Sometimes it feels as though I can do no right. What happened in my past lives to be cursed so? I lost a cat yesterday. I gave him everything he wanted. I gave him everything he needed and then some. It makes no sense. I can still feel him. I can still see bits of him in my vision. I can still smell him. His ears smelled like french toast sometimes. He was only about two years old. I have to remind myself that I didn't kill him. I wonder if I did perhaps by accident. I flushed my fish down the toilet a while back, but that was because I shouldn't have had them to begin with.
I thought I did pretty good with him. He was my chief officer on board my ship. The other guy was my first mate. The first mate has been promoted. I'm sure he didn't want to get his promotion that way. He keeps meowing constantly to call up the deceased. He doesn't understand that our chief officer is gone for good. I kind of don't understand it either. As soon as I touched him I knew he wasn't just sleeping. He was my cooking buddy. I'd meet him in the mess hall to talk about our course and how to squeeze a little more oomf out of the engines. He was my napping buddy too. My sleep in pal. He'd lay on my phone so I wouldn't have to hear it.
No, no, no, sweetie. Come back to me. I need you! My first mate needs you too. We had a good crew. Was the music too loud? Was the bass too heavy? Did I not keep the temperature high enough? I couldn't turn it up any higher. It made my nose bleed too much. What did I screw up? Who's going to wake me up in the morning now?
I thought about burning his body for a very long time. Give him up to the air and the stars. I'm giving him back to the city instead. It's where he came from. If I gave him to the stars, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. I am from there. He is not. He'll be home. I am glad our paths crossed. I do not know how to explain it to my first mate. If I spoke cat, I might be able to. I'm not sad. I am angry. Why didn't you tell me? Did you? Did I kill you? Involuntary manslaughter? Agent 001 Jack: K.I.A., Mr. Morton codename "Lauren": K.I.A., Chief Officer Torus: K.I.A., First Mate Boots "Hatswitch" Mustachio: T.B.D.
I am happy though. One of the last things I remember doing with him is letting him climb up my jean leg and hook his claws into my hoodie all the way up my back so he could get a good perch on my shoulder and ride around up there while I walked through the ship and pointed out the things he liked to sit on from the view of his colossus. We were a fabulous team. I thought we'd have more time to enjoy our voyage. He loved to sit in my lap while I wrote in my notebooks. He'd rub his face on the corners of the pages and make little wet nose prints on the backs of my hands and the paper.
Each week, each month, each year, I am trying to break the horse. I am trying to break myself and exercise control better than I did the year, the month, the week, before. Sometimes with success. Sometimes with failure. Some of the voices scream "somebody has to pay!!!" It is unreasonable. It is irrational. I want to cut you open so badly. I want to hook my hand into your mouth and press my fingertips underneath your tongue until the break through the skin behind your chin and rip as hard as I can and hear the sucking pop of your jaw breaking away from the rest of your skull and listen to you drown bleeding into your own esophagus. Somebody has to pay. I am trying to break that horse. I am trying not to hurt myself to show you what we want from you.
Happiness is fleeting. Pain endures. Pain is infectious as is happiness. I am not broken. I am tired of dealing with death. The horseman that rides with me. Our ghost army behind us. Having to continually modify not by choice, but necessity.
I know I have to use my words more. Not just more, but with greater frequency. I have to use art more to break the locks and the seizing to escape the killing fields. I have to pay more respect to the blast radius and recognize that it is not a game and if I take it too lightly, if I lull myself into believing it will sort itself out without careful and constant monitoring I will wake up too late and infection will spread far and wide defeating the entire purpose of closing the cycle of violence began a generation before my birth. I am trying to break myself. I am trying to limit myself. Meta-jail is real and I have to do my part too. You are there for a reason. You can manufacture happiness. The children are always present, do not listen to them, no matter what they say. While you've been ignoring it, the factory floor has been busy and now coming to that basement and seeing the stockpiles of things you only imagined existed my heart falls. Where the hell were you when the furnace fired again? Where the hell were you when the new blueprints were spread out and the flywheels started turning again? I tried. Try harder! This is not a game!
It is good that some mobility has been lost. There are those you cannot reach and it is good. It is important. Remember why you laugh, jackal. The freedoms you have were hard won, do not give them up easily. Do not give them up lazily. Take time. We have been patient and we will not shed it. A crew of two instead of three may not be so bad a thing as you imagine. The first mate will adjust and embrace his promotion, regardless of how it came about. Know that, do not say it, know it. You did not skin him. You do not wear him. He will be remembered. Bury the tools and keep an eye on us. I will. Somebody has to pay, but not today.
I took a long walk around the city. A very long walk. Control rage. You were born. Get over it. I was born on the twenty second of April in nineteen eighty five. Remember what you are doing. I was born into conflict. I was born into violence. I was born into love too. I was born onto a battlefield not of my own making and that is okay. That is alright. We learned, we grew, we got stronger, we learned how to kill and how to eat, how to feed ourselves, how to breath, how to hide, how to fight, how to see in the dark, how to trap, how to sleep, we learned and we grew. We learned our genealogy was a lost cause and our history before our time will never be mapped. We figured out the tree was a hangman's and the damage was already done well before we opened our eyes for the first time on Staten Island. We understood hunger and the sound of an empty stomach and the shiver. Do not forget the mission. Lay a road map for those that are coming after you are gone. Do not forget what it is you must fulfill. Even though your heart is kind of small you were built for something more. Embrace it. Learn the truth and love your life because you only get one shot at it.
Your shipmates will help you. Your inmates. Your internees. They will help you along the expedition through space and time. They are part of the fold, jackal. Use the words, not the weapons. The child will come and go. Supernature is simply part of the spectrum you were born with. They are not demons or angels or phantoms and errors. They are not only that, please stop crying sweetheart. You will die and you will take all of them with you and they will be gone for good too. That's okay. I don't know if Torus saw them too. I don't know if he felt them. I kissed him before I let him go. I rubbed his fur into my nostrils and ate some of his whiskers before I put him back in the trash where he came from. I hope you're happy you disparaged him saying he came from a dumpster. Pluto used to be a planet. We want to name a constellation after him.
I dislike my bad wiring so much. I know I cannot increase my strength, my power. I cannot be allowed to break down the electrified fences and razor wire atop. I cannot let it go. I cannot be allowed to make more money, it will turn into more combustion chambers, more cylinders, more lead, more trigger mechanisms, sights, and chemicals. More wires, dead man switches, boxes of nails and washers, nitrogen, ammonia, and springs. More casings and pellets and carpet knives. Bang on the left ear so it all falls out of the right ear. With greater knowledge comes greater responsibility and I am not sure I am to the task. We absolutely are. For the love of God, get the hell away from me.
Who massages your shoulders? Who plucks your eyelashes? Who sets your makeup? One gold tooth. Break that horse. Change those shoes. Wash those gloves. I need more power. No, you don't. I do! NO YOU DO NOT! Imagine the kingdom we could have. No. Do not lie to me. I am not lying.
I definitely wanted to become a musician. A composer. A librarian. To get lost in the stacks and get paid for it because alphabetical order never lies. Growing up, so many have lied to me. Washing dishes and playing the bubbles like a battlefield always put a smile on my face until standing on a milk crate on Brighton Avenue I heard them screaming at each other and I tried to wiggle my ears to remind them that I was standing there and they started to say he's listening and they took it upstairs, but I could still hear them. My nose is running again. No blood though, that's good. I haven't pissed blood in a while and that's good too. I know how it ends, I do. I am halfway home. Remind ourselves not to do anything stupid. Remind ourselves the visions are just that, visions only.
Time will fly and before we know it we'll be polishing my skull and looking at the healed fractures and running our fingertips over them like welds on an engine block trying to reverse engineer the forces and machines and hands that made them. Do you have a torque wrench? A shoeing hammer? An arc welder will do in a pinch. A continuous retrofitting. We were built for a war, but the war is over. It is not. We were built in war time and repurposed. Built not to feel. Built to not need to see. I got out. I got out. The horse must be broken. Distance must be kept. Do not lose heart. Finish the deal.
Enjoy the view from the edge of the arm of the Milky Way and do not curse Sol or Terra. Aboard the ship we are secure and secured. Take care of the equipment and don't stay long. Coexist. Someday you too will shut down, but understand there are many paths to that end and much to be explored before the channels go dead. Do not forget where you came from, do not be consumed by where you're going. I am not broken.
///Chairlift - "Guilty As Charged" ...footprints on the carpet....go on and punish me...
///El-P & Killer Mike - "Early"
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 toughness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label toughness. Show all posts
11/4/14
12/1/13
Overkill
Having a difficult time taking Is and Yous and Mes out of my poetry. I wish I had a different face, but apparently I am no longer allowed to hack away at it. I want to get back to wonder. I want to get back to visions of enormous dinosaurs, but the real world continues to push back and it's not fair and I can't figure out a way to circumvent the charges.
I will. Stand up act 9 is coming. Long dark tunnel. I conquered my fear of absolute darkness a while back. Doesn't mean that it's comfortable though. I want to pick up house and walk away from it all in a bad way. Maybe a good way. Tough to think about. Do you just throw your hard drives in a ruck sack? I don't know! I'm asking you! Who helps you plan that sort of thing out? I have no clue.
Do ya have to bring an umbrella or something or do you count on finding one along the route? Could probably thieve one. Do you really want to do that? That's not who you are. You can take whatever you really want, but don't. Every single time you take you are taking something from someone else and that's no good. Let someone hold your leash. They're not holding you back. They're just checking you. You have to allow yourself to be checked at the hip. Take it and bounce off or try to run them over, but whatever you do correct your path. Not correct, but make adjustments because you have to and understand that it is alright to make adjustments.
Adjusting the dials is okay. Not everyone likes to hear music at 11, hell you don't either. Not everyone wants or needs a kiss or needs your face two inches from their own. Not everyone can be famous and not everyone will remember events the same ways you do. You're losing your memory and maybe that plays into part of why you are losing connection fidelity with your dream states. Be okay with working on it. There's no breaker to fire off in between where you're going and where you can never go back to and that's perfectly fine.
Do you bring a knife or no? Do you need to? Would you need to? I don't know! You can take what you want, but you don't have to. Are you expecting battle? It's a funky kind of war we fight and I've been seeing some strange things I don't know how to handle off of the top of my head. I need time. No picking up sticks. No running away. No abuse. Abuse is shorthand for sadists. What's short hand for saints? I want to plow into a wall and obliterate my body in a mist of red and bone. I want humor. Get the fuck away from me! I swear to god I will taste your eye fluid before the night is out, you mother fucker piece of shit, do you not know there is no such thing as a fair fight?
Rules are in place to keep me out of you. Period. Maybe it's all a matter of timing? That may be what I'm getting wrong.
Wanderlust eats away at me and I nibble back. I almost lit a cat on fire again. I'm doing good though. Being on good behavior and going to work almost every time I am supposed to go. I want to keep it up through the end of the year. I am not expecting much from Santa. I still ask him for a 1911 against my better judgement. No resolutions forthcoming and none will be given. I think I'll treat myself to a box of ammunition this year. One step at a time. Baby steps. We'll travel, but I'm not pulling up sticks just yet. I'm trying to monitor my speech. I've been speaking much too fast and running words together and feeling like I need to apologize inside my head every time someone says "what did you say?" I said exactly what the hell I said. It's hyper frustrating. It's like a stutter, but backwards and difficult to correct and heart stabbing when I notice it flowing out of my damned mouth. Not fair!
Howling in my head wont stop. I haven't snorted anything serious in a long time and my sinuses feel like they are about to shatter. "...turning the music up so ya don't hear the engine falling apart..." by hook or by crook we are going to fix this thing so it runs smooth. Chatty Cathy. Slow the fuck down and take a moment. The world's not crazy. It is just you. Everything does not smell like burning metal. It is just you. Space invaders.
///Kelis - "I Don't Think So" just dont think you're at my speed
I will. Stand up act 9 is coming. Long dark tunnel. I conquered my fear of absolute darkness a while back. Doesn't mean that it's comfortable though. I want to pick up house and walk away from it all in a bad way. Maybe a good way. Tough to think about. Do you just throw your hard drives in a ruck sack? I don't know! I'm asking you! Who helps you plan that sort of thing out? I have no clue.
Do ya have to bring an umbrella or something or do you count on finding one along the route? Could probably thieve one. Do you really want to do that? That's not who you are. You can take whatever you really want, but don't. Every single time you take you are taking something from someone else and that's no good. Let someone hold your leash. They're not holding you back. They're just checking you. You have to allow yourself to be checked at the hip. Take it and bounce off or try to run them over, but whatever you do correct your path. Not correct, but make adjustments because you have to and understand that it is alright to make adjustments.
Adjusting the dials is okay. Not everyone likes to hear music at 11, hell you don't either. Not everyone wants or needs a kiss or needs your face two inches from their own. Not everyone can be famous and not everyone will remember events the same ways you do. You're losing your memory and maybe that plays into part of why you are losing connection fidelity with your dream states. Be okay with working on it. There's no breaker to fire off in between where you're going and where you can never go back to and that's perfectly fine.
Do you bring a knife or no? Do you need to? Would you need to? I don't know! You can take what you want, but you don't have to. Are you expecting battle? It's a funky kind of war we fight and I've been seeing some strange things I don't know how to handle off of the top of my head. I need time. No picking up sticks. No running away. No abuse. Abuse is shorthand for sadists. What's short hand for saints? I want to plow into a wall and obliterate my body in a mist of red and bone. I want humor. Get the fuck away from me! I swear to god I will taste your eye fluid before the night is out, you mother fucker piece of shit, do you not know there is no such thing as a fair fight?
Rules are in place to keep me out of you. Period. Maybe it's all a matter of timing? That may be what I'm getting wrong.
Wanderlust eats away at me and I nibble back. I almost lit a cat on fire again. I'm doing good though. Being on good behavior and going to work almost every time I am supposed to go. I want to keep it up through the end of the year. I am not expecting much from Santa. I still ask him for a 1911 against my better judgement. No resolutions forthcoming and none will be given. I think I'll treat myself to a box of ammunition this year. One step at a time. Baby steps. We'll travel, but I'm not pulling up sticks just yet. I'm trying to monitor my speech. I've been speaking much too fast and running words together and feeling like I need to apologize inside my head every time someone says "what did you say?" I said exactly what the hell I said. It's hyper frustrating. It's like a stutter, but backwards and difficult to correct and heart stabbing when I notice it flowing out of my damned mouth. Not fair!
Howling in my head wont stop. I haven't snorted anything serious in a long time and my sinuses feel like they are about to shatter. "...turning the music up so ya don't hear the engine falling apart..." by hook or by crook we are going to fix this thing so it runs smooth. Chatty Cathy. Slow the fuck down and take a moment. The world's not crazy. It is just you. Everything does not smell like burning metal. It is just you. Space invaders.
///Kelis - "I Don't Think So" just dont think you're at my speed
7/15/12
Redesigns and Motions and All Kinds of Crazy S--- (with disclaimers)
The summer redesign of Auralport is coming. It's in the factory works right now, as we speak. It's been autumn way too long over there and frankly the browns are starting to get to me and darken everything I do when I am there. I need some green going on. Some color to reflect the growth and all that. More importantly I need to incorporate some pinks and purples. Yeah, it'll look a little gay, but that's what I am. Sue me. For gayness. Cuz if you try to sue me for anything else you will find pretty quickly that I am, as they say in the business, "judgement proof". Not saying you won't win the case. All I'm saying is what you win will be a big happy bag of nothing. Except maybe self satisfaction. However, you can go home knowing that the only reason I am judgement proof is because I have nothing to take. But more importantly (this just keeps going on, right?) the only reason why I have nothing to take is because of the decisions you made that put me in a position to have nothing. So basically we're even.
Not really though. I got off scott free (where the hell did that saying come from? a reference to free balling in kilts maybe? I dunno) after a fashion. You got to screw me or at least feel like you taught me a life lesson. So we're even right? Nah, I'm going to cut your face off and feed it to you the next time I see you. LOL that is happening. Which is why I can't see you. Because I will make a sincere attempt on your life. Jokes aside. I will kill the weaker of the two of you. Do not come to my house, parents. Because I will kill you. I hope that's clear enough.
So anyway. The redesign is coming and I'm really looking forward to it. The hard part is trying to find a good shot of nature to work with. I'm out there all of the time, but I just have to remember to bring a camera one of these days. So many pictures to take. So little time. I looked into dslr-s and realized pretty quickly there is no way in hell I could afford one. There is a way, I just lied, there is a way, but if I ever ponied up the money I would have to spend it on a car first. Which brings up other mommy daddy issues but I'm not going into that. I am. Just this once. Caps locked. WORST GRADUATION GIFT AND SUBSEQUENT CHAIN OF EVENTS EVER, I HOPE YOU HANG YOURSELVES IN SEPARATE ROOMS OF THAT SHITHOLE YOU LIKE TO CALL A HOUSE.
Okay, so, not to be entirely bipolar on this. I would like to present a motion to do some art. Everyone at the table, yay or nay my friends. Yes, we are taking a vote. All present? Alright then, moving forward on the motion to attempt some cartooning. All in favor, say aye. All opposed? Let the record show that the motion is passed.
I've got my fingers back into poetry and short stories again. God knows I damn near had to handcuff myself and blindfold my eyes to do that. It had to be done though. A life without creation is self destruction. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing with facebook at this point. For me it kind of does well as real time memoirs. It all depends on how far back the record will go. If the timescale ends after so many years, it's pretty much useless in that regard. I hope it doesn't. I'm pretty much writing a book on there, though some probably think I'm just a loon. Which is fine, because I kind of am. I gave up on trying to find the secret of life because I know the guy who knows the guy who has it. It's frustrating because he gave it to me once and knew that I wouldn't remember. So I have to try again, but now he knows that I know so I'm going to have to pull some kind of double fake to get it this time.
So what is the crazy shit. The really really junk that still makes go "wait a minute, what?" There isn't any. Smiley face. Not today. Alright here's one. Just one. I woke up in a trap house again. I used to call them house parties until a friend of mine introduced the concept of the trap house and I had a little revolution in perspective and was like "that makes absolute sense." Mostly because it does. That is exactly what they are. Which explains a lot about how the people in there behave. Yeah, I felt like a nub the first time it happened. But now, it's just like, "alright, got all your shit? okay, time to roll." Where was I going... so yeah I woke up and rolled out and someone said "Hobbes, where you goin?" as soon as I got out the door, and I was like ... yeah, that's my gotdamn name. And I realized alot of the people I used to know, don't know that I changed my name. So I let them call me by my old name, fam aside, because they just don't know. And I'm okay with that, I think. For now. It's not legal, but what is?
///Beck - "Devil's Haircut" pistols are pointing at a poor man's pocket, and he don't give a fuuuuuuuuu
Not really though. I got off scott free (where the hell did that saying come from? a reference to free balling in kilts maybe? I dunno) after a fashion. You got to screw me or at least feel like you taught me a life lesson. So we're even right? Nah, I'm going to cut your face off and feed it to you the next time I see you. LOL that is happening. Which is why I can't see you. Because I will make a sincere attempt on your life. Jokes aside. I will kill the weaker of the two of you. Do not come to my house, parents. Because I will kill you. I hope that's clear enough.
So anyway. The redesign is coming and I'm really looking forward to it. The hard part is trying to find a good shot of nature to work with. I'm out there all of the time, but I just have to remember to bring a camera one of these days. So many pictures to take. So little time. I looked into dslr-s and realized pretty quickly there is no way in hell I could afford one. There is a way, I just lied, there is a way, but if I ever ponied up the money I would have to spend it on a car first. Which brings up other mommy daddy issues but I'm not going into that. I am. Just this once. Caps locked. WORST GRADUATION GIFT AND SUBSEQUENT CHAIN OF EVENTS EVER, I HOPE YOU HANG YOURSELVES IN SEPARATE ROOMS OF THAT SHITHOLE YOU LIKE TO CALL A HOUSE.
Okay, so, not to be entirely bipolar on this. I would like to present a motion to do some art. Everyone at the table, yay or nay my friends. Yes, we are taking a vote. All present? Alright then, moving forward on the motion to attempt some cartooning. All in favor, say aye. All opposed? Let the record show that the motion is passed.
I've got my fingers back into poetry and short stories again. God knows I damn near had to handcuff myself and blindfold my eyes to do that. It had to be done though. A life without creation is self destruction. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing with facebook at this point. For me it kind of does well as real time memoirs. It all depends on how far back the record will go. If the timescale ends after so many years, it's pretty much useless in that regard. I hope it doesn't. I'm pretty much writing a book on there, though some probably think I'm just a loon. Which is fine, because I kind of am. I gave up on trying to find the secret of life because I know the guy who knows the guy who has it. It's frustrating because he gave it to me once and knew that I wouldn't remember. So I have to try again, but now he knows that I know so I'm going to have to pull some kind of double fake to get it this time.
So what is the crazy shit. The really really junk that still makes go "wait a minute, what?" There isn't any. Smiley face. Not today. Alright here's one. Just one. I woke up in a trap house again. I used to call them house parties until a friend of mine introduced the concept of the trap house and I had a little revolution in perspective and was like "that makes absolute sense." Mostly because it does. That is exactly what they are. Which explains a lot about how the people in there behave. Yeah, I felt like a nub the first time it happened. But now, it's just like, "alright, got all your shit? okay, time to roll." Where was I going... so yeah I woke up and rolled out and someone said "Hobbes, where you goin?" as soon as I got out the door, and I was like ... yeah, that's my gotdamn name. And I realized alot of the people I used to know, don't know that I changed my name. So I let them call me by my old name, fam aside, because they just don't know. And I'm okay with that, I think. For now. It's not legal, but what is?
///Beck - "Devil's Haircut" pistols are pointing at a poor man's pocket, and he don't give a fuuuuuuuuu
10/30/11
Every Day I'm Shoveling
First of all, why is "every day" not one word by now? Or the various "every" constructions? If we as a people can come to accept "bling" as a word with real meaning, how can we not accept words with real meanings that don't lose those meaning with the space dropped out? A space between words is a fence between neighbors and fences are necessary. I'm not saying take out all the spaces and make every sentence a word, though that would be awesome. You could say what you wanted to say whenever you wanted to say it in like ten words or less every time. But instead of an organized neighborhood of streets and cross walks when you looked at a page you'd see a mosh pit. Every time you spoke to someone it would basically be you sharing your personal rave and trying to combine parties when they spoke back and that would just be... ...awesome. Also awesomely unintelligible. For a generation or two. Ultimately though it would probably make our children smarter, or at least allow them to think differently. It would change politics. It would make it pretty much impossible for foreigners to assimilate and then you really would need to learn other languages because that guy that only speaks Spanish or only speaks Cantonese would not be able to talk to you at all in broken English because the language would be so agglutinated and dense that it would be impossible for anything but an uncreased brain to grasp it with ease and build into it.
Second of all: why can't I sit in a park with a shovel after the sun goes down? That is just unfair. I walk halfway across town because I saw an awesome shovel out for trash and I forgot to go back and get it until the evening and besides my hands were full at the time. I walk halfway across town, granted I live in a pretty small town and get this nice, heavy handled, spade shovel that would be absolutely perfect for some yard work I'll have to do later and on the way home I cut through the local park and it's a pretty nice night out and the hills are all dotted with little Saturday evening fires of people in doors so I sit for a moment on a bench with my new sweet ass shovel, staring up and letting my mind wander over who those people might be and just enjoying the weather cold enough to drizzle the air with the smell of fireplaces. I've never had a fireplace of my own. I like to imagine what it's like. I saw a duraflame log once, one of those fake wood things for people who don't like to burn real wood I guess. Or maybe for people who like fire places, but don't want to do the things that having a fireplace requires you to do. That really is the story of modern America. I want things, but I don't want to do the things having those things will require me to do.
Anyway, I'm sitting there and a car comes rolling up real slow and I don't look back to see who it is. I know it's a car. I know that pebble crunch anywhere. I also know people don't like it when I make sudden moves, and besides I have nothing to hide. I'm just a dude with a shovel. I keep listening to this car rolling closer and then, in the background of my mind because I'm still thinking about the hillsides and the gorgeous night, but my head is also running through all of the sound clips of tires and pebbles and speed equations, I realize the tires are doing police cruiser and/or drive by speed and/or jump out and stuff in the backseat kidnapping speed. So I stand up and I figure one of those three things will happen and sure enough the flashlights come on and the questions start in and why the hell do you have to shine that shit directly in my eye sockets anyway. I have a shovel. I'm not running anywhere with a damned shovel. Or at least not far anyway. So now I know. It is officially not okay with society to just be a dude in a park with a shovel between the hours of 7 PM and 7 AM.
I haven't really been eating. Not my fault though. I have been eating. Because I'm pretty sure I give off this pheromone when I don't eat. I'm kind of obsessed with how I smell. I try to match it with what I've been doing and putting into my body. Not farts. Those are totally easy. I'm pretty sure you can tell how someone's body functions based solely on how their ears smell. Well maybe not solely. And you probably have to lick them like licking a nine volt battery to see if it works to get the full suite of diagnostic information available through smells. What am I talking about? I get lost in theory sometimes. So I have been eating some. Enough to keep things going, but little more. Mainly because my sink doesn't work and I don't want to have to slog all my dishes down six flights of steps to the sink that does work. Naturally the answer to that problem is: don't do anything that requires the use of dishes. So I've been skipping a bunch of meals. I don't really miss them. I do miss them in that it makes it a lot easier to stay awake. Staying awake has become a full time job again. Partly because of the lack of intake and hypermile-ing my body, but also because dreaming has been so incredible I can't help but want to be there constantly. It's becoming less of a second life and more of a single joined seamless in phase existence. You know people that complain about how they "already did that" in a dream and then like have to go to work again? That used to happen to me. Long ago. Now it never happens.
Of course I feel completely unrested because I am basically alive and in phased consciousness for twenty hours a day, but the people I've met and things I do... it's been ridiculous. Also pointless to tell you about it in those terms because you weren't there. Definitely a "dude I saw this movie and it was awesome, you should have been there, but let me continue to talk about the movie in terms of superlative adjectives because if I frame it in enough paper thin hammered gold you will totally be inspired by the blank space inside the frame containing the picture only I can see."
So the dish thing I learned from my dog, Jack, rest his angry, fun loving, visitor hating, best friend for life, little Shelty bones. We would go on weekend road trips and he didn't want to poop in the house so he would basically not eat or drink, though we always left him plenty of food and water, until we got back. Maybe it was equal parts "if I don't eat then I won't have to poo" and vigil for me. "That's giving an animal too much credit," shut your face. I can't give that old bastard enough credit. He was the man. Seriously. Except for his fear of thunder and lightning and his rage toward fireworks he and I were basically two of a kind and alternated top dog roles depending on the situation, but we were basically 1 and 1A. Learned that little trick of no input equals no output, body wise, from him. More bravery per pound than most people who are not also Marines. Probably more stupidity per pound, but we were, again 1 and 1A on that front too. If you are a cat person I don't hate you, but you have no idea what you're missing.
Which is why I should never be a parent. Me and my kids will be the baddest family on the block. Partly because I would be way too fair to them. With my dog, he would bring me a sock for tug of war and being like three times his size, maybe four if I just ate a couple burritos, the only fair thing to do was meet him at his level. I figured his teeth were probably a lot stronger than mine, what with his eating bones from time to time (never understood that, but I do have a propensity for walking around with spoons in my mouth), maybe four or five times so naturally I used my teeth for tug of war. If I lost a couple, no big deal, so we got it on. "I'm a take you down to China town!" That's how we threw down. Gotta be fair. So instead of setting a curfew I would probably tell my kids they can stay out or stay up as late as they want, but they have to fight me for it and if I win then they have to go to bed when I say. I wouldn't kick the crap out of them. I never actually hit Jack. I would scuff 'em a little. More like lioness to cubs kind of stuff. Only minus the breast feeding. Do they even do that? Or do they come out of the womb craving a hearty meal of lightly chewed, but still fresh, Giraffe. Instead of telling my kids not to go set fires, I'll probably stop them at the door and say something like "make sure you bring fireplace matches so you don't have to stand too close to the accelerant, because I'm not driving up to the woods to put you out." Sure, I wouldn't let them blow themselves up. I'm not a monster. But I will make sure they know how to set a charge properly and it would be the best father/son or father/daughter tandem ever. We will be feared. Probably. Anyway. What I'm saying is every day I'm shoveling so don't cause any problems and there won't be any problems. I'm just a dude with a shovel out for a walk.
Trying to get back to writing fiction, but it's been a long and heady road full of potholes. I'm not dawdling as much as I am reflecting. I wrote a fairly long draft of a science fiction short called Scanlon, but I haven't back over it in almost eight days now. I'm trying though. I apologize. I will try harder. Life's too short not to try, so don't spend all of your time "doing".
///Deadelus - "Taking Wing"
Second of all: why can't I sit in a park with a shovel after the sun goes down? That is just unfair. I walk halfway across town because I saw an awesome shovel out for trash and I forgot to go back and get it until the evening and besides my hands were full at the time. I walk halfway across town, granted I live in a pretty small town and get this nice, heavy handled, spade shovel that would be absolutely perfect for some yard work I'll have to do later and on the way home I cut through the local park and it's a pretty nice night out and the hills are all dotted with little Saturday evening fires of people in doors so I sit for a moment on a bench with my new sweet ass shovel, staring up and letting my mind wander over who those people might be and just enjoying the weather cold enough to drizzle the air with the smell of fireplaces. I've never had a fireplace of my own. I like to imagine what it's like. I saw a duraflame log once, one of those fake wood things for people who don't like to burn real wood I guess. Or maybe for people who like fire places, but don't want to do the things that having a fireplace requires you to do. That really is the story of modern America. I want things, but I don't want to do the things having those things will require me to do.
Anyway, I'm sitting there and a car comes rolling up real slow and I don't look back to see who it is. I know it's a car. I know that pebble crunch anywhere. I also know people don't like it when I make sudden moves, and besides I have nothing to hide. I'm just a dude with a shovel. I keep listening to this car rolling closer and then, in the background of my mind because I'm still thinking about the hillsides and the gorgeous night, but my head is also running through all of the sound clips of tires and pebbles and speed equations, I realize the tires are doing police cruiser and/or drive by speed and/or jump out and stuff in the backseat kidnapping speed. So I stand up and I figure one of those three things will happen and sure enough the flashlights come on and the questions start in and why the hell do you have to shine that shit directly in my eye sockets anyway. I have a shovel. I'm not running anywhere with a damned shovel. Or at least not far anyway. So now I know. It is officially not okay with society to just be a dude in a park with a shovel between the hours of 7 PM and 7 AM.
I haven't really been eating. Not my fault though. I have been eating. Because I'm pretty sure I give off this pheromone when I don't eat. I'm kind of obsessed with how I smell. I try to match it with what I've been doing and putting into my body. Not farts. Those are totally easy. I'm pretty sure you can tell how someone's body functions based solely on how their ears smell. Well maybe not solely. And you probably have to lick them like licking a nine volt battery to see if it works to get the full suite of diagnostic information available through smells. What am I talking about? I get lost in theory sometimes. So I have been eating some. Enough to keep things going, but little more. Mainly because my sink doesn't work and I don't want to have to slog all my dishes down six flights of steps to the sink that does work. Naturally the answer to that problem is: don't do anything that requires the use of dishes. So I've been skipping a bunch of meals. I don't really miss them. I do miss them in that it makes it a lot easier to stay awake. Staying awake has become a full time job again. Partly because of the lack of intake and hypermile-ing my body, but also because dreaming has been so incredible I can't help but want to be there constantly. It's becoming less of a second life and more of a single joined seamless in phase existence. You know people that complain about how they "already did that" in a dream and then like have to go to work again? That used to happen to me. Long ago. Now it never happens.
Of course I feel completely unrested because I am basically alive and in phased consciousness for twenty hours a day, but the people I've met and things I do... it's been ridiculous. Also pointless to tell you about it in those terms because you weren't there. Definitely a "dude I saw this movie and it was awesome, you should have been there, but let me continue to talk about the movie in terms of superlative adjectives because if I frame it in enough paper thin hammered gold you will totally be inspired by the blank space inside the frame containing the picture only I can see."
So the dish thing I learned from my dog, Jack, rest his angry, fun loving, visitor hating, best friend for life, little Shelty bones. We would go on weekend road trips and he didn't want to poop in the house so he would basically not eat or drink, though we always left him plenty of food and water, until we got back. Maybe it was equal parts "if I don't eat then I won't have to poo" and vigil for me. "That's giving an animal too much credit," shut your face. I can't give that old bastard enough credit. He was the man. Seriously. Except for his fear of thunder and lightning and his rage toward fireworks he and I were basically two of a kind and alternated top dog roles depending on the situation, but we were basically 1 and 1A. Learned that little trick of no input equals no output, body wise, from him. More bravery per pound than most people who are not also Marines. Probably more stupidity per pound, but we were, again 1 and 1A on that front too. If you are a cat person I don't hate you, but you have no idea what you're missing.
Which is why I should never be a parent. Me and my kids will be the baddest family on the block. Partly because I would be way too fair to them. With my dog, he would bring me a sock for tug of war and being like three times his size, maybe four if I just ate a couple burritos, the only fair thing to do was meet him at his level. I figured his teeth were probably a lot stronger than mine, what with his eating bones from time to time (never understood that, but I do have a propensity for walking around with spoons in my mouth), maybe four or five times so naturally I used my teeth for tug of war. If I lost a couple, no big deal, so we got it on. "I'm a take you down to China town!" That's how we threw down. Gotta be fair. So instead of setting a curfew I would probably tell my kids they can stay out or stay up as late as they want, but they have to fight me for it and if I win then they have to go to bed when I say. I wouldn't kick the crap out of them. I never actually hit Jack. I would scuff 'em a little. More like lioness to cubs kind of stuff. Only minus the breast feeding. Do they even do that? Or do they come out of the womb craving a hearty meal of lightly chewed, but still fresh, Giraffe. Instead of telling my kids not to go set fires, I'll probably stop them at the door and say something like "make sure you bring fireplace matches so you don't have to stand too close to the accelerant, because I'm not driving up to the woods to put you out." Sure, I wouldn't let them blow themselves up. I'm not a monster. But I will make sure they know how to set a charge properly and it would be the best father/son or father/daughter tandem ever. We will be feared. Probably. Anyway. What I'm saying is every day I'm shoveling so don't cause any problems and there won't be any problems. I'm just a dude with a shovel out for a walk.
Trying to get back to writing fiction, but it's been a long and heady road full of potholes. I'm not dawdling as much as I am reflecting. I wrote a fairly long draft of a science fiction short called Scanlon, but I haven't back over it in almost eight days now. I'm trying though. I apologize. I will try harder. Life's too short not to try, so don't spend all of your time "doing".
///Deadelus - "Taking Wing"
7/20/11
A Thought About the World
I was thinking about the end of the world. Again. Not really the end, but the end of my world assuming I tough it out. Which is hilarious. To think that life is something that needs to be "toughed out". Walked off. I sometimes wonder if people who are basically set for life, whose only real decision to make is to go to work or not, or play the links in Carolina this weekend or shuffle off to Amsterdam for a bit to get away from "it all" ever feel like they're going to have to tough out the next few years. I suppose I don't really wonder. I'm sure they do. I like to think that I wonder so I can reflect more kindly on their various dispositions. Instead of wishing them all away to the heaven of hell's brambles. But I was thinking about the upcoming end of my iterations, when there is no more material to make new me's out of what is left of the old me's and no more material available to create new me-ness to replace the wholesale deletions. My thoughts turned, naturally as an American, to war.
When all of the oil runs out, and I hope it does sooner than later, mainly to generate some actual sea change and perhaps restructure the as we've accepted it into the as we've never known, but wished it to be, even if the restructuring ends up being more of a warp and upward mobile in ways I could never be societal metastization, what becomes of middle eastern interest? Do the propped up kings all topple over at once? Does religion come bursting in to fill the holes? Obviously it won't be anarchy. The world is far too connected for that to ever happen. Does america finally walk away from it all like some person stumbling home from a red light district in the morning with a massive hangover to their mattress stuffed with "just in case" money? And then I thought "who fucking cares."
I know I should. For my children's sake. But I'm never having kids. Right now my only claim to fame is that I escaped an abusive home and now have the power to break the cycle of violence and generational human corruption by not perpetuating it the only way I can guarantee the rest of the world will succeed. That's it. So I suppose that probably puts me in the category of people that "want to watch the world burn". Maybe not square in. But close. I don't think I have enough passion to make a sport of it. Which lead me to understand something. A carefree friend is enviable. A careless friend is a headache, but can be desirable in certain doses. A negligent friend is a liability. Well, I understood that before. But it reminded me. I don't know where I fit in there. Where do friends go that are constantly trying to snuff out the fires of their past? Burning their shadows away? Eating their demons.
I don't care how the world is going to end. Maybe the middle east will collapse in fifty years. I'm sure they'll find some way to make it work. They'll tough it out. Some things will change. A lot of things won't. I'll still have to take shit from people making snide remarks in the vein of "break a twenty (whistle) that's a lot of money to be carryin' around on a Tuesday" from asshole managers and foremen who make my monthly net in a couple days of work. I'll still have to deal with nurses asking me seven times if I've been shooting needles into my work scarred arms every time I get up enough money or desperation to see a physician. If it all burns down, I'll be third in line with a lawn chair, a cold beer, and a program to take in the floor show. Which is all fairly grim.
I did not mean to be that grim. Honestly. My life feels like a very long Vertigo shot. Time just keeps on racing away. The farther it stretches, the farther back I have to keep pushing things to stay alive, the more things fall out of focus and break down and it's the least I can do to hold onto the consciousness of here and now and impossible not to choke it to death with the force of the grip needed to keep it safe. I have no real stake in the outcome of the world's wars. I was unceremoniously ushered out of the war fighting arena, the academic arena, the peace keeping arena, the social and society arena, the tax paying arena. I don't know. I don't know where the fuck I'm going with this. Six hundred "no"s and one "yes". Two yeses. It's not that it gets difficult to believe things will improve. It's that it becomes foolish to believe so.
I don't want to believe that's it for me. Not in terms of writing. There's still much to be done and I know this is perhaps the stuttering beginnings of little stars and planets in the blueness of twilight before the moon rise of - what? Shut up. Shut it. Start over. There's still much to be done and I know this is perhaps the stuttering, tottering, beginnings of my flash in the pan in terms of production and development. A multi-year long stuttering to get that one paragraph out that I'll remember myself by. I don't want to believe the best I can hope for is to not get sick and have something to eat and enough to pay for cool in the summer and heat in winter and keep a roof over my fucking head and a cellphone turned on.
Which, I guess, ultimately is to say, space has been both kind and unkind. Kind to the people I care enough not to belabor, but unkind to the glass hearted intrepid nuclear radiant wayfarer. There have been complications. Unmediated things have come undone. I went about a month at one point without thinking about suicide. And then you feel it creeping up the back of your neck. The little worlds threading their way through the nerves in your right ear, across the back of your eyes to your left ear and lacing themselves together tighter and thicker until you feel like the bones of your forehead are going to collapse under the compression and your insides are going to come out like frosting squeezed out between the fingers of a kid crushing a sandwich cookie in his fist. So much time is spent in sorting. This is real. This is not. That is doable. This will kill you. This is tenable. That is not. You said this out of your mouth. You should have said this. Do not say that. This is valid. That will get you interned again. The sorting gets confusing. Frustrating. Makes me angry. And tired. Of many things. So much left to do.
The world as movie: I would have walked out years ago. Myself as movie: I already know how it ends, but I'm not walking out yet. I still haven't seen that one scene where I'm riding down a dirt road in a 240z with my korgy in the passenger seat barking at the rabbits in the brush while the sun sits on the mountains for a nap before the milky way belts across the sky like Beethoven through a concert hall. I don't know if I'll actually make it that far in or what planet that'll happen on. But I'm tryin' to tough it out. It would help if a tollbooth were to appear in my bedroom someday. I would never look back.
///Annie Lennox - "No More I Love Yous" remember this one? I still do. I was in love with Annie Lennox for a long time. All of ten years old and the lyrics to this song felt like she wrote them for me. I used to sit alone in my room and sing nirvana's half the man I used to be. It's funny, I guess. Not that the pain hasn't changed. Funny that the monsters are still outside after all this time.
When all of the oil runs out, and I hope it does sooner than later, mainly to generate some actual sea change and perhaps restructure the as we've accepted it into the as we've never known, but wished it to be, even if the restructuring ends up being more of a warp and upward mobile in ways I could never be societal metastization, what becomes of middle eastern interest? Do the propped up kings all topple over at once? Does religion come bursting in to fill the holes? Obviously it won't be anarchy. The world is far too connected for that to ever happen. Does america finally walk away from it all like some person stumbling home from a red light district in the morning with a massive hangover to their mattress stuffed with "just in case" money? And then I thought "who fucking cares."
I know I should. For my children's sake. But I'm never having kids. Right now my only claim to fame is that I escaped an abusive home and now have the power to break the cycle of violence and generational human corruption by not perpetuating it the only way I can guarantee the rest of the world will succeed. That's it. So I suppose that probably puts me in the category of people that "want to watch the world burn". Maybe not square in. But close. I don't think I have enough passion to make a sport of it. Which lead me to understand something. A carefree friend is enviable. A careless friend is a headache, but can be desirable in certain doses. A negligent friend is a liability. Well, I understood that before. But it reminded me. I don't know where I fit in there. Where do friends go that are constantly trying to snuff out the fires of their past? Burning their shadows away? Eating their demons.
I don't care how the world is going to end. Maybe the middle east will collapse in fifty years. I'm sure they'll find some way to make it work. They'll tough it out. Some things will change. A lot of things won't. I'll still have to take shit from people making snide remarks in the vein of "break a twenty (whistle) that's a lot of money to be carryin' around on a Tuesday" from asshole managers and foremen who make my monthly net in a couple days of work. I'll still have to deal with nurses asking me seven times if I've been shooting needles into my work scarred arms every time I get up enough money or desperation to see a physician. If it all burns down, I'll be third in line with a lawn chair, a cold beer, and a program to take in the floor show. Which is all fairly grim.
I did not mean to be that grim. Honestly. My life feels like a very long Vertigo shot. Time just keeps on racing away. The farther it stretches, the farther back I have to keep pushing things to stay alive, the more things fall out of focus and break down and it's the least I can do to hold onto the consciousness of here and now and impossible not to choke it to death with the force of the grip needed to keep it safe. I have no real stake in the outcome of the world's wars. I was unceremoniously ushered out of the war fighting arena, the academic arena, the peace keeping arena, the social and society arena, the tax paying arena. I don't know. I don't know where the fuck I'm going with this. Six hundred "no"s and one "yes". Two yeses. It's not that it gets difficult to believe things will improve. It's that it becomes foolish to believe so.
I don't want to believe that's it for me. Not in terms of writing. There's still much to be done and I know this is perhaps the stuttering beginnings of little stars and planets in the blueness of twilight before the moon rise of - what? Shut up. Shut it. Start over. There's still much to be done and I know this is perhaps the stuttering, tottering, beginnings of my flash in the pan in terms of production and development. A multi-year long stuttering to get that one paragraph out that I'll remember myself by. I don't want to believe the best I can hope for is to not get sick and have something to eat and enough to pay for cool in the summer and heat in winter and keep a roof over my fucking head and a cellphone turned on.
Which, I guess, ultimately is to say, space has been both kind and unkind. Kind to the people I care enough not to belabor, but unkind to the glass hearted intrepid nuclear radiant wayfarer. There have been complications. Unmediated things have come undone. I went about a month at one point without thinking about suicide. And then you feel it creeping up the back of your neck. The little worlds threading their way through the nerves in your right ear, across the back of your eyes to your left ear and lacing themselves together tighter and thicker until you feel like the bones of your forehead are going to collapse under the compression and your insides are going to come out like frosting squeezed out between the fingers of a kid crushing a sandwich cookie in his fist. So much time is spent in sorting. This is real. This is not. That is doable. This will kill you. This is tenable. That is not. You said this out of your mouth. You should have said this. Do not say that. This is valid. That will get you interned again. The sorting gets confusing. Frustrating. Makes me angry. And tired. Of many things. So much left to do.
The world as movie: I would have walked out years ago. Myself as movie: I already know how it ends, but I'm not walking out yet. I still haven't seen that one scene where I'm riding down a dirt road in a 240z with my korgy in the passenger seat barking at the rabbits in the brush while the sun sits on the mountains for a nap before the milky way belts across the sky like Beethoven through a concert hall. I don't know if I'll actually make it that far in or what planet that'll happen on. But I'm tryin' to tough it out. It would help if a tollbooth were to appear in my bedroom someday. I would never look back.
///Annie Lennox - "No More I Love Yous" remember this one? I still do. I was in love with Annie Lennox for a long time. All of ten years old and the lyrics to this song felt like she wrote them for me. I used to sit alone in my room and sing nirvana's half the man I used to be. It's funny, I guess. Not that the pain hasn't changed. Funny that the monsters are still outside after all this time.
6/8/11
Three Hundred and Eleven, Stupid Fucking Christians, Foreignness, and Musing
I want to have something important to say today, but I don't. Still working on the dream. I'm gonna muse for a minute, well several, as I am mentally drifting. While at work, the pressures of so much unpleasantness force my thoughts into a water jet that cuts steel, but away from those pressures it diffuses and runs easy and slipshod and quiet, or quieter, and my adrenal glands are gonna be shot by the time I'm 30 iterations old because so much of the day, well the night, is spent trying to wrestle control, heart charging, mind racing, all for nothing. There's nothing I can do to undo that. That shit job will still be around long after I leave it. The same people will still be there enforcing backward policy and rewarding incompetence. And that's the way it has to be. Competent people leave. They don't stay there. The only way any sort of structure can be maintained there is to reward stupidity, soft mindedness, weakness, and buffoonery and it is upsetting to me and it should be upsetting. All it means is that I have to leave before my head explodes.
I was working the other day and growing sicker by the moment. Physically sick to my stomach. The sounds being pumped down from the speakers in the ceiling were like ice picks touching my brainstem behind my throat and pricking it over and over and the pain of it was turning my stomach and making me dizzy. I considered after some time asking if I could leave at 3 AM, lunch time, and call it a day, but my stupid loyalty and pride in the work that I do told me to gut it out. Don't be weak and stupid and candy and thin. Gut it out. I don't care what you want, you came in today to do a job so do the job and then, when it's finished, go home and rest. You're not like them, is what I told myself until finally, while kneeling and shelving my body basically rebelled and pulled a knife on me. To which I answered, you wouldn't. And then it did, but it missed. Shattered the blade of the box cutter on the floor tiles taking a blind left handed downward swing at my leg and caught a rebounding shard in my mouth. So I met myself half way and took a long lunch break. It was a shitty day. I gotta get outta there.
So for the anniversary of my initialization my parents sent me a card. One of their signatures said live in peace. Which made me want to immediately purchase the next available train ticket down there to end their lives and burn the house to the ground. But I can't do that. I have too much I need to work on finishing already without the added difficulty of trying to do it in prison where materials would likely be even more scarce though free time would be in abundance so potentially that trade off might become more interesting if scarcity becomes a greater issue out here. It mostly made me question, though, how backward can a human being be. How stupid can a person truly be. To tell someone to live in peace. While simultaneously denying them every single last avenue open toward a life of peace and stability. It just reminds me of so many Christians. So many good Christians. It's in God's hands. She's with God now. He's in God's protection now. What the hell is wrong with you idiots. It's not in God's fucking hands. It's in your fucking hands. It just stymies me that people can be so oblivious. So learnedly oblivious to the obviousness of the impacts their decisions make on other peoples lives, especially, especially when so little effort on their part can make titanic changes for their own flesh and blood. Which is why I no longer consider them to be. They are an unfortunate do while loop that erred and spawned a NaN variable in me, but that has picked up where it left off doing nothing except cancer consuming it's surrounding while time left to live is not equal to or less than zero. I need a new mommy and daddy. Or a used set. Or even just one or the other as I have a pair of glaring vacancies. Apply within.
This is the three hundredth posting. My eleventh birthday is this Saturday. I might take myself out for ice cream. You can come too. I had another attack of something last night. It sucked. I woke up in the middle of it. Maybe it was a siezure. It was kind of funny in retrospect. I tried to get up and my whole body just want stiff and I fell back into my blanket with my face on my pillow. Funny because if someone were just walking by my room they would think I was fast asleep. I suppose if I hadn't woken up I wouldn't be composing this. I wonder sometimes where I am in the alternate reality when that happens. I wonder if maybe I touched something and received some sort of static shock and this state of contraction is how it crosses the bridge and stings me here. I wonder if assaulted by sound here what happens to me over there. I don't think it's just me crossing. Well I know it's not just me crossing. I wonder if I'll ever meet me over there. It is a rather large world.
Just the other day I was there and apparently there were some sweeping changes made while I was away. There concrete viaducts and underpasses everywhere and all biege and everyone was busy moving here and there and it took damn near half an hour to stop someone and ask them what was going on and where I could find the train station, because I hadn't ridden it in some time and I wanted to lose myself for a while. The man I stopped was about my height. Brown leather jacket and a shirt crushed with sweat and what looked like engine oil. He explained to me, after adjusting his glasses, that cars were banned. He wasn't mad at me for asking an apparently obvious question. He told me the upcoming action required that as much crude be saved and that the viaducts and underpasses were all light rails and that everyone pretty much took the light rails or biked where they needed to, but I didn't see a single bicycle or train car pass me while I spoke to him. He left. The city was a mess of design, but clean in the same way a beach is clean after a really bad windstorm. The whole thing was off putting. And then I woke up. No sign of other me. I think if I ever did see him I'd be roundly terrified. I hate talking about him. Any of them. They don't like being talked about behind their backs, but it's not fair because I'm always behind their backs until they show up and then I'm just fucked. I don't know.
Still haven't made the call. Still trying to land. Still no where to touch down if I wanted to. I've gone back to making necessary long term repairs. Things chance. Things change. There are times when things keep fucking up and keep fucking up and keep fucking up no matter what you do. And you know this because it is the same situation that you've approached two dozen different ways and it never ends up mattering by the time your bones hurt and your eyes are pools from finger bloodying attempt after attempt. And times like that force you into a position where the only agency you can really exercise is to fuck it up yourself. It is real. You can do it. It's the only way you'll ever be able to say you did something for yourself. I smashed in that fucking fender. All me. The only control you will be able to revel in is to decide where you want the hammer to touch down instead of letting someone else decide it for you. Something to revel in. Anything to revel in. To feel a part of the inside out and bizarre and upside down world you're in. If you live in a world of systematized counter productivity and human waste long enough, does the opposite become foreign? Absolutely.
I do believe from a civilization spanning viewpoint... well that just sounds cockneyed. Well probably not even cockneyed. Just stupidly grandiose. I do believe from the standpoint of socialization into the fabric of Americanisms that I am more or less feral. Defining feral as undomesticated and domestication as a state of obedient harmony with established standards and practices. But more on the nose I was raised like a dog. The more I think about, well I'm done thinking about, I've gone over the evidence internally through committee several times over and it's all there. I'm still learning to be American and person, but I feel like several of my key behaviors are kanine first and reasoning person second. I should probably make that call sometime. Trying to domesticate myself. To relate to people better. But the thing no one tells you about making sacrifices to relate to people is that none of it will ever matter if the people you are trying to relate to have no interest in rejoining your sweat for connection. Shove away then.
///The Cardigans - "Losers"
I was working the other day and growing sicker by the moment. Physically sick to my stomach. The sounds being pumped down from the speakers in the ceiling were like ice picks touching my brainstem behind my throat and pricking it over and over and the pain of it was turning my stomach and making me dizzy. I considered after some time asking if I could leave at 3 AM, lunch time, and call it a day, but my stupid loyalty and pride in the work that I do told me to gut it out. Don't be weak and stupid and candy and thin. Gut it out. I don't care what you want, you came in today to do a job so do the job and then, when it's finished, go home and rest. You're not like them, is what I told myself until finally, while kneeling and shelving my body basically rebelled and pulled a knife on me. To which I answered, you wouldn't. And then it did, but it missed. Shattered the blade of the box cutter on the floor tiles taking a blind left handed downward swing at my leg and caught a rebounding shard in my mouth. So I met myself half way and took a long lunch break. It was a shitty day. I gotta get outta there.
So for the anniversary of my initialization my parents sent me a card. One of their signatures said live in peace. Which made me want to immediately purchase the next available train ticket down there to end their lives and burn the house to the ground. But I can't do that. I have too much I need to work on finishing already without the added difficulty of trying to do it in prison where materials would likely be even more scarce though free time would be in abundance so potentially that trade off might become more interesting if scarcity becomes a greater issue out here. It mostly made me question, though, how backward can a human being be. How stupid can a person truly be. To tell someone to live in peace. While simultaneously denying them every single last avenue open toward a life of peace and stability. It just reminds me of so many Christians. So many good Christians. It's in God's hands. She's with God now. He's in God's protection now. What the hell is wrong with you idiots. It's not in God's fucking hands. It's in your fucking hands. It just stymies me that people can be so oblivious. So learnedly oblivious to the obviousness of the impacts their decisions make on other peoples lives, especially, especially when so little effort on their part can make titanic changes for their own flesh and blood. Which is why I no longer consider them to be. They are an unfortunate do while loop that erred and spawned a NaN variable in me, but that has picked up where it left off doing nothing except cancer consuming it's surrounding while time left to live is not equal to or less than zero. I need a new mommy and daddy. Or a used set. Or even just one or the other as I have a pair of glaring vacancies. Apply within.
This is the three hundredth posting. My eleventh birthday is this Saturday. I might take myself out for ice cream. You can come too. I had another attack of something last night. It sucked. I woke up in the middle of it. Maybe it was a siezure. It was kind of funny in retrospect. I tried to get up and my whole body just want stiff and I fell back into my blanket with my face on my pillow. Funny because if someone were just walking by my room they would think I was fast asleep. I suppose if I hadn't woken up I wouldn't be composing this. I wonder sometimes where I am in the alternate reality when that happens. I wonder if maybe I touched something and received some sort of static shock and this state of contraction is how it crosses the bridge and stings me here. I wonder if assaulted by sound here what happens to me over there. I don't think it's just me crossing. Well I know it's not just me crossing. I wonder if I'll ever meet me over there. It is a rather large world.
Just the other day I was there and apparently there were some sweeping changes made while I was away. There concrete viaducts and underpasses everywhere and all biege and everyone was busy moving here and there and it took damn near half an hour to stop someone and ask them what was going on and where I could find the train station, because I hadn't ridden it in some time and I wanted to lose myself for a while. The man I stopped was about my height. Brown leather jacket and a shirt crushed with sweat and what looked like engine oil. He explained to me, after adjusting his glasses, that cars were banned. He wasn't mad at me for asking an apparently obvious question. He told me the upcoming action required that as much crude be saved and that the viaducts and underpasses were all light rails and that everyone pretty much took the light rails or biked where they needed to, but I didn't see a single bicycle or train car pass me while I spoke to him. He left. The city was a mess of design, but clean in the same way a beach is clean after a really bad windstorm. The whole thing was off putting. And then I woke up. No sign of other me. I think if I ever did see him I'd be roundly terrified. I hate talking about him. Any of them. They don't like being talked about behind their backs, but it's not fair because I'm always behind their backs until they show up and then I'm just fucked. I don't know.
Still haven't made the call. Still trying to land. Still no where to touch down if I wanted to. I've gone back to making necessary long term repairs. Things chance. Things change. There are times when things keep fucking up and keep fucking up and keep fucking up no matter what you do. And you know this because it is the same situation that you've approached two dozen different ways and it never ends up mattering by the time your bones hurt and your eyes are pools from finger bloodying attempt after attempt. And times like that force you into a position where the only agency you can really exercise is to fuck it up yourself. It is real. You can do it. It's the only way you'll ever be able to say you did something for yourself. I smashed in that fucking fender. All me. The only control you will be able to revel in is to decide where you want the hammer to touch down instead of letting someone else decide it for you. Something to revel in. Anything to revel in. To feel a part of the inside out and bizarre and upside down world you're in. If you live in a world of systematized counter productivity and human waste long enough, does the opposite become foreign? Absolutely.
I do believe from a civilization spanning viewpoint... well that just sounds cockneyed. Well probably not even cockneyed. Just stupidly grandiose. I do believe from the standpoint of socialization into the fabric of Americanisms that I am more or less feral. Defining feral as undomesticated and domestication as a state of obedient harmony with established standards and practices. But more on the nose I was raised like a dog. The more I think about, well I'm done thinking about, I've gone over the evidence internally through committee several times over and it's all there. I'm still learning to be American and person, but I feel like several of my key behaviors are kanine first and reasoning person second. I should probably make that call sometime. Trying to domesticate myself. To relate to people better. But the thing no one tells you about making sacrifices to relate to people is that none of it will ever matter if the people you are trying to relate to have no interest in rejoining your sweat for connection. Shove away then.
///The Cardigans - "Losers"
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