Fear

I haven't been scared in a long time.   I know that I am going deaf from blasting music.  I know that I am forgetting things intentionally from my childhood and some of being an adult.  The methods of deletion are bleeding across boundaries and I'm beginning to forget things I'm supposed to remember.  Long term memory redactions are becoming short term memory blanks.

I don't know where it ends.  I do know I forced the process on myself.  I don't know which part of it is engineered and which part is a symptom of myself .

I'm afraid.  I'm afraid that I may have caught the tiger by its tail or if it has sunk its teeth into my arm and I don't know it yet because I can't see it.

What Half The Country Said

I can't stop bursting into tears every few hours.  Food won't stay in me when I do try to force myself to eat.  It's heart rending.  My body is physically rejecting reality like an immune system trying to defeat a bacterial infection.  Half of the country would prefer you don't exist.  Half of the country said that you are what's wrong with the country.  Half of the country said you are worthless.   Half of the country said do us a favor and keep it moving.  Sickening.  Half of the country said your life is good enough, you should be happy no one is tying you to a tree and that should be good enough for you.  Half of the country said we don't want to be bothered with you anymore.  Go away.

I wish I could fucking disappear.  Just evaporate into thin air.  Maybe you voted for him because he had that one campaign promise that you could really get behind.  Maybe you voted for him because Hillary is a woman and you just can't have a woman in an office with that much responsibility.  Maybe you voted for him because you flipped a coin and whatever it landed on was what you were going to vote.  Maybe you voted for him because you truly believe some of what he says or you thought he's a strong leader capable of leading America back to some made up glory from the past.  Whatever reason you found for yourself, whatever mental gymnastics you made yourself do: what you said with that vote was fucking get out of our lives because we are sick of you and this country is not for you, it is for us.  I want to kill myself.

You may continue to justify your vote with "well, I don't believe that and I don't think he really thinks that.  I love minorities.  I'm friends with them.  I love women, they should have the same rights as men and jobs..." oh of course.  "He only said that to get people riled up.  He tells it like it is, but he doesn't mean what he says..." you are so full of insane bile it is nauseating.  If you are willing to overlook everything he stands for to find the one thing you can hold on to and make yourself okay with casting a vote for him you are saying you are okay with everything else about him and can get behind everything he says.  You cannot pick and pull little bits here and there and throw blinders on toward the rest of the hatred and disgust.  That's like riding in a car with some people who are on their way to beat someone to death and shrugging because you're in the car to get a lift from your house to the store.  What the fuck should you care who gets beaten lifeless, it wasn't you holding a chain or bat, hell you didn't even get out of the car and turned the radio up when they stopped.

What you said with your vote was disappear.  I wish I could.  My body will stop convulsing soon.  I'll get back in to the movement of life.  Half of the people I see I will wonder what hatred is hiding underneath that smiley "good day, to you" mask.  What part of his hate speech is inside you word for word that you've managed to mask with "I like his healthcare ideas."  What part of his hate speech is inside you, but with a gentler paraphrase because you would never say it that way exactly.  I will wonder what fears lie behind half of their eyes.  I can't kill myself.  You'll always be there and disappearing won't change how you feel.  My pain will always be there and I'll have to learn to live with this latest greatest example.  I'm just tired of fighting and trying to fit in around the margins near the shadows.  What you said with your vote will never not be disgusting, will never not bring tears to my eyes.  You say get over it, we've come so far since slavery.  What half the country said with their vote with proud chests and big smiles begs to differ.

Less Than Stellar Habits

I've developed the habit of not breathing while I'm driving.  Cruising down Allegheny boulevard beside the river with a ton of straightaways, I noticed it.  My right hand resting on the stick shift started to go numb.  That was when I realized I wasn't breathing.  That was also when I sucked a breath in at 45 miles per hour on a two lane with a rumble strip.  It's really hard not to process space and time as opportunities to wreck and die.  I'm trying to unlearn it.  Breathing is very important, especially while driving.  I'm not scared of many things.  I thought I'd conquered my fear of the road once I started whipping my horse, but I hadn't.  I have been holding my breath since all this time whenever situations got even remotely hairy.  It makes me a worse driver, not a more cautious one.  Constant silent panic that locks up a body.  The world is terrifying at speed.  But I love speed.  But it's terrifying.  But it's gorgeous.  Wrestling with circumfact.... am I going to die in a flaming ball of twisted metal?  Ignore the landing lights.  They are not landing lights!  Oooh tunnel vision.  Stick your head out of the window and suck it in.  Canyon run. Someday soon.  Don't go too heavy on the gas.  I want driving to be fun again.




///Hotchip - "You Ride, We Ride, In My Ride"

What Scares You

What scares you?  What scares you?  What really fucking scares you?  That he's better than you?  That he's better than you in every way?  That the choice was the right one?  That she's still down there enabling him?  That the paper is still blank?  That the paint has gotten too old to use?  That he might be angry at you instead of with you?  That you are not properly equipped?  That the next gas station may be out of range?  That your keys are at home?  That you are being entertained?  That you're not incorporated?  That the bug may be permanent?  That there is not enough gauze?  That the tuna may run out?  What really scares you?

Don't make me wait.  I am exceptionally patient except when I'm not.  I don't know what really scares me, for what I've compensated for.  I do know what really scares me.  All of the above.  Very long knee jerk reactions.  Knee jerk reactions spanning days and weeks and months and now years.  I'm okay with it, I suppose.  We never do come for money, except when we specifically do.

What scares me is not the not knowing for sure.    What scares me is not knowing how to respond at an appropriate volume.  Of course they can tune you out at will.  Which is nice.  The option takes a bit of the guess work out.  I typed guest work.  It's true, though.  You are a guest.  We are guests.  And they can.  I'm not where the being polite or respectful or conscientious ends and being a good proper guest and friend ends.  Division by addition feels like it works.  The results are wishywashy.  Concernedly so.

Why will you not tell me?  Do you believe that I will somehow be irrevocably shattered by the information?  Do you believe that I will somehow be so shaken that  I cry all of the water out of my body and shrivel up and die?  It makes me laugh the not good laugh to think that may be true.  If you're not a friend, you're not.  Friend is the worst "F" word.  Loaded for no reason.  If you're not an associate, you're not an associate and that's perfectly fine.  You can waste time if you like.  Placate me too, if it twists your earlobe good when you get the itch.  I'm fine with that too.

I think what I'm trying to articulate is that what scares me the most is that I am in hot pursuit of avenues of communication and the way it comes out is a three dimensional graphics sprint into a brick wall, legs chugging, my little arrow on the map, my associates viewing and confused.  What really fucking scares me is not communicating in an understandable and lagoon clear way.

Though I may be a dragon, if you speak lizard, I can talk to you.  We can do dragon business.  Fear doesn't scare me.  Occasionally, day light does.  Police officers and their flashlights too, but I am civil and citizen.

I want to listen to the Penguin Freud orchestra and hear more songs about Easter Island and travel more.  Growing up American.  Straight up fucking American.  The child of explorers.  The child of, perhaps, orphans and seafarers now land locked and fairly domesticated.  The child of pressure and heat and weapons and bombs and "on threat of death."  A child whose fences end where the nuclear powered ships cannot go.  Yeah, I'm good with that.  How long does it take to breed the grit and horizon lust out of the genes?  How long does it take to saw off the hard nosed muzzle and graft in the gatherer for the hunter?  Fuck if I know.



///Seatbelts - "Spokey Dokey"  and they called me old fashioned.  they called me old fashioned!
///

A Joke, a Little Work, a Little Fantasy, and a Little Truth

Maybe that's why I enjoy night so much.  During the day I just want to stare at the sun and dream about going there.  Life without sunglasses was brutal.  I went mad trying to find them and turned my apartment inside out looking for them.  Of course I left them at a job site.  I asked the people there, when I returned and thought I saw them, if they were mine.  And they said "I don't know, are they?"  I don't know!  Are they?!  I thought they were, but they wouldn't tell me and I thought maybe they were playing a game on me to see how long it would take for me to declare that they were and take them.  In my mind, steal them.  I put two and two together (after turning my place upside down searching) and made my declaration.

So, let's open with a joke.  I'd like to.  I know I am no comedian, so let's give it a little go.  What did the manhole cover say to the street?

Give up?

It said "I'm glad I'm not square."

I was speaking to someone and I can't quite remember who.  I don't think it was a friend.  I think it was a random conversation that sparked up between myself and someone else at the gathering, because I'm near certain it was some sort of gathering with friends that I was at, otherwise I would have been on the deck of my starship.  I was speaking to someone and the who is not all that important.  What came out of the conversation was a comment on the work I do, performing maintenance and changing spaces and power tools and heavy tools sometimes when the work is thick and the corrections that need to be made are more intensive than pure oil changes and minor rerouting/replacement of resources.  

The comment was that my job is basically life as we know it and all I have to do is mine plus a little extra whenever it's not intensive.  I must say, I got offended, but I laughed it off.  I got offended.  Deeply offended.  Do you understand how difficult life is?  Do you understand how difficult maintenance is?  Cutting off the infinite hydra?  It has no heart.  It has no organs.  It has no weak points.  It is impossible to kill or destroy.  It will never be complete and it is constantly adapting.  I wanted to break their face when they said that, but I decided to laugh instead which was good for both me and him.

As I backed my mind over the conversation about work after things died down and everyone went their separate ways and I stepped inside my airlock and sealed the door and fired up the engines and set the course back away from the sun and plotted around the minefield of asteriods too big to bounce off the shielding and hull it occurred to me that they were not spot on, but they were right.

When I am not doing heavy work, my job is to perform what I would do for myself, except duplicated.  It is similar to running many instances of one life simultaneously.  Without the extra relationships so you can focus pure on the bones, guts, and vessels.  The blocks and supports that allow relationships to happen.  It's extra relationships to me, but for the constituents its first order relationships.  I maintain my ship to allow me to get the distance I want and know I need, and come and go from the inner system close to at will.  What they use their fighters and runabouts and escorts and carriers and interceptors and cruisers and bombers and liners or whatever you want to call its for is their business.  My business is making sure they run as well as they possibly can so they can do their business and grow their relationships as I do my own.

When it comes to work there are many ways to go about it, but they were right.  I am no longer offended by it.  Yeah, most of my work is life.  Regular life things.  That's about as much job as I can handle.  I'm laughing while I say that, but it's something I've come to know about myself that I didn't really think about more clearly until that particular conversation happened and I got sickly offended.  As much job as I can process is life, is the other connection I am trying to make and I think I made it good.  I'm not offended at all.  I control the timezone and the appointments to a degree.  I set the tempo.  To a degree.  And that's why I love my job.  It is a direct hit to my wheelhouse and not a degree more or less.  

I still have to answer for what I do.  I still have a difficult time performing maintenance on my own craft.  Multiplied over others crafts it's like managing a motor pool and every now and then when one limps into the shipyard and drops anchor I'm happy to see it because I know I am built for it, and yeh it, the task, may be nothing fancy to you.  It may be routine to you.  To me it is approaching maximum output and it gives me joy to know what I work to do, and sweat to do, and bleed to do, I can do for them and theirs too and let them punch their throttles and brakes and when they turn the dual keys and sequence their hyperdrive to go see who they want to or bring their lights up for their party or plug in their laptop in their study or push their coffee table to a spot where they can put their feet up and still be sitting on their couch or activate their weapons without having to think about whether it will work or not. 

Sure, it's regular shit.  As much job as I can take without losing control of my own regular shit.

Alright, I'm going to try to get through this fast so I do not waste your time.  There are few things worse than thieves.

Burn like a tire.  The easy thing to do is burn energy by burning it.  We all get that.  Burn the excess.  Take only what you need.  I think that's the key and the dream to art's pursuit.  The realized and often unrealized dream to art's pursuit and it's main reason for existence.  Without art we are nothing.  We are little entropy machines and we are aware enough to know this.  We build up charge and build up charge and requires expense.  It is not optional.  We are aware that ourselves and environment are constantly approaching disarray at fantastic speed.  Our awareness heightens as we approach great structure.  We would not know structure without disorder built into our make up.

The easy thing to do is burn.  It's not the secret of life.  Each day a person wakes up they are given charge.  Each day a person wakes up, their fortress has trapped free energy from the destruction around them.  Destroy it.  Burn it.  Literally.  Run in circles.  Use it to create more endless fury.  Or battle it.  Make a declaration and take a stand and say "no."  It's not about building a tower to be sent down by time or sent down by someone else.  It's about recognizing that you have recognized that you are different.  You know what's happening and where it ends and offering a beautiful warning.  The game of putting your finger on the tip of your nose to say "not it!"  

I guess I did finally get that I cannot play dumb as often as I would like to.  At the same time though, what gave me pause was, I also know for sure I am not as smart as I think I am sometimes.  A good portion of the time.  So I'm not going to allow myself to get brassy on my own behalf.  S'not playing dumb, but I would rather underestimate the jump and take too much care than overestimate the jump and take too little.

I am an awful liar.  I still sweat horribly when I'm trying to spin a lie.  Does it ever get difficult for you to think about who you would be if you're skillsets were rearranged when it comes to communication?  I am such a bad liar, it's ridiculous.  I would probably enjoy card games and games in general a lot more if I could lie better.  Then again, if I had a talent for it, I would probably abuse it and beat it until the wheels fell off and I wouldn't get caught in a web.  I'd get caught in a world of trouble and the very ground I walked on would be sticky as fuck.

Life without headphones has been brutal.  I didn't realize how much I needed them to help me tune out products of my mind and visions and conversations happening and not actually happening and interpolations happening and not actually happening.  With background I can turn the contrast up a lot higher when I am walking, forced or no, outside of the learned and mastered framework where I know exactly what is and is not imagined without having to look twice unless I have to.  It's been a very rough go and very upsetting.

I went to the gas station again last night because I was very hungry and needed milk.  I didn't want to go, but by the time I convinced myself it was worthwhile I was feeling pretty ready.  I saw it again.  Between two houses, there it was.  Smack dab in front of my face and I almost yelped.  I walked back and forth along the street and it was there, tracking.  I just wished I had my headphones so I could put my head down and forget about it.  I don't want to know it.  I don't want to get to know it.  I don't want it to sniff me out again or get a smell for me.  What the hell were you?

Trespassing is a crime.  I walked all the way up to the fence of their yard between the houses.  When I touched the links and rattled them a little it ran off, but I couldn't see to where.  I'm not looking forward to tonight.  I don't know if I should stay or risk going out.  I just don't know.  I don't know where they come from.  They make my skin prickle.  It was so hard not to pee my underwear.  I don't know what to do about it, but I'll figure something out eventually.  Or hide.  It is entirely possible I'm not the one it's looking for and I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Entirely and absolutely possible.

At any rate.  Our problems are our own and it's passed time to close up shop for a little while.  Shut down hailing frequencies and allow the machines to do their work and hum and try to do some dream work.  I am going to get a replacement set of headphones as soon as possible.  I can't use photoshop effectively for the time being so we will try to change the face of the Auralport and OEM by hand.  We can do it.  I hate waiting for me.  I think you don't like waiting for me too.  Nothing to it, but to do it.  I want to crank out a few short stories too.  There is a pair that have been knocking around my skull for a few months that I've been editing up there and it is, again, passed time that I put the needle to the record and turn up the volume and relax and reread.  

I do not know what's in the backwoods.  I always hope the backwoods do not know me too.

Left Field - "Gussett"  i wish it was raining today

S'not All Guts and Glory

It isn't.  I get overly dramatic.  It is a study.  It is very important to learn and understand appropriate responses, but the study need not dampen the human inside of you.  The human inside of you should never need or be dampened.

To put the darkness forward is a matter of preference, not necessity.  To attack every upcoming day is to ask for a war.  Approach it analog.  It's not coming at you digital.  One or zero or one or zero.  There is so much more that can be done.

The responses do push from one boundary to the other, but it is possible to find a zero beside the one, a one nestled in beside the zero, and start a new language.  That's happy.  Bad in a good way.  It's easier to view digitally, but better to view analog.

Failure is vision.  Wear your eyes.  Use them or be prepared to lose them and cry through your nose because nothing is supporting your eyelids.  Power chords.  I know I get obsessed with damage control.  It's only because damage is very difficult to control.

Damage requires a ton of run cycles and making plans A through G takes a ton of run cycles too.  I do wonder what I look like from the outside in these days.  It's a curiosity that demands attention.  It's not all bad though.  Don't let me get you down.

I have a lot of questions.  As I'm navigating my way through the years and continuing to find new ways to look at the mission and questioning the mission and my own value within the operations frame works, I am finding light not easy to describe.

At least, not easy to describe better without using terms embracing negative pasts.  It kind of strikes me as learning how to compose drawings using negative space.  Instead of tracing the damage and the brush fires limits, tracing the brush.

Tracing the wild life instead of the pelts.  Nature still speaks to me.  Tech and currency still eats me.  People continue to fascinate me though I find them terrifically repellent.  I try to keep one ear on the ground and one up to the sky.

I have to reassure myself that I am fine.  I have to maintain my distance.  I cannot allow distance to dissolve.  What I want cannot be obtained through casual means.  It will take explicit and thorough aggression.  

We are years away.  It's not all guts and glory.  Relax.  Absorb and do not over think.  It's not all bad.  It's not all analysis.  Do not remove the human from inside you.




///Bjork - "Hidden Place"  im simply suggesting

The Year End Look

I am tempted to attack some things there is not time enough yet to tackle.  I am okay with and respect and receive the temptation because the day is nearing and we stand on the cusp of something truly deafening with nothing between us beyond time itself.  Time's only enemy is patience.  The armory is stocked.  Let's knock down time first.

The 2013 year end look is a strange one.  Strange to me.  I crashed a car again.  For the second time in my life totaled an automobile.  The injury was an injury I never knew before and thought I would never return from.  It was probably something near or spot on to a partially herniated disc.  I am used to pain.  Used to adjusting for pain because a voice inside says it'll end eventually if you simply don't do it again.  This pain brought me literally to my knees every time I got out of bed for work or to meet someone or otherwise do anything that did not require lying down.  It was unbelievable.  Literally unbelievable.  It made me tear at myself and my bed sheets and scream in the afternoon and throw fits.  Everything worked fine except standing and walking.  In 2013 I became very aware of my age.

A friend of mine put it best: ten years ago, you hurt your back, you shotgun a beer and a whiskey short, have a smoke, and get on with life.  Now?  You hurt your back and you can drink 'til you cannot feel a damn thing, but that shit comes back as soon as your spine comes back on line.  You can't go through life partially shut down.

It's true.  Another year older, just one year removed from invincibility, or something damn near it, I am aware, acutely aware of physical limitations.  Invincibility has been thoroughly dispelled in 2013.  Respect for the injured and more feeble than I has been reinforced to incredible degrees.  Of course it didn't help falling down multiple flights of stairs after the car accident.  That one is on me.  I should have known where I was standing on the fire escape and not allowed someone to high five me hard enough to push me backward into the night air.  I guess I'm kind of a good fall guy.  I should have broken my neck or an arm or at least a finger on my way down, getting something stuck in the stairs and landing made of iron grating, but all I remember, three days after the car accident, was waking up looking at the top of the fire escape and their back door and the little light and thinking "wait a minute? wasn't I just there?  Why am I here?"

I went to a casino for the first time (with no money) and someone gave me a $100 chip.  I can count the number of times I've held $100 bills in my hands with intent to spend instead of pay on one hand.  Two of the five times were to pay for cars.  I didn't get to use it for fun.  I did get some long standing necessities taken care of though and a bill paid.  One step closer to actual freedom.

I taught myself to drive stick for real in 2013.  On a rear wheel drive truck.  I also learned how to use torque and how to use horsepower.  Yes, they're linked, but now I understand when to use which.  When to use a little work fast and a lot of work slowly.  Of course there's always the golden peak when you can use both at the same time, but high end cars are out of the cards for at least another half decade.  I'm salivating thinking about it.  My dream garage is still the same.  Still stocked up with late 80s Japanese machines and American muscle.  Some day, sweetheart.

2013 also taught me who my friends are and who my friends are not.  For much of the year I tried to be a friend to the world.  A friend to everyone who would have my ear and have my words, however fleeting, but I soon recognized (by soon, I mean it took the entire year) that what I was counting as friendship was not being counted or similarly given weight by the people I was ascribing it too.  It was heart breaking.  Truly heart breaking.  I remember crying on and off for several days as each episode unwound.  The penultimate was a multiple day thanksgiving celebration that was supposed to be fun.  It was, to an extant.  I was too much a different stripe to blend in and it was hurtful to me to be expected to do so, but maybe they didn't really expect me to blend that well.  Maybe they expected me to realize sooner than later that I should've left.  As it stands I only over stayed by a day or two before I recognized where I was and where I could do myself better.  Coming home was beautiful on that day.  

The ultimate was when I was left stranded by people I thought I could count as friends.  My truck died and a true friend bailed me out.  I've grown intimate with my truck of late.  Gotten to know her inside and out.  2013 reminded me of the bullshit premise my birth father put to me about a car that was supposed to be my reward for graduating Carnegie Mellon (which did not happen) that was his vision for us rebuilding a beater BMW (which flew in the face of everything automotive I actually do espouse and believe in) and it's been tremendous and heart stoppingly gorgeous keeping that truck on the road and at the same time by turns puzzling that anyone, let alone the sack of nuts that raised you for 18 years, could miss your values that hard.

It does make me laugh though, because there have been more than a few times I could've used an extra set of hands to get the job done and I thought about the gents and lassies that could call up their dads or moms and schedule a weekend under the hood or chassis without getting violently ill or stomach ulcers.  I appreciate that about people.  Sometimes I ask them about their parents because it's practically porn to me.

In 2013 I learned to slow down scarification.  In tandem with realizing that time is getting on I also realized if I ever do have children or adopt children there will be questions for me to answer too.  Questions I am prepared to answer and questions that will have to be answered as my nose and ears get bigger and nothing else does and my eyes continue to sink and my brow continues to crease.  The reminders still remain necessary and beautiful obelisks and world wonders to human history and I thank us for them always.  I need them.  Some mistakes you can make multiple times.  Some mistakes you cannot afford to retread because lives are in the balance and the house does not always win, but you can never go back.  You will die.  You will be consumed, make no mistake.  Every time I look in the mirror I am reminded and I need to be.  Inside of your skull you are your friend more often than not.  Outside of your skull is a flipped story.

The same problem does abound, though.  My development, my passion for writing, remains far too grounded for my tastes.  There is patience though.  There is gestation.  There is still the thirst for whimsy and dreamland.  There is where I lie and I know it.  I can feel it.  The attack is coming.  The all hail that tells me "forward now!"  I can taste it.  2013 was about defining starting points.  Defining relationships.  Defining the scope of the maintenance necessary for progress.  Did it have to take a year?  Yes.  2013 was about defining severance.  Defining which and what kinds of quests were worth pursuing.  2013 was a very long think.

The funniest part about 2013, it came around the tail end, was realizing that just because you can identify the group of people that you are attracted to does not automatically make them accessible or easily located.  You meet just as many air heads and space cases exploring your same sex as your opposite sex.  The worst, the most lip curling, the most eye squinting, experiences are had when you meet a carbon copy of someone you'd cultivate a relationship with straight, gay.  In my mind I'm thinking ten minutes in to the conversation: "god damn it, not this again.  Really?  You exist here too?  Who dropped you on your head?  Why do you have fifteen pairs of shoes and a $200 dollar love seat in an apartment you're paying $900 a month for?  Why are we going out to a bar downtown when there's one at the corner while you have a fridge full of wine and candy imports?  Three pairs of sunglasses?  Sunglasses??"  

I don't know what 2014 is going to bring.  I think my year to year expectations have grown foggier and foggier so I will add some definition.  I think this year (no resolutions) I will try to fuck a woman for some variety.  The whole "no concussions" thing failed miserably.  I had four in 2013 so I think it's fair to rule that out.  Broke my nose twice too, so that's out.  I want to do more art in 2014 too.  Life's demands put way too much on my plate to really put anything outside of my skull to look at and enjoy, and I'm not saying for you to enjoy, I'm saying for me and we/us to enjoy. 

Now that things have been better defined through thirteen, in fourteen I would like to explore that framework and see what and where it builds to.  New territories and frontiers.  I want a new scar for 2014.  A scar for the turn.  A scar for the "maybe" identified because in twelve the maybe had no identity.  2014 will be a quest for the whimsical.  A seeking out of the imaginary and a protecting of the physical.  We achieved many grown up tasks and came into adulthood through 2013 from its humble beginning in 2012's confusion.  It's time to explore the limits of what that adultness and understanding and thinking and domestication can ring when our bell is rung hard enough.  What music will it make?  Will it make music or fall apart with the strikes?

For the first time, in 2013, I had to shave down my knuckles with a pumice stone.  The scar tissue accumulated so thickly that I couldn't open and splay my fingers easily without fighting against it.  Too much contact.  I cannot fall into the trap of abusing myself in lieu of taking abuse just to feel normal and normalcy.  That's not okay.  It is not okay to do that.  2013, a lot of 2013 was about learning what it is not okay to do.  Platonic spooning was okay.  Talking about platonic spooning to their friends indirectly and accidentally by way of mentioning conversations they were not a part of, but must have happened after they left, later on when we and they met again is not okay.  It should be though.  Don't break my heart that way.  Break it any other way, but that is pure... muffed intent.  I do not have time for that in 2014.

I have accumulated old man hands at the ripe age of 28.  I am a destroyer parked in a lagoon and rusting.  You fucking cowards.  2013 was also about rebuilding my space craft.  I had to tear it apart and rebuild it.  It was gathering too many parts and pieces superfluous and useful once and never again.  When one part failed I hooked and slaved another component to keep it running.  Fourteen is streamlining.  Keep the violence down at all costs.  The love too.   Control.  2014 is focusing on control and dynamics.  It's easy to glass a city.  It's hard to embrace one and construct.  Consider the "what will and what can we build here?"

It does make me laugh though, to consider that I may be at a new base line measurement.  It is enticing.  So many things happened.  So much time spent alone and too much time spent in contact.  It does not add up to my satisfaction.  I will boost literary output in 2014.  It does not matter if you want to do it, it has to be done for your own sake.

2014 is action.  Redesigns are on the table.  Stand up act 9 is on the table.  Before both will come the year end playlist.  Let's go!  No sneak peeks this time.  So much left out too, but we'll get it in later.

///Shiny Toy Guns - "Major Tom"   ...near Earth orbit

Three Hundred and Eleven, Stupid Fucking Christians, Foreignness, and Musing

I want to have something important to say today, but I don't. Still working on the dream. I'm gonna muse for a minute, well several, as I am mentally drifting. While at work, the pressures of so much unpleasantness force my thoughts into a water jet that cuts steel, but away from those pressures it diffuses and runs easy and slipshod and quiet, or quieter, and my adrenal glands are gonna be shot by the time I'm 30 iterations old because so much of the day, well the night, is spent trying to wrestle control, heart charging, mind racing, all for nothing. There's nothing I can do to undo that. That shit job will still be around long after I leave it. The same people will still be there enforcing backward policy and rewarding incompetence. And that's the way it has to be. Competent people leave. They don't stay there. The only way any sort of structure can be maintained there is to reward stupidity, soft mindedness, weakness, and buffoonery and it is upsetting to me and it should be upsetting. All it means is that I have to leave before my head explodes.

I was working the other day and growing sicker by the moment. Physically sick to my stomach. The sounds being pumped down from the speakers in the ceiling were like ice picks touching my brainstem behind my throat and pricking it over and over and the pain of it was turning my stomach and making me dizzy. I considered after some time asking if I could leave at 3 AM, lunch time, and call it a day, but my stupid loyalty and pride in the work that I do told me to gut it out. Don't be weak and stupid and candy and thin. Gut it out. I don't care what you want, you came in today to do a job so do the job and then, when it's finished, go home and rest. You're not like them, is what I told myself until finally, while kneeling and shelving my body basically rebelled and pulled a knife on me. To which I answered, you wouldn't. And then it did, but it missed. Shattered the blade of the box cutter on the floor tiles taking a blind left handed downward swing at my leg and caught a rebounding shard in my mouth. So I met myself half way and took a long lunch break. It was a shitty day. I gotta get outta there.

So for the anniversary of my initialization my parents sent me a card. One of their signatures said live in peace. Which made me want to immediately purchase the next available train ticket down there to end their lives and burn the house to the ground. But I can't do that. I have too much I need to work on finishing already without the added difficulty of trying to do it in prison where materials would likely be even more scarce though free time would be in abundance so potentially that trade off might become more interesting if scarcity becomes a greater issue out here. It mostly made me question, though, how backward can a human being be. How stupid can a person truly be. To tell someone to live in peace. While simultaneously denying them every single last avenue open toward a life of peace and stability. It just reminds me of so many Christians. So many good Christians. It's in God's hands. She's with God now. He's in God's protection now. What the hell is wrong with you idiots. It's not in God's fucking hands. It's in your fucking hands. It just stymies me that people can be so oblivious. So learnedly oblivious to the obviousness of the impacts their decisions make on other peoples lives, especially, especially when so little effort on their part can make titanic changes for their own flesh and blood. Which is why I no longer consider them to be. They are an unfortunate do while loop that erred and spawned a NaN variable in me, but that has picked up where it left off doing nothing except cancer consuming it's surrounding while time left to live is not equal to or less than zero. I need a new mommy and daddy. Or a used set. Or even just one or the other as I have a pair of glaring vacancies. Apply within.

This is the three hundredth posting. My eleventh birthday is this Saturday. I might take myself out for ice cream. You can come too. I had another attack of something last night. It sucked. I woke up in the middle of it. Maybe it was a siezure. It was kind of funny in retrospect. I tried to get up and my whole body just want stiff and I fell back into my blanket with my face on my pillow. Funny because if someone were just walking by my room they would think I was fast asleep. I suppose if I hadn't woken up I wouldn't be composing this. I wonder sometimes where I am in the alternate reality when that happens. I wonder if maybe I touched something and received some sort of static shock and this state of contraction is how it crosses the bridge and stings me here. I wonder if assaulted by sound here what happens to me over there. I don't think it's just me crossing. Well I know it's not just me crossing. I wonder if I'll ever meet me over there. It is a rather large world.

Just the other day I was there and apparently there were some sweeping changes made while I was away. There concrete viaducts and underpasses everywhere and all biege and everyone was busy moving here and there and it took damn near half an hour to stop someone and ask them what was going on and where I could find the train station, because I hadn't ridden it in some time and I wanted to lose myself for a while. The man I stopped was about my height. Brown leather jacket and a shirt crushed with sweat and what looked like engine oil. He explained to me, after adjusting his glasses, that cars were banned. He wasn't mad at me for asking an apparently obvious question. He told me the upcoming action required that as much crude be saved and that the viaducts and underpasses were all light rails and that everyone pretty much took the light rails or biked where they needed to, but I didn't see a single bicycle or train car pass me while I spoke to him. He left. The city was a mess of design, but clean in the same way a beach is clean after a really bad windstorm. The whole thing was off putting. And then I woke up. No sign of other me. I think if I ever did see him I'd be roundly terrified. I hate talking about him. Any of them. They don't like being talked about behind their backs, but it's not fair because I'm always behind their backs until they show up and then I'm just fucked. I don't know.

Still haven't made the call. Still trying to land. Still no where to touch down if I wanted to. I've gone back to making necessary long term repairs. Things chance. Things change. There are times when things keep fucking up and keep fucking up and keep fucking up no matter what you do. And you know this because it is the same situation that you've approached two dozen different ways and it never ends up mattering by the time your bones hurt and your eyes are pools from finger bloodying attempt after attempt. And times like that force you into a position where the only agency you can really exercise is to fuck it up yourself. It is real. You can do it. It's the only way you'll ever be able to say you did something for yourself. I smashed in that fucking fender. All me. The only control you will be able to revel in is to decide where you want the hammer to touch down instead of letting someone else decide it for you. Something to revel in. Anything to revel in. To feel a part of the inside out and bizarre and upside down world you're in. If you live in a world of systematized counter productivity and human waste long enough, does the opposite become foreign? Absolutely.

I do believe from a civilization spanning viewpoint... well that just sounds cockneyed. Well probably not even cockneyed. Just stupidly grandiose. I do believe from the standpoint of socialization into the fabric of Americanisms that I am more or less feral. Defining feral as undomesticated and domestication as a state of obedient harmony with established standards and practices. But more on the nose I was raised like a dog. The more I think about, well I'm done thinking about, I've gone over the evidence internally through committee several times over and it's all there. I'm still learning to be American and person, but I feel like several of my key behaviors are kanine first and reasoning person second. I should probably make that call sometime. Trying to domesticate myself. To relate to people better. But the thing no one tells you about making sacrifices to relate to people is that none of it will ever matter if the people you are trying to relate to have no interest in rejoining your sweat for connection. Shove away then.



///The Cardigans - "Losers"

Under Consideration and Lesser Titles for Greater Things

Having experienced various points of system shock through various psychological breaking points over the last five days there are so many facets of existence to consider. I guess first and foremost is the relationship between- brake fail. Entry point. New thread. Same thread. If I want to enter into steady state society, contiguous existence, beyond the high speed passes, lower the charge without damaging consciousness- skip break. how far can you go. how far are you willing to go to make sure you don't die alone. Found it.

The hole. If the break cannot be controlled and it has been demonstrated that the entry points are getting. Growing in number beyond traceability to a point of trustlessness and protection to enter to ask. We already know we can't ask without. The offer is real isn't it? Standing for the claimant. The ability. To reject the known for the unknown again. To start it over. We did it for her once. For both her and us and now we face ourselves and potentially the division from. And entry into not just the hole, but what lives inside.

I'd forgotten what great company was. For some time. I thought I understood to an extent. And the reality apart from the extent of understanding was more incredible. More fantastic than I could have hoped. I've heard that heaven's gonna burn your eyes, but I didn't believe it. The noises were amazing. Would we still feel it inside. Could we know it if we did.

I'm trying to reconstruct the memories. They are without sensations. The ones from that earlier time and rocky trial of prescriptions. Disconcerting eveness. All things advance. Could it really be any different from the functional calls to operations and sectional being. Yes. It would have to be. Out of the reason that the responses are all. Why not have access to. that's part of the issue. The access is cut apart. But how badly do you not want to die alone. And there's the fear that comes without description. Because there is no description for what exists apart from the ability to describe. But released from what can be described and known though invisible artifacts of the corrupted and tuned highly tuned circuit. Facing a way. A way in. A way out. A way in. To become less and a part of.

So we'll walk into it. And find what has been seen. And see it again. Charting space and spaces. We'll see what happens through this week. Thursday and straight on till morning. Not goodbye. An extended hello. To further modification. Answers. A heaven that will burn your eyes. A start of beginnings. That are loops and waves. On our insides drawing together divisions. Of necessity and being. It will throw our ways. I'll catch you yet. And maybe there really is nothing inside of that hole anymore. Or maybe the only way to deal with it is entry into. We'll find what lies and lower the charge and enter into the gravity of society. Space is just too cold. So I've learned. And it's taken loss to unravel that concept. I'll catch you if you'll wait for me. I don't like to promise much, but just don't leave too soon. I'm gonna drive it straight into the atmosphere. The flames will be gorgeous, but by the time my wheels touch the ground the tiles and plates and cooling vents will be easy on the eyes and ears and to the touch. The runway's not as long as it used to be. I didn't pack a chute when I left.




///Thievery Corporation - "Heaven's Gonna Burn Your Eyes" ...you can't be afraid forever... so I'm going to try a different way to be brave and maybe there will be a hero's welcome yet. Don't wish us luck. Save it for the day I shake your hand. That's when I'll need it. And we'll sit down with some coffee and I can tell you all about where the fuck I've really been and maybe there'll still be something left behind my eyes familiar to you and we both.

Counting Down Seconds

Counting down the seconds until I have to go outside again. It helps when it's dark out. It feels like there are two inch diameter screws pushing into the space behind my ears and doing their best to touch in the middle.

The wind blows up through the corner of my building where all the boiler rooms and utility closets align. I'm pretty sure I could climb down through the entire building to the basement through there. I'm pretty sure whatever's in the basement can climb up if it wanted to. I try not to think about that space. Sometimes I come home and that door is open. The lock on it is broken. Or maybe it never worked. I stuff socks in the door jamb to keep it shut, but socks don't have magical powers and it doesn't stay shut. I'm thinking about nailing it up.

Yesterday I was working so hard I started drooling and I didn't realize it until I felt the little tug on your shirt that tells you your taco just let a glob of skin temperature oil loose on the middle of your chest. I took it down a notch. The work is hard, but not hard enough. I like it when it's demanding. It helps me forget who I am. I'm no longer me. I'm levers and pulleys and little motors and wires and for loops and if then switches and I love that. Part of me wants that to be all. To rip away from the rest in a maniac's pursuit of perfectly synchronized movement. I'm clumsy. But when I've memorized all the actions it feels so good to make the calls to the functions and then revise them knowing they can't become worse.

I'm thinking about teaching myself to be a butcher, since I didn't get the post. It would be a fun pastime. By the time I can afford to buy the animals I'll be able to afford a freezer to put the parts in and have a nice place for all the tools too. Then I can extend the work from my job through the anxiety of my home and feel that relaxedness roll through me again. But that's a little ways off. It'll be fun.

I had this dream that I went forward in time to the same burned out bakery next to the house I want to buy. The house with the door boarded up in the front and all the doors and balconies open in the back where there was a fire that started at the furnace exhaust and worked it's way forward across the roof and slashed through the face of the third floor like a stroke of side armed bull whip. The place wasn't lived in. Or at least, when I looked in the one open window at ground level I didn't see any blankets in there. The day was already getting on by the time I came to and walked next door so I decided to head East toward the blight and see if I bought any property down that way since I didn't end up taking the home in the shadow of the bakery after all. It was a long walk and things were turning the blue gray of a rainy evening going dark for coming overcast more than precession. I came to the fields of weeds and tumble bricks and lost shopping bags and knit hats from past years turned into multicolored sidewalk band aids glued to the ground by leaves and dog pee and I started stopping at each building standing singular and appearing unoccupied, but none of them were mine. It took me an entire season to move as far ahead as I did and the trees were shedding and blowing across the ground and I was watching them go when my eye took on charcoal writing on the wide boards of a porch with empty windows. There was writing everywhere and it cut and curled like the shadows of crossing tree limbs if the sun were striking at first daylight. I didn't know whose house it was, but I had to know who would trace the veins of a building like that so I walking across another field where a home was knocked down into it's basement and covered over with dirt and crossed a street empty of cars and kicked an empty milk carton on my way up the stairs. There was thick black writing everywhere and on every single step and some dead vines that tried to impress, but were cut at the roots and left to rot. I went inside through the window into the dimness and walked through a living room that sagged in the middle where rain must have collected year in and year out. Walking along the walls to avoid the softest parts of the floor I found a sleeping bag with me inside and I took off my gloves to maintain a slip free grip and I started strangling myself until I felt my larynx collapse like a matchbox and I knelt there squeezing as hard as I could waiting for my eyes to open, but they never did. I left. I went back to the bakery beneath a starless sky and I didn't lay down to go back to my own time until the rain threatened earlier started to fall and I felt peaceful. I slept so good. And then I woke up.

The whole thing made me wonder how many unsolved murders are suicides. It's probably in horrible taste. I'm sure someone somewhere is probably being brutally raped and murdered by someone else who will never be caught. Maybe I'm already on some course for that to happen to me in my bids to connect with people I don't know. But how many people are killed by their time traveling suicidal selves. I don't want to meet myself. Not yet anyway, but I'm counting down the seconds until I have to go outside. I need some time to work on things. I hope I get some time off soon, even though I don't want it. My head hurts.

///Groove Armada - "At The River" Let's dance a little. Please? Don't make me dance by myself again.

I Found

So I had this idea about humor. About genuine humor. Not the niggling humor that munches at the ankle of obviously flawed ideas, but the throated humor that vomits little mountains of spontaneity and thought. I was wondering if I could compose some.

I'm not going to try it here. Partially because I know that I am not intrinsically funny. And partly because I haven't forgotten that I didn't want to try it here. Humor is like singing. It's not so much about talent as much as it is about the construction of a head. Some skulls just have crappy acoustics. Most do. But some don't. The ability to hear yourself outside of what encompasses the space of your higher order functions is key to being a great singer and I think the same holds true for comedy.

Remember when I told you I was going to go look for the hissing? I think I do. I found it last night. It wasn't as scary as I thought it would be. It wasn't scarier either. It just was. It was the heart of a thing, if you can imagine it, a thing large as three story building and as wide as it was tall if not wider. The sound of my teeth grinding woke me up before I could get close enough to really make it out.

It was a strange trip. I didn't close my eyes and there it was. I had to do a ton of foot work, but I avoided the subways because I tend to get lost down there. I stayed above ground and it got darker and darker until it was dusk and I walked for a long time until I reached a great big brick thing. It could have been a wall for all I knew. The city simply stopped and there was this brick wall that could have been a building, but I didn't walk around it because it joined up with the two buildings on either side of the street and it was too dark to see if it terminated at some point above me or if it simply continued on forever.

I went in the door and inside the lights were like setting suns and I went down for several seconds, but I couldn't have gone deeper than ten or twelve feet unless there was some kind of compression happening, which I doubt. I doubt it because - I suppose I actually don't have a reason to doubt it. It's simply been my expectation. It was the feeling. There were no sutures of skips so I assumed. At any rate the staircase ended rather quickly and the floor was so immense that I could see it's curvature, but the light was too low to see anything beyond the immensity of the space. I walked on, directly away from where the stairs landed and after several dozen minutes the darkness began to turn a dull red and then this weird bronze pink and I followed the shifting gradient, keeping the brightest hues front and center, along the curving floor and there was a massive pounding that kicked through the air and thumped inside my lungs so bad that it was starting to hurt and I walked on and on and on until the intensity of the dullness, the sheer missingness of presence was making my head hurt as bad as my chest and I fought to resolve it and it came into focus and then I realized I wasn't breathing and the sound of my teeth grinding woke me up at 5 in the morning. It was awful. I learned nothing.

I'm not afraid tonight though. I guess, a huge part of what makes us fear is the not knowing. I don't need to know what exactly it is, or why it is, all I need to know is where the boundary of safety is. Where the envelope ends. And now I know.

I'll show you tomorrow. Whenever that is.


///Talvin Singh - "Soni" ...and then...

Something's New Some Things Old

I've been looking at you all evening and trying not to move. It was putting off the inevitable. Well, I mean, I didn't have much to say before so I wrote what was floating on top because I don't have the equipment to go swimming with any guarantee of safety. Which is what I was worried about. Which is why I was trying not to move. Basically I didn't want to have to open my door. There were some strange happenings earlier and I was waiting for them to die down, but I've spoke too soon again. Unauthorized border crossings, if that makes sense. I don't have a grip on it like I thought I did. It's not something you can be okay or not okay with. It's just something that is and then you learn to live around it. It makes me jumpy during the day. It makes it so that you have to look and hear and make a complete judgement about an entire setting because you don't really have time to work through details in everyday life outside. It's disconcerting. So many times I just need more time to investigate to know.

I used to wear keys everywhere to remind myself that I was awake and moving around and to track time. It's nice to have the option of taking them off and not participating in the movement of time and place. Sometimes though it burns through and it feels like forced induction. I don't like being tracked. Well, not tracked, but followed. Physically. It makes me nervous. Whenever I'm walking and I hear the neighbor walking in the same direction I stop what I'm doing and do something else. It's not bad luck. I just don't want our lines coinciding. It's like using someone elses network. I don't want whatever's over there coming over here. There's enough wildlife over here as it is.

There was something I was supposed to do today that I didn't do while I was avoiding I don't know what it is. I'm trying not to think about it. They don't like being talked about so I'll skip it.

I'm thinking about starting another repository of words. I haven't decided yet. The formulation hasn't struck a critical mass of need, but it's getting there like a bad itch. I'm sorry. I just don't know much today. Something's coming and it's heart breaking because for once all I've been doing is watching the kids play cards on a throw rug and they're playing so well and everybody's home and I don't know why. Well, maintenance has suffered some. I don't want people to be afraid of me. I'm not just like you, but... but what? You don't have to hate being around me. I like being around you? I don't know. I thought I did. Where is it coming from? Something has been built and it's doing work and I don't know where to begin on it. On protecting the rest of me from its function. I don't even know what it does, but I do know its activity is dragging the guts out of the fabric and the stuff back there, inside there, needs to stay over there. It's like waking up and there's a gas leak and the gas has made you sleepy and high and sick and it needs to be fixed, but I'm not a gas specialist. I would look for the hissing, but everything is hissing. I can't leave. I live here. Proximity alarm. But what the hell am I close to? I haven't been paying attention and I ran out of channels.

It's not in the factory. I cleaned that out already. Well, not cleaned out, but repurposed. Actually, I wouldn't even go that far. Just moved some things to the junk yard like Russian submarine pens. I am scared to go to sleep tonight. Not because of tomorrow. Tomorrow will be good. I am scared of what's out there thats creeping through here and I wish I had something that would put me down cold for eight hours. I can option out of waking space sometimes. That's easy. Optioning out of sleep induction can't be done on will alone with any sort of success rate. I don't want to go there. It strikes me, or has struck me, just now how that has flipped. Somethings have come and gone. Just passing through. This one feels different. Whether I want answers or not, I'm going to get some fairly soon. I wish that knowing something is wrong could translate into fixes. Knowing your teeth are bad means you go to a dentist. Ir knowing you're about die of high cholesterol means eating differently. Knowing means nothing. It's like thinking it's about to rain ten pound stones. All you can really do is stay inside or find a bridge to huddle under with the rest of the stray souls till it's over.


///The Orb - "Montagne D'Or"

for the record, fear, and friends

i was poking my face bones today wondering if the weight ive lost from being starved was showing up in hollow eye sockets or ripped abs (i know right, shits ridiculous, life is awful, and somehow i have to continue laughing because the ridiculousness just continues to grow by leaps and bounds that are unbelievable even as they are coming out of my mouth and mind) and for the record if i ever do have a daughter she's going to have awesome cheekbones.

also "fear is the little death that brings total obliteration." nice quote.

my nerves are shot. i jump when people say hello to me. i jump when my phone rings out loud.

some new friends are coming over. theyre very short friends. well i guess theyre friends.

the thing is i suppose i want everybody to be a friend which, i know, duh, is not possible and is unrealistic and a lot of other things. you know the crest of understanding, that point at which each person can be understood or framed within the context of their experiences relative to your own?, yeah that thing, i think i cant even really begin to understand the future ramifications of everything happening now at the bottom of the well. well not so much understanding but the lacking of the focus of ... uhm... somethings missing there. no, there was something there, but now there is a definite hmm space. black spot. not even but you know hmm well you dont make friends with salad. but i suppose you could theoretically keep friends with salad once they got older and health conscious.



so much changed in two weeks. not even changed as much as grown into worse things, but theyre still the same things. but none of it really for the better. pessimonster lurks. nah but seriously. to even attempt to pursue an optimistic route is like dancing the jitterbug on top of a trench wall in the middle of 1916. yous is asking for trouble.

i used to be scared of a lot of things. nothing scares me anymore. im sure theres still time to learn new fears. but till then the situation is this. fire burns so dont put it in your hand. knives cut so dont stick them up your nose. noise can rupture your ear so dont turn up the music too loud. that kind of stuff. im not afraid of those things. sometimes i cant even convince myself of the why nots beyond making interaction easier. no vacuums. i havent been very useful over the past couple entries. im gonna fix that. im gonna fix you good. real good. heres some bullshit for you. or chicken soup for your cancer. i havent been nice. but the universe started it. im gonna finish it. when i was little my main goal was world annihilation. ive gotten off track. hahahaha. obviously.

my point is though if i ever get to a point where having a kid becomes the right thing to do which it never will that kid is going to have some fucking ridiculously awesome cheekbones cut from a granite cliff face.

thems cliffs mays nots be made from granite to discalamatize. that sentence was stupid. but entertaining to type. so it stays. im a simple guy to please.

///susumu hirasawa - "hawk in my heart, don't take the moon" from the album virtual rabbit. its one of those songs in another language where it doesnt matter if you know the words or not. you know the feeling. if i knew the words the feeling might be completely oppos... well to hell with all of that. it just takes me mentally to the freedom ive yet to enjoy. its the song that would play right when i finally climb to the mouth of the well and over head there are broken clouds and the smell of something besides my own wastes and the dead water and the bricks that have been skinning my knuckles and knees slides across my cheek and i can really genuinely and spontaneously smile. not to be a total downer or anything. lol. thats what im saying. i know it could be worse. but how much worse is honestly approaching a matter of splitting hairs and a couple hundred dollar bills.

oh yeah, i fixed the link situation that hadnt occured to me up till today. now links open in new windows. yay.

do you ever wake up

and find yourself encased in ...


... well who really cares. basically ive been feeling kind of weird for the past three days. i keep getting a rising urge to pull my body apart. its not mine. i dont want to be in it anymore. i want to see whats underneath, but the problem is that what im looking for is not going to be found by digging and its frustrating. where did i go? my room is a lot like a cage... with bells to let people know when im moving around. its like privacy without the private part.

so much anger and discomfort and racism and prejudice and mommy daddy issues and anger and splitting and sharp edges and simple machines and spillage and anger and splitting

///angelo badalamenti - "red bats with teeth" its all building and growing into something that makes my intestines ache.

this is whats wrong 07/25/07

Subject : this is whats wrong
Posted Date: : Jun 25, 2007 6:54 PM

what keeps america going?

a quick survey of television yeilds:

the "criminal justice industry" (prisons, police, etc.)

the military ("protecting" overseas interests)

education (schooling to make you a functional cog but not intelligent)

image (make yourself better and more liked by putting [insert product] on as often as possible)

[no picture necessary, just turn on your damn tvfor 15 minutes]

and fear (see following music entry)

///dntel - "pillowcase" do not listen to this track at any time while high, and definitely not at night when hunting for sweeter dreams. back shortly.

PSA 04/03/06

Subject : A Public Service Announcement
Posted Date: : Apr 3, 2006 8:34 PM

For the time being this channel will be dead. Experiencing technical difficulties because there were campus contests to be entered.

I am getting published for a second time, but once again it is a single poem, and not the poem I wanted to win selection.

When am I going to make out with anything more than scraps of recognition? I suppose I'm probably just not fit for recognition just yet. Ah well.

I'll be back later at an undisclosed time and at an undisclosed place with more tasty treats to read, but until then...

[stop]

out of the loopC----> * 02/03/06

Subject : out of the loop C ----> *
Posted Date: : Feb 3, 2006 3:39 PM

Having successfully roused from sleep I proceed to play some tunes to get the ol energy thing going and I instantly realized I hadnt touched a new album or artist in the past YEAR. It was then that I immediately deduced that I was not only listening to the same things again and again, but that I was now incapable of obtaining new music. Not for lack of desire, but for lack of the ability to identify any new music or new artist at work today, right this minute. I'm out of the loop. Way, way waaaaay out of the loop. I don't even know where to start looking for new music anymore, and I don't want to become one of those amazon groupies who looks for music guides put together by other people. That's it then. That's what's so scary about being in this situation. I've lost my musical identity and in my vulnerable state it's too easy to simply adopt someone elses. Identity.

Maybe this fear runs deeper than music. Maybe I've always been afraid of losing my individuality and thus have always pushed others away who had strong personalities of thier own until I could fully establish my own personality. Maybe on some level everyone is afraid of losing their identity and act to protect it with behavior that appears irrationally fearful of something not directly connected to their original fear.

w33d and all things g00d 12/31/05

Subject : w33d and all things g00d
Posted Date: : Dec 31, 2005 1:28 AM

the romance of the plant continues like a salty porn novel. i dont need it. by no means do i actually need anything to feel good about myself. Im already exploding with more confidence than a penis in a vacuum cleaner hose. the connection to the plant goes deeper to a more sensitive area of my brain than simple confidence. the plant touches my emotions like a muse. a muse of warm confusion.

even if im not able to become a writer and my back up plan of being a high paid professional counter culture male "escort" fails i will still have the plant to romance me in the hard times. i may have to move out of the country to get it cheaper, but for my green lady it would be worth it.

in the best case scenario she'll be my one in a moon mistress and will hopefully complete a sweet threesome with me and my girl friend completing the other two points of the love triangle.

they say all good things come to an end, but we'll just have to wait and see. what no one ever talks about is what happens when the good things end... and having thought about it, i really dont care as long as there is something - someone to see/do on the other side - when "all the good things come to an end" i at least hope there will be someone around who has the means to roll a fucking ridiculous joint and that someone has space in their cipher for me.