I have a hard enough time sleeping at home, let alone sleeping in other places. Always believing I am going to be raped again for passivity or robbed or worse. They're coming for you. They always are, it's just that sometimes you get to see them coming and sometimes you do not.
I'm not afraid of death. That's silly. Everyone dies. Everyone suffers. I've gifted you the daylight hours so stay out of my evening. Is simple enough to say. Much more complicated to live by. Why is it necessary? A matter of control? To an extent. A matter of provocation? Also, to an extent. Consider it a dictation of terms.
If I am to die, let it be beneath a sun. That's not asking too much. Constantly hunted, can a body be blamed for wanting a reversal of roles? Outfoxed the ghosts.... this time.... not really. Still outside. Every time I open my front door they're there. Monsters underneath the bed, if you will. Acceptable terms of endearment.
I don't understand. Call me atheist or call me fractured. Or call me by my name so that I know you are and are not a glitch trip. I'll appreciate it. I may not say so, but I'll appreciate it. I may not say so because I know they're listening too and watching too and it took them some years to be vocal as they are and a division had to come or risk carrying on with, for lack of a better term, phantoms.
Paranoia has been nibbling. I've been thinking very long and very hard about a reasonable solution. What we came to was, this year, we will wear a straw woven hat. It'll look good on me. And that's something! Something to roll on with.
No one means to stand watch all night. Everyone breaths a little easier knowing another one has passed and the weapons can be laid down again because the sun is a very very very reliable and undeniable night light.
///Sneaker Pimps - "Wife By Two Thousand" mr. noename
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
Showing posts with label sneaker pimps. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sneaker pimps. Show all posts
10/4/12
Dogging It and the Winter Manifesto
Yep, I have been dogging it, for lack of artistic direction. I've become consumed with the immediate and unable to find the magic, the whimsy. The press of culture has been stifling. The pressure of fitting into some kind of God damned role has been palpable, or I should say, more palpable than in past weeks and months and years even. I keep looking up and asking myself if this is all there is and I have been pounding my fist on the table with six empty chairs around it and rattling nothing more than my own glass.
There is no such thing as a dry spell. I know it is all still there, still pouring, still palpitating. What I want to get at, however, is after the flow. I am storing metaphor and analogy and analysis, but not having tapped the vein I want I have limbs dying for overdose and infection. "Eating heroin is one thing, but injecting it is another." Probably the funniest thing I heard this year. The funniest admonishment. It burns my ass sometimes to hear people complain about things that are fairly simply resolved. Hilarious in some ways. Met up with a friend of mine at the local hole and he told me about another friend who had a fiberglass, nuclear white, road bike.
Turned out the guy was high as fuck on mescaline and out for a joy ride and he rode with him up to his place and the guy just housed the hill there. Should I feel bad for feeling inspired?
I've (enter apostrophetics) been dogging it none the less. I can't describe the feeling. If you've ever read the phantom tollbooth you know what the love affair of language can be like. Sometimes she wears lace. Sometimes he wears the same lace the last time you had to suck him off for a solid hour because he lied about not jerking off before he came over and you found out second hand from his other friend he was banging beers back with before he decided to ring you up and now your neck hurts when you tip your head backward to drink water the morning after.
The point is, he doesn't realize you would be more than happy to throttle his neck the same and watch his eyes start to pop out until they turned back and up into his eyelids and the tears ran down your hands because that's what gets you off.
And that just turned way angry and too honest. I don't know. I can't speak to human engineering because I don't know enough, but I absolutely believe that engineering can be trumped by training. The problem and the pitfall is the belief and extrapolation from that idea that training can be unlearned. Somehow the incorporation, the building of the structure can be as easily or possibly as difficulty and painstakingly deconstructed. The question arises: if you have 24 years of programming and construction and habituation built into your psyche, how many years will it take to reprogram, reconstruct, repurpose, and rehabilitate those patterns into new ones? If it takes, just drawing cards from my own deck of experience, twenty minutes to demolish a level 3 Revell GT 500 painstakingly constructed over two weeks, it should be fairly easy. That's my deck.
It's been hard. Real hard. Violently hard. Violently happy. To the point where people know me well enough that I have to actively push away opportunities to ...I'm not a destroyer. But I know I am. I know I can be a creator too. I used to be. I used to create willy nilly and I still do, but the work goes into that. The creating. The destruction comes naturally. I'm not a big guy by any stretch, but I never thought five years ago I would ever be comfortable popping someone's eye with my thumb. Yeah, it was salty. Not good salty either. Like, I do not know how to describe it. It was like the saline was an afterthought. I did not realize, at all, how much energy I was burning to be, but I've felt the exhaustion of it, of late. It's been taxing. Who to tell what and how much. I'm rambling.
I know. I have been dogging it. Not on the low roads though. I'm kind of surprised some times how easy it's been. Violence as language. I think the Auralport has been a lot of language as violence. Which is a start, but not enough of a start. There's no point in conquest you can't talk about. No entryway. No friends. I just laughed saying that out loud. I am not an animal. I build models with tweezers. Still do. I suppose that is not making me any less creepy. I have fallen off. Maybe fallen in to. Something. Fighting fair is a sad man's game.
I am not an animal, but I am trying to work my way back to the human side of the master equation.
And so I present to you the Winter manifesto:
Do good. Do not just be better within yourself, because that is not enough. Be better within, and for, others sake. Do not just see stars, but see horses and do not steal them, only enjoy their being and watch and maybe tip a hat to that wilderness, but do not beg to be the center. Do not fight this winter, for any reason. Physically. Because you have one body and one set of knuckles and you have enough years on them to make making it past forty a probability instead of a certainty. Lose no more fractions of teeth. Put together your works and compose for compositions sake alone because recognition is fool's gold and the short path to the quitter's raga. Be bright and not literally, but for light's sake. Be motivated and train and not for the sake of preparations for conflict, however, be prepared to defend yourself, and only in defense cause a mother fu$$ing ruckus. Finish the twenty thousand words to your book you left hanging two years ago. No Damoclesean swords. Less reference. Clearer analogy. And I don't know how much further I should take it because I've already stepped into the boundary between what I know I can do and what I know I know I may not be able to do.
The Winter manifesto is this: take it head on and do not fear the cool.
The trees talk to me in summer, at night when the moon is out. I am looking forward to their silence and the peace of the death of the ground beneath my feet. I am looking forward to reclaiming the night that I leased to the summer and all her passerby and the bullshit.
I survived another season. I know the next two will be beautiful.
Redesigns coming soon.
///Sneaker Pimps - "How Do" I grew up on sneaker pimps. through the conflict years. them, massive attack, and floyd, and disco. and the orb.
There is no such thing as a dry spell. I know it is all still there, still pouring, still palpitating. What I want to get at, however, is after the flow. I am storing metaphor and analogy and analysis, but not having tapped the vein I want I have limbs dying for overdose and infection. "Eating heroin is one thing, but injecting it is another." Probably the funniest thing I heard this year. The funniest admonishment. It burns my ass sometimes to hear people complain about things that are fairly simply resolved. Hilarious in some ways. Met up with a friend of mine at the local hole and he told me about another friend who had a fiberglass, nuclear white, road bike.
Turned out the guy was high as fuck on mescaline and out for a joy ride and he rode with him up to his place and the guy just housed the hill there. Should I feel bad for feeling inspired?
I've (enter apostrophetics) been dogging it none the less. I can't describe the feeling. If you've ever read the phantom tollbooth you know what the love affair of language can be like. Sometimes she wears lace. Sometimes he wears the same lace the last time you had to suck him off for a solid hour because he lied about not jerking off before he came over and you found out second hand from his other friend he was banging beers back with before he decided to ring you up and now your neck hurts when you tip your head backward to drink water the morning after.
The point is, he doesn't realize you would be more than happy to throttle his neck the same and watch his eyes start to pop out until they turned back and up into his eyelids and the tears ran down your hands because that's what gets you off.
And that just turned way angry and too honest. I don't know. I can't speak to human engineering because I don't know enough, but I absolutely believe that engineering can be trumped by training. The problem and the pitfall is the belief and extrapolation from that idea that training can be unlearned. Somehow the incorporation, the building of the structure can be as easily or possibly as difficulty and painstakingly deconstructed. The question arises: if you have 24 years of programming and construction and habituation built into your psyche, how many years will it take to reprogram, reconstruct, repurpose, and rehabilitate those patterns into new ones? If it takes, just drawing cards from my own deck of experience, twenty minutes to demolish a level 3 Revell GT 500 painstakingly constructed over two weeks, it should be fairly easy. That's my deck.
It's been hard. Real hard. Violently hard. Violently happy. To the point where people know me well enough that I have to actively push away opportunities to ...I'm not a destroyer. But I know I am. I know I can be a creator too. I used to be. I used to create willy nilly and I still do, but the work goes into that. The creating. The destruction comes naturally. I'm not a big guy by any stretch, but I never thought five years ago I would ever be comfortable popping someone's eye with my thumb. Yeah, it was salty. Not good salty either. Like, I do not know how to describe it. It was like the saline was an afterthought. I did not realize, at all, how much energy I was burning to be, but I've felt the exhaustion of it, of late. It's been taxing. Who to tell what and how much. I'm rambling.
I know. I have been dogging it. Not on the low roads though. I'm kind of surprised some times how easy it's been. Violence as language. I think the Auralport has been a lot of language as violence. Which is a start, but not enough of a start. There's no point in conquest you can't talk about. No entryway. No friends. I just laughed saying that out loud. I am not an animal. I build models with tweezers. Still do. I suppose that is not making me any less creepy. I have fallen off. Maybe fallen in to. Something. Fighting fair is a sad man's game.
I am not an animal, but I am trying to work my way back to the human side of the master equation.
And so I present to you the Winter manifesto:
Do good. Do not just be better within yourself, because that is not enough. Be better within, and for, others sake. Do not just see stars, but see horses and do not steal them, only enjoy their being and watch and maybe tip a hat to that wilderness, but do not beg to be the center. Do not fight this winter, for any reason. Physically. Because you have one body and one set of knuckles and you have enough years on them to make making it past forty a probability instead of a certainty. Lose no more fractions of teeth. Put together your works and compose for compositions sake alone because recognition is fool's gold and the short path to the quitter's raga. Be bright and not literally, but for light's sake. Be motivated and train and not for the sake of preparations for conflict, however, be prepared to defend yourself, and only in defense cause a mother fu$$ing ruckus. Finish the twenty thousand words to your book you left hanging two years ago. No Damoclesean swords. Less reference. Clearer analogy. And I don't know how much further I should take it because I've already stepped into the boundary between what I know I can do and what I know I know I may not be able to do.
The Winter manifesto is this: take it head on and do not fear the cool.
The trees talk to me in summer, at night when the moon is out. I am looking forward to their silence and the peace of the death of the ground beneath my feet. I am looking forward to reclaiming the night that I leased to the summer and all her passerby and the bullshit.
I survived another season. I know the next two will be beautiful.
Redesigns coming soon.
///Sneaker Pimps - "How Do" I grew up on sneaker pimps. through the conflict years. them, massive attack, and floyd, and disco. and the orb.
4/3/07
all up ins 04/03/07
Subject : all up ins & all up ons
Posted Date: : Apr 3, 2007 7:03 PM
my thoughts are all over the place. they are as follows:
sorry, been away for a bit. it happens. anyway... i saw the trailer for the new transformers flick. the new trailer... and i know the movie is going to be terrible in some way that i havent thought of yet. how do i know this? because tyler durden know this? no. because its coming out on the fourth of july. nothing good ever comes out on the fourth of july with that many explosions in it. period. and if it is good... it is always over shadowed by the powerfully... movingly... tear jerkingly bad films. now i dont mind if it has a bad script. my life has a bad script but im not about to commit suicide. i will mind if it has nothing to do with the transformers universe. whoever directed it better show some 'spect to the real transformers fans.
on another note. i may have to cut my long luxurious locks. yes it is true. i didnt even look up the correct spelling for that high falutin way of saying hair. i also did not look up the spelling for that stuffy way of saying over rought. i dont care. i know im going to miss my hair a great deal, but part of me will very much enjoy being able to wash my hair with a mere palmful of shampoo instead of the usual 1/8th of a bottle. itll be soooooooo nice to feel the wind on my scalp again... and just look different from how i've looked for the past four years. you'd be jumping out of your fuckin skull too if the only way you could change your appearance was by growing facial hair.
speaking of jumping out of your skull... whats with all the "check out my cam" people around here. i kind of figured this would happen eventually... but seriously... how much money are they really making? how come no one talks about it? its not like it isnt there. the whole thing is retarded. i could be a pornstar, but since there's no data out there how am i supposed to make an informed decision! what are the health benefits? annual income? how hard is it to find work? i know i thought about this before... but now im really curious since im being bombarded by this shit show non-stop. anyway. whatever. life moves on...
to my next thing. im really not sure what im going to do once i get this degree that ive had to practically kill for. i dont want to teach little little kids because they dont want to learn. the ones that want to learn ar e so few and far between i feel like it wouldnt even be worth it to try to teach tiny kids. i'm thinking im going to have to gun for highschoolers because they, or at least more of them, will understand the importance of doing their homework and paying attention... and i could yell at them without them wetting their pants or offending their parents. the military is out. my ankles suck from too much abuse and i know i wouldnt pass a military physical for that reason (among others). I've still yet to win a writing competition on my campus so i dont know if ill be able to be a successful writer either. so i mean... i cant kill things/people for a pension... i cant sell drugs and also be married... i cant teach little kids... and i probably will never be a kept man (no job security)... so it looks like highschool teacher will be it. that way i get to help people and also have summers to write the bazillion novels i have planned out.
the one im working on now is a spoof of donnie darko and american beauty. i keep readin over the storyline and im having a hard time convincing myself its worth writing. i think ill shelve it. i really wish i knew who liked reading my stuff and who thought it was a big lot of shit. oh well.
gonna be 22 soon. here's to not dieing =)
as my closing argument i would like to say that i like feet. cute toes are awesome. my girlfriend has cute toes. they're absolutely precious. so the problem, of course is that in warm weather everyone starts wearing open toed shoes and it gets kind of awkward for me. yeah. really. it does. its like seeing everyone in their swim suits and it really does bother me to a degree. its frustrating... but it also ties back to what i originally said about images of an ideal. everyone carries images in their minds... and the reason why we say this person or that person is attractive is because they fit those images as closely as one can find. what makes two people attracted to eachother, as my theory goes, is the reciprocity of image discovery. so for me... a person who looks at women from bottom to top it gets frustrating seeing reflections of ideals so incredibly incomplete, but it is also so comforting to know that the closest match from toe to head is the person i love. sorry if thats not the case for you. i always feel a little guilty effusing about love to ppl who may not be so fortunate or just outright screwed to not be in a mostly happy situation with a significant other.
p.s. my feet smell. actually its my flip-flops. but still. guross.
p.p.s. when i cut my hair im going to turn it into a wig which i will wear at the earliest and most hillariously convenient moment.
///sneaker Pimps - "think harder" i feel like this song is one of the most organic tracks i've heard in a while. by organic i dont mean completely random and frothy with fractals and rainbows and moss. by organic i mean the song generates images and sensations of pulsations that induce in my body the urge to dance in a very swarthy, sweaty, hip grindy, breathy, kind of way. when i hear this song i feel like im inside the beating heart of some enormous whale and the party is gonna go all night.
Posted Date: : Apr 3, 2007 7:03 PM
my thoughts are all over the place. they are as follows:
sorry, been away for a bit. it happens. anyway... i saw the trailer for the new transformers flick. the new trailer... and i know the movie is going to be terrible in some way that i havent thought of yet. how do i know this? because tyler durden know this? no. because its coming out on the fourth of july. nothing good ever comes out on the fourth of july with that many explosions in it. period. and if it is good... it is always over shadowed by the powerfully... movingly... tear jerkingly bad films. now i dont mind if it has a bad script. my life has a bad script but im not about to commit suicide. i will mind if it has nothing to do with the transformers universe. whoever directed it better show some 'spect to the real transformers fans.
on another note. i may have to cut my long luxurious locks. yes it is true. i didnt even look up the correct spelling for that high falutin way of saying hair. i also did not look up the spelling for that stuffy way of saying over rought. i dont care. i know im going to miss my hair a great deal, but part of me will very much enjoy being able to wash my hair with a mere palmful of shampoo instead of the usual 1/8th of a bottle. itll be soooooooo nice to feel the wind on my scalp again... and just look different from how i've looked for the past four years. you'd be jumping out of your fuckin skull too if the only way you could change your appearance was by growing facial hair.
speaking of jumping out of your skull... whats with all the "check out my cam" people around here. i kind of figured this would happen eventually... but seriously... how much money are they really making? how come no one talks about it? its not like it isnt there. the whole thing is retarded. i could be a pornstar, but since there's no data out there how am i supposed to make an informed decision! what are the health benefits? annual income? how hard is it to find work? i know i thought about this before... but now im really curious since im being bombarded by this shit show non-stop. anyway. whatever. life moves on...
to my next thing. im really not sure what im going to do once i get this degree that ive had to practically kill for. i dont want to teach little little kids because they dont want to learn. the ones that want to learn ar e so few and far between i feel like it wouldnt even be worth it to try to teach tiny kids. i'm thinking im going to have to gun for highschoolers because they, or at least more of them, will understand the importance of doing their homework and paying attention... and i could yell at them without them wetting their pants or offending their parents. the military is out. my ankles suck from too much abuse and i know i wouldnt pass a military physical for that reason (among others). I've still yet to win a writing competition on my campus so i dont know if ill be able to be a successful writer either. so i mean... i cant kill things/people for a pension... i cant sell drugs and also be married... i cant teach little kids... and i probably will never be a kept man (no job security)... so it looks like highschool teacher will be it. that way i get to help people and also have summers to write the bazillion novels i have planned out.
the one im working on now is a spoof of donnie darko and american beauty. i keep readin over the storyline and im having a hard time convincing myself its worth writing. i think ill shelve it. i really wish i knew who liked reading my stuff and who thought it was a big lot of shit. oh well.
gonna be 22 soon. here's to not dieing =)
as my closing argument i would like to say that i like feet. cute toes are awesome. my girlfriend has cute toes. they're absolutely precious. so the problem, of course is that in warm weather everyone starts wearing open toed shoes and it gets kind of awkward for me. yeah. really. it does. its like seeing everyone in their swim suits and it really does bother me to a degree. its frustrating... but it also ties back to what i originally said about images of an ideal. everyone carries images in their minds... and the reason why we say this person or that person is attractive is because they fit those images as closely as one can find. what makes two people attracted to eachother, as my theory goes, is the reciprocity of image discovery. so for me... a person who looks at women from bottom to top it gets frustrating seeing reflections of ideals so incredibly incomplete, but it is also so comforting to know that the closest match from toe to head is the person i love. sorry if thats not the case for you. i always feel a little guilty effusing about love to ppl who may not be so fortunate or just outright screwed to not be in a mostly happy situation with a significant other.
p.s. my feet smell. actually its my flip-flops. but still. guross.
p.p.s. when i cut my hair im going to turn it into a wig which i will wear at the earliest and most hillariously convenient moment.
///sneaker Pimps - "think harder" i feel like this song is one of the most organic tracks i've heard in a while. by organic i dont mean completely random and frothy with fractals and rainbows and moss. by organic i mean the song generates images and sensations of pulsations that induce in my body the urge to dance in a very swarthy, sweaty, hip grindy, breathy, kind of way. when i hear this song i feel like im inside the beating heart of some enormous whale and the party is gonna go all night.
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