Your grape soda only cost me 67 cents for a two liter bottle. I do understand that a price that low is an absolute steal, but what you may have missed is that the whole object of stealing is to get something that is highly desirable without paying a price that reflects that desirability. As a black person I am telling you that your grape soda is the worst grape soda that has touched my taste buds in recent memory. It is the bargain basement ice beer of soda. The kind of soda that leaves you with a sugar hangover while you're drinking it. Please do better.
yours,
A concerned citizen
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.
1/26/11
1/21/11
Delays for the Right Reasons
I haven't forgotten your playlist. Well, it's my playlist too. I think this year I will use last.fm to help me make my selections as this is the first year I've used it all the way through. Granted the things that get played the most won't necessarily be the things worth including in a year capper, but it'll at least put me on the trail of what I was feeling when I heard the songs lesser played.
I was going to do it today, but I was sidetracked with picture recovery issues and food issues. I do miss having every single day more or less wide open. Well that's not even close to true. Wow, rose tints. I'm just so contented nowadays I feel like every minute I'm curled up in my bed is the minute just after an awesome orgasm and that kind of feeling can take the desire to make further improvements right out of your system.
Every single day was not wide open when I didn't have a job. It sucked. Job hunting was like trying to walk across a bog while looking for a piece of string that, if you found it and followed it long enough, would eventually lead you to a poorly paved stone pathway. I walked across that suck for so long the stone pathway I ended up finding 400 days and 200+ resume's and cover letters later might as well have been gold.
I don't feel bad that I feel pretty good now that I'm out of that hell system and finally into as close as I've been to what I can call "myself" since I knew there was such a thing as a self, but I can't forget that with a little more effort I can feel even better. Right now I've been eating vienna sausages on bread with cheese because I don't own a refrigerator. That's got to change. Did you know that you can spread Vienna sausages .like stiff butter? How gross is that? Not so bad once it gets into your mouth, but be ready to check your gag reflex mid construction.
The good news? I'm learning how to manage my time with respect to work. Expect poetry output to return to between 5 and 7 a week (though I haven't managed to lay them out daily at Auralport I do compose their bones daily during my 45 minute walks to and from work) and I want to be on here at least thrice a week, but for now it may just be on my two days off (whenever they fall, my schedule is kind of screwed up and changes week in and week out and sometimes midweek). I do really need to get back into Bits for Flames because I've been living some tales of interest (futurama reference) and some new characters are populating the universe and they need their stories told too, plus there's a fetal novel skulking around somewhere and I need to chip at it some more since it's two thirds done. That should be numbers, I know, but I'm working on a laptop sitting on my chest in the dark and I can't see the damn numbers and damnit I miss my desktop. I have go to go get that shit as soon as possible because this is not cool at all. I have fucking post partum depression over this shit.
I had another recurrence, in variable, of the dream where my teeth decay out of my mouth. This iteration was ridiculously graphic. It was so intense that when the rest of my dreamland travel came to a close and I opened my eyes the first thing I did was go to the bathroom and check that my teeth were still in my mouth. I mean it was absolutely that bad. In the dream one of my bottom front teeth was loose so I jiggled it and felt no pain so I pull it out, but the nerve was not separate from my gum, it was only completely numbed. The nerve pulled out with the same feeling of pulling thread out of a stitched wound and because I tugged the tooth so hard, thinking it wasn't connected to anything, I couldn't stop the swing of my arm before the unspooling nerve tore out several other teeth that then let this thick black fungal puss gush out of the sides of my molars which then collapsed like sink holes and my entire face just lit up with pain like fire axes. It sucked. It took hours of rinsing before it stopped hurting and didn't taste like ten kinds of filth and even then I ended up having to wrap my entire jaw closed so that the hollowed and eaten out remains of my bones wouldn't fall off of my skull before I could continue on.
Well anyway, what I mean to say is that I am delayed, but I promise you it's for the right reasons. Things are getting closer to being on track and there'll be more love and thought and things to rage and linger over as they do.
///Amon Tobin - "Bloodstone" this song makes me want to write a script for some science fiction noir, but mostly it punctuates evening walks through foreign and rain soaked suburban streets so well it's a little scary, but the kind of scary that makes you grin a little on the inside and hope that something horrible happens before your eyes just as it ends.
I was going to do it today, but I was sidetracked with picture recovery issues and food issues. I do miss having every single day more or less wide open. Well that's not even close to true. Wow, rose tints. I'm just so contented nowadays I feel like every minute I'm curled up in my bed is the minute just after an awesome orgasm and that kind of feeling can take the desire to make further improvements right out of your system.
Every single day was not wide open when I didn't have a job. It sucked. Job hunting was like trying to walk across a bog while looking for a piece of string that, if you found it and followed it long enough, would eventually lead you to a poorly paved stone pathway. I walked across that suck for so long the stone pathway I ended up finding 400 days and 200+ resume's and cover letters later might as well have been gold.
I don't feel bad that I feel pretty good now that I'm out of that hell system and finally into as close as I've been to what I can call "myself" since I knew there was such a thing as a self, but I can't forget that with a little more effort I can feel even better. Right now I've been eating vienna sausages on bread with cheese because I don't own a refrigerator. That's got to change. Did you know that you can spread Vienna sausages .like stiff butter? How gross is that? Not so bad once it gets into your mouth, but be ready to check your gag reflex mid construction.
The good news? I'm learning how to manage my time with respect to work. Expect poetry output to return to between 5 and 7 a week (though I haven't managed to lay them out daily at Auralport I do compose their bones daily during my 45 minute walks to and from work) and I want to be on here at least thrice a week, but for now it may just be on my two days off (whenever they fall, my schedule is kind of screwed up and changes week in and week out and sometimes midweek). I do really need to get back into Bits for Flames because I've been living some tales of interest (futurama reference) and some new characters are populating the universe and they need their stories told too, plus there's a fetal novel skulking around somewhere and I need to chip at it some more since it's two thirds done. That should be numbers, I know, but I'm working on a laptop sitting on my chest in the dark and I can't see the damn numbers and damnit I miss my desktop. I have go to go get that shit as soon as possible because this is not cool at all. I have fucking post partum depression over this shit.
I had another recurrence, in variable, of the dream where my teeth decay out of my mouth. This iteration was ridiculously graphic. It was so intense that when the rest of my dreamland travel came to a close and I opened my eyes the first thing I did was go to the bathroom and check that my teeth were still in my mouth. I mean it was absolutely that bad. In the dream one of my bottom front teeth was loose so I jiggled it and felt no pain so I pull it out, but the nerve was not separate from my gum, it was only completely numbed. The nerve pulled out with the same feeling of pulling thread out of a stitched wound and because I tugged the tooth so hard, thinking it wasn't connected to anything, I couldn't stop the swing of my arm before the unspooling nerve tore out several other teeth that then let this thick black fungal puss gush out of the sides of my molars which then collapsed like sink holes and my entire face just lit up with pain like fire axes. It sucked. It took hours of rinsing before it stopped hurting and didn't taste like ten kinds of filth and even then I ended up having to wrap my entire jaw closed so that the hollowed and eaten out remains of my bones wouldn't fall off of my skull before I could continue on.
Well anyway, what I mean to say is that I am delayed, but I promise you it's for the right reasons. Things are getting closer to being on track and there'll be more love and thought and things to rage and linger over as they do.
///Amon Tobin - "Bloodstone" this song makes me want to write a script for some science fiction noir, but mostly it punctuates evening walks through foreign and rain soaked suburban streets so well it's a little scary, but the kind of scary that makes you grin a little on the inside and hope that something horrible happens before your eyes just as it ends.
1/11/11
The Locusts Only Took What They Could Carry
I'm here now on the other side of an ongoing experiment that yielded mixed results. I thought for some time about a fun way to combine the word success with the word failure before moving on to more important things. Well, not necessarily important in the sense of urgency as much as important in the sense of size because clearly there is nothing more urgent than finding a way to successfully combine those two words in their most appealing and natural formation and then be the first one to say the new word. The point is this: things have changed.
Life at a higher resolution has had its benefits and its heels. The bridge has dissolved, but has been replaced with something... something else that is difficult to describe. Do you remember televisions with knobs? You might own one now. Well life has become like a television with knobs and there is a hand, no not even a force that centered, but the grooves in the switch that produce the clicking sound and the firm resistance to the turning of the switch are, no not even worn down, they're simply not there. I tune in and every channel, each channel, isn't seated on the face of the tube and its frustrating. But even that isn't really a close enough descriptor. Instead of conversations there are conversations and monitors and levels and time sequencers and gauges and trackers and feedback switches and time code and frame rates and the picture isn't sitting and no ones shutting up and on top of that there are people coming and going at will and moving things and leaving things and at times I can't remember how to walk and I end up spending twenty minutes of a forty minute walk trying to redevelop a comfortable gait and I can't remember how I forgot in the first place.
The ceiling was full of mouths a few days ago. It was disgusting. They weren't people mouths though. Actually they were kind of like meaty valves or something. They kept popping open and closed with these little clicks and it made my skin itch all morning. And then the next night someone ducked their head into my slightly ajar bedroom door and I thought they would leave, but then he saw me and sidled up to my closet against the wall like i wouldn't know he was there. Luckily my phone went off and the light burned him away, but it still left me slightly shaken. There are a pair of women where I work and a man. They're also bad company. The good news is what?
I moved.
Free. Finally free from continuing abuse and shitty fucking family and it is lovely. Pittsburgh is my home now and probably the only place I know of that will have me outright with little or no reservations at all. Well, not entirely true. There is of course the body of people that I want to be connected with who don't feel the same way for whatever reasons, but that's okay because here I actually have friends who actually want to see me along with a context that actually allows that to happen on a regular basis. I have my own place and a bed too. Not much else, but I don't really mind it all that much. I do still need my soul mate computer, but that reunion will have to wait a little while longer. It does mean that my music and drawing will be extremely limited for a while (amongst other things).
I guess I'm still pretty scattered. I saw pictures today of my old friend. I was supposed to send her family a gift, but that was also right around the time I was cold starting my new life so I never had many consecutive hours to dedicate my brain to it. I'm still going to do it. If there's one thing I do every year I would like that to be it. At least until I know they don't really give a shit. Apparently she was here. In this very city only days ago. I wonder sometimes if I'm excluded because I can't be included. It's upsetting. Not in a broken heart kind of way, but in a "what the fuck I thought we were friends" kind of way. Broken heartedness you can get used to, but the former will always cut me fresh and a little deeper with repetition.
I have no idea where to meet people now. I have zero interest in vaginas. Which is also somewhat new. There was some lingering interest even a couple months ago. But I guess I am just gay. Isn't that funny? Well it made me chuckle a little. It's definitely something I never really thought I would say. I still sometimes think back and ask myself "what happened to me?" But maybe it's one of those things like Meyer's Brigs preferences. Just changes over time. Who knows. I'm not really sure where I'm going with that, or most of this.
I suppose I feel like I've escaped from certain destruction in New York and Maryland by cutting off the things the circumstances were latched onto. They've basically fucked me out of 20 years of my life plus however many years it'll take me to reach the earning potential of someone who reached their masters degree and worked in their field for ten years. They've set me back 96k in debt and a five year relationship. I feel like I'm harping, so I'll get to the point.
The point is they smashed and grabbed and smashed and grabbed, but in the end there's only so much they could fit in their clutches and I'm gone away from them for good. Out of reach. Sure my student loans defaulted, but I have nothing that can be taken by the government or a judge. And what I will eventually have will be so small it won't even matter. Sure, they swear they'll cut me off, but I've already been cutoff for the better part of a decade. I didn't escape on my own either. Some friends helped make it happen in a pretty huge way and I owe them each a huge debt of gratitude and dollar bills, but collectively it is quite easy to say they basically saved my life.
I still think about killing myself every other day, but the new potential is so great and unexplored that I can't in good conscience do so and it's been so long since I felt that way. I'm broke, but I'm happy. Life at a higher resolution has its downside and its confusion and its hates and pains and I may need to reaffix filters at some point, but for now I am aware of every passing hour and that awareness is palatable. As a direct result creativity and sanity are suffering, but day to day functionality simply is. I'm proud of myself. A little bit.
I owe you a year end playlist, don't I?
///David Bowie & Philip Glass - "Heroes (Aphex Twin Remix)" We could be. So we were.
Life at a higher resolution has had its benefits and its heels. The bridge has dissolved, but has been replaced with something... something else that is difficult to describe. Do you remember televisions with knobs? You might own one now. Well life has become like a television with knobs and there is a hand, no not even a force that centered, but the grooves in the switch that produce the clicking sound and the firm resistance to the turning of the switch are, no not even worn down, they're simply not there. I tune in and every channel, each channel, isn't seated on the face of the tube and its frustrating. But even that isn't really a close enough descriptor. Instead of conversations there are conversations and monitors and levels and time sequencers and gauges and trackers and feedback switches and time code and frame rates and the picture isn't sitting and no ones shutting up and on top of that there are people coming and going at will and moving things and leaving things and at times I can't remember how to walk and I end up spending twenty minutes of a forty minute walk trying to redevelop a comfortable gait and I can't remember how I forgot in the first place.
The ceiling was full of mouths a few days ago. It was disgusting. They weren't people mouths though. Actually they were kind of like meaty valves or something. They kept popping open and closed with these little clicks and it made my skin itch all morning. And then the next night someone ducked their head into my slightly ajar bedroom door and I thought they would leave, but then he saw me and sidled up to my closet against the wall like i wouldn't know he was there. Luckily my phone went off and the light burned him away, but it still left me slightly shaken. There are a pair of women where I work and a man. They're also bad company. The good news is what?
I moved.
Free. Finally free from continuing abuse and shitty fucking family and it is lovely. Pittsburgh is my home now and probably the only place I know of that will have me outright with little or no reservations at all. Well, not entirely true. There is of course the body of people that I want to be connected with who don't feel the same way for whatever reasons, but that's okay because here I actually have friends who actually want to see me along with a context that actually allows that to happen on a regular basis. I have my own place and a bed too. Not much else, but I don't really mind it all that much. I do still need my soul mate computer, but that reunion will have to wait a little while longer. It does mean that my music and drawing will be extremely limited for a while (amongst other things).
I guess I'm still pretty scattered. I saw pictures today of my old friend. I was supposed to send her family a gift, but that was also right around the time I was cold starting my new life so I never had many consecutive hours to dedicate my brain to it. I'm still going to do it. If there's one thing I do every year I would like that to be it. At least until I know they don't really give a shit. Apparently she was here. In this very city only days ago. I wonder sometimes if I'm excluded because I can't be included. It's upsetting. Not in a broken heart kind of way, but in a "what the fuck I thought we were friends" kind of way. Broken heartedness you can get used to, but the former will always cut me fresh and a little deeper with repetition.
I have no idea where to meet people now. I have zero interest in vaginas. Which is also somewhat new. There was some lingering interest even a couple months ago. But I guess I am just gay. Isn't that funny? Well it made me chuckle a little. It's definitely something I never really thought I would say. I still sometimes think back and ask myself "what happened to me?" But maybe it's one of those things like Meyer's Brigs preferences. Just changes over time. Who knows. I'm not really sure where I'm going with that, or most of this.
I suppose I feel like I've escaped from certain destruction in New York and Maryland by cutting off the things the circumstances were latched onto. They've basically fucked me out of 20 years of my life plus however many years it'll take me to reach the earning potential of someone who reached their masters degree and worked in their field for ten years. They've set me back 96k in debt and a five year relationship. I feel like I'm harping, so I'll get to the point.
The point is they smashed and grabbed and smashed and grabbed, but in the end there's only so much they could fit in their clutches and I'm gone away from them for good. Out of reach. Sure my student loans defaulted, but I have nothing that can be taken by the government or a judge. And what I will eventually have will be so small it won't even matter. Sure, they swear they'll cut me off, but I've already been cutoff for the better part of a decade. I didn't escape on my own either. Some friends helped make it happen in a pretty huge way and I owe them each a huge debt of gratitude and dollar bills, but collectively it is quite easy to say they basically saved my life.
I still think about killing myself every other day, but the new potential is so great and unexplored that I can't in good conscience do so and it's been so long since I felt that way. I'm broke, but I'm happy. Life at a higher resolution has its downside and its confusion and its hates and pains and I may need to reaffix filters at some point, but for now I am aware of every passing hour and that awareness is palatable. As a direct result creativity and sanity are suffering, but day to day functionality simply is. I'm proud of myself. A little bit.
I owe you a year end playlist, don't I?
///David Bowie & Philip Glass - "Heroes (Aphex Twin Remix)" We could be. So we were.
1/4/11
Back From Space
Hello world.
I've missed you. <3.
///DJ Hooligan - "Hear You Now (Grand Chillas Mix)" i see you in so many ways.
I've missed you. <3.
///DJ Hooligan - "Hear You Now (Grand Chillas Mix)" i see you in so many ways.
11/9/10
Higher Resolutions
I've started this on four separate occasions and every time I've tried to get this down it has come apart in my fingers like tissue paper in a squall.
In an effort to raise the resolution of my waking life I'm cutting some things out that were essential to a life with clear boundaries. Higher resolution will mean the destruction of the bridge as much as I've loved it.
And now everything that I was going to write about why I came to the conclusion that my waking life was too far out of resolution is being called into question because there really was nothing wrong with it beyond health concerns? I guess. I don't think my extremities have been holding heat all that well. Probably a circulation thing. Random shoulder pain like pinched nerves. And pain whenever I breathed. So I guess that's pretty much it. Otherwise it's been perfect. A perfect separation of faith and solid state. Two land masses and a definite bridge I can cross at will. What more could a person want?
Not much, I don't think. So the thing is, I guess, I have to choose between a slow-ish death with a flux capacitor or the unpredictability of an unmediated existence. Which do I hate more? Hard to say. There were several days when I felt like my liver was climbing up through my throat and tearing my kidneys out with it and that pain was real and describable and diagnosable. There were several days before that, however, when the only logical solutions to the anxiety and rage and hallucinations involved jamming a pen knife up my nose until it cut through my frontal lobes and bricked my brain entirely. One costs money. Not as much as pills, but money none the less. The other is free.
So I'm going the free route. Partially because I have to, but also because my body hurts and I'll just have to suck up the turbulence associated with - lost it again.
It's like a light switch turning off. Clarity. Sanity. I don't want higher resolution. Things make less and less sense the clearer they become and I don't know if I can take it. I'm afraid of it. I'm terrified of it. I don't want to be conscious of time. I don't want to know the seconds and the minutes. If I let up on the gas and stop tearing through these wilderness roads without a map or a dog I'll start to see and feel the things between the trees that would snap my femur in their jaws like a finger in a car door and I already know what's there and I don't need to find out. People talk about stopping to smell roses and things and I don't need to. Maybe they do, but there aren't things out there trying to kill them.
I've liked the balance. Sure it's come at a cost, but that cost is unavoidable whether I'm paying out of life span or paying out of wallet. I don't want to hear the whispers in the trees. I want it to fade. I don't want to manage the caucus and round up the bits and pieces and make sure everything's working together and with the usury I didn't even have to think about it. It's all clawing back and it's like ... I don't want this. That's all. I don't want this, but in this world this is the ground state. Low resolution let's me look straight through it and even forget where and when I'm standing altogether. It's not a pain killer as much as it is a liberator or an oxygen mask in an ocean of shifting and violent shapes. So much maintenance. Higher resolution means going back to a life geared toward maintenance instead of geared toward being. I don't want that.
I guess I envy the people can simply wake up and be and never have to think about. Do other people have to deal with this stuff? Maybe that'll be me. I know it won't, but it's fun to say. No, it's not even fun to say. Some people dream about being rich or famous. These days I just dream about normalcy. I'm not different. I'm not special. There's nothing magical or glossy. I'm just damaged, and it takes so much work to get back to zero everyday only to wake up in the red in so many ways every day thereafter. Yes it can be spun and bright spots found, but to hang onto those requires so steep a reduction in resolution as to make life beyond stupid bliss unmanageable.
I want out. Maybe out will mean nothing, but how long is long enough? 25 years. 26 years. 40 years. How long do I have to search for a solution to this thing. How long do I have to spend looking for a way to understand how to interact with this world in a way that can make sense from one set of hours to the next or looking for ways to explain the decoupling of emotion, and action, and laughter, and violence, from reason or explain the terrors of things people call imaginary and hallucinations, but are sometimes real as sunlight in my eyes. I just want out, but I'm forced instead into higher resolutions.
Sorry for the ramble. Maybe it'll make sense years from now. Minutes from now. What's the difference really?
///Mum - "They Made Frogs Smoke 'Til They Exploded"
In an effort to raise the resolution of my waking life I'm cutting some things out that were essential to a life with clear boundaries. Higher resolution will mean the destruction of the bridge as much as I've loved it.
And now everything that I was going to write about why I came to the conclusion that my waking life was too far out of resolution is being called into question because there really was nothing wrong with it beyond health concerns? I guess. I don't think my extremities have been holding heat all that well. Probably a circulation thing. Random shoulder pain like pinched nerves. And pain whenever I breathed. So I guess that's pretty much it. Otherwise it's been perfect. A perfect separation of faith and solid state. Two land masses and a definite bridge I can cross at will. What more could a person want?
Not much, I don't think. So the thing is, I guess, I have to choose between a slow-ish death with a flux capacitor or the unpredictability of an unmediated existence. Which do I hate more? Hard to say. There were several days when I felt like my liver was climbing up through my throat and tearing my kidneys out with it and that pain was real and describable and diagnosable. There were several days before that, however, when the only logical solutions to the anxiety and rage and hallucinations involved jamming a pen knife up my nose until it cut through my frontal lobes and bricked my brain entirely. One costs money. Not as much as pills, but money none the less. The other is free.
So I'm going the free route. Partially because I have to, but also because my body hurts and I'll just have to suck up the turbulence associated with - lost it again.
It's like a light switch turning off. Clarity. Sanity. I don't want higher resolution. Things make less and less sense the clearer they become and I don't know if I can take it. I'm afraid of it. I'm terrified of it. I don't want to be conscious of time. I don't want to know the seconds and the minutes. If I let up on the gas and stop tearing through these wilderness roads without a map or a dog I'll start to see and feel the things between the trees that would snap my femur in their jaws like a finger in a car door and I already know what's there and I don't need to find out. People talk about stopping to smell roses and things and I don't need to. Maybe they do, but there aren't things out there trying to kill them.
I've liked the balance. Sure it's come at a cost, but that cost is unavoidable whether I'm paying out of life span or paying out of wallet. I don't want to hear the whispers in the trees. I want it to fade. I don't want to manage the caucus and round up the bits and pieces and make sure everything's working together and with the usury I didn't even have to think about it. It's all clawing back and it's like ... I don't want this. That's all. I don't want this, but in this world this is the ground state. Low resolution let's me look straight through it and even forget where and when I'm standing altogether. It's not a pain killer as much as it is a liberator or an oxygen mask in an ocean of shifting and violent shapes. So much maintenance. Higher resolution means going back to a life geared toward maintenance instead of geared toward being. I don't want that.
I guess I envy the people can simply wake up and be and never have to think about. Do other people have to deal with this stuff? Maybe that'll be me. I know it won't, but it's fun to say. No, it's not even fun to say. Some people dream about being rich or famous. These days I just dream about normalcy. I'm not different. I'm not special. There's nothing magical or glossy. I'm just damaged, and it takes so much work to get back to zero everyday only to wake up in the red in so many ways every day thereafter. Yes it can be spun and bright spots found, but to hang onto those requires so steep a reduction in resolution as to make life beyond stupid bliss unmanageable.
I want out. Maybe out will mean nothing, but how long is long enough? 25 years. 26 years. 40 years. How long do I have to search for a solution to this thing. How long do I have to spend looking for a way to understand how to interact with this world in a way that can make sense from one set of hours to the next or looking for ways to explain the decoupling of emotion, and action, and laughter, and violence, from reason or explain the terrors of things people call imaginary and hallucinations, but are sometimes real as sunlight in my eyes. I just want out, but I'm forced instead into higher resolutions.
Sorry for the ramble. Maybe it'll make sense years from now. Minutes from now. What's the difference really?
///Mum - "They Made Frogs Smoke 'Til They Exploded"
11/6/10
I Don't Think I'll Ever Get Used to Being Alive
Its been some time, I know,but I've been thinking about you mostly along with some other things. Quite honestly I don't think I'll ever get used to being alive. How about you?
///Junkie XL - "War" Saturday Teenage Kick shifted my musical landscape overnight. If you haven't listened to it, it's an album that is best heard from start to finish before calling out individual tracks. It's an album that uses the entire LP as the canvas and it came out in '97 when creation was the name of the game and even amongst the stand outs of the late 90s this one will stick with you just that little bit more.
I suppose I... no I don't believe so... I've thought about so many things and I know I should have been telling you about them and I haven't and that's my fault and I'm sorry. I'll try and get it together, but this place is so foreign. Everyday I open my eyes I feel like... feel like what? I don't think I'm a monster, but I suppose most monsters probably don't. Trying to see where the ocean ends and the new world begins, but it's all sea water and I don't know what it means.
///Junkie XL - "War" Saturday Teenage Kick shifted my musical landscape overnight. If you haven't listened to it, it's an album that is best heard from start to finish before calling out individual tracks. It's an album that uses the entire LP as the canvas and it came out in '97 when creation was the name of the game and even amongst the stand outs of the late 90s this one will stick with you just that little bit more.
I suppose I... no I don't believe so... I've thought about so many things and I know I should have been telling you about them and I haven't and that's my fault and I'm sorry. I'll try and get it together, but this place is so foreign. Everyday I open my eyes I feel like... feel like what? I don't think I'm a monster, but I suppose most monsters probably don't. Trying to see where the ocean ends and the new world begins, but it's all sea water and I don't know what it means.
11/2/10
10/29/10
Fruits of a Labor and Where We Left the Bodies
I drew some pictures for you. I like the colors. I was in a kind of bloody soil mood and the taste was not to be denied so I didn't.
I don't know what to say today. It happens. I don't really know what I'm thinking tonight either, but I'm doing it with clothes on. Oh there it is. Found what I was asking for. There really is a certain security in sleeping with clothes on. It's a completely different quality of sleep. I feel a real security in the closeness of the clothing that at the same time can grow to be entrapping. Whatever. That's kind of stupid. When I sleep with clothes on I get hotter and hotter and then my dreamworld flies seriously out of whack and scary things happen in there and, not that I've been able to exercise control over the individuals and things that happen, but what security I do feel in the reality of the landscape dissolves into chaos.
Across the bridge of consciousness, the ground is just as firm and even more comforting in its expansiveness and unrestricted isness. Much more so than here. I prefer to be there. So when things get screwed up there by what happens here it becomes particular upsetting. Especially when the solution is as easy as taking off my pajamas and going back to sleep. Because the only limitation on the place is that I can't be there forever, I can't get stuck there like I get stuck here, its particularly aggravating to end up wasting valuable time. Its enraging.
At any rate, the public transportation there is strange. Not really screwy as much as it is that things come and go on the subway system that I sometimes prefer not to meet or see. Usually everyone minds there own business. I never used the trains there by myself because whenever I do I end up getting lost. Just the other day I spent the entire time I was there lost in the subway system. At one point I got so sick of trying to get the right train I climbed down off of the platform and decided to walk it and I don't know if those trains run at the speed of sound or what, but it took me five hours to walk between train stops and then, of course, by the time I got back to the stop I wanted near the apartment complexes I nearly get my legs cut off by the train I was tired of waiting for. I think that's really my only complaint about the place.
I was thinking about the best way to burn down a house with the people inside it without giving them a way out. It would take a lot of effort. It wouldn't be easy for the logistics of a floor plan and unless they were stone asleep they would probably hear you hoofing around in the grass with your arson kit and caboodle. Definitely low on the list of ways to solve problems.
We're altogether now and I'm happy for that. I hope it lasts forever, but I know it won't. Actually that's not even true. I don't hope it lasts forever. It just felt like the right thing to say to express the glowing feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know things have died up there in my head. But when they die they don't get buried. There's no cemetery up there. I should probably take care of that at some point. I wonder if that's the thing. When you finally die it's because your head is full of bodies and there's no more space for anything else to live. The casualties, relationships, dreams, efforts, ideas, whatever, all the bullshit that mattered to you and no one else that no one, including you, could resurrect with Dr. Frank and a million volts of Earth's pulse pile up and some people bury them one by one and some people have to bury them in mass graves, but they're there. I'm just glad they don't talk too.
The poetry has cut off in a new direction that I'm enjoying. It's stumbled on a rhythm I'm rather liking. Answers are as far away today as they were yesterday, but I'm not really looking for specifics anymore. I'm not sure if I should be. It's not that I want to care about concrete details of living a life, it's that I already care so much about things that so often stand defiant in the face of description and I'm focused on trying anyway because that's what is worthwhile. Maybe it's what I'm here for. That should count as something important. The cats came back. In lesser numbers this time. There was a day I thought I could see individual molecules of air. Turns out it was a whole bunch of blood vessels in my oculars. Is that a word? Things here would probably be so much more important if things across the bridge weren't equally so.
No fruits of the labor yet. Or maybe there is and I just have no idea where it lands. At any rate I'm content to keep doing dream work where the wild things are. Where up is up and down is down and I'm remembered by the people I've seen and I can go anywhere and the only limitation is my body and sometimes not even that.
Still planning the suicide diary. I know right. It is taking forever. I'm not putting it off. I just haven't been here to do it. Promise.
///Unkle feat. Big In Japan - "The Answer" ...perfect weather...
10/24/10
Take it Down a Notch and Classroom Politics
Does the word "it" get capitalized in that title. I'm not totally sure, but I don't think so. So what's new today that was not news yesterday? Not a whole lot. Trying to keep the language clean as a habit. The F word was mingled in there two sentences ago, one sentence before this one, and I had to perform a mental edit. I guess the thing about the mental editing is that while I may be making myself more readable I feel like I am nailing doilies to walls that I have clearly punched holes in to hide the fact that there was an extremely violent outburst and it feels stupid to do. Almost as stupid as dancing with myself in a tutu in the mirror and pretending that I, outside of the mirror, am not wearing one. That was too much.
So the poetry has gotten a little out of hand this week. This is true and entirely my own fault. Or actually, I should say, entirely my chemistry's fault. I had nothing to do with it. I should be so fortunate as to be able to assemble and plan days of literary vomit, and the thing is some of it really is just vomit, but the best thing about throwing up is that the only thing left when your bled out is the thing that matters the most. The thing that giving up in words takes away from your interior and is thus valuable beyond price tags or comparisons or in any other way that value can be assigned except in time and energy lost (the purest value).
I was thinking the other day about models of punishment and something occurred to me (I hate spelling that word). Do you remember in elementary school when the teacher would hold the entire class responsible for some little shits antics? Do you remember how no amount of collective loathing changed his ways and more often than not had the opposite effect on the little shits reasoning? I still do. I still remember not being allowed to line up for recess until everyone shut the hell up and there was always that one bastard who just would not shut his mouth and the teacher would let us go after half of the recess was gone out of sheer pity for what he/she thought the repercussions might be. Sometimes, thinking about that, I wonder if he/she would have ever let us go if she knew that unlike the 40s or 50s or whatever older and more violent and more liberal years he/she grew up in (in terms of acceptable violations of the myth of personal space) the little bastard did not receive any sort of mobocratic beat down. Sometimes the world today feels that way.
Somehow it seems that everyone should be holding someone responsible for their behavior that is damaging everyone's ability to go to recess on time, but no one does. I don't know why that it is. I guess the thing about it might be that "how far is to far" comes into play. If someone bullies you but they never make you cry and then you eventually take the time out of your day to beat the hell out of them and kick their limp body into a puddle of mud is that too far? Your cumulative suffering is still probably greater than their momentary shaming. Isn't that not going far enough. Sorry Brian. I still fucking hate you. If I ever build a time machine rest assured one of my stops will be 6th grade, Maryland, south Bowie, 12:15, my fist, your fucking face. Sorry. I just hate how that whole idea of every member of the group is responsible for every other member of the group has been and continues to be twisted in on itself in perverted ways that make the workplace hell and how it starts at so young an age that it's difficult to imagine any other way for things to be.
I'm taking the poetry down a notch from this week. I basically doubled my output in one night as a result of ... I'm not sure. It happens from time to time. Things just blow out of me like a shotgun to the back at point black range and I actually do apologize. Stability is the cornerstone of something. Just nothing I make. Here's a one liner for your next cocktail party: stability needs capitalism like capitalism needs classim. Haw. Get it? Do you see what I did there? Okay, bye :)
///Aphex Twin - "Bucephalus Bouncing Ball" I am playful tonight in ways I wish I could feel every single night of my life and share with the universe and it's bastard long faced serious denizens who think so much of .... wow that turned really angry. I am playful tonight. Stop. Love you, Aphex.
p.s. I'll draw you a picture next time.
So the poetry has gotten a little out of hand this week. This is true and entirely my own fault. Or actually, I should say, entirely my chemistry's fault. I had nothing to do with it. I should be so fortunate as to be able to assemble and plan days of literary vomit, and the thing is some of it really is just vomit, but the best thing about throwing up is that the only thing left when your bled out is the thing that matters the most. The thing that giving up in words takes away from your interior and is thus valuable beyond price tags or comparisons or in any other way that value can be assigned except in time and energy lost (the purest value).
I was thinking the other day about models of punishment and something occurred to me (I hate spelling that word). Do you remember in elementary school when the teacher would hold the entire class responsible for some little shits antics? Do you remember how no amount of collective loathing changed his ways and more often than not had the opposite effect on the little shits reasoning? I still do. I still remember not being allowed to line up for recess until everyone shut the hell up and there was always that one bastard who just would not shut his mouth and the teacher would let us go after half of the recess was gone out of sheer pity for what he/she thought the repercussions might be. Sometimes, thinking about that, I wonder if he/she would have ever let us go if she knew that unlike the 40s or 50s or whatever older and more violent and more liberal years he/she grew up in (in terms of acceptable violations of the myth of personal space) the little bastard did not receive any sort of mobocratic beat down. Sometimes the world today feels that way.
Somehow it seems that everyone should be holding someone responsible for their behavior that is damaging everyone's ability to go to recess on time, but no one does. I don't know why that it is. I guess the thing about it might be that "how far is to far" comes into play. If someone bullies you but they never make you cry and then you eventually take the time out of your day to beat the hell out of them and kick their limp body into a puddle of mud is that too far? Your cumulative suffering is still probably greater than their momentary shaming. Isn't that not going far enough. Sorry Brian. I still fucking hate you. If I ever build a time machine rest assured one of my stops will be 6th grade, Maryland, south Bowie, 12:15, my fist, your fucking face. Sorry. I just hate how that whole idea of every member of the group is responsible for every other member of the group has been and continues to be twisted in on itself in perverted ways that make the workplace hell and how it starts at so young an age that it's difficult to imagine any other way for things to be.
I'm taking the poetry down a notch from this week. I basically doubled my output in one night as a result of ... I'm not sure. It happens from time to time. Things just blow out of me like a shotgun to the back at point black range and I actually do apologize. Stability is the cornerstone of something. Just nothing I make. Here's a one liner for your next cocktail party: stability needs capitalism like capitalism needs classim. Haw. Get it? Do you see what I did there? Okay, bye :)
///Aphex Twin - "Bucephalus Bouncing Ball" I am playful tonight in ways I wish I could feel every single night of my life and share with the universe and it's bastard long faced serious denizens who think so much of .... wow that turned really angry. I am playful tonight. Stop. Love you, Aphex.
p.s. I'll draw you a picture next time.
10/21/10
dear (______):
Dear New York City news media,
I care as much about the Yankees in a post season as I do starving children in the heart of Africa. They both are the product of terrible systemic problems. They both will cost millions of dollars to fix from one year to the next. They will both work themselves out to a point where no one will care again. And they will both have the same terrible systemic problems next year. Yes, there's drama, but how much of it is real and how much of it is picking at a sad scab for the sake of watching it bleed until it scabs over again?
I care as much about the Yankees in a post season as I do starving children in the heart of Africa. They both are the product of terrible systemic problems. They both will cost millions of dollars to fix from one year to the next. They will both work themselves out to a point where no one will care again. And they will both have the same terrible systemic problems next year. Yes, there's drama, but how much of it is real and how much of it is picking at a sad scab for the sake of watching it bleed until it scabs over again?
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