Fireflies for the Child In Me

I know I have to get back to writing.  I've been feeling sexual pins and needles, like a blanket in a dry room with a fireplace.  It's been a very confusing sensation.  Electric and warm and immaginary, though sensate.  The land of a half million new pairs of knit socks rubbed along a tightly curled rug by one million feet, except I feel that warmth running through my hips and arm pits and around my nips and ribs and the backs of my knees and my tailbone and right behind my ears.  For days.  I know I have to get back to writing.  I know this isn't what it feels like to not write.  I don't know what this sensation is, but I want to bury my mouth and eyes and nose in it and wrap my whole body up tight in it like a cigarillo, light the end, and pitch myself into a twinkling sunset from the lip of a bridge.  I will get back to writing.  The awareness of sexual solitary confinement is blitzingly real and oddly ember drift.

I want to watch and feel the fireflies depart with the breeze.  Little by one.  One by little.  Until the only light is from the evening sky and the threat of sunrise.  I think it is the only part of that spectrum I'll get to know and share with other people in a reasonable way.

Why not enjoy it?

Will you ever have sex again?  I don't know, but I hope it feels something like this.

What Makes You Laugh 4

I can't help chuckling, putting the coffee pot on and thinking about where the day is going to go and where this presidency is and that faint fog of dread that crawls along the ground these days.  To be clear, we all know how this story ends, right?  Regardless of if he actually helps a single person that actually needed it or makes lasting, real, improvements to any segment of the country that actually needed improvement, it goes like this:

In the waning days of his presidency, he will declare that he was the greatest president to ever overcome what he had to overcome for you, the hardworking, tax paying, glorious American citizen.  In the face of adversity, mountains of prejudice and discrimination to him and his family, unprecedented and unjustified scrutiny and opposition propaganda, and a congress of Democrats that refused to get out of the way of progress and reform and change, he worked tirelessly to make this country the greatest it has ever been since the days of the revolution and he will further declare that "haters gonna hate" and that history will tell the true testament of his tremendousness long after the fake facts have faded.  He will declare the war on terror to be a He will then proceed to throw absolutely everyone he can't use in his businesses under the bus for anything and everything that blew up in his face or turned out to be completely empty campaign gibberish lies and then walk off to one of his golf courses or towers, hopefully never to be heard from again with a half built, useless to begin with, wall as his lasting legacy.

I can't help chuckling because you know that's how it's going to go, right?  Dear god, please just don't let him end up on the motivational speaking tour... his ego, probably won't let him fade into obscurity though. Another thing that makes me laugh is this visual in my head of Donald as a kid with his arm jammed in the bottom of a vending machine absolutely thrilled he found a way to get what he wants out of it without having to risk tipping the machine over onto himself by rocking it, but not realizing just yet that he is stuck...

Sunrise

Every time you wake up in the grip of the fall out of another meltdown or with your palm against the window of your cell and everything you thought was real ashed away or grown so thick all you can see and smell is wilderness and locked trees and you have no sense of how and where it came to now or the roads and rivers that lead to here, do not forget that it may very well have nothing to do with you or anything you did.

Can't control every fragment of your consciousness.  Following routine.  Everything you were supposed to do, you did.  Everything designed to help and guide and control and nudge and suggest.  The end results can have nothing to do with anything you did or did not do.  Absolutely nothing.  It will not change how or where you wake up.  Where or how the sunrise will find you.  It will.  And you will.  And you must not hate yourself or blame yourself no matter how badly you want to and no matter how badly your nature tells you someone has to pay for all that is wrong.  Someone has to pay for this upside down world.  And that someone is you.  It isn't.

You cannot control every fragment of your consciousness.  Let the sun rise on a world rearranged over the course of one night, after you fought and rebuilt all that was misplaced and felled in the weeks before by the weeks before that when you believed "this time it is going to last, I know it, I can feel it," and start again.  It may stick this time.  It may not.  Do not fear that world.  Do not tear your eyes away and bury them in your hands.  Start again.  It's okay.  You did everything you could.  Now try to do it again...

Passports

Visitors are always welcome, but those passports expire same day.  It didn't always used to be that way, but the policy has grown out of necessity.  An offshoot of the "protection" arc.  Is it necessary?  Yes.  If you pick up nothing from the course of life you've never lived and one of the things I've picked up is the fact that passports should not be granted on a long term basis.  Complete citizenship.

I'm sure part of the passport policy's origin lies in mental dysfunction and it's many symptoms, but part of it also lies in a love for the ones worth loving and preventing them from being damaged by the many symptoms more numerous expressions.  If you do insist on being issued a passport I can only stand in your way for so long.  I used to go out of my way to issue them, until the activity bit me in the ass so hard I could not deny the recklessness with which I was stamping books.  So I stopped stamping books.

To help me and to help you.  I want nothing to do with you, not because I want nothing to do with you, but because I can have nothing to do with you.  It is, in all actuality, just actually, very simple.  Or not.  At least to me.  I don't understand what I have to offer you.  Further from that understanding, is getting that it is okay to have nothing to offer you explicitly.  I don't get it.  Guilty.  I still have yet to grasp that.  Does that make me wrong to reject closeness?

Fear of change?  Yeah, sure.  That's already established.  I hate change like I hate playing with a board of objects wired to voltage.  Why does this one shock me now when it didn't on the last go round.  Fucking scientists.  Fucking psychologists.  Fucking experiments.  I don't know what I'm supposed to say or what I am to do or is an acceptable response.  So I am myself and I worry if that self at that time is acceptable or not.  After the fact.  Paying forward to increased anxiety.

Everything a study.  Too plodding.  Too thorough.  And knowing letting go is an option.  Still and caged.  Not caged, but trying to figure out how to gift wrap appropriately.  Gift wrap in a way that will be received to expectation.

Visitors from other lands.  No one belongs here except the ones born here.  It's a simple fact that helps me make the most of my interactions.  It's an understanding that helps me make sense of where froms and how tos.  They could never live here and I could never live out there for too long.  The things chasing me to sleep.  Not over thinking it or taking on some stance of god failure or "waaah, no one gets me," just adding up without trying to be ridiculously deterministic.

What shines brightest are those willing to dive in and take the chance that I'm wrong, which is wholly possible, pending my own ability to give them a chance to do so and also pending on my ability to accept a "no" on whatever grounds they find necessary or pertinent or fact.  I'm not sure I'm ready to do the first yet and I damn sure am not ready for the second.

My heart is made of glass.  I know this.  My brain is made of glass too.  Which one is a person to trust less?  Beats the hell out of me.  Let's find out.  "You don't belong here.  What are you doing here?!  What is your objective??""




///Bowery Electric - "Electro Sleep"    a lull in the battle

Uncle Scar's Cross Dimensional Fortress

There are days of dread in trying to cross the bridge into dreamland.  Days when I've convinced myself everything will stay stable if I keep my eyes open.  Days when I'm afraid of putting on clothing, because once it's on, it cannot be turned off.

Some nights you just gotta take that slow breath and put on the helmet and close your eyes and wait for the assault craft to crash into the beach.  From the second the floor rumbles and rattles your teeth upon landfall to the instant the long range weapons open up is sleep.  In those moments, that very long blink, listening to the engines hum and forgetting where you are and where you're going, worlds congeal.  Cities twine together like muscles sliding over bones and lives burn into being like veins inside.  And then it all blows apart in the morning.  Crying face down and screaming and laughing at the same time.

Sometimes the most satisfying minutes are those early ones where the tears on cheeks are dried by the heat of combat and flames run high and blood runs.  They're the minutes where you know you know what you know and you know whatever happens next could be the next that changes everything.  I do not want that.  I think there are times people mistake free wheeling for extremely extensively planned.  The back up to the back up back up back up plan allows for flexibility that mimics carelessness.  Walk with the wind on your mind.

I think I'm done trying to be funny.  It never comes off right.  Days of dread.  Open your eyes.  No.  I've been mapping fantasy time lines across several sheets of paper and now there are twelve of them taped end to end.  There were twelve of them.  I got extremely upset about the inefficiency of the entire exercise and tore it apart.  And now there's packing tape everywhere packing tape need not be and a severe longing for a time machine to undo what I did because I did not take the time to think, the time to breath, before I took action.  To die with rage instead of rage is a win.

At some point the alarm goes off that the amount of blood you are losing will have a stiff impact on your ability to continue effective consciousness.  I suppose it was a bit disappointing to have someone I did not know all that well recommend something to me with the caveat "...if you like huffing you will love...".  Irregularities.  An overwhelming desire to remain on schedule.  I will follow you down.  Any deviation is unacceptable.

Protection is invaluable and hard to come by and harder still to compromise for any reason, but compromise is necessary and not without it's own value too.  We need to get back on mission.  An operation unto itself.  Obstacles have been attacked and sent down and the path is clearing to make a good run at the main objective and it feels good.  It feels really damn good.  What are all of those jars of piss for?  If I knew, they would be used already!  And frankly I do not appreciate the line of questioning.

Come play with us, Arthur.  That is not my name.  That is not my name.  That is not my name!  Stop calling me!  I do not know who that is!  We match, don't we?  Leave me the hell alone.  I need a whetstone.  Who doesn't?  I've been dying to put together a new theme tailor made to what I want to see and what I want others to see when they come here.  Sometimes we're struck unexpected again with the death of a friend.  I did not know him that well.  Am I wrong to be violently upset about it?  Years removed.

Sometimes I weigh how well or poorly my brothers and sisters know me.  The now me.  The today me.  Oddly enough, my brother in law may know me better than them.  It's difficult to contemplate.  Processing and it comes back not a number.  What do I actually know, though at the mouth of the bridge.  Do it for you.  I will get it working.  I have to.  Back up back up plans fly well at the interface and through interstice, but nearer toward the core they blow apart like tissue paper origami in a squall.  Get it right.  No will do, can do.  You're having a hard time, aren't you.  Nope, just downloading the patch.  The short that makes the radio turn on without having to turn the key because the battery is still good.

No gods, no kings, no high down, and for christ's sake no god damn rings.  Especially pinky rings.  Boosters on.  It is not me you have to worry about, it is the rest of me.  We have done life by committee pretty satisfactorily going on a decade and a half.  I see no reason to make sweeping changes just yet.  Obviously at some point we will run into the person, faced up, who does not get the joke, but deal with that when it arrives.  And by deal with that I mean make extensive back up plans now.

I am still going to make music this year.  We cannot not do it.  It has been too long already.  "...We're only in the first few minutes of the first of January..." we'll evolve.  Walk with the wind on your mind.  Let go.  Open the gate.  Do not be afraid to walk with the wind on your mind because you are not alone.




///Underworld - "Second Hand" gear up.  slingshot around the sun.

Money, Cash, Power, 'Spect... it's a Trap

I have been battling.  Not the usual demons.  Battling the allure of money and respect.  The two usually come in a dime pair.  And it's nice.  I recently realized I was using it's and its in the inverse of how they're supposed to be used because I rememorized a mnemonic device incorrectly.  One of those times when you say to yourself "yeah I remember that from elementary school," but your memory is actually completely backwards and remanufactured from parts and pieces of things that actually happened.  So I am trying to make an effort to reitify the memorization.  Only this time forwards.  Comma usage is still playing fast and loose like law dogs in westerns.  Anyway, been struggling with the potential for success.

Blowing the costs out of success way out proportion.  Thinking things like, well if I am successful how will I be able to live in an apartment that costs more to live in and is slightly smaller than the one I currently occupy?  The answer is: the extra money will be what you can apply to owning a runabout and getting out to other places so you'll be spending less time cooped up anyway.  But that's not the answer in my head.  In my reason, it is the answer.  In my head the answer reads more like... well you know.  I need not jump it that hard.

I guess with making more money I won't qualify for my hundred dollars of food stamps that has become less a mark of shame and more like "holy shit, it is the eighth of the month and time to buy all the foods I've been dying to buy for the other twenty days out of this month, jesus christ no more peanut butter and jelly and pasta."  The truth is I hate eating out.  With a passion.  Not because it costs more for no reason because for whatever reason tipping motivates service instead of service motivating service (I'm just incorrigibly service oriented) and for some reason getting what you pay for only applies in the food sector.   I hate eating out because I hate having people make food for me, as though I am somehow above making my own vittles and prone to being upset if said vittles aren't ready in five minutes or less.  I am a creature of patience.  Violent, violent patience.  I am content to wait very, very, long periods of time to get desired results...  ...sometimes quietly, sometimes silently, sometimes very loudly, but at the end of the day I will accept having to fold my hands for a time and wait out results, if not for seeing the fruits of my labor then for the reappearance of opportunities past or yet to come.  I did always like the tortoise.  Fast hands, slow feet, can't lose.

I practice making fists throughout the day.  Throwing fists.  I keep an eye on my footwork too.  I suppose maybe I am a little obsessive compulsive, but only toward the end of self preservation.  It was kind of hilarious, the job application for temporary day to day labor.  I believe it asked no less than eleven times if I though fighting was important, or if I thought the ability to win a fight was important, or if I thought the ability to defend one's self in a fight was valuable.  I answered the questions honestly and then accidentally scrapped the test (given with an inferior keypad interface, it really was an honest lucky mistake) and then asked the branch manager what was up with all the questions about fighting.  He clued me in and told me to answer no, not ever, for all the fighting questions regardless of experience or training or ability.  Apparently temp labors brawls are less the exception and more the rule.  Regardless, the upside of being conscious of how you place your feet on a moment to moment basis makes you less susceptible to slip and falls when you are focusing on other things.

Just one of those sorts of things I guess having to use your body as the foundation of your livelihood instead of your brain makes you conscious of.  I'm kind of inclined to go back to using my body more, but I wouldn't know where to start here.  This place kind of frowns on that, hilarious enough as it is probably two cuts above a slum, but I'm not here to argue.  One less trap.

Getting back to that though, I'm having some trust issues.  Massive ones.  Questions bouncing around.  "If you were me, with everything you have at your disposal would you say yes to the offer being given you from your mouth to me, me being you?"  Questions like that.  I don't really know when I'm being used.  I damn sure don't know when I'm being abused.  The not knowing hurts more than the knowing.  The discovery hurts more than both combined.  I don't know if people are or aren't, but I wish they would just tell me.  That's the upside of selling.  It's clean cut.  This is what's going to happen, this is why, and this is what it's going to cost you.  That is the danger of friends.  Nothing is clean cut like that.  That's probably why the people I count as friends has thinned so much.   That and just being a crazy fuck.  Laughing too loud.  Neighbors banging on walls.  Laughing harder.  Sigh.  It's good to be live.  Better to be alive.  I'm working on that.

Money, cash, power, and respect.  Everybody wants it.  I want to be money so I can get cash and be granted enough power to sway enough respect to buy some land and a home so I will have no need of money, cash, power, or respect and can just be.  There's no trap in that.

My stable of friends.  Wow.  I don't know.  That's a lie.  I do know.  I like to say I don't know so I can imagine it's larger than it is.  It's teensy.  Oh god, I just tried to rattle it off and got to four, counting family members. Is that even something I can fix?  Does it need fixing?  To that, I can honestly say I don't know.  If I stepped off my spaceship, when I do step off my spaceship, there are essentially four people who can relate to me, but who I can also relate to honestly and semi-openly... on a sit down basis.  Everything is open over the waves.  You can turn that off.  When you're with someone, you can't turn that off.  It's there.  I am there.  I want your eyes.  It's very different.  Sadly different.  World changingly different.  I think that's the nice thing that opens me up when I'm talking to you that I don't get to experience otherwise.  You can turn me off.  Unsubscribe.  Break up.   All that wonderful shit and I don't have to know and you don't have to know and we're just the same with or without eachother.  The beauty of.  The fantasia.  The crazy fucking nasty wonderful idea sex one night standiness of it all.  It's not always that.  But sometimes.   Whatever, it's fun.  Ive nothing to justify.  And everything to justify to myself.  I assume you realize we are arguing.

We've agreed we'll keep on because the dreams have been to die for.  They really have.  They've been the sorts of things a body could wish to never wake up from.  But, it's a trap, isn't it?  Maybe not.  Maybe I just have to accept that there are benevolent forces beyond myself.  People that don't know me, that don't want to punish me once they do get to know what I am.  People that don't want to me punish myself, that are trustworthy beyond a shadow of any doubt and worth more, in fact, than all the trust I could muster if I turned every cell toward the task.

a kid can dream.





///Gorillaz - "On Melancholy Hill" Five hours to get this out. Happy to put my thoughts to good use. Unhappy I couldn't do more. Bed and jobs beckon. can't wait til I'm a housewife with nothing to do but tend after bastards, count my government checks and bide the time until I'm raking in Rowling esque millions when I have nothing to do but write and feeding myself is last on my list of major concerns. So melancholied. So half finished. I wish I was sipping brew on a plastic beach.

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.

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.