been in the active position before. Then again, I've rarely had to be. There was nothing so assiduously beyond my control there to warrant active eradication. There were instances and events there I had nothing to do with (the war, the dust storm, the heart discovery, the mass migration, the shopping cart cats, the end of fossil fuels, the underground train system's metastasis, the rise of loose villainy) that I tried to roll with. Varying levels of success and confusion abiding. This is, this is different. Like getting hacked from the inside. Tampered with. Abused all over again. So we go back to war.
Summer is coming. You can smell it in the air. I want to look forward to it. I don't know when or why summer's prospect began to touch me in a bad way. Summer makes people do untoward things. It's like a full moon that last for four months. And then dies in your arms just when you've gotten to know and appreciate each other. Summer makes everyone want and try to win time. But it's just grass. Grass and leaves and yard work and half faked memories of times that didn't quite materialize the way they do in movies, but everyone thinks that this year is the year they do. The days are long and the nights are short and everything is hot as hell and restless. Restless so bad you would take your skin off if you could.
Everything that should not be alive comes to and slow wakes through spring. Houses start to breath and crack and groan in the night and the trees start to laugh. The ground gets soft and wet and comfortable and everyone brings out there best and worst outfits and nobody where's appropriate footwear and it all makes me so damn nervous. Do I look, do I not look, and for that matter what the hell am I looking at or for. The cattle train does it's dance and everyone wants to mate and sweat soaked nights turn into a search for steel sharp enough to cut through the bullshit bandied. When you're inside you want to be out and when you're out you want to be inside. And you can't wear a spacesuit when it get's that damn hot and you can't hide your face either without sweating harder than a crook at a creek with a dead body in a trash bag and locals fishing, eyes peeled at the water ahead. It's tough to deal. Everything with half an ounce of soul comes alive like it'll get into heaven if it breaths hard enough.
I just have to calm down, you know? Not just say we're going to get through this, but believe the words that I am saying to myself. Believe in the next step. Understand again that, yes, summer is going to maul my heart like a cat with a wad of toilet paper, and tear me up in ways familiar and ways I will learn anew, and not be afraid of the ... pain. Maybe this is the iteration it works out okay? That's always out there too.
I've been shaky all day. Needing to swap bodies. Bad command lines. Bad time code. But not bad everything. Some good, you know? I never know how to answer questions. The shakes. But maybe this is the summer that makes good.
///Dntel - "Rock My Boat" ...I wonder if you were alright...
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
3/23/12
3/22/12
That Instant
That instant you realize you've been ending your day spitting into your spit jar and it's burgundy from spitting blood into it and you didn't realize it until now, but the music is so good.
Comrade Super Code
Life has been strange. A lot of big boy decisions. Decisions I haven't had to make before. Like what? Like none of your damn business. It's been difficult. Then again, when has it ever been easy. My dreams have been phenomenal. I've taken again to recording them when I can as I wake up. The first thing I do is grab hold of my phone and press record and just talk, sometimes for hours. Sometimes just to hear a voice that I know is real. Sometimes just because there is so much information brought back from there that I know I am going to lose that I know I will need later. I promise I will get back to serials.
The thought of dying has not been as intense as it used to be. I had a conversation with someone about that specifically. Ten iterations ago I was sixteen. I don't know what I was thinking then. The documentation is largely destroyed. The record really begins to come into it's own when I was 18 and really began to apply myself to writing. That's been the literal paper trail. It hasn't been as intense as it used to be. Probably part of the blunting. Which is fine. I can deal with that missing edge. Sometimes you just have to beat yourself in the head with a bat until things quiet down. The kid hasn't been missing. That's not the problem. The problem is that we're all on the factory floor, guns to each other's heads, knives out, and if you say one word, just one, I will cut you so bad they will need your dental records to put a name to your body.
I just have to get them to work together again. They're all here. Just off on different projects. Different passions asking each other to pass the mashed potatoes, but never directly. It's been great hanging out with them on an individual basis, since they're not talking. We've gotten close. Which is nice. Not together. Which is not nice. Variable occupancy. Not healthy. We do drugs. No we don't. Second hand spray. Collusion. You owe me. I have been managing rage. Easier to do when you don't own standoff weaponry. In my life everyone has lied to me. That is not entirely true. Tomorrow is my 67th birthday in my 26th iteration. There is a certain amount of pride to be had in not joining the under 27 club, I think. A certain amount of disappointment, because joining that club is pretty elite in terms of prodigious production, but I have not done enough or come close to where I want to be in terms of body of work to be happy enough to pull that trigger, and a certain amount of relief because I am sure the majority of under thirty something suicides go unheralded and how sad is that? It's off and on. Wires close enough to arc, but the force of the spark and ignition of air shoves them apart until they work their way close again.
The shadows have been crawling. The little faces in door jambs closed. The weeping man in streaks of dry paint laid to a door decades ago. What the hell. Who made that and why. The shadows have been crawling and blooming for lack of a better word. When I'm not looking. When I'm barely looking. When I'm trying not to look. The world is a war zone. A fantastic warzone. I have been imagining the most fantastic weapons to expedite exterminations. If only I had the staff and the means. An angry boy can dream.
The world cross bridge is haunted. By my father. I have to kill him there. If I ever want to enjoy it again. I've had to rip chord out of there more times than I would like to admit in the last seven days and I can't kill him here. Not yet anyway. Still too much to do. He will pay though. Eventually. Matters of course and convenience. There was a word I was supposed to look up and I didn't. It's going to bother. 24 years of compensation. I just have to make sure I don't take it out on the people I love.
I gave women a pretty hard rap sheet yesterday. And I'm sorry for that. Not because it wasn't true, but because it came across so chopping blocked. There's no vendetta. Probably a lot of buried issues with my mother. They come up as I dig into the ground. Trying hard to not be found. I'm not going to go on a serial spree of slaughtering women to make myself feel better about myself. The shadows have been crawling. Actually moving. I don't know what to do about that. If there is anything I can do about that.I had this dream where darkness poured out of light fixtures like little waterfalls and it was gorgeous until the shadows grew so high people started to drown and I looked for days and couldn't find the switch to turn them off. Ghostly swims. Turning off the lights and trying hard not to look back into the rooms and believe there really is nothing there more than what was when the switch turned the other way. The freedom. It's been strange.
Where the hard stops start. Toxic involvements. I do have to clean up the circuitry at some point. My willingness to engage has been the source of certain difficulties. What happened to your face? I can't say, honestly. If I told you, I would sound crazy. And then you wouldn't want me around at all. I swear it's all above board. My boards. Not yours. Your square one, your nothing is different from mine. Maybe connected on some flattened levels. When you pick through them with zero and one forensics. I thought maybe if I scratched my ear hard enough I could pick my brain. No luck. We had this dream, right? About a house made out of cardboard and dried leaves.
I was wondering, you know, if you knew where I'd been. I have this sneaking suspicion someone's been lying to me, but I don't know who. Many loves of the dragon. Maybe I should get a kitten. At some point. I need to draw more. Now that I have the time to. The time to sleep dive almost at will. It's going to be amazing. I'll try to take notes better than I have. I've been gone for some time, but I'm back now. Bolting through space. Hell hound on a thin leash and learning boundaries the while. Dog bites man and man bites dog and dog bites dog and man bites man. And everybody wishes sweet dreams into your head as though there isn't fire filling the coils of your bed.
/// Starkey - "Eris" stoop sitter blues high
The thought of dying has not been as intense as it used to be. I had a conversation with someone about that specifically. Ten iterations ago I was sixteen. I don't know what I was thinking then. The documentation is largely destroyed. The record really begins to come into it's own when I was 18 and really began to apply myself to writing. That's been the literal paper trail. It hasn't been as intense as it used to be. Probably part of the blunting. Which is fine. I can deal with that missing edge. Sometimes you just have to beat yourself in the head with a bat until things quiet down. The kid hasn't been missing. That's not the problem. The problem is that we're all on the factory floor, guns to each other's heads, knives out, and if you say one word, just one, I will cut you so bad they will need your dental records to put a name to your body.
I just have to get them to work together again. They're all here. Just off on different projects. Different passions asking each other to pass the mashed potatoes, but never directly. It's been great hanging out with them on an individual basis, since they're not talking. We've gotten close. Which is nice. Not together. Which is not nice. Variable occupancy. Not healthy. We do drugs. No we don't. Second hand spray. Collusion. You owe me. I have been managing rage. Easier to do when you don't own standoff weaponry. In my life everyone has lied to me. That is not entirely true. Tomorrow is my 67th birthday in my 26th iteration. There is a certain amount of pride to be had in not joining the under 27 club, I think. A certain amount of disappointment, because joining that club is pretty elite in terms of prodigious production, but I have not done enough or come close to where I want to be in terms of body of work to be happy enough to pull that trigger, and a certain amount of relief because I am sure the majority of under thirty something suicides go unheralded and how sad is that? It's off and on. Wires close enough to arc, but the force of the spark and ignition of air shoves them apart until they work their way close again.
The shadows have been crawling. The little faces in door jambs closed. The weeping man in streaks of dry paint laid to a door decades ago. What the hell. Who made that and why. The shadows have been crawling and blooming for lack of a better word. When I'm not looking. When I'm barely looking. When I'm trying not to look. The world is a war zone. A fantastic warzone. I have been imagining the most fantastic weapons to expedite exterminations. If only I had the staff and the means. An angry boy can dream.
The world cross bridge is haunted. By my father. I have to kill him there. If I ever want to enjoy it again. I've had to rip chord out of there more times than I would like to admit in the last seven days and I can't kill him here. Not yet anyway. Still too much to do. He will pay though. Eventually. Matters of course and convenience. There was a word I was supposed to look up and I didn't. It's going to bother. 24 years of compensation. I just have to make sure I don't take it out on the people I love.
I gave women a pretty hard rap sheet yesterday. And I'm sorry for that. Not because it wasn't true, but because it came across so chopping blocked. There's no vendetta. Probably a lot of buried issues with my mother. They come up as I dig into the ground. Trying hard to not be found. I'm not going to go on a serial spree of slaughtering women to make myself feel better about myself. The shadows have been crawling. Actually moving. I don't know what to do about that. If there is anything I can do about that.I had this dream where darkness poured out of light fixtures like little waterfalls and it was gorgeous until the shadows grew so high people started to drown and I looked for days and couldn't find the switch to turn them off. Ghostly swims. Turning off the lights and trying hard not to look back into the rooms and believe there really is nothing there more than what was when the switch turned the other way. The freedom. It's been strange.
Where the hard stops start. Toxic involvements. I do have to clean up the circuitry at some point. My willingness to engage has been the source of certain difficulties. What happened to your face? I can't say, honestly. If I told you, I would sound crazy. And then you wouldn't want me around at all. I swear it's all above board. My boards. Not yours. Your square one, your nothing is different from mine. Maybe connected on some flattened levels. When you pick through them with zero and one forensics. I thought maybe if I scratched my ear hard enough I could pick my brain. No luck. We had this dream, right? About a house made out of cardboard and dried leaves.
I was wondering, you know, if you knew where I'd been. I have this sneaking suspicion someone's been lying to me, but I don't know who. Many loves of the dragon. Maybe I should get a kitten. At some point. I need to draw more. Now that I have the time to. The time to sleep dive almost at will. It's going to be amazing. I'll try to take notes better than I have. I've been gone for some time, but I'm back now. Bolting through space. Hell hound on a thin leash and learning boundaries the while. Dog bites man and man bites dog and dog bites dog and man bites man. And everybody wishes sweet dreams into your head as though there isn't fire filling the coils of your bed.
/// Starkey - "Eris" stoop sitter blues high
3/20/12
That Instant
you realize you've said too much to keep people ear to mouth and said too little to keep people ear to mouth, but said just enough to keep your door open and there are those who would say words about riding two edges, but really you know it's all undefined and smirk because "dear I fear we're facing a problem" is not just a quote.
Strange Ways
I'm sorry I've been away. Life has been strange in many ways. Not really strange as much as just strange in the ways I've come to understand normal. Sea change and all of that. One thing that has been occupying a lot of my time is meeting a couple of people that see me as close to eye to eye as I have ever known any one person to see me. Which has been exciting and ridiculously time consuming. Hard to talk about. Because threesomes aren't exactly normal. Let alone threesomes cemented by violence. Let alone threesomes that are probably on their last legs.
I enjoy belonging to people. That's no secret. I like to know that someone is holding my leash, and I had to revoke that privilege from one member of the threesome so now it's a twosome with occasional benefits for the odd man out. What are you going to do? I mean, I don't particularly enjoy fucking her, but I do enjoy the opportunity to be close to her psychologically so it's like doing dirty work to get the golden egg of her brain and personality because I'm pretty sure she likes fucking me more than what I have to say so it's a perfect fit in terms of what I want and what she wants and the odd piece out is the guy who refuses to kiss me, but wants my dick and nothing else, hence the revocation of leash privileges because if you want to fuck, you better be up for everything that comes with in my book, and I damn near revoked her privileges because she insisted on wearing socks at all times and that's just... ...what?! Seriously? Who does that?
And then there was the conversation where they both referred to me repeatedly as their toy, which is fine. I can accept and appreciate that role, but to then assert that I was worthless without sex, that was the line they crossed and things got violent, but have since settled down. Things and ways were explained to me in the simple terms I understand best and then stabilized into something enjoyable again. We saw fairly close to on the level. Everything since has been delicious. And time consuming. Time oft reserved for writing has been burned in sexual play which is not terrible, but not great either. Lost time in the run up to play and time lost in the run down from play, let alone the play time itself. I dunno. Fucking older people definitely presents problems and issues I never thought about, or even had to think about, before now. It is incredible the difference between older men and older women. Fascinating. It grows frightening sometimes, the potential for breaking their bodies with my own carelessness. At the same time it is deliriously appealing. Being the most capable thing they will likely ever know before they die. Being their first and probably last. I think I love that more than the sex itself. The making of a name. And they are just so adorable together. That's part of it too. The basking in dual praise. The lack of rejection. The fact that they have seen so many people that they can recognize you from one hundred yards out and see right through you and there's nothing to hide because they've seen it all.
I know it's not going to last because he won't fuck unless he's drunk and she won't take her socks off ever and that's just weird and he won't kiss me ever no matter how drunk he gets and she doesn't have a dick and his dick is too small to be anything more than an idle coffee table curiosity and her youngest kid is older than me and she insists that she is the only one allowed to fuck his ass, but until we break up I think this is the best thing to happen to me in a long time. But I also think the strangeness of it is what has been keeping me from talking about it and progressing. Or maybe understanding what kind of flash in the pan it is.
It's been zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds for me. Unbelievable speed. Fuck warp 9, this whole relationship has been warp 12. Engine room ablaze the whole way. More give and take than I've been privy too for better than two years. And yes, I have no idea how to deal with it or any idea of where it's going beyond failure. To top it off I met his daughter and apparently she wants me too. And I don't want sex nearly as much as I want to be useful and used. I play into that more often than I should. It makes me feel like a sociopath, which I don't like. I just enjoy making people feel good. It's a badge of honor. I entertain whatever it is you want to entertain because your happiness and bliss is a kiss upon my heart.
So I want to fuck her. Not because I enjoy women. Not even close. I have been able to love one woman my entire short life. And that is my ex. The rest aren't jetsam, they're just friends at best and confidants when closer. It's just a very odd situation. A very very odd and slowly unraveling situation between a boy a woman and a man who hurts her who wants to use the boy. Sounds like family.
I've been telling people I'm half Scott and half Irish, alternately, because I'm still not sure which. I'm pretty sure it's not half. I'm pretty sure it's a lot less than half. Probably less than quarter. It's fun to be exotic. It's more fun to know exactly where you're from. I always wish to have that, more than anything else. Not just for cheering purposes during the World Cup, but also for tattoo ideas. And also because everyone talks about their extended families on a first name basis and I have never been able to do that. That would be nice. The knowing. The belonging. Life has been strange. The dreams have been stranger and more real than anything else. I slept for 18 hours. It was unbelievably good to do so. I don't know when I'll be able to be awake for more than 13 and not feel like killing myself. An odd pile of ideas. Goodbye for now. Levity to come.
/// The Cardigans - "Heartbreaker" ...no, not again...
I enjoy belonging to people. That's no secret. I like to know that someone is holding my leash, and I had to revoke that privilege from one member of the threesome so now it's a twosome with occasional benefits for the odd man out. What are you going to do? I mean, I don't particularly enjoy fucking her, but I do enjoy the opportunity to be close to her psychologically so it's like doing dirty work to get the golden egg of her brain and personality because I'm pretty sure she likes fucking me more than what I have to say so it's a perfect fit in terms of what I want and what she wants and the odd piece out is the guy who refuses to kiss me, but wants my dick and nothing else, hence the revocation of leash privileges because if you want to fuck, you better be up for everything that comes with in my book, and I damn near revoked her privileges because she insisted on wearing socks at all times and that's just... ...what?! Seriously? Who does that?
And then there was the conversation where they both referred to me repeatedly as their toy, which is fine. I can accept and appreciate that role, but to then assert that I was worthless without sex, that was the line they crossed and things got violent, but have since settled down. Things and ways were explained to me in the simple terms I understand best and then stabilized into something enjoyable again. We saw fairly close to on the level. Everything since has been delicious. And time consuming. Time oft reserved for writing has been burned in sexual play which is not terrible, but not great either. Lost time in the run up to play and time lost in the run down from play, let alone the play time itself. I dunno. Fucking older people definitely presents problems and issues I never thought about, or even had to think about, before now. It is incredible the difference between older men and older women. Fascinating. It grows frightening sometimes, the potential for breaking their bodies with my own carelessness. At the same time it is deliriously appealing. Being the most capable thing they will likely ever know before they die. Being their first and probably last. I think I love that more than the sex itself. The making of a name. And they are just so adorable together. That's part of it too. The basking in dual praise. The lack of rejection. The fact that they have seen so many people that they can recognize you from one hundred yards out and see right through you and there's nothing to hide because they've seen it all.
I know it's not going to last because he won't fuck unless he's drunk and she won't take her socks off ever and that's just weird and he won't kiss me ever no matter how drunk he gets and she doesn't have a dick and his dick is too small to be anything more than an idle coffee table curiosity and her youngest kid is older than me and she insists that she is the only one allowed to fuck his ass, but until we break up I think this is the best thing to happen to me in a long time. But I also think the strangeness of it is what has been keeping me from talking about it and progressing. Or maybe understanding what kind of flash in the pan it is.
It's been zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds for me. Unbelievable speed. Fuck warp 9, this whole relationship has been warp 12. Engine room ablaze the whole way. More give and take than I've been privy too for better than two years. And yes, I have no idea how to deal with it or any idea of where it's going beyond failure. To top it off I met his daughter and apparently she wants me too. And I don't want sex nearly as much as I want to be useful and used. I play into that more often than I should. It makes me feel like a sociopath, which I don't like. I just enjoy making people feel good. It's a badge of honor. I entertain whatever it is you want to entertain because your happiness and bliss is a kiss upon my heart.
So I want to fuck her. Not because I enjoy women. Not even close. I have been able to love one woman my entire short life. And that is my ex. The rest aren't jetsam, they're just friends at best and confidants when closer. It's just a very odd situation. A very very odd and slowly unraveling situation between a boy a woman and a man who hurts her who wants to use the boy. Sounds like family.
I've been telling people I'm half Scott and half Irish, alternately, because I'm still not sure which. I'm pretty sure it's not half. I'm pretty sure it's a lot less than half. Probably less than quarter. It's fun to be exotic. It's more fun to know exactly where you're from. I always wish to have that, more than anything else. Not just for cheering purposes during the World Cup, but also for tattoo ideas. And also because everyone talks about their extended families on a first name basis and I have never been able to do that. That would be nice. The knowing. The belonging. Life has been strange. The dreams have been stranger and more real than anything else. I slept for 18 hours. It was unbelievably good to do so. I don't know when I'll be able to be awake for more than 13 and not feel like killing myself. An odd pile of ideas. Goodbye for now. Levity to come.
/// The Cardigans - "Heartbreaker" ...no, not again...
3/19/12
That Instant
you realize you've had your sunglasses on for five hours and have not seen the light of day for better than six.
3/7/12
That's That
So, the redesign is done. I don't think I'm going to do anything with the font and link colors until the next iteration. Like holding over the quarter panels on a car between generations. I think it looks alright. I'm happy with it. Now I can get back to doing other things, like fixing this:
well, finishing that to make the new header for a new poetry space. One thing at a time. The pace is plodding, I know, but I'm getting there.
Hope it is to taste. The detail work is tremendous. 2000 pixels wide. It's going to be epic when I can show you the full sized designed, but for now you'll have to settle for squinting and using a little imagination, but I promise you it will be ginormous.
well, finishing that to make the new header for a new poetry space. One thing at a time. The pace is plodding, I know, but I'm getting there.
Hope it is to taste. The detail work is tremendous. 2000 pixels wide. It's going to be epic when I can show you the full sized designed, but for now you'll have to settle for squinting and using a little imagination, but I promise you it will be ginormous.
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