How funny would it be to wake up in your own car in the middle of the early morning after accidentally blowing your steering wheel airbag into your face the night before tinkering with the switches and wiring around the wheel?
The thought crossed my mind, walking home from the local store to buy smokes and chips. Almost as good as chips and ice cream. When I feel horrible, I prefer cigarettes because they make me feel a little less horrible without making me wish I felt an unsustainable joy derived from ice creams sweet and cooling goodness. If only anyone could always be that smooth, creamy, and soothing all the way down to the belly. The thought crossed my mind after walking away from my truck to go buy some comfit after I noticed my fuel gauge was malfunctioning and realizing the problem's solution was going to cost me at least $120 and 10 to 20 hours of labor at worst and 20 to 40 hours of labor, learning, trial and error, and no dollars at best.
I kept chuckling thinking about how angry I felt. I kept chuckling thinking about reaching under the seat for my hatchet, letting out a bloody war cry, and smashing the wheel to pieces. Only then, ditching the hatchet, pulling and tearing wires out of it with my bare hands until the airbag exploded and shoved one of my closed fistful of wires straight into my face and I basically ended up knocking myself out cold with a rocket powered fist to the dome. Then waking up the next day with a deployed airbag, swollen knuckles, one hell of a headache, and one hell of a fist shaped bruise between my eyes.
Part of the reason for the rage is that I finished fixing another small problem with a steep learning curve and dozens of hours of labor and learning rolled inside only days before. The truck is not falling apart around me, though it feels that way sometimes. The problems are routine problems and I wish I could take it in for routine maintenance instead of d.i.y. desperation weekends. The other part of the reason for the anger is that if I were paid more in line with my actual skills and level of higher learning, I could shrug, say "okay", and rent a car tomorrow while my truck sat in a shop for an afternoon.
Living near the bottom of the middle class is deceptive. Bottom of the middle class, top of the lower class. Living in the region can be deceptive if you have some imagination, some confidence, some helpful friends, and some ingenuity. I have a one bedroom apartment with a closet bath/shower and mini kitchen. If I take away all of the furniture a friend gave, all of the furniture I built, and all of the furniture I found on curbs or being given away by strangers, I have cinder blocks, two folding chairs, one of those university lobby lounge chairs, a sheet of particle board, and an end table. Remove every worldly possession, so to speak, and there'd be a truck parked outside, a few pots and pans and plates, a desktop and pair of monitors, a console, a found tv, a few books and magazines, some shoes and goodwill clothes and multipack tees, some mechanical gadgets, some home and auto repair tools, and a printer and phone.
Imagination allows me to see what can be and holds the hand of ingenuity to find ways to make it happen. Call it humility or call it living within your means or call it mining gold or a hobby, thrift stores are one of the keys to forgetting that you are part of the working poor. The cream of the lower class. Keeping good friendships is a huge part of the puzzle. Without them, my life easily fits inside a 10' by 10' cell with a hole in the ground to eliminate and a spigot somewhere to drink and bathe. Part of the anger stems from those parameters.
I have been heavily detoured. Charging along the roads as quickly as possible in an effort to get back on some kind of track while wasting as few years as possible is frightening. I ask myself what will happen if I miss a black on orange florescent sign letting me know my next turn is coming three turns from now and the sign at the third turn was never erected so commit this one to memory. First and final warning. The reason why it does not feel fair to me is because it is not fair.
I continue to consider the many branches not followed that have lead here, fighting for time to write. I began to believe my father was trying to teach me a lesson about his pain all along and I am finally beginning to understand it, but I will not be able to understand until I am 48 or 50 or whatever his age was when I stopped talking to him. Before that thought grew too large, I remembered he hasn't the subtlety or emotional imagination to allow him to pull that off. I can see where some of his resentment stemmed from. Losing all of the prime years of life and talent at the cutting edge of art, design, and martial arts bad-ass-ery to childcare. Who wouldn't be a lot angry all of the time. Though extremely dissimilar in their divination (did you see what I did there), the results are similar. Cut away opportunities, trim an effective gesture here, clip a nudge there, ....
... I don't know. I do not know why I never got the same support. It would not have taken much. Some days I am alright never knowing. Some days it all comes to a head staring at your broken fuel gauge and doing the right thing and getting the hell out of the car without slamming the door and spinning 180 degrees to put your fist through the window and slash your own tires. The world could've been miles from now.
I could be writing about my third year working as a librarian somewhere and moaning about coding database systems and dealing with angry patrons and making time for dates between writing short stories and working on my two part novel about warfare and keeping up to date on my space opera hopeful crown jewel I'm still searching out an editor for, however the third poetry anthology is going pretty great. I'm tearing out the kitchen in parts on my down time when I get tired of writing and it should be finished in another week or two.
Today felt like opposite day. Loading my truck up with bale after bale of carpet, a refridgerator door, water logged drywall, a cane and broken umbrella, armfuls of empty paint cans, a screen door, and three dozen other pieces of jetsam from the home I'm renovating's previous occupants, it was opposite day. What I was doing should be my hobby. I should be putting that sweat and blood and cuss into my own home, not someone else's. When I go home I should be thinking about what I am going to tear down and visit the hardware store to work on next. When I go home I should not be thinking about what I can write next that can be packed into the time it takes to shut my body down to hit the hammers and brushes and trash bags and saws again.
As much as I love working with my hands, I could find a way to work with my body in the face of an occupation that demanded I not.
"You're poor! You're poor! You're poor! You're poor! Do not be deceived; you're poor!"
Independent life is a horror show and funhouse of mirrors broken and whole. I am staying positive.
What brought me back to a semblance of balance is remembering that the day is still young. Independent life is 5 years old. Five. Five years ago you started stepping outside of your cell. A year or two later you walked down a hallway and into a cafeteria. A few months later you learned there was a yard and no time restrictions. A few months later you found a gate into another yard. It's getting larger and larger as long as you do not screw it all up and have your privileges revoked. All of the time you lost will be compounded by the time you spent finding a way back out.
No one pays you what you're worth unless you have the paper to create the market. Or the portfolio and charisma, in lieu of paper. Portfolio and charisma is an absolute "and" statement. The one and not the other turns into a luck base number system. I will never know my actual value. Maybe that is the worst of it? I will never know if I am being over paid or under paid, valued appropriately or not. The optimist inside, the petitioner, tells me that if and only if we suffer for as much time as we spent pursuing the degree, our penance will be met with paper if and only if we are gracious through our turbulent era. The eros inside whispers about penance through joyful degradation, The musician adds another kick drum, knocking over cymbal stands. The child snaps crayons in half so both hands can draw at once inside the same lines.
It is difficult not to fantasize about getting my degree in the mail, tearing it in half, driving to their house, and suffocating them to death in turn, each by half, with a wad of paper. That would be thoroughly satisfying.
What are you supposed to do when the toys you want to play with are above the grade you are licensed for? What are you supposed to do when what you are allowed to do you can do very well, but the ceiling is opaque and the sounds coming through it are not in a language you can or maybe will ever understand? Maybe I am paid exactly what I am worth. If I have reached my ceiling and given no indication that I am prepared for or understand in the slightest or am equipped for beyond that ceiling, I am paid exactly what I am worth.
That's frightening. Also true. Harrowing.
Sometimes I understand that I'm getting too fixated on true freedom. I get a taste of working something I can enjoy to support the writing habit and expect everything else to fall in line. There's a luck element to it, that I cannot unlock through work or optimism or faith or trust. That operates on its own time table. If I do win the lottery, I will take out full page ads in major cities for the hell of it, but only once.
Part of me continues to say it is not supposed to be this hard to make massive uncertainty and day to day, week to week, at best month to month living a thing of the past. My state is, however, that fragile. At the ripe old age of at least 1/3 dead the best I can do for myself is knowing I have at least a month to figure out a new lowline. Fear the high lines because you know a low line is around the corner... ....what to do when you are following low lines? High lines have to be engaged. My spider sense is not tingling. Shake the wrong tree and a warship mine may fall out of it, let alone a tank or soldier sized one. The other story of America. Every body wants to be a cat. If you have enough money you can do whatever you want to. Not that much money. I mean enough money to swap cars, or pick up and move, or add and subtract clothing, or change lighting, or paint colors, flip what you walk on, change shoes when you feel like it, add and subtract channels, modify whatever you want to when the moment strikes you, eat out, order drinks for other people, pay for other peoples gas, buy extra fresh fruit. It's nice.
I am still going to try to brew my own beer this summer. Do not give me that horseshit "God works in mysterious ways" because chance does too. The only thing better than chance is ingenuity, and the only thing more important and better than ingenuity is imagination.
I am trying to stay positive with some success. Frustration and rage are part of being us. Born here? Sure. From here? No. I've missed you. Don't lose touch. If you ever need to talk, do not forget my ear. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.I love you.Iluvu.Ilvu.Iu.U.I.
We'll get this thing sorted out. We have a lot of time ahead of us, like it or not, we do.
Do not quit.
You have the rest of your life to make that decision.
It is opposite day, okay?
It is not wasted time.
Opposite day.
Time becomes more valuable as it accumulates.
Okay. I am
with you. Agreeing to never throw hands up in frustration. Agreeing to ride it as long as there is still track in front. Agreeing to dance as long as there is a beat to dance to, be it from within or without. I am okay with you as long as your are
okay. With me.
///Aesop Rock - (Gun for the Whole Family) ~ i've missed you for a very long time. things got bad. things were getting bad. i had to remember that they weren't as bad as they'd been. we're working toward a utopia of coexistence. we're not there yet, but damn sure we're going to keep on trying while helping lay the ground works and maps and blue prints for the next iteration of our being.
/
//
///Alanis Morissette - (Thank You) ~ passive mobile adaptable armor.
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 strays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label strays. Show all posts
3/29/14
Reel
Sometimes I wonder if it's real. Outside and inside at the same time. Odd shifts. I can explain them, but explanation goes so far. I still want, to the point of near desperation, to cut you apart and examine the individual pieces. It can be done. There is never a good time for it. It has to be a final project or at least somewhere near final. Very close to final before another change.
The hardest part is finding a reasonable candidate. We can do it. It is far from impossible. Especially if it is the beginning of a stout library. There's no foul there. Storage space must be brought into consideration. On top of that is figuring out how to pay for capacity because storage space is worth gold by volume, plain and simple and the library will be extensive.
The other question being the simple fact that availability will be a major issue. Think it through. There's no impossible in "can't." There is some cant in can't though. Cannot get too canted because nothing flies right canted. All the control surfaces get way off and then holding the stick upright leads to poor action. We're gonna need a lot of jars. Like a fuck ton. Jars are cheap though and so is water. Things are going to rot, but that's fine. Lids contain stank. That's really good. It's not beyond our capacity so that's good too. Temporary storage. I still need more practice and it is an unfortunate obstacle.
You have to be better about taking out the trash though. If you can't take out the trash how can I possibly trust you to store things properly? You can't. We both want this though and how hard do you work to make shit happen when it's only you on the line? That's not fair to me. At all. Fuck progress, stop short changing me. It's not fair, plain and simple, Mr. plain and simple, and you know that.
All I'm saying is, sit the fuck down, have a smoke, and think about it for a minute. How retarded would it be to buy two dozen mason jars at once? For two, you haven't really thought out the actual land routes or air routes yet. For three, you have not worked out the cash because last I checked gas still costs money. And for four, your exit strategy is ill formed at best. I'll throw a five in there because you're actually listening now so it's pretty much a one: you still have a lot of work to do. I know it's very... open ended... but you know what I'm talking about. Talk to me when you've actually got some shit laid down.
It's hard, difficult, to think with you shouting. It's not easy to know if it's real. Hard, but challenge accepted. I'm not sure about you. I don't like it. Othering. Too much othering. To be honest, I'm disappointed in you. You can do better. It's flummoxing. Diagnostics failure? Yes, for chryssakes, yes. How many different ways do I have to paint it? We were born different. We weren't. I'm nothing like you. I know. We are the same. No, we are not. Yes we are. NO, we are not. That is unacceptable.
///Goldie - "Dragon Fly" next to Fury, top ten. new music is great but i am happy to rewind the classics. songs i hope to someday play for my children. when theyre ready. when we get there.
The hardest part is finding a reasonable candidate. We can do it. It is far from impossible. Especially if it is the beginning of a stout library. There's no foul there. Storage space must be brought into consideration. On top of that is figuring out how to pay for capacity because storage space is worth gold by volume, plain and simple and the library will be extensive.
The other question being the simple fact that availability will be a major issue. Think it through. There's no impossible in "can't." There is some cant in can't though. Cannot get too canted because nothing flies right canted. All the control surfaces get way off and then holding the stick upright leads to poor action. We're gonna need a lot of jars. Like a fuck ton. Jars are cheap though and so is water. Things are going to rot, but that's fine. Lids contain stank. That's really good. It's not beyond our capacity so that's good too. Temporary storage. I still need more practice and it is an unfortunate obstacle.
You have to be better about taking out the trash though. If you can't take out the trash how can I possibly trust you to store things properly? You can't. We both want this though and how hard do you work to make shit happen when it's only you on the line? That's not fair to me. At all. Fuck progress, stop short changing me. It's not fair, plain and simple, Mr. plain and simple, and you know that.
All I'm saying is, sit the fuck down, have a smoke, and think about it for a minute. How retarded would it be to buy two dozen mason jars at once? For two, you haven't really thought out the actual land routes or air routes yet. For three, you have not worked out the cash because last I checked gas still costs money. And for four, your exit strategy is ill formed at best. I'll throw a five in there because you're actually listening now so it's pretty much a one: you still have a lot of work to do. I know it's very... open ended... but you know what I'm talking about. Talk to me when you've actually got some shit laid down.
It's hard, difficult, to think with you shouting. It's not easy to know if it's real. Hard, but challenge accepted. I'm not sure about you. I don't like it. Othering. Too much othering. To be honest, I'm disappointed in you. You can do better. It's flummoxing. Diagnostics failure? Yes, for chryssakes, yes. How many different ways do I have to paint it? We were born different. We weren't. I'm nothing like you. I know. We are the same. No, we are not. Yes we are. NO, we are not. That is unacceptable.
///Goldie - "Dragon Fly" next to Fury, top ten. new music is great but i am happy to rewind the classics. songs i hope to someday play for my children. when theyre ready. when we get there.
12/28/12
Redrum and Other Origins and Valuation
Is it wildly addictive, yeah of course. Does it change you? No not really. There's a certain amount of disappointment that comes with it. A certain amount of asking yourself questions that persist despite the time of day. It's a pretty weird thing. A confluence of circumstance and luck so thick I can talk about it now almost a year removed. Can you imagine sitting on anything for a year?
I tried to talk to my friend about it and she pretty much shut me out. That sucks. I did not anticipate at all how I would be re evaluated. That part of it has been hard to parse and it really has been across the board with each person I've shared it with, chosen to share it with. It's an odd difficulty but I can understand the rejection. I can understand it, but I don't have to accept it, I would like to think.
Do I feel better? Not really. Not as good as I thought I'd feel. Kind of reminds me of paint snuffling. Very short lived and very gorgeous and very forgettable, but so far away from everything enjoyable on a common basis. A rare sadness that presents some unforgettable joy. It's difficult to talk about. Because I know there are people missing her and all that. It's difficult to relate because on top of that there is the knowledge of the missing and maybe that's why I don't sleep so good these last years. Getting away without really getting away (heart in the floor kinda shit except ...)
The most difficult thing has been trying to relate this story without who I relate it to drastically reevaluating who I am as a person. I'm still the same. What's so difficult to understand about needing and finding practice? I understand that I am a very strange and enchanted boy and eventually luck runs out, but how does that mean love evaporates? Or should evaporate? How come once suddenly doesn't mean enough? I could understand trust lost. I could understand that. Total abandonment still stymies me. I don't care what you did or what you do. If I love you I love you. That's it. Where it starts and ends I guess. I think that's all I wanted in return. That's all. Step by stepped is what I got. Oh well. let's explore more. It's a big world and I've a small heart and there's a hell of a lot of music along the way. we'll see where this goes, but honestly i want more comedy. I don't think that's too much to ask. Trying to increase my value to others, you know? It is the first and last time I'll talk about it, so enjoy.
The Seatbelts - "Rain" - its a strange balance. even to me. the worst being that i dont know its been struck yet. knowing how i feel afterward i will try, but i cannot promise anything and i never will.
I tried to talk to my friend about it and she pretty much shut me out. That sucks. I did not anticipate at all how I would be re evaluated. That part of it has been hard to parse and it really has been across the board with each person I've shared it with, chosen to share it with. It's an odd difficulty but I can understand the rejection. I can understand it, but I don't have to accept it, I would like to think.
Do I feel better? Not really. Not as good as I thought I'd feel. Kind of reminds me of paint snuffling. Very short lived and very gorgeous and very forgettable, but so far away from everything enjoyable on a common basis. A rare sadness that presents some unforgettable joy. It's difficult to talk about. Because I know there are people missing her and all that. It's difficult to relate because on top of that there is the knowledge of the missing and maybe that's why I don't sleep so good these last years. Getting away without really getting away (heart in the floor kinda shit except ...)
The most difficult thing has been trying to relate this story without who I relate it to drastically reevaluating who I am as a person. I'm still the same. What's so difficult to understand about needing and finding practice? I understand that I am a very strange and enchanted boy and eventually luck runs out, but how does that mean love evaporates? Or should evaporate? How come once suddenly doesn't mean enough? I could understand trust lost. I could understand that. Total abandonment still stymies me. I don't care what you did or what you do. If I love you I love you. That's it. Where it starts and ends I guess. I think that's all I wanted in return. That's all. Step by stepped is what I got. Oh well. let's explore more. It's a big world and I've a small heart and there's a hell of a lot of music along the way. we'll see where this goes, but honestly i want more comedy. I don't think that's too much to ask. Trying to increase my value to others, you know? It is the first and last time I'll talk about it, so enjoy.
The Seatbelts - "Rain" - its a strange balance. even to me. the worst being that i dont know its been struck yet. knowing how i feel afterward i will try, but i cannot promise anything and i never will.
3/23/11
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"
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"
6/6/10
stray cats and dogs
as any stray will tell you "sometimes you eat the city and sometimes the city eats you". orrr well they could also say "sometimes you eat cat and sometimes you eat dog, but the important thing is to ... to uhm... eat ... something?" no that doesnt sound right. okay, starting over.
as any stray will tell you "sometimes you eat cat and sometimes you eat dog and sometimes animal control comes when you least expect it." the thing to remember though is to not use the word though too much cuz it links too many thoughts together into schemes that demand a certain countervailing quality of each other that is not always expressly present and can add a lot of processing time to otherwise simple conjunctions. the thing to really remember is that animal control's existence implies that animals cant control themselves. the challenge is to exert that control. the premise is that being a stray who is more often caged than free to roam can that control be reliably exerted. the conclusion is that it would make an interesting movie. the hook is what happens when the stray is permanently freed from the cage and are the cage wardens aware of what will happen.
well lets not go so far as to say will. every day of roaming is learning to control. where and where not to go. who and who not to talk to. what and what not to talk about. when to arrive and when to leave. and that learning cant happen from inside a room with one window, a floor cot, a bent desk, and more free weights than physical places to take my body with the strength they build. buuut i dunno im getting all muddy... am i really sure what will happen? not totally. but one thing i do know is we cant live if we're too afraid to die.
so i guess fire at will and from all sides. hunt the wounded, slay the dieing, and long live the god of all strays who lives neither by law nor moral. where did that come from? i dont know. in the pantheon of apparitions and visions im pretty sure ive seen him. maybe. philosophy has never been a strong point for me. probably a ticklish point. it smells here. sometimes your free to go, but to where?
how about enjoying the moment for once. there are times when i forget that moments are connected because i fight day and night for freedom from that chain and when i succeed everything turns into a beautiful and savory instant. the hard part is turning off the part of your brain that forces you into remembrance. i thought about crying the other day, but then i couldnt so i didnt. oh well. maybe this week is the week we finally get to meet each other for real?
///unkle - "safe in mind" not to start you off with another unkle track but if you listen to the end there is an excellent quote from the film "fallen" with denzel and john goodman (great movie in my opinion. dont let the budget fool you)
"I like the night. The street. The smells. The sense.. Of another world. Sometimes you come face to face with yourself" i wish i could show you through my eyes that the other world is.
but i still havent really explained where ive been. ive been gone, exploring, tracking, learning in other states. still no new home yet. im sorry i didnt tell you but a lot of bad things happened before i could get a chance to say a proper goodbye. but im back now sooo next time i go out to space ill let you know first.
well what the hell heres another one:
///dj danger mouse - "what more can i say" jayz's lyrics, beatles bricks, and danger's architecture. "we'll see what happens when i no longer exist."
as any stray will tell you "sometimes you eat cat and sometimes you eat dog and sometimes animal control comes when you least expect it." the thing to remember though is to not use the word though too much cuz it links too many thoughts together into schemes that demand a certain countervailing quality of each other that is not always expressly present and can add a lot of processing time to otherwise simple conjunctions. the thing to really remember is that animal control's existence implies that animals cant control themselves. the challenge is to exert that control. the premise is that being a stray who is more often caged than free to roam can that control be reliably exerted. the conclusion is that it would make an interesting movie. the hook is what happens when the stray is permanently freed from the cage and are the cage wardens aware of what will happen.
well lets not go so far as to say will. every day of roaming is learning to control. where and where not to go. who and who not to talk to. what and what not to talk about. when to arrive and when to leave. and that learning cant happen from inside a room with one window, a floor cot, a bent desk, and more free weights than physical places to take my body with the strength they build. buuut i dunno im getting all muddy... am i really sure what will happen? not totally. but one thing i do know is we cant live if we're too afraid to die.
so i guess fire at will and from all sides. hunt the wounded, slay the dieing, and long live the god of all strays who lives neither by law nor moral. where did that come from? i dont know. in the pantheon of apparitions and visions im pretty sure ive seen him. maybe. philosophy has never been a strong point for me. probably a ticklish point. it smells here. sometimes your free to go, but to where?
how about enjoying the moment for once. there are times when i forget that moments are connected because i fight day and night for freedom from that chain and when i succeed everything turns into a beautiful and savory instant. the hard part is turning off the part of your brain that forces you into remembrance. i thought about crying the other day, but then i couldnt so i didnt. oh well. maybe this week is the week we finally get to meet each other for real?
///unkle - "safe in mind" not to start you off with another unkle track but if you listen to the end there is an excellent quote from the film "fallen" with denzel and john goodman (great movie in my opinion. dont let the budget fool you)
"I like the night. The street. The smells. The sense.. Of another world. Sometimes you come face to face with yourself" i wish i could show you through my eyes that the other world is.
but i still havent really explained where ive been. ive been gone, exploring, tracking, learning in other states. still no new home yet. im sorry i didnt tell you but a lot of bad things happened before i could get a chance to say a proper goodbye. but im back now sooo next time i go out to space ill let you know first.
well what the hell heres another one:
///dj danger mouse - "what more can i say" jayz's lyrics, beatles bricks, and danger's architecture. "we'll see what happens when i no longer exist."
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