Strange Ways

I'm sorry I've been away. Life has been strange in many ways. Not really strange as much as just strange in the ways I've come to understand normal. Sea change and all of that. One thing that has been occupying a lot of my time is meeting a couple of people that see me as close to eye to eye as I have ever known any one person to see me. Which has been exciting and ridiculously time consuming. Hard to talk about. Because threesomes aren't exactly normal. Let alone threesomes cemented by violence. Let alone threesomes that are probably on their last legs.

I enjoy belonging to people. That's no secret. I like to know that someone is holding my leash, and I had to revoke that privilege from one member of the threesome so now it's a twosome with occasional benefits for the odd man out. What are you going to do? I mean, I don't particularly enjoy fucking her, but I do enjoy the opportunity to be close to her psychologically so it's like doing dirty work to get the golden egg of her brain and personality because I'm pretty sure she likes fucking me more than what I have to say so it's a perfect fit in terms of what I want and what she wants and the odd piece out is the guy who refuses to kiss me, but wants my dick and nothing else, hence the revocation of leash privileges because if you want to fuck, you better be up for everything that comes with in my book, and I damn near revoked her privileges because she insisted on wearing socks at all times and that's just... ...what?! Seriously? Who does that?

And then there was the conversation where they both referred to me repeatedly as their toy, which is fine. I can accept and appreciate that role, but to then assert that I was worthless without sex, that was the line they crossed and things got violent, but have since settled down. Things and ways were explained to me in the simple terms I understand best and then stabilized into something enjoyable again. We saw fairly close to on the level. Everything since has been delicious. And time consuming. Time oft reserved for writing has been burned in sexual play which is not terrible, but not great either. Lost time in the run up to play and time lost in the run down from play, let alone the play time itself. I dunno. Fucking older people definitely presents problems and issues I never thought about, or even had to think about, before now. It is incredible the difference between older men and older women. Fascinating. It grows frightening sometimes, the potential for breaking their bodies with my own carelessness. At the same time it is deliriously appealing. Being the most capable thing they will likely ever know before they die. Being their first and probably last. I think I love that more than the sex itself. The making of a name. And they are just so adorable together. That's part of it too. The basking in dual praise. The lack of rejection. The fact that they have seen so many people that they can recognize you from one hundred yards out and see right through you and there's nothing to hide because they've seen it all.

I know it's not going to last because he won't fuck unless he's drunk and she won't take her socks off ever and that's just weird and he won't kiss me ever no matter how drunk he gets and she doesn't have a dick and his dick is too small to be anything more than an idle coffee table curiosity and her youngest kid is older than me and she insists that she is the only one allowed to fuck his ass, but until we break up I think this is the best thing to happen to me in a long time. But I also think the strangeness of it is what has been keeping me from talking about it and progressing. Or maybe understanding what kind of flash in the pan it is.

It's been zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds for me. Unbelievable speed. Fuck warp 9, this whole relationship has been warp 12. Engine room ablaze the whole way. More give and take than I've been privy too for better than two years. And yes, I have no idea how to deal with it or any idea of where it's going beyond failure. To top it off I met his daughter and apparently she wants me too. And I don't want sex nearly as much as I want to be useful and used. I play into that more often than I should. It makes me feel like a sociopath, which I don't like. I just enjoy making people feel good. It's a badge of honor. I entertain whatever it is you want to entertain because your happiness and bliss is a kiss upon my heart.

So I want to fuck her. Not because I enjoy women. Not even close. I have been able to love one woman my entire short life. And that is my ex. The rest aren't jetsam, they're just friends at best and confidants when closer. It's just a very odd situation. A very very odd and slowly unraveling situation between a boy a woman and a man who hurts her who wants to use the boy. Sounds like family.

I've been telling people I'm half Scott and half Irish, alternately, because I'm still not sure which. I'm pretty sure it's not half. I'm pretty sure it's a lot less than half. Probably less than quarter. It's fun to be exotic. It's more fun to know exactly where you're from. I always wish to have that, more than anything else. Not just for cheering purposes during the World Cup, but also for tattoo ideas. And also because everyone talks about their extended families on a first name basis and I have never been able to do that. That would be nice. The knowing. The belonging. Life has been strange. The dreams have been stranger and more real than anything else. I slept for 18 hours. It was unbelievably good to do so. I don't know when I'll be able to be awake for more than 13 and not feel like killing myself. An odd pile of ideas. Goodbye for now. Levity to come.


/// The Cardigans - "Heartbreaker" ...no, not again...

Onibaba

If you haven't seen it, hopefully this scene persuades you.

The entire film was flat out menacing and sickeningly beautiful.


///Blur - "Battle (U.N.K.L.E. remix" Black to night in the tall grass. Who is that sleeps well is an it. A shard of a dream come too far to life to rest in peace.

Return to Patagonia

I don't know what I want to talk about today, but I do know that if I don't talk then I'll move closer bit by bit to having full blown running arguments with myself and when you do that people think you're crazy.

Something occured to me a long time ago that I never talked about. Not that long ago actually, but long enough to make calling it a long time ago feel appropriate. It occurred to me that maybe my Dad's goal all along was to make sure his kids didn't have kids. Would that mean that he wins if I don't have kids? But then I realized that first of all that is ridiculously complex of a double feint. Then I realized he is not smart enough to orchestrate anything requiring that much vision. Then I realized it didn't really matter anyway because if I do have a kid the lucky bastard will be adopted so he doesn't get my screwed up brain cells all up ins.

I guess I've been thinking about the continental divide a lot lately. I want to go back there. I want to go back to where the earth broke apart and I want to lay my face against the water and stand with my toes on the edges of sheer faces and think about how my heart would explode with bliss in midair if I were to fall and then bask in the glowing here after of a moment so full and heady left undone and swallowed in time.

It's just my day off, but my head is in another country. Not that it went there overnight, but it's been slipping and sneaking farther and farther away, but always coming back just early enough for me not to worry if it may have gotten lost.

I wonder if I'm lucky that I'm not dead. I had a dream about a fantastic geared machine. It was as tall as the side of a small house. Every gear had a photograph inside of it. Not a photograph as much as a photostatic image. Faces burned onto the faces of the gears and to protect them from the wear of the elements, because the entire machine was outdoors and built on the surface of a cathedral turned inside out, the gear faces were coated in slugs of brown glass that cracked under the strain of clinging for so many years. I don't know what it did. I didn't stay there long enough to figure it out, partially because the entire thing was making one hell of a creepy sound (the sound the joints of cockroach legs would make if one were stuck in your ear and flailing against the ear wax and hairs there), but also because the rust was gummy around chest level where someone clearly touched it and caught a sleeve and in all likelihood lost one or several fingers, but at least several centimeters of skin.

I'm not sure where I'm going. I need to see my old poetry professors. I don't think they need to see me though. In fact I'm almost certain they don't want to see me. It wouldn't help either of us to see each other. I feel like that's also true of a former best friend. It doesn't mean that I don't want some proof. I don't know what I would say to Jane. She'd say hello. I'd say hi. She'd ask how I was. I'd tell her how screwed up things have been. She'd apologize for lack of anything else to offer. I'd tell her don't sweat it and well.... fuck.

I'm not smoking. For now. Maybe that's the problem. I figure I'll save my money at the expense of further turning up the heat on my senses. I probably just need a hug and a couple shots. I don't know where my head's at, but it is having a fantastic time without me. It's like I woke up after drinking too much too early and everyone at the houseparty has pulled up sticks and gone off somewhere and no one told me where so ... empty nest? Maybe. More like I had a date with myself and I've somehow managed to stand myself up again and I don't get it. I thought we were in agreement.

=sigh= whatever. It's aggravating. I think I'm just gonna take my clothes off and ball myself up for a couple hours. Maybe get up later and write some more poetry. I had this great idea at work yesterday and I want to see it spin on its own and if it can't spin then I want to break it apart and see what's inside of it. Is it supposed to be so cold that your eyes well up?

I'm going back to new york this month. To get the last of my things. I'm not looking forward to it. But I miss my computer so God damn much, you have no idea. And my sex toys. But mostly my computer. It's hard to explain why I love. Through the years most everything else has been crushed, whipped, and burned out of my emotional spectrum. These days all I can do is love or hate. I sometimes wish there was something in the middle. But there isn't. I'm digital. Sad happy held digital boy whose head has gone back to Patagonia without him. Again. Now I give chase in dreams for want of touch.

///Hugo Maldoro - "I Know a Little Cuban"If Aguas De Marco had hips they would swing like this. If I wander around my mind long enough and find the clubhouse with the low fedoras and dim smoke parlors and enough palm fronds to set a tropic stage in a desert, maybe I'll see him playing dominoes at the usual booth with whiskey ice and cigarillos and a big watch with no batteries. Where did you go?

Delays for the Right Reasons

I haven't forgotten your playlist. Well, it's my playlist too. I think this year I will use last.fm to help me make my selections as this is the first year I've used it all the way through. Granted the things that get played the most won't necessarily be the things worth including in a year capper, but it'll at least put me on the trail of what I was feeling when I heard the songs lesser played.

I was going to do it today, but I was sidetracked with picture recovery issues and food issues. I do miss having every single day more or less wide open. Well that's not even close to true. Wow, rose tints. I'm just so contented nowadays I feel like every minute I'm curled up in my bed is the minute just after an awesome orgasm and that kind of feeling can take the desire to make further improvements right out of your system.

Every single day was not wide open when I didn't have a job. It sucked. Job hunting was like trying to walk across a bog while looking for a piece of string that, if you found it and followed it long enough, would eventually lead you to a poorly paved stone pathway. I walked across that suck for so long the stone pathway I ended up finding 400 days and 200+ resume's and cover letters later might as well have been gold.

I don't feel bad that I feel pretty good now that I'm out of that hell system and finally into as close as I've been to what I can call "myself" since I knew there was such a thing as a self, but I can't forget that with a little more effort I can feel even better. Right now I've been eating vienna sausages on bread with cheese because I don't own a refrigerator. That's got to change. Did you know that you can spread Vienna sausages .like stiff butter? How gross is that? Not so bad once it gets into your mouth, but be ready to check your gag reflex mid construction.

The good news? I'm learning how to manage my time with respect to work. Expect poetry output to return to between 5 and 7 a week (though I haven't managed to lay them out daily at Auralport I do compose their bones daily during my 45 minute walks to and from work) and I want to be on here at least thrice a week, but for now it may just be on my two days off (whenever they fall, my schedule is kind of screwed up and changes week in and week out and sometimes midweek). I do really need to get back into Bits for Flames because I've been living some tales of interest (futurama reference) and some new characters are populating the universe and they need their stories told too, plus there's a fetal novel skulking around somewhere and I need to chip at it some more since it's two thirds done. That should be numbers, I know, but I'm working on a laptop sitting on my chest in the dark and I can't see the damn numbers and damnit I miss my desktop. I have go to go get that shit as soon as possible because this is not cool at all. I have fucking post partum depression over this shit.

I had another recurrence, in variable, of the dream where my teeth decay out of my mouth. This iteration was ridiculously graphic. It was so intense that when the rest of my dreamland travel came to a close and I opened my eyes the first thing I did was go to the bathroom and check that my teeth were still in my mouth. I mean it was absolutely that bad. In the dream one of my bottom front teeth was loose so I jiggled it and felt no pain so I pull it out, but the nerve was not separate from my gum, it was only completely numbed. The nerve pulled out with the same feeling of pulling thread out of a stitched wound and because I tugged the tooth so hard, thinking it wasn't connected to anything, I couldn't stop the swing of my arm before the unspooling nerve tore out several other teeth that then let this thick black fungal puss gush out of the sides of my molars which then collapsed like sink holes and my entire face just lit up with pain like fire axes. It sucked. It took hours of rinsing before it stopped hurting and didn't taste like ten kinds of filth and even then I ended up having to wrap my entire jaw closed so that the hollowed and eaten out remains of my bones wouldn't fall off of my skull before I could continue on.

Well anyway, what I mean to say is that I am delayed, but I promise you it's for the right reasons. Things are getting closer to being on track and there'll be more love and thought and things to rage and linger over as they do.

///Amon Tobin - "Bloodstone" this song makes me want to write a script for some science fiction noir, but mostly it punctuates evening walks through foreign and rain soaked suburban streets so well it's a little scary, but the kind of scary that makes you grin a little on the inside and hope that something horrible happens before your eyes just as it ends.

Higher Resolutions

I've started this on four separate occasions and every time I've tried to get this down it has come apart in my fingers like tissue paper in a squall.

In an effort to raise the resolution of my waking life I'm cutting some things out that were essential to a life with clear boundaries. Higher resolution will mean the destruction of the bridge as much as I've loved it.



And now everything that I was going to write about why I came to the conclusion that my waking life was too far out of resolution is being called into question because there really was nothing wrong with it beyond health concerns? I guess. I don't think my extremities have been holding heat all that well. Probably a circulation thing. Random shoulder pain like pinched nerves. And pain whenever I breathed. So I guess that's pretty much it. Otherwise it's been perfect. A perfect separation of faith and solid state. Two land masses and a definite bridge I can cross at will. What more could a person want?

Not much, I don't think. So the thing is, I guess, I have to choose between a slow-ish death with a flux capacitor or the unpredictability of an unmediated existence. Which do I hate more? Hard to say. There were several days when I felt like my liver was climbing up through my throat and tearing my kidneys out with it and that pain was real and describable and diagnosable. There were several days before that, however, when the only logical solutions to the anxiety and rage and hallucinations involved jamming a pen knife up my nose until it cut through my frontal lobes and bricked my brain entirely. One costs money. Not as much as pills, but money none the less. The other is free.

So I'm going the free route. Partially because I have to, but also because my body hurts and I'll just have to suck up the turbulence associated with - lost it again.

It's like a light switch turning off. Clarity. Sanity. I don't want higher resolution. Things make less and less sense the clearer they become and I don't know if I can take it. I'm afraid of it. I'm terrified of it. I don't want to be conscious of time. I don't want to know the seconds and the minutes. If I let up on the gas and stop tearing through these wilderness roads without a map or a dog I'll start to see and feel the things between the trees that would snap my femur in their jaws like a finger in a car door and I already know what's there and I don't need to find out. People talk about stopping to smell roses and things and I don't need to. Maybe they do, but there aren't things out there trying to kill them.

I've liked the balance. Sure it's come at a cost, but that cost is unavoidable whether I'm paying out of life span or paying out of wallet. I don't want to hear the whispers in the trees. I want it to fade. I don't want to manage the caucus and round up the bits and pieces and make sure everything's working together and with the usury I didn't even have to think about it. It's all clawing back and it's like ... I don't want this. That's all. I don't want this, but in this world this is the ground state. Low resolution let's me look straight through it and even forget where and when I'm standing altogether. It's not a pain killer as much as it is a liberator or an oxygen mask in an ocean of shifting and violent shapes. So much maintenance. Higher resolution means going back to a life geared toward maintenance instead of geared toward being. I don't want that.

I guess I envy the people can simply wake up and be and never have to think about. Do other people have to deal with this stuff? Maybe that'll be me. I know it won't, but it's fun to say. No, it's not even fun to say. Some people dream about being rich or famous. These days I just dream about normalcy. I'm not different. I'm not special. There's nothing magical or glossy. I'm just damaged, and it takes so much work to get back to zero everyday only to wake up in the red in so many ways every day thereafter. Yes it can be spun and bright spots found, but to hang onto those requires so steep a reduction in resolution as to make life beyond stupid bliss unmanageable.

I want out. Maybe out will mean nothing, but how long is long enough? 25 years. 26 years. 40 years. How long do I have to search for a solution to this thing. How long do I have to spend looking for a way to understand how to interact with this world in a way that can make sense from one set of hours to the next or looking for ways to explain the decoupling of emotion, and action, and laughter, and violence, from reason or explain the terrors of things people call imaginary and hallucinations, but are sometimes real as sunlight in my eyes. I just want out, but I'm forced instead into higher resolutions.





Sorry for the ramble. Maybe it'll make sense years from now. Minutes from now. What's the difference really?

///Mum - "They Made Frogs Smoke 'Til They Exploded"

Fruits of a Labor and Where We Left the Bodies

I drew some pictures for you. I like the colors. I was in a kind of bloody soil mood and the taste was not to be denied so I didn't.

I don't know what to say today. It happens. I don't really know what I'm thinking tonight either, but I'm doing it with clothes on. Oh there it is. Found what I was asking for. There really is a certain security in sleeping with clothes on. It's a completely different quality of sleep. I feel a real security in the closeness of the clothing that at the same time can grow to be entrapping. Whatever. That's kind of stupid. When I sleep with clothes on I get hotter and hotter and then my dreamworld flies seriously out of whack and scary things happen in there and, not that I've been able to exercise control over the individuals and things that happen, but what security I do feel in the reality of the landscape dissolves into chaos.

Across the bridge of consciousness, the ground is just as firm and even more comforting in its expansiveness and unrestricted isness. Much more so than here. I prefer to be there. So when things get screwed up there by what happens here it becomes particular upsetting. Especially when the solution is as easy as taking off my pajamas and going back to sleep. Because the only limitation on the place is that I can't be there forever, I can't get stuck there like I get stuck here, its particularly aggravating to end up wasting valuable time. Its enraging.

At any rate, the public transportation there is strange. Not really screwy as much as it is that things come and go on the subway system that I sometimes prefer not to meet or see. Usually everyone minds there own business. I never used the trains there by myself because whenever I do I end up getting lost. Just the other day I spent the entire time I was there lost in the subway system. At one point I got so sick of trying to get the right train I climbed down off of the platform and decided to walk it and I don't know if those trains run at the speed of sound or what, but it took me five hours to walk between train stops and then, of course, by the time I got back to the stop I wanted near the apartment complexes I nearly get my legs cut off by the train I was tired of waiting for. I think that's really my only complaint about the place.

I was thinking about the best way to burn down a house with the people inside it without giving them a way out. It would take a lot of effort. It wouldn't be easy for the logistics of a floor plan and unless they were stone asleep they would probably hear you hoofing around in the grass with your arson kit and caboodle. Definitely low on the list of ways to solve problems.

We're altogether now and I'm happy for that. I hope it lasts forever, but I know it won't. Actually that's not even true. I don't hope it lasts forever. It just felt like the right thing to say to express the glowing feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know things have died up there in my head. But when they die they don't get buried. There's no cemetery up there. I should probably take care of that at some point. I wonder if that's the thing. When you finally die it's because your head is full of bodies and there's no more space for anything else to live. The casualties, relationships, dreams, efforts, ideas, whatever, all the bullshit that mattered to you and no one else that no one, including you, could resurrect with Dr. Frank and a million volts of Earth's pulse pile up and some people bury them one by one and some people have to bury them in mass graves, but they're there. I'm just glad they don't talk too.

The poetry has cut off in a new direction that I'm enjoying. It's stumbled on a rhythm I'm rather liking. Answers are as far away today as they were yesterday, but I'm not really looking for specifics anymore. I'm not sure if I should be. It's not that I want to care about concrete details of living a life, it's that I already care so much about things that so often stand defiant in the face of description and I'm focused on trying anyway because that's what is worthwhile. Maybe it's what I'm here for. That should count as something important. The cats came back. In lesser numbers this time. There was a day I thought I could see individual molecules of air. Turns out it was a whole bunch of blood vessels in my oculars. Is that a word? Things here would probably be so much more important if things across the bridge weren't equally so.



No fruits of the labor yet. Or maybe there is and I just have no idea where it lands. At any rate I'm content to keep doing dream work where the wild things are. Where up is up and down is down and I'm remembered by the people I've seen and I can go anywhere and the only limitation is my body and sometimes not even that.

Still planning the suicide diary. I know right. It is taking forever. I'm not putting it off. I just haven't been here to do it. Promise.

///Unkle feat. Big In Japan - "The Answer" ...perfect weather...

Out From Somewhere

I've been gone for a spell. I feel like I've been waiting for something that I can't explain. A lot happened recently but the good news is my black box friend is back. Repairs have been made and I can make art again finally. Been a rough few days. I saw something weird in the back yard. I haven't had writer's block as much as things simply halted. To restart though, I found a message on my phone that I have no recollection of leaving myself.

Message follows:

I called you 5 times and you never call me back. Left a video message of you putting french fries in a cup of peanut butter and then another of your spread legs and wet pussy. You blonde pink edgy bitch. Your friend brunette eats right. Hates the gross food we like. Chastises me in front of you. What are you doing. Staring at someone i have no business looking at. The cat can talk. Tells me to im to vervo. He smells like sewage. Tells me that vervo have him his idea that got him elected. Why do you keep flipping me off? Do we still have a thing going? Itll ad a seven game series. Ive seen you eat them like that every week. A toy gun in the library shooting water at perverts. Jim is dead. I killed him but no one knows. I was jealous. His body was destroyed after i pushed him into the machines gears. I ignore her calls until italk to the cat. Now i go out of my way to see her.they go to a club and invite me but dont tell me its collared shirts only they dont let me out of the car until they stop to pick up girls though i try to jump off while the car moves.its the second time. I walk home past the college campus i used to call home and see faces that dont remember me. Its frustrating but freeing. I give up on them.

I don't know when I wrote that. I was trying to sleep the other day and the whole room felt like it was vibrating and all of the blinds opened and this thing walked through the backyard. Freaked me out. I've been sleeping with the lights on since then.

Well anyway. I think the thing is I've gotten so used to watching static in my mind it's been difficult getting up the guts to reach my fingers up to the bare rod where the knob used to be and change the channel, but I'm doing it. Because I'm guts. I'm adventure. I'm the spirit of everything motivated by discomfort and the things unseen. It's not really a question of what's over the next hill as much as it is a question of how long do I have to sit here waiting for my muscles to knit from the last 80 miles I've walked. Speaking of walking I actually got sunburned from all the god damn walking I've had to do while job hunting. I don't think I'm meant to have a job. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I've still got my wanderlust and between writing and wandering that's all my heart really wants. Trouble is the rest of my body.

///KMFDM - "Last Things"

Cum, the Internet, Other Disappointments (Plus 200), and Friends

200th entry. Glad I got that announcement out of the way before I forgot. It's been five years with you. That ties the record for the longest relationship I've ever had. They've been pretty good years, but this isn't a retrospective so I won't dwell on it.

You should know I tried to write a poem with the title "Cum", but I couldn't create anything more charged than the title, so I didn't. Sometimes you run into words like that in the English language, words that command so much attention and make people perk up and look for context clues instead of actually reading the text and before you know it you've completely lost them because, for whatever reason,you're content doesn't line up with whatever expectations they've come to harbor in connection with your title. I'll write a retrospective for the next entry mainly because I'm pretty sure I won't have much else to say as I've been gripped by the past recently. Maybe I'll write that poem anyway and just make it light hearted. I think that's a good way to both combat the "must read for juicy bits" response and also reward both the readers and the flybys.

On to my terrible internet connection. It was so bad over the past two days that I literally was not even able to open my email. You know when you get so mad that actually mash your fist into your keyboard hard enough to break the fucking thing. That's how mad I was. If I was not head over heels in love with my computer monitor and also too poor to replace it I probably would have hurled it straight out of the window hard enough to lay a 22" square dent in the door of the shed behind my house. A friend commented that though the speed is slow I "have done a lot with it" and I wanted to say well "for fucks sake, just imagine what I could fucking do if I didn't have to settle for third rate everything in this fucking world." Seriously. I was enraged, not by his efforts to offer encouragement, but by the framing of what has become typical of my life. Ghetto rigs. McGuyver set ups. Pulling magic out of my ass hole. Call it what you will, but I cannot wait for a phase of my life when I actually have the god damn tools I want and need already at hand to do the things I want to fucking do. No more of this having to work a three mile solution out of a 100 yard walk because no one is willing to give me the god damn keys to the front gate.

I've had some really fucked up dreams lately. I'll curb the swear words from here on out, or at least try to.

So the original Cum poem was going to be about how self destruction creeps into life, but is a necessary element of life. Self destruction, I think, prevents wholesale destruction if the person purposefully destroying their self can be isolated or at least properly contained. I'm pretty sure if I left myself to its own devices it would turn into a thing bent on dismantling life and civilization as we know it. To prevent this from happening I have to actively dismantle its constructions through every means necessary. Think of it as an atom bomb. Every single day my brain is refining fissible materials and building detonators and stranding wires and explosive plates and turning bomb housings and working out the science of sending the world to its grave and every day I have to go in and turn out all the filing cabinets and shred the research and trash the labs and sabotage the refineries and explode the stockpiles. My self hasn't gotten it right yet and I'm happy for that, but also ashamed that its even become a necessity. Sometimes continued success is thanks to my own efforts and sometimes it's due to bomb range and laboratory accidents and machine malfunctions. The result is the same though. Furious action leading up to an explosive and small and temporary victory and phenomenally steep come down, because I've both succeeded and failed yet again. I suppose the easiest solution would be to simply have all of the technicians brought before a firing squad and kill them outright, but unfortunately the crew working the device committee and labor union are also responsible for the non-lethal non-destructive life sustaining committees. So when is the need to eliminate a threat greater than the need to preserve a life? I don't have an answer for that, but I'll let you know when I do.

I'm sad now. I don't know why. I do know why. Part of me just left. He was disgusted. I'm disgusted too and angry and now sad that I'm by myself again. He'll be back later. We can't really stay mad at each other. No, wait we can. I just realized that we're usually pretty mad at each other. It just so happens that we're also usually in agreement on most things, with the exception of this and some other stuff. I'm the optimist. He's the deterministic pessimist. The realist. The public relations manager is not in at the moment, but should be back shortly.
I sometimes wish my friends would tell me what they think and why they don't tell me when their visiting, but then I remember that they must have their reasons and that I don't know what those reasons are because no one has ever fucking told me. When I think about the spectrum of existence I get the feeling that there's nothing in the middle of mine and I think that hole is what makes people apprehensive. I don't have a hard time feeling. I have a hard time feeling by degrees.

I dream about things. About tiny rooms and lying in bed with someone and sadism and being awful and being loved regardless and making something, making anything, with another person and being naked and great and taking off the mask that hides the teeth and the showing the smile behind that stretches from ear to ear for all of the reasons that are on their face unacceptable for reasons I'll never agree with and I wake up from the dream and wonder if I will really be single. And then I wonder if the rest of me will allow that to change. I know the answer is no, but can you fault me for wanting it to. I tear myself apart, but they're there. The upside is I'm always in orgy. The downside is none of the attendees are there because they love each other. And I'm rambling so I'll go do something else because I already know I'm running straight for a dead end and I have an irrepressible fear of corners.

///30 Seconds to Mars - "From Yesterday" Sometimes when I fall asleep and wake up into dreaming the world is big and beautiful and unlike the life I left I am moved to a state of utter bliss and so thankful that a thing like sleep is a part of day to day life.

Cherish and Nurture Your Wanderlust

I read an interesting article through one of a bunch of second hand feeds that I sometimes peek through now and then and it talked about the value of boredom and the value of having space to let your mind wander. Technology can be great because it can allow you to do things you otherwise may never be able to try or even imagine possible. At the same time, filling every second of your waking life with it also reduces opportunities to reflect meaningfully, beyond the data points of entertainment and facts you digested or manipulated through technology, and imagine new things.

When you open up a box and read the manual you get ideas for what the thing is capable of and what you can now do with it and while you did not have those ideas before or did not know how to implement those ideas you didn't really imagine them as much as they were fed to you in parts and pieces, and sometimes in their entirety.



Imagination still takes practice and effort and time and while technology can make us all more capable and flexible people it can also limit the ability to imagine by replacing the time and resources spent imagining with technological tinkering and scripted production.

The thing that struck me the most though was the author's approach to children. It struck me as touching and I also felt an acute pain that was the feeling of never really experiencing that growing up, and now that I'm grown up moments like that can't really be fully enjoyed for a long list of reasons. At least not enjoyed yet. Maybe if I ever get married or something. Even then situations like that will probably be more of an ego shaded, priority differentiated, tug of war than anything else.

"We have a new ritual now, and it really has become my favorite part of the day. I put her to bed 15 minutes earlier than before. She crawls into bed and, instead of shushing her, I lie next to her and we just talk. She talks about things that happened that day, things she's worried about, things she's curious or thinking about. I listen and ask her questions. We laugh together. And our minds just wander."

I think, more than many things in life, I want that though I know I can't have it. Can you blame me for trying?

I firmly believe that my imaginative abilities have come primarily from the, sometimes, desperate desire to be someone, anyone, and anywhere in the world, but where I was growing up. I'm not going to retread it, but suffice to say I probably would have had a better childhood as a foster kid with no parents or homeless. Think of it as growing up from birth blind instead of going blind years after birth. Hopefully I'll get some sight back eventually and my dreams about the emerald city and the yellow brick road will be based on optimism instead of a desire to escape a prison of circumstance, history, and context.



In other news, I am creating the theme for the wordpress fiction site as we speak! Yes, I have two sets of hands.

///Ulrich Schnauss - "Wherever You Are" Wherever you are, whatever you're in, wherever you were, and everywhere you're not, Ulrich has composed a moment for you. This is my moment to take a breath before I'm pushed under again.

i owe you one

one sentence about what i do know for certain. i was belly aching about the world, like ya do, and i said that i could probably sum up all of the knowledge i can grasp with certainty. today i give you that sentence in all of its shining glory:

death is freedom.

that's it. i mean, that is the one thing that i know to be a certainty. freedom from what exactly is debatable. whether or not there is an afterlife that will be better or worse than the one you're in is debatable. but the cessation of life, the end of all thought, the end of the never ending struggle of blah blah blah whatever. who cares. i mean every single day we get along with knowing less and less for certain. in fact a lack of certainty seems to make life easier to live for everybody. the less you really know the happier you are unless youre mission in life is to be all knowing. then you're just angry all day.

i guess thats the part of me that is looking forward to getting older when i start to forget the things that have been burned into my skull and the abuses and the filthy bits of history that refuse to quit. age will erase them and thats good for me. and the world. i think as i get older i will feel less apt to mass murder and more apt to napping and enjoying ... something. anything. that is the unlearning. the switching of dream life into real life.



i suppose thats the appeal of avatar really. screw the anti war message. screw the native overtones of history and genocide. the real joy in watching avatar is the possibility and promise of that one day down your road when your brain pumps you full of dmt and everything you really wanted in life, everything you were denied, everything your mind mulled over when the real world wouldnt let it, becomes real.

that, i am looking forward to very much. what else do i owe you? oh yeah... a link:... well no. no link. i didnt find anything particularly fun today. today was not a fun day. but who the hell has time for fun these days anyway. i do. i have time for fun. because i have no job.

okay heres something useful: you pay for what you get when it comes to alcohol up to about the 25 dollar mark. beyond 25 its all a matter of taste preference and taste is imparted by the individual maker's process. case in point? you didnt ask? im talking to myself? well, case in point... i like whiskey/bourbon/scotch whatever you call it. i dont know the subtle differences but i do know what fucking disgusting moonshinerocketfueltotheface tastes like. i wanted a 1.75 of old grandad 101. the shop didnt have it. i was going to settle for some beam than. the shop didnt have the 86 proof beam black. fine. next step down for me was beam white. it cost 25 bucks. little iffy. its only 80 proof and id run through it fast. was it worth the 25 dollars, just fucking tell us already. it was, but i didnt know it till after i bought the bottle of kentucky gentleman, went home, and poured a glass. god awful shit, but it was 7.50 a liter.

why so god awful? the proof was the same. they both said whiskey on the label. well in small fucking print it said on the kentucky gentleman whiskey and "other spirits". enter jet fuel. 51% whiskey. 49% jet fuel. 100% not worth 7.50 a liter. let this be a lesson to ye youths. pay the extra 5 or 10 bucks and get something that only needs a pair of ice cubes to drink.

dont buy this.

///luke slater - "hectic bag" rolling deep bass and a moment of clarity matched only by driving on the interstate from chicago to kansas city and somewhere in between with a train drawing a line between sky and land on your left and empty fields stretching to infinity on your right the overcast sky breaks open and the cars dotting the road slipping away in front of you glisten like the backs of dolphins in an ocean of gray light.

what im doing here

what are you doing here? im here for the same reason you are. i like you. i like talking to you. you engage and/or complete me in various ways. without you i become ungrounded, angry, and generally sandy. plus who else would i drink with? who else would i admit to beating off to russel crowes jaw line in a freeze frame of a high def copy of gladiator?

well his jaw line was incidental in the frame. there was also... well who i am kidding-

but seriously. i like your rants. so im here. its what im doing here. im here to listen to you as much as you are here to listen to me. if i didnt get face time i would probably kill myself. or you. im here because this is my favorite place to gripe and bask and stroke my ego and my genits and be pitiful and awesome all at once. nothing makes life tasty like a good wound to lick. so what are you doing here?

///roni size - "mad cat" i think this is musically what it feels like to wake into a dream. disorienting, thrilling, tense, and sour.

play is being reviewed 12/06/07

Subject : play is being reviewed
Posted Date: : Dec 6, 2007 8:47 PM

so i slept on the floor this thanksgiving and watched my dad verbally abuse my mother for almost half an hour while everyone including myself laughed awkwardly. that about sizes up thanksgiving for me. its not that i hate my relatives, its that they dont really feel like theyre related to me in anyway besides blood. but all that aside it was nice to see my brother, surprisingly nice. i hope he moves away from nyc soon. nyc turns people into d-bags with no perspective. not that im a d-bag with no perspective but i feel like im far enough away from my own set to be able to know the difference.

but anwyay... im shifting again. and this time im not getting forced out. im leaving myspace for a new project ill be undertaking with illkahn, the one and only, jieren chen. hopefully itll flourish and stimulate more than my own prattlings ons.

as a final word about school... im almost there. i can almost taste victory.... just a week and one more semester and the great out there will become my life. my dreams will start to fall from the sky and turn into my realities and hopefully they'll still strike me as believable, tangible, and worth holding in every way ive imagined them to be. wish me luck, or dont. i dont need luck... all i need is my blackness, my beard, my dreads, and my will to make it happen. hopefully... i might need pepper spray and a shiv too. and gps. and a nasa blanket in case i end up stranded on an island. and a bullet proof vest... just in case. and a lighter. i mean who really knows. but anyway...

... cheers... my next post will probably be my last here for quite some time.

///boards of canada - "peacock tail" like a lucid dream for the ears

even jesus had mental problems 11/15/07

Subject : even jesus had mental problems
Posted Date: : Nov 15, 2007 7:47 PM

i mean, come on. with the amount of pressure he was under he would have had to have something coming loose in his all knowing brain. maybe he was ocd. maybe he could only put on his sandals at the same exact time or he would have to spin around five times and do a sommersault backwards before he could attept it again. maybe he was a cutter. maybe he was a total jerk to himself in private. he obviously heard voices... i mean, seriously... was he a fucked up dude with a lot of charisma, or wasn't he?

i know i am kind of screwed up in the head and i also know i have some charisma, but that doesnt make me jesus. that makes me committed again. i got 301'd for the second time in my life. not fun. i was in the lock up for about 9 days, maybe 10 if you count the day they held me in the lobby for observation. it sucked. they take away your clothes, they strip search you, they take away everything of value to you and leave you with nothing but a pair of socks, a frock, and if you're lucky, pants. i had to wait three days for a pair of pants. everytime i go to the mental clink i learn something new about myself though. it was a trip i'd been running from and putting off for quite some time, but now that i've been through it again i can see that from the outset it was bound to happen and should have happend sooner. the last thing i want is to be branded "a threat to the community at large" again.

so what now.... new meds... new outlook... new job hours... new everything. if only life was easy to reset all the time. i've also decided im going to take a year off between bachelors and masters degrees just so that i can bask in having no homework and nothing academic to crack my head open for a while. itll be nice to focus on studying for gre's, learning a language, and planning my eventual escape to spain. thats right. spain. i plan on leaving this country for spain forever because im tired of it hear. i am totally serious. i am so serious i would not bet against myself. i will sware on my mother's eventual grave. thats how serious i am. i am serious sam. and i love spain even though ive never been. i honestly dont feel tied to this country at all. bleh. ah well.

thats it for now. ive explained my absence yet again... one of the themes of my life... and so im out, again. but ill be back to write some more. probably about the quality of life in spain and the general mulletry witnessed there by my girlfriend. also maybe some commentary promoting the mulleted life style in general. it obviously cant be all bad if an entire population of a city does it. right? HAHAHHA wrong jerk face. but seriously. more of that to come.

///the flaming lips - "the W.A.N.D." a tune i discovered in my library after owning it forever. I think i must have acquired it almost two years ago and just never listened to it till i heard it on an HP inspiron commercial. which is embarassing... or funny... i dunno. when you think of yourself as something of a musical afficionado things like that scratch your back in the wrong way, but the end result is a good feeling so you can't complain too much without sounding like a douche. k. bye.