arumpahpah: gardyloo! - Collective Conscious

I really need to stop reading.

2011-12-06T22:11:00.003-05:00

When I was in 6th grade i was bullied by a guy called Zeb. I used to fantasize about killing him. About curb stomping his jaw like a heavy boot through a pomegranate. Granted, that kind of thinking I beleive justified. Even today though, i find I wonder what it would be like to cause a traffic accident. What it would be like just so bury my fist into a passer-bys stomach as we pass on the sidewalk. What it would feel like to kill someone. ANd please dont take this as a worry sign, a call for help, because Ive had these fantasies, these cruel scenarios all my life. I've never needed to question the yay or nay of calling them to fruition because Im not crazy, Im not disturbed. Honestly I dont really know what to call it.
The oddest thing, i think, is that i've never even thrown a punch in anger. I've never been in any violent confrontation. Ever. So when I have dreams of hitting someone, they dont react, they dont budge because my throw has no basis for power. They sometimes dont even notice im trying to harm them until I've already turned their face into a pudding with my fists.

Anyway these what-if scenarios arent limited to the sadistic. I'll often wonder what life would be like if I suddenly went blind, by sickness or by accident or by my own will. I wonder what it would feel like to have a knife at my throat or a gun muzzled into my gut. What would it be like if my friends or family were taken from me, leaving me broken? I have a baseball bat and a super bright led flashlight at my bedside just in case of home invasion. I've almost bought knives online, concealable ones just to have on my person as I'm walking the street. Purely for defense. With my imaginary ninja fighting skills. As if the adrenaline will release the jason bourne in me or something.

It reminds me of fight club a little bit. The parts where Jack or John or Edward come to realize the world went soft. The ways of contestual violence was shunned in lieu of pacifism. So everything is dull. All negative reactions and feelings are forbidden. We spend our entire existence trying to be at least satisfied. How can we fully appreciate the good feelings with the poor standards we set for happiness? Until we feel pain and anguish, can we really truely grow as individuals?

This would explain my yearning for wanting to be homeless. For wanting to be grungy and dirty and genuinely gross for a time. So when I pick myself back up, even if its only back to our present status' it will make every day after a triumph.
And i promise, my imaginary journey for self fulfillment will not include any actions upon any second parties. So stop trying to worry. Typing this is the closest thing to lashing out I think I'm capable of, and even this has been pent up for way too long.

Why men and women can't hold each other.

2011-10-03T16:37:00.000-04:00

Her bells ring like an angel’s orchestra. A song for a dead time, not too far off from now. It’s Persephone’s funeral procession. Albino concubine boys carry her snowy coffin, stoic deadpan astronauts, lost in meaningless philosophical thought. They open their mouths and begin to speak the pagan tradition to return our goddess to the earth again. These red roses singing amongst slippery snow, collapsing like sound in a vacuum that no one can reach. Can’t hear a thing. After they finish the dissertation, they begin to lower her body into a hole, thundering drums dance over the hillside, back into Pluto’s arms. The arms of force. The secret history of man, written by acid spitting mother goddesses, retold by the samurai brotherhood, back and forth, over and over again until we forget who was right and who was wrong, until we forget why this whole silly war was started in the first place. Why lord Janus, the alchemical androgen, was separated into two beings. Black and White. A rod of power and hips to bear the weight of a heavy, heavy world. The oldest mystic. Jack Smith’s muse. He ran out of time, we all ran out of time. Silver light assaults the senses. The earth trembles as judgment day arrives. Pluto emerges from the earth, his lower half embedded in ice. His body composed of ten thousand suicide victims, his eyes glow of burning heretics. Old Satanael, the hero of man. Unwritten savior, underdog to the carpenter of lies. He holds out his hands and speaks:

“Your path to Dis has been chosen and you may not turn back. It is a path without madness. And yet, it is also a path without opportunity or meaning, and you will still be subjected to the same tragedies that had plagued you before, forever and ever. It is the path of the mundane, a cruel fate for someone like you. Farewell cowardly boy. Die old and senile, regretful and confused.”

The fabric of existence begins to cave in and I realize that I am wrong. As Pluto sinks back into the earth, I notice blood on my hands. Persephone lies at my feet, her neck twisted and bruised, blood spilling out of her lips. Her cheeks flustered, a lusty smile on her face.

Arcade over the edge of Leviathan

2011-09-28T20:46:00.001-04:00

I shot her in the face and watched her fall into the sea bellow. Drowning nonchalantly, pieces of her porcelain remains scattered amongst clown fish. The tearful eyed bee keeper hands me a hankerchief and tells me that the sun is going to fall down. Standing in the shoes of my old antagonist, things begin to make sense. I weep forawhile, but I remember that she isn’t dead. They never really die, she’ll insert her coins and come back three times more powerful to strike me down and kill me.

Stage 1: Forest Wrath Zone,

Stage 2: Weed in the Parkinglot at 4:00 AM

Stage 3: Swan’s Blood Promise,

Stage 4: Futurist’s Bicycle Erotica,

Stage 5: Puppetman Orgy Castle,

Stage 6: Arcade over the edge of Leviathan,

Stage 7: Kamen Rider-All Villains Strike Back,

Stage 8: A giant battleship “Mother Harlot 99” is approaching fast!

The weakspot is the head, exposed Cotton Candy brain full of filth. She let’s go and blows away, destroys the final boss, blows me away. I fall ravaged, ruined and dead as salome’s doornail. I look up, expecting to see the broken face of the porceline girl I killed, but instead I see the shoes of my old antagonist. The Birdwoman returns to finish the job years later, ready to take my soul away again. She places the gun I used to shoot her down and insists that we play Russian Roulette. The winner get’s to climb from the wreckage and the loser must stay in the paper city that holds us lost misfits, forever.

I decline her offer.

Futurist's Bicycle Erotica Story

2011-09-24T19:53:00.004-04:00

She's walking through this void of purity, solemn spirits on the road. Blacklight shines from the end of the tunnel as she creeps closer and closer. Her dress is made of diamonds, pearl skin, giant heroin inspired eyes. The void vibrates and twists in legendary grandeur. Wind of doll's prolegy, she twists to the spirit of the moon. A trip to the moon, falling, falling falling. We collapse in a sea of sunflowers, moths dance on angel light. Now we're running, it's fierce, it's violent. We are a futurist's bicycle made for two, no four, no eight. Now they're pinning me/her down, they rip open my/her dress and pull out our dreams. My mother's uncle i've never met castrates me and tells me I will never be the same again as we leave the cave. Loki's abyss in the solemn storm, burn down mindy's forest. Now i'm loki. In and out cries of the wolf now you're cliche, swimming amongst the stars. Futurist's bicycle transient, faster and faster chasing her on the edge. Flips the hem of her dress up, cracked and broken porcelain thighs, embarrassing polkadot knickers. Bleeding lips, her arms lock around my neck and I turn to milk, over and over again, the void spills me back out into the pantry with old whisper willow Margret and her 300 cats to lick me back up. Tumbling over ancient mother goddesses, vibrating moon, breaking bicycle, mothers uncle with a headless chicken and riding crop, cracker jack explosion clown panties prolegy sunflower girl mood goddess crying laughing inspired futurist breakdown bicycle for two no four no eight. I open my eyes and the sunflower field is the same. There's diamonds in my mouth and blood between my legs and I am happy.

so i guess im choosing to capture the memory of heaven and hell

2011-09-17T23:08:00.002-04:00

and another 30 til i remember how frequently we came.
the ignorant have it easy, those who try to avoid the pitfalls merely by not paying attention. to live without a wallet. I'll have cake all day everyday for a week, since our metabolisms may still work for and not against us. I've seen my future, and in retrospect its dull. predictable. playing for tips in some basement and calling it edgy and spontaneous. never being a father, marrying a nobody whos way too old. dead end jobs and liquid comfort. being unique only in hobby, of which one no longer practices. the chubby cousin of that guy in the office. jim. perhaps i should have moved in with christy and devon. somehow, with all my stumbling, i feel like i did somewhere. we're happy and dull and perpetually young. ignorant of the bills to be paid, or the necessity of monotony. Devon and i would learn eachother's tricks. Christy and i would drive to the same dead end job. I hope heather would join. I hope heather will join. its already happened. it will never be. these worm holes and rosenbridges could make me believe anything, even that there could be a purpose to it all.
buy i pick ignorance. thats why I'll develop concept, scout locations, and spend my efforts on distraction. isnt that all art is? I read that somewhere once.

Falling off the horse we built with mutual feelings

2011-08-15T05:08:00.004-04:00

And we walk in like we always do, every week you're driving me over and over again. And we order the usual and you sit back and you say how i'm so positive and friendly and optimistic like you and how there needs to be more people like you and me because you just can't understand how SOME PEOPLE can be so cruel. And I lose respect for you then because it occurs to me you never ever bothered to pay attention to anything they ever had to say, you only read the hate for face value and you can't read subtext, because subtext doesn't matter to you does it? And now we're on the stairs and your weasel girlfriend is spitting knives out at me, and the walls are bleeding yellow. And I just want to leave, but your paper shadow is transient and it's looming over her, and all I can see are those sunken in eyes and that cocky little shit grin. And of course they'll believe your spin on it because you were the only witness. And now i'm screaming because I had the right to be safe and it was taken away and now they're hand cuffing me, again. And i'm being taken away, again.

The Marlboro Man falls off his horse and the children shoot him dead for the very, very last time.

and this is a weekend with no responsibility, family, or routine.

2011-07-16T21:58:00.002-04:00

so i just watched fear and loathing in las vegas. after a few drinks. i think thats all you need to fully appreciate that film. I still have no clue what its about. and i dont need to. I was freaking out during the entire duration as it was. and I've lost all track of time. now im just killing it until im not alone online, and its dark out. and i have my gun in case of psychos decide to not call my bluff tonight. and a bat for if they do. and I hope not to wake up at 3 in the morning again. was way too hot this morning. no wonder im tired. combo of being drunk and sleepy. stumbled over the word "and". want to sleep. want to sleep and not dream of waking to family, or being abducted, or being haunted. want to have the money to travel. even just to sabboday falls. but no. its not fair, having just enough to satisfy the greedy bastards at sallie mae. looking for another job, but need a portfolio. to make a portfolio I need a job. DAMN catch 22. But I suppose I should call it a night now, because other things are bound to happen real soon. sleep well everyone.

in a blatant attempt to sound like another...

2011-06-19T23:49:00.003-04:00

It was all some sort of grand design. Iv'e already figured that part out. it all fit like a puzzle, one where you must deconstruct the pieces first. but only in the specified order. Fate i suppose. but I hate fate. like keanu puts it, i dont like the feeling that im not in control of my life. but i digress...
sure this is partly my fault. and times do change. people change. rooms change, cups, shirts, bad habits, trends, tastes, humor. but its irreversable now. you've all gone. and even in changing everything, i thought we would still somehow remain connected. hanging on by a memory or something.
and it is partly my fault. like everyone elses. and this is a piss poor method of rekindling, but hell, baby steps.
I miss the convos. the surprisingly meaningful talks. genuine. unbiased and fair but still understanding. And you always knew when to shut up.
I was always thankful for the patience. The tolerance. not just for me, but everyone who thought the opposite of you. you really were down to earth, and it showed. people, myself included were jealous. I hope THAT part of you hasnt changed.
that comic I stumbledupon once right. those who live in the past grieve. those that live for the future worry and grow anxious. those who live in the present are at peace.
so to hell with this past-ness. ive been satisfied with the present for a year now. and even if we never speak again, i'll still consider you a best friend. I hope the present is kind to you, all of you, and i was pleased to have known you, briefly though it was. and if i can wish only one thing for the future, I'd like it to be that some of you will come back to this place. Where we've set aside a small private part of ourselves. Faceless, but more personal than any private collection could be. I'm still hanging on by a memory, you should to.

more coherent than could have been predicted

2011-05-23T00:51:00.002-04:00

its one am again. i refuse to drop. refuse to let my lids flap. its just getting that that point of the night where its so silent i can hear my house talk. it doesnt have much to say, its prolly just sleep talking like i do.d none of that monster house business for me. though closing eyes seems to make typing easier and the screen brighter, worth it.
are any of you still out there? its been a month since even i posted last. and another month before that.! It looked like someone thought of trying this out agan but gave in to something else. Its so quiet here. now. the air stale. the voices silenced. raw percussion reverbarates down these moist walls. goosebumps. I can feel my hair. and i know when i open my eyes again it will all be in 2d again. but all i want to see are the famouse ladies like on the big screen. and the natural waterfalls with a good stiff breeze and no bugs. and I want to smell something warm and freshly baked, at a cafe or some other place where the hipsters lay claim. main street tomorrow then it seems. if only mother sould stop cryingm we'd all be happier with being outside. and like my eyes, my conciousness is glazing over. the back of my eyelids are getting flatter. and my hands are stumbling more. goodnight to whomeer may still read.

missing

2011-04-21T22:47:00.002-04:00

jpor snipeds and combustion engines rattle off the neverending stories with luck dragons and that werewolf not from london. brattleborough saints, resident evil play for the fun, cause we got it goin on, cause if i were green i would die

its one AM, do you know where you are right now?

2011-03-05T00:47:00.002-05:00

did you know that the masons greatest treasure is the idea that we'll someday all agree on everything? Na that not it at al. but it is startling to consider jsut how much our stories are the same. look the the letters we'd never send. Thousands of vignetts that we've all created in our heads. I thought for sure I read my own posts, but alas, initials gave it away.
So if we're all the same, is confidence the only source or power anymore? I read somewhere, via stumble or something, that confidence is the greatest source of personal power available, and its free!
Its one in tehe morening now, and all night I wanted to get drunk and stoned. I never ended up doing anything, which is, in hindsight, the best decision. I find myself pondering as to why I wanted it so badly in the first place. prolly cause it was available. Prolly cause I felt it would put me int he state of mind to write garbuldygook in the middle of the night. Prolly cause I dont have to work tomorrow, and this is the oly time Im free and alone. But whiskey is for occasions. the herbs for friends. and neither is safe or fun alone.
raise hand. change subject.
I helped a delivery man the other day. He was bringing chips to the local cvs, and the wind knocked over his palette, boxes of bags everywhere. As i crossed the street towards him, a couple of guys thought they were being helpful in reminding the man that some of the boxes had slipped under the truck, so he not forget them. without saying a word i slid under the parked truck and retrieved the lost snackfood. His thanks were the most appreciative words I think ive heard in a long time. And I dont think it was because I helped, I thnk it was because I did so without prompting, without hesitation, and without embarrasing him.
I dont know what made me remember that.
It was a "day of peace" today on facebook. an event someone from across the country made up, proposing that we all be nice to eachother today. Pretty sad we need a facebook event to celebrate humility. But I was aware of it all day anyway. I like to think I didnt do anything different, though I did notice I was FAR more willing ot discuss meaningless things with customers. I was just in a good mood. The coffee, the feeling of accomplishment from printing photos, and the simple fact its friday didnt hurt either.
I have nothing else. I really only came on because I havent been on in so long, at least comparatively. So goodnight then.

library 1

2011-02-24T19:52:00.002-05:00

it's the way the dust gets all up your blooded nostrils
or at least, that's what i like to complain about (might
really be something else, a whole lot of nothing, a whole
lot of money per hour>this could be your tax payer
dollars at work)

2011-02-10T20:01:00.002-05:00

This is where jim carey lost it. When it all stacked up and fell apart for no reason. Not that Im jim carey, far from it, he was nuts. That guy tried to off himself. Not me, and not the real jim.
It was all mental, the whole day I waws tricking myself into remembering nothing was off. nothing was different. just what I asked for. Be careful aboyt that. I say to myself. it may bite you in the ass, or at least itch like crazy till the time punch is up. A time of candy and movies changed channels to penny pinching and micro management. That was differnt. Of course, as lisa always tells me, do something selfish. It will make the rest of the things you HAVE to do that much more manageable. and shes pretty chill, and shes retired, so she must have wisdom, right?
My selfish act was jumping the gun and spending my cash to construct ninjas and submarines! Totally a good decision.
My next selfish act?! lets just say that bloomin onions should be their own food group.
ANd one last thing,
I didnt realize that there was any cake to be found. But i hope its hidden well, I like a good challenge every now and then.

where we live

2011-01-16T14:41:00.001-05:00

We live on the river, by the train, beside a cemetery, over a bridge, wrapped in bricks, with threats of floods, little spiders in the windows, granite and slate kitchen, homemade couch cushions, altered curtains, jazz music in the living room.

You can skate on the river. It's solid, we promise, even though when the train goes by I'm afraid it'll shake all that ice up.

877 cash now

2010-11-29T14:31:00.003-05:00

back pain and that feeling of nausea that usaully accompanies too many drinks. a dream of soffocation. a heart attack/ he was too realistic. moneyh troubles and rememberance fo high school where losing u locker combo was the worst thing that could happen to me. nothing is due. it all hits the fan at that time of year. its like these sharkds pla it that way. 56 hour weeks. not a dime. I want to travel again. like that nice old man at the craft fair. to somewhere familiar and confortable just for me. im allowd to be selfish with my own money right?!its my money and i need it now! fucking tv getting the best of me. damn you JG wentworth

So I Can Post It On the New Site

2010-11-17T16:04:00.002-05:00

2010-11-13T09:06:00.002-05:00

hyena: goes shoopping for turrouble

2010-11-11T14:11:00.002-05:00

there was no prompting this time. no reason for my sleep to betray me. Stresses have no cause for more stresses. I change my pattern, adapt to what needs to be adapted to, and still I cant even get a good night's sleep. is it even related to them? or was it a brain fart? Is it a secret desire, kept even from me or is it meant to reassure the tremendous guilt had I not been dreaming?
Amazin what can spoil a day.
it could be a look. or someone's tone.
90 percent of what you say you dont actually say.
so what am I telling people? do they know what Im dreaming about? could they help if they did?
I used to find solace in being able to work all day, it got me away from life. Not even thats cutting it now.

In a cafe

2010-11-03T10:19:00.001-04:00

On my plate: napkins, honey packets, blueberries.

To my left: Man, headphones, laptop, window.

To my right: Four women, child, church conversation, neighborhood gossip.

In front of me: Little girl, wheelchair, pigtails, cup of tea.

Behind me: Wooden bench, pictures of Venice, white wall.

Awaiting me: more tea, more blueberries, the road.

2010-11-02T14:21:00.002-04:00

you want me to set him straight, as if I am the all seeing all knowing conscience behind his decisions. I cant help you. Im not his master. Not his guardian. Im his friend, like you. and LIKE YOU I never want to see him hurt or be hurt. But he is the only one in control of his life.
I know hes making mistakes. No questions there. But an intervention is not what he needs. He NEEDS to make mistakes. Needs to fuck up his and others lives to the point where he is astonished and appalled. Only after he makes these mistakes will he truely learn anything. THEN your words will have gravity.
Im going to tell him that. I HAVE told him that. My work is peanuts compared to the work he'll do himself.
so im sorry if Im letting you down.
but its his life.

Fine Write

2010-10-18T20:06:00.002-04:00

Grrrrrrrrrrrrr Graphic Design grrrrrrrrratification.

EEEyyyyyeee love you I want you.

FFFFFFFffffff Fine Art Find me

Write to me. Instead. In my head

We use our hands - not computersssssss
sssssssssssssaaaaaaaaaah.

The Inability to Savor

2010-10-12T13:09:00.004-04:00

Under the skin I'm almost sizzling, enjoying the snap crackle pop of it all. And praying for an action just as immediate, a touch to leave me sired and skinless. Crispy pink and finished. The punishment and pleasure sealed together. I want to burn the roof of my mouth, and cut my fleshy tongue. Quickly left licking sticky fingers and picking stained teeth. To wash you down with red wine, white wine, cheap beer and bathtub gin. To tell you that I love you, and throw your scraps to the dog.

kiss kiss kiss

2010-09-27T20:54:00.000-04:00

You are slipping through my thoughts, dripping off my actions. And I want to sink my fingers beneath you, deep into you, and strum music with your tendons; the bass rippling across your skin. I’ll hum my kisses until your mouth is swollen and rock you to the beat of my obsession.

A Song, A Fairytale.

2010-09-20T21:10:00.002-04:00

he wants me to write. he wants me to sing. he wants me to write but i can't write a thing. without thinking, without stuttering, without idling wishing for you. like dreaming, not singing, hard to grasp and even harder to do.
he wants me to write. he wants me to sing, he wants me to write, but i can't write a thing. as if haunted, with apparitions wanted, i beg you to come instead of go. and as if parted, before we've started, my warmth for you, i long to show.
he wants to write, he wants me to sing, he wants me to write but i can't write a thing. come to me tonight, come to me and bring, your smile that burns so bright, a touch to help me sing.
For he wants me to write, he wants me to sing, he wants me to write but i can't write a thing...

2010-09-16T13:19:00.003-04:00

Steam off the used trucks and compacts.
First thing in the morning I can see what I say. ANd a morning of old ladies warns me of routine.
One lady was so old she had spiders in her hair. living, literal, legit spiders.
I plucked them off of her like a monkey, though I sure as hell wouldnt eat them after.

One day I'll be that old. And if im not careful and attentive, It could be tomorrow. Im already on my way. 2 busted fingers so anything I touch hurts. I'll have the gangrene stephanie once told us about. where it smelled from being washed and bundled up for so many proud years.

Mike laughed when I told him how much it would suck to become blind now that Ive finally paid off my camera. I guess I shouldnt think long-term anymore.

Argyle Socks and Stockings

2010-09-11T22:17:00.000-04:00

I want to tell you about childhood impressed by dinosaurs, and teenage years with fists shoves deep in complicated pants.

I want to hold this like the first black clove cigarette I ever smoked, hinged between my fingers as I feigned indifference.

I am convinced it has to go down like a well played chess game, thinking four moves ahead of every metaphor and confession.

As I find myself intrigued without sinister motive.

A sucker for a good story.

2010-09-02T14:27:00.003-04:00

You entrust me with your dreams, your memories. So that I can make you remember all of your happy times. do you even think about the ones you trust? for what reason other than title makes us more responsible with your thoughts and emotions than any person on the street? I know its nothing. I can live amongst your memories, like the sandman in your dreams. I can copy your experiences, and retrace your steps, and you let me unknowingly. There was a time Im told when people used to be more concious of their impact on us keepers lives, when you were embarrased to let us in on your family dinners and endless birthday parties. Whether you know it or not, every funeral procession I feel like im missing out on. Every vacation I regret not being there with you. you have that power over me, and im not willing to let that go. The best part is youll never know how connected we can feel to some of you. In fact MOST of you we shrug off. Another graduation, more prom nights, sports events, house construction, long lost friends. Ive had enough of those. I cling to those that go the distance, and make me remember theres an art to all of this. Memories are artistic.

All along

2010-08-03T08:58:00.001-04:00

You name it, plan your future around it, panic about it, cry about it, wonder about it.
And then, you realize you have to say goodbye. And you're relieved, and you toast to freedom, and you're surprised that you're sad.
Your body feels hollow and empty now and you wonder if maybe, just maybe, it's what you've wanted all along.

Junly 12

2010-07-23T16:33:00.003-04:00

I forget the motivation, but I had to jump. Whether it was to rescue strangers or for shear sport, I dove for the greater good. I sunk deep into the water, touching the sand dollars below with my eyes shut. I heard that little voice in the back of my head, warning me of the turtles I had disturbed. I dared open my eyes after realizing they werent sand dollars at all. I open my eyes to a great mouth, lunging for my torso. The water became darker, as taht toothless beak of a beast closes around my stomach. I knoew its too late, I knew it from the second the water turned black. I died.
It was strangely calming, the utter nothingness of it all. Un-conciousness. In it, time doesnt even exist. Who knows how long I was actually persisting until the radio clicked on?
I guess the myth is false after all, which I gotta say is a relief.

2010-07-06T13:20:00.004-04:00

there are far worse places to live. Maybe the weather is afraid of us and just trying to keep us secluded. Its working. Our chords run taut to the tension of snapping. Spiders will fall when let go, tumbling into a reckless new world. For those who have been there before, maybe it'll be a nice refresher, like a cold storm with warm sun. There will be lightning and rainbows. Foliage in the sand dunes. Stars around the moon. high tide will drag us further from our broken spider links to a desert island, where carrier pigeons are the only means of connecting again.Without the birds there would be no new warnings, no updates, not a single tear or giggle shared. Neutrality. so let me bobb, tired and anxious for this new world. And please stop plaguing my dreams, its hard enough sleeping in the surf without your constant beestings, and persistant hope. If the surf sees to bring me ashore soon, I hope I feel what you feel, because last impressions told me you were there and happy.

2010-06-27T16:06:00.004-04:00

today, i cracked the shell of an egg on the sidewalk
and watched it crisp under the sun, the way my arm
and the back of my neck has crisped, i aimagine myself
crisping similar to pork, when it has been dipped once,
dipped again, and, like this egg, bubbles.

the thermometer is broken; it has decided to move to florence.

restless

2010-06-16T17:15:00.002-04:00

Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont.
Vermont, New York, Vermont.
Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont.
Vermont, California, everywhere in between,Vermont.
Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont.
Vermont, Croton Point Park, Vermont.
Vermont, over the pond, Vermont.
Vermont, Montreal, Vermont.
Vermont, somewhere new, Vermont.
Vermont, Martha's Vineyard, Vermont.
Vermont, New Hampshire, stop.

Wonder when you're coming home. Wonder if you'll be able to find me.

2010-06-09T22:01:00.003-04:00

hair saturated with the smell of bonfires old trees hot coals (eyes too)
thinking about letters and postage stamps on the drive home (always do)
dreaming about reading this new book I have aloud to you
I don't think you'd see the beauty in it
I read it to myself in bed and tiny strands of smokey hair fall into the corners of my mouth I taste you
I tell myself that's what it is
your ghost

out of the tool box, into the garbage

2010-06-06T09:48:00.004-04:00

i am that little spot on the wall,
the salamander slime trailing behind all things
the jungle cat lost in the wrong woods
the moon on a sour night
the little details
something peculiar
the strands of hair
the cheese platter served with the wine
the cats eyelids
a dogs nose
a friend
a lost comrade
alone
voice
I am the single cactus through the barren wastes.
I am THAT guy
Im the squeaky door hinge that tries to remains silent.
Im the bar of soap
the gatorade
the trumpet song

I am the elephant, though not the one who needs to be concerned over.
Im the one that forgets
I am the coward
as yellow as anxiety makes me
Ive trapped myself in my own little room
and I dont know what I did with the key.

I am the whiner
the egotistical selfcentered no one,
who knows what theyre talking about
in the way that no one really knows
The prophet, the one whos figured it all out,

if I figured it all out,
why then is it all still so topsy turvy?

I almost bought a book today, about being the white knight, the "army of one" warrior through life.
It was too bibley for my tastes, but reminded me its ridiculous to ponder such drivel when everyone feels theyre in the same boat.
And thats the compulsion, the impulse.
We're just trying to be like everybody else. Especially when we try to stand out.
and be unique.

2010-05-31T16:05:00.001-04:00

I eat the dreams of children who are lost

This little boy, no taller than about a couple of feet he walks up to me and holds out his little pale lobster hands and he calls out to me with a sound I could not even begin to describe.

The organ grinder is still and the sky is glowing lavender. My harpschiord no longer makes the right sounds, cat screams pouring out of the hyperventilating rat. Looly loo this purple shark floats above us waiting for the next patient to dance into the emergency room. He bites my knit cap off and I am without conscience

I don’t think I want to eat the dreams of children anymore.

2010-05-29T20:59:00.003-04:00

(another transcribed from my illustrious art history notebook)

first I eat CAKE

then i fuck cats. lots of pussy. in dark alley ways andnight skys under hot parkinglot building ehcoeing cement. easy niquil induced sleep brings me closer to god. cake has frosting so sweet my gums bleed. eating up the whole of the world. tendrils seek out the jelly filled middle of the world. All is calm. all is chaos on the moving train. the surge of the desert is deep but the ocean is swift. wail song lingers in my mouth brine drips over my lips the seas of the sky are parting. cinamon expanses heave and roll life-like and slithering like so much kneaded bread. The earth is only the shell of a snail we oze and slime and breath through our sides yellow cheese cake, corn bread and slime. easy waking dreams collected like so many out dattted magazines. we are the best. the worst. here is our last great monument to sodomy our last indulgence. I always chew the host. Its one last waking moment before the earth howls and your brain shuts down. One last shining pictograph before sleep.

ambrogio loerenzetti
-presentation at the temple: consult and share journey man
-allegory of good governement
bichorna tablets
-book covers. closing report for end of elected term.

2010-05-29T20:51:00.004-04:00

(Transcribed unaltered form my art history notebook again)

Street smart copy cats eat ten pounds daily checate cheese crescendos spiraling back across galaxys a the apex of the halogen colider in the fine art of conversation traped in the aperature of the single note piano each cream filled orange blooms in the light of the night of actual antiques mysteries humming and churning like so much stomach chyme. rolling and gasping like two lovers spawning deep throaty tendrils grip like summer's last breath bask in the never ending waterfall of lush green heart of the mormon makes love to a cadalac. the engine heat beyond the pass of the first endevors lays the realm of saturn. orange shinny motled clay against the black. Dost did cross an albatros stricken with disentary and mold. Made true by the knashing of teeth and evil sperm filled mumified popes. each long cross section of brain showed sign of decay and every time she spoke the air shook with something like broken glass and lies. Dark broody caves of guilty habit stare with beedy orange eyes. Small teeth that eat fingers who like a snake engorged flesh under scales and tight. each angel sings in teh shower.

(there is a small sketch of humping bunnies at the end.)

2010-05-29T20:35:00.003-04:00

(transcribed un-altered from my art history notebook; spelling anomalies and all :3)

Her of hearts of valeintino where for art though arlecchino. the face of my sorrow is the low bearing willow laden with pine cones. Fresh, unatural, sweet smell of pine and weeping branches. can you tell me where my love has gone where my deep teen angst has left me now that it is gone. Apathy lodged in the side of a cowboy's head. A mother singing soft things in the night. the soft whale song of the city promising sex breathing deep poison and sloshing heavily of bile.tendrils in the earth sing and resonate slowly of warmth and cute boys never fucked. they sway and moan like so many soft reeds in the miniture wildlifepreserve. feeding rats cocain in the summer rain. needing nothing for protection. needing no one never. need love and finding none. Even il capitano deserves love. even he deserves. I am the end to the means of the last desert highway. After me there is nothing after me and before me. there for the grace of god go I. Over mountains and hill. through valleys spilled with Quils and ink and well hung senior shows. I walk I walk I walk till fingers bleed and mountians talk ia m a warrior of sodemy of guentletted Joan of ARCS and sock monkeys. even I don't know what that means. I am not for the fiant of heart. I make weak hoys cry and the strong pay no heed. I am the cold rush of wind after a funeral I am the forthcomming pitcher for the pope's only duaghter. I am blue, green, bright light testing all bounds of neo nazi thinking I am buhda a pun on my throne. I am the last of the mohegans.
the sun is bright but I am so very dull. the earth is cold and sometimes I feel very alone.

upday

2010-05-28T13:37:00.001-04:00

today we packed a van with boxes
for a trip taht will take hours, almost
nine, if we're lucky, if that's what we're
going for.

we have a place to live, and its walls
are purple, and lavender is growing
outside.

i am waiting to become famous. hopefully
i will hear back soon.

Roots

2010-05-27T13:20:00.001-04:00

Uproot again. Tear away, replant. The roots, they'll grow, they'll find what they need, and you'll have to fight against "out of sight, out of mind."

2010-05-27T09:23:00.002-04:00

Think of a shooting star that youve seen in your lifetime. Any one of them, just pick one.
What was your wish when it fell? Did you ever think it would come true when you wised it? HAS it come true?
Now think of its duration. A blip in time, and its already faded, lost, making you lie waiting patently for your next wish.
Did you ever, while watching, wonder as to whether these stars are falling towards us, or away from us? Are they finding the wishers? Or are they trying to escape from fulfilling our hopes and dreams? Do you think this would have effect on the past wishes that have already come and gone?

Does your attitude about that star affect your attitude of the next?

Does if make you wonder about the rest of the shower?
Whether THAT one was the best or merely and appetizer?

What happened at the end of your meteor shower? Didnt you linger outside for any last surprises; hopes that youd get a secret showing when all others had lost faith and interest? Or did you duck out early because of the cold? The best showers are always in the coldest, harshest conditions Ive found.

I? I linger. And now, my wish did not come true.
But it was one hell of a star.

perpetual motion

2010-05-26T11:04:00.002-04:00

I'll be by the river as much as I can. With the bugs and birds screaming and the water roaring. I'll sit there sweating in peace and quiet letting my world course through my head.
And i'll wish you were there.
We could scream with the bugs and bird. We could roar back.
We could talk about our worlds.
Discuss lives
But you're too far away.
So I'll sit there, by the river, by myself.

2010-05-14T16:33:00.003-04:00

Ill miss the indecisions. the way we never spoke to anyone and complained how crowded everyhwere was even if there were only 150 people on campus at a time. Ill miss how alone we feel when we cant get a moement to ourselves. I might even miss the fights, the unspoken arguements that should have, but never happened. I'll miss the noise, sit in my room in silence and thinkj " wow, its really over. what next?" and no one will be with me to sympathize because we'er all on our ownm we always have been. And I knoew that this means little to many, but I dont care, because this is what we're here for, like a planet fitness for the mind, and we;ve got lifelong memberships. So judege or dont, I dont care. I dont feel guilty for anything I may have done, I dont regret any decisions I've made over the past 4 years,, Im now starting to see how it ALL strung together, I believe fate is what you make it to be, and Im making mine positive. somehow.
I felt bad for a while that I wasnt leaving a legacy or anything behind. Thats still true now, but what could I have done? We never speak aloud our thoughts until goaded, or until its so pent up in us that we need to expel. Everyone here knows about the need to expel...
I'll miss the lost opportunities, the lack of goodbyes, the times we needed a good drink but were to busy to be bothered. I'll miss that time where we never hung out when we should have. And I wish sometimes we werent hanging out when we did.
4 years come and gone, and like highschool its all over/. I havent spoken to anyone from highschool since graduation, and Im sure and worried that its a repeating cycle.

Being an adult

2010-05-11T21:03:00.002-04:00

i realized today that I'm all grown up, looking up my nostrils
in the mirror and finidng nosehairs up my nostrils, mirrored
back at me nosehairs. It's a little gross to think about. It's a litte
gross considering how they can tease out, twist, curl, tangle up.

I realized I'm grown up when my friend told me he wasn't coming
back because he had been kicked out. I realied that I'm grown up
because that didn't happen to me. And I'm sorry that it did to him,
but I'm glad that it didn't happen to me, because I worked for it
and, well, I'm ashamed of that, and that is, I'm told, what being an adult is.

Visuals for the beast

2010-05-01T01:39:00.007-04:00

Why are we fascinated with the gruesome? Sea Monsters, Horror - blood, guts, ghosts and their dusty, moldy, gooey bones? I cut my finger a little over a month ago and was close to fainting - it hurt so bad and took forever to stop bleeding - but i wanted it to stop so I could see the tissue underneith - somehow I thought there'd be more texture more sinew. Mangled bodies and cruddy crusts of bottom ocean dwellers (and glacier-formed lakes), skeletons and supposed spirit shadows. Of course the answer is instinct and carnal however natural, I'm not sure I'm proud of that part of my curiousity.

Howling

2010-04-24T09:59:00.001-04:00

9:30 the dog howls. Chained to the porch, rain dripping from the links, he howls. Like the Lady and the Tramp dog, he's sad, lonely, dying.
But it's every day. My bed up in the bay window, big white comforter and king-sized pillows and Beach Sand-and-Japanese Maple walls, he intrudes. The outside world comes in. Howling, knocking, crying.

this is for the wolf: metaphor

2010-04-08T16:20:00.003-04:00

i'm not good at telling the truth and so what i want to say i choose to wrap up in a ball store it behind a metaphorical wall that is to say a wall made of metaphors becaues when you don't want to tell the truth, what else do you do? you obscure with truth with a blur of fashin, writing sense and sensibility.

there is a story that i'm sure you've all heard about a lion who pulled a thorn from the toe of a mouse, at least i think that's the way it goes. i'm sure you've all heard the story of limes and peaches. how jesus decided to feed the multitude with jell-o snack packs. what i'm trying to say is that stories are journeys, and so the first metaphor will be one about a journey. it has already been established so know that when i move on a step we will be speaking about a journey.

absence is best defined by filling space with as many things as possible the mutltitudinous stimulation the words best fit here nonsense even any word you can come up comjunkular blatntantabulous rumtumtibble anything to fill space becase space is time and filling space is filling time and time and filling time is the only way to fill a space of time because if you don't then you'll learn the secret you'll know the trick of the game you'll know the way time doesn't really work with clocks because clocks are ALWAYS there always FILLING the SPACE of TIME with NOISEsoundconstructionliketicksticksticksticks so what i'm trying to say here is that in the sapce of a journey there was an absence remember to apply all metaphors back a step or you'll miss out on it. absence and journey.

it's not about absense during the jurney but absence after, like a death in the family, like the cliffhangar. it isn't s o si simple t o o o o type.

this hyena hasn't been good at keeping up with things. it's because all he can think about are scraps. it's because he's survived by scavenging for rotten flesh. wolves PREY wolves are after newblood. hyenas are too busy with scraps. images and words, right? the balance of the balance of the balance of beards and moustaches. that doesn't mean anything. it's a space to fill an absence where the reek of flesh is.

the question is how many words can i type to fill a space where a few would suffice. i argue infinity. i argue at least (if I could check the wrod count on this post) 500. 1000. enough to fill a page. enough to fill two pages maybe. how long was the last? how long was a story about a paper doll?

i saw your video today. it was amazing. it made me realize things. it made me take note of outdoors. it made me wonder about the value of words and space. how much absence?

events in a sister's dorm when the room is dark and i am awake

2010-04-06T23:43:00.001-04:00

Spiked cider, dorm room, top bunk.
Rain, flashes of lightning, thunder.
Knot it my stomach, red in my eyes, pain in my breast.
Thumps on the walls, car alarm, door slamming.
Saliva, saline, salt.
Tired, awake, dreaming.
Hum, whir, tick.
Sleep?

nonsents

2010-04-06T09:19:00.001-04:00

sepulchre. labyrnth. pasadena. tolouse. gerbal. wordsmyt. blaggurd. belunns. tubulur. blur. tubdblur. tensent. twenysent. nineteef. sallod. taberspackle. luftwait. falsy. hamjam. valgular.

rainballs

2010-03-29T15:03:00.002-04:00

like roses on fingertips. the rain needs to learn not to take itself so seriously. the rain needs to learn that typos happen in the course of things, and that it's important not to erase. the rain needs to learn that it doesn't need to carry a knife on the subway. the knife needs to learn not to be afraid. the rain needs to learn form the knife. the saboteor needs to learn from the rain. hence balalnce. hence balalalalalalalalalance. its ululuations. ululations. ululululululululuulations. the rain needs to learn that money doesn't grow on trees. the rain needs to learn to sing sometimes because how else are you going to live. the rain needs to learn that twenty-three-years-old-is-not-too-old-to-be-old. the rain needs ot learn that its okay to drink. the rain needs to learn that its okay to get high. the rain needs to learn that when its raining it should wear a raincoat, rain's coat. the rain needs ot learn that its okay to love. the rain needs to learn that its okay to juggle desire. the rain needs ot learn how to go down on you better. the rain needs to learn how to tonguewaggle. the rain needs to learn how to type faste.r the rain needs ot learn the esence of motivation its strugles how it goes how it goes how it goes.

there are still mad hatters to invite.

2010-03-29T09:49:00.004-04:00

so here I am, cold and alone in the room of my judgement. In here stands the epitome of what I've been studying for. And I hate it. Ambivalence prevails. Horrid, sloppy, cheap. The time I've spent does not hold when seen up close. This should have been done in 2 days, It's taken me a week, and life is running short.
Meditation, comfort, 120 flights short of revelations but still in understanding. Closest to conflict I've ever been and yet still holding ground. Academic oblivion is on the brink, but we must not give in like Artaz from that movie. You know the one. Where Atreyu perseveres, because soon he will realize that life will always go on, and to give in so early would only be sad and pointless. And heart-wrenching.
So I remain in this room, with my make believe yellow wallpaper, and I'll screw on. Each hour that goes by I wish I had it this entire time, but in not having it I should be thankful. 2 semesters on the edge of snapping would stress my joints too fully.

And will anyone see it? Will anyone care or understand? Will you? or you? Im sure YOU will, and Im sure that YOU wont. But like I told the ET, its not for school. Its for me, and it happens to come with the perk of fulfilling a requirement. That reminds me...

Over. And over and over. And.

2010-03-13T23:11:00.002-05:00

All my thoughts, as of late are cliche. Time is short. I want to change my life...is this all there is? etc. I can't seem to escape this "Groundhog's Day" gag reel. My fingernails are getting worse. Then I think to myself before taking a step the direction of wild, "what have I to lose? Everything in just a few people." Well, crap.

Movie-life

2010-03-09T15:29:00.001-05:00

It's a movie-life and we don't want it. Didn't ask for it, didn't look for it, didn't choose it.

It'll get rid of it all, flush it away, make you forget and never look back. But you'll feel it sometimes and wonder what it is.

Slice

2010-03-03T18:00:00.000-05:00

I will whisper, I want to be sweet like fruit; I want to watch you wince from my juices when you put me to your mouth.

snapping the light, let it bust outward instead of straight and true

2010-03-03T11:42:00.003-05:00

to taste it once again, to fall into that cage of distortion, or incoherence, or revelation, of the stereotype.
I know this isnt good, me missing it, but my plans thoughts dreams goals decisions adventures were so much better before I lost it all. Even right before a hair cut, there was some remainder. Im ashamed, as I think anyone in a similar position should be, but I realize that these events of the past are all I have to link me artistically to those monuments. It isnt uncommon, its far more acceptable than one in the light would at first believe, and it was only for experience.

I've had that experience now, so i need to stop. whats done is done, and I wont let the habit strike back.
After all, I choose to forget the bad trips. And I only really miss the clarity, the pristine muddyness of the mind. Making sense and having epiphanies only to forget an hour later. Writing was so much easier then. Conversing with strangers was exciting and welcome. Avoiding authorities was a gamble on the whole deal.
The other side
of distortion.

2010-03-03T11:01:00.002-05:00

right around the corner and its all over. In a few months time will be like no other time prior. and I can hardly wait. At the same time, what will I do? I cant work, I wont interact. back to that unstoppable pursuit to finding the perfect moment. The solitude where I can call a location mine. I dont want to settle for the parking garage again. The concrete was hard on my bum. And what will happen to her and I? I'd like to see her but I dont know how or when. Maybe her birthday, but thatll be 3 months in the waiting.
And afterwards? I'll be working or something forever.
i dont want to work forever
I want right now, to persist for eternity. I'm so comfortable, here in my little chair, empty and loose. My clothes are fitting perfectly today, no muscle pains, Im clean.
Everything is so quiet. here I am, "working" and no one is making a sound. the loudest sound is my fingers right here and now and the heater humming away. keeping me comfy.
And here I'll remain, for better or worse.
so now what?

I'd like to go on, but will anyone read it anyway?
are you reading it?
I bet you are.
so what do you think? what does the summer hold for you, reader?
I'll be eager to read your ramblings.

Motivation through spirituality

2010-02-25T10:35:00.005-05:00

Hello folks. Many of you may not know me, in fact, I am slightly disjointed from this community. However, I always have this nagging feeling, like "I really wish I spent more time on Matt's Arumpahpah: gardyloo! thing.

Every month or two, I will get exited about it, and start thinking of things to blog/rant/expunge from my mind on to the webverse. I will go through past posts and enjoy the talent, but eventually I will be bogged down by the immensity of the catching up I have to do. Soon rapid firing brain will move on to the next tantalizingly fun idea. Without finishing here my mind moves in a never ending cycle of zipping from idea to idea, without any completion.

Well finally I came to this realization, with help from my lifelong friend Travis.

Now I know this is sort-of going to turn into an advertisement/endorsement of another blog, but before that turns you off, I implore you to keep reading.

Now my buddy Travis has spent the last few years devouring a plethora of books, blogs, and websites devoted to self-help. He is also quite a spiritual (hint hint.. spiritual not religious) guy, not the preachy type though.

Anyways hes combined these two elements of his life, self improvement, and spirituality, and created a blog about how the two are inextricably linked.

His ideas here are whats opening my eyes to now ways of bettering myself.

I hope you will give it a shot, even if your not into the whole spirituality stuff. At the very least it makes for great reading, and content that makes your mind churn.

http://www.thinkingspirit.com/

Jesse

Ps, I hope to be around more often!! For real this time!

sour baggage

2010-02-24T10:26:00.004-05:00

we were statues interacting. My hand outreached putting the ball in her court. The next move was critical, real life chess. She hates chess.

My hand outreached, honestly not knowing what to expect.

Statues beginning to erode in a vacuum.

Then she took my hand, and we were reanimated. The color returned to our cheeks.

a good sense of smell

2010-02-23T11:05:00.002-05:00

Every now and again, I catch a whiff of something familiar in the air. A trace of what it used to be like. The smell of freshmen year, a year when all was unfamiliar yet all was comfortable. A year of alternate realities, and bonds so strong they could support the world. I smell this, like windex, wafting from time to time as I walk through campus. Something about the air tastes just right, so these feelings come flooding back. My first roommate. Pokemon into all hours of the night. Metric cups of winter sand carpeting the floor as I walk everywhere in my happy feet. When music wasnt in style. When the circle was tight.

I've recently discovered an old friend who after telling me stories, is now more dear to me than I ever thought possible. Respect and adoration, understanding and sympathy, minding ones own business unless fatal. These are things we have always exhibited together even without knowing it. He and I always reminisce, and we now know why. While we prefer our current status' of the present, there was something magical about the child years of 2006 and 7.

I keep catching that whiff, that taste in the air that tells me a lot of time has passed. A lot of things have changed. We're all on our separate paths now. All of us. And while we may miss each other when we're gone, we have no choice but to flourish onward and upward, and hope the rest may too.

passable

2010-02-23T09:11:00.002-05:00

it is the act of the witticism:

"Knock knock"
who's there?
"Aleph?"
"Aleph who?"

Where does it go from there? Joke joke joke
there once was a man from nantucket,
the ilk
the like.

it is the act of witticism:
birth & natural disaster

it is the act of a single, potent witticism.

i don't know where this is going; but I usually don't
it's usually about the footfalls, the long steps,
the brief parodies of movement, the fantasy
gouge, the blatant apostrophe, the terrible
triptake, the sly beast, the breasts like moonlight

here is your story. you can understand what love feels like,
and what it means to be loveless. you can understand what
wigs are like. you can understand the Principle Of Beards.

It is a competition to come up with a punchline.

(1460)

2010-02-21T22:33:00.000-05:00

What's left in these tiny states but the interstate out to somewhere new?
Memories floating in every landscape
Each molecule holding the bitterness
No doors will open but the ones with exits signs glowing above.
No windows to sneak into on late nights.
But out there
Past the doors with no door knobs on our sides
That is where we will escape to a place where the sun only ever rises.

gray

2010-02-20T13:37:00.003-05:00

reading all again I get lightheaded and dizzy with memory.

I see it all, over and over again, all of our strife, our accomplishments

I see how much we've changed since we all met each other.

Its different than high school and middle school, where one cant change but now we're adults, we can make choices and see the progression and consequences of our actions.

Relationships found and lost, grades up and down, rooms messy or clean, even hair long and short.

Its too much to keep track of, but after looking at it all again I say we should all be proud of where we are now, for its these changes and experiences that define who and what we are. Regardless of what we are, or who others think we are, be proud. Had anything in the past been different, you would not be who you are right this second. You may not even be reading this had the butterfly effect not taken hold of our existence.

Too much is left to the unknown should we wish to be different. The "what if" scenarios never could play out like in our heads because we're only human, and cant see all the variables.

I find after all this time, burning my past was not a good idea. Memory is so one sided, and I know if the writings were not tossed to the flames, I may relearn some tidbit of realization that could help snap everything back into place.

but memory is so one sided. So black and white.

I'd like to think Im gray now, have been since Santo Spirito.

And im told its noticeable. I hope thats a good thing.

timidity. humiditiy.

2010-02-18T09:31:00.002-05:00

timidity. humidity.

halls. (empy of me)

pacifier rights. cuckold.

swell. hubris.

ketchup manfucatured. huddle.

you have beautiful eyes.

childball. stainwaste.

perfected. temerity.

baseball. balls. testicles, to be frank.

come home with me. faithless.

peanut butter and honey

2010-02-18T01:26:00.001-05:00

there's a letter under your bed, but you'll never read it.
i've sealed it with wax, like they did back then.
it doesn't say anything important, really.

remember the time we made those peanut butter sandwiches?
the honey you drizzled on top, soaking into wheat bread and making something i thought was beautiful.
heavy on our tongues, sweet in our throats.
crumbs on your chin, on my lap, on the floor.

it's sealed in wax and maybe someday the landlord will find it.
read it, fold it up, tuck in away somewhere because it seems like it's important.
but really, it's not.
not anymore.

we're all 2 faced

2010-02-17T20:06:00.002-05:00

all of us, no matter the circumstances are people we would never let on to be.

Secrets so dear, so close, no matter who we surround ourselves with, the whole truth stays hidden. And was it really that much of a surprise? to be innocent or ignorant of the whole big picture? Even now, I think and believe in things that I wish I wouldnt. I know full well details I'll refrain from referring to when the questions are asked. I have those same secret desires, the wishes, the needs to explain everything, but one person cannot handle the burden of all my blathering. I could tell it all, and I have, but I need to tell more than one person. and I worry the people I surround myself now are not the ones who can handle my complete truths.

Likewise, I wont handle theirs. I learn nothing I want to from them, and I cant go to them for support ever, because more often than not, they are part of the problem, or have been. Everythings connected after all.

Everythings changed though. One solid bridge for support and direction is now a delicate spiderweb of alterations, misdirections, lies and fragility.

Im all to blame. But I suppose that would be unfair to those around me, to the people that care.

It makes me want summer to come sooner. I'll claim connection with the ones I hold precious, but I wonder how I'll hold up relationships with these friends. It wouldnt be the first time I've left somewhere and never looked back. but I always look back and cringe at what I've done, what i do, what I want to happen, and Ive always been that way, so how can I change?

But is that fair?

I dont even know if any of this makes sense anymore. My dream now is one of solitude. Not loneliness or separation, but solitude. I'm my own best audience, and was a fool to think anyone around me would be as moved by my show as I was.

thats enough, time to sign off.

I'll prolly post something in another few hours

world peas. butter.

2010-02-17T14:59:00.001-05:00

world peas. butter. albatross.

word association. burguny. breakwater.

docks. hot doc.

streamline. baseline. passing line. forward.

tableau. art. chalk. talkback.

faith. fearless. foolish,

sage. parsley. rosemary (you know the rest)

tablesalt. spell. names on walls.

simple. fulcrum.

gravity well. bone.

seesalt.

RE: backyards and falling stars

2010-02-17T13:03:00.002-05:00

after travel: realizations had

unexpected twists and full of hypocrisy

negative views and self destruction

would I regret it?

do I still?

each day runs in a parallel loop, a dimensional slinky.

where this passes

a familiar hitchhiker reminding me of a chance of "what could have been"

a what-if scenario played out in one direction, as if from a movie.

and now im in the audience,

and ask if I still regret it.

The Back Page

2010-02-14T19:18:00.003-05:00

He said, When have I ever promised you anything?
And I wanted to laugh, I felt my cheeks burn and the moment turn movie classic.
Of course, never, how could he? Who'd even want such bile...
And his poison coursed through my veins, so aware of his poison, I writhed.
Another sip, eyeliner rubbed to bruises.
Days would turn to years before I'd have to twist like this again.
Time is relative.
Fantasies taste better than swollen lips.
And I find myself becoming a woman and forgetting how to cry like a child.

2 wolves in overdrive

2010-02-11T13:19:00.003-05:00

2 wolves in their own packs, once carried each other.

bite marks on both now circle the same woods picking up each others trail and avoiding it.

Each claiming territorial superiority over the other silently.

Their concentric circular trails at equal diameters, now growing shorter?

what awaits at a black holes center?

ultimate realization?

or utter oblivion?

or is it cyclical? and it all to repeat once more.

Waxing and waning like the chaos spirals.

Child-Lady

2010-02-11T01:12:00.004-05:00

I am just a whisper. A constant child on the outside. you look at my front stage of bundled winter cold and my small, shyness and must think, "there goes the child-lady."

bunches of tantrum words rise in me at these passings by, every day. Every day starts with "if only" and ends with "never." I make desperate attempts to convince myself it's their loss. It's your loss. I am the nice one. The one who listens, who cares. smiles on faces holding hands - frostbite - but together with no hats or scarves.

Why not me? So easily answered - so many different answers I see it as truth. Don't think like that - you don't even have time for a guy in your life. Yeah, but I'd like to have the option.

Am I not alone in memory?

2010-02-10T16:48:00.003-05:00

It stings far more than I thought it would. It was of no surprise, but a slap in the face is still a slap in the face even when you brace yourself for it. There was no provocation, no reason as of late for it to happen, though it did. and I suppose it was long overdue. And the worst part, I dont even know when. Must have been at the outset of the new year. Both of them.
Like I said, I'm not surprised, but there was just something about it that made me hopeful I guess.
Oh well.
I suppose that chance encounter will never happen. It's true, the more you think about it, the less likely will it happen the way you imagine it to be.
so why do I still think about it? And am I not the only one of us like Ive secretly suspected all this time?
Am I not alone in memory?

Sunday Pizza

2010-02-07T16:04:00.004-05:00

Breath in. Sigh. Sunday - I hate Sunday well no don't I hate the expectations that come with Sunday. Did you do your your homework? No. Then you can't draw you can't work on your own stuff. so how else am I supposed to do it? mmm pizza. mmm warm nap - I wish someone took it with me. well, I'm sure they did, just in a different bed. What the hell is that sound? I hate waiting but I hate being alone. I feel I can use the word "hate" because it's only geared towards myself. No guilt involved. mmmmmpizza aftertaste - *pause for bite*I took two - I'm really hungry. I want Lo Mein and Crab Rangoon. How can Chinese food be romantic - it's so greasy! Sometimes, I feel like I don't chew right. because my mouth is so small. Small and child-like. grow up you're going to to be a teacher!

Tuck away

2010-02-04T15:25:00.003-05:00

"My sister and I always had to choose between going blind or going deaf. We'd talk about it in the dark. Eventually, one of us will go blind and one of us will go deaf. We'd have to figure out a way to communicate because, God, what a lonely world it would be without a sister.

I sometimes thought I'd prefer to be deaf. I could still walk around, travel, explore the world like I've always dreamed. Curl up on the couch and read a book.

I sometimes thought I'd prefer to be blind. I could learn how to read with my fingers and stay up all night talking, and it wouldn't matter because it would be dark anyway. I could hear the music and the sounds that are so comforting, so valuable.

Then I realize that no matter what, I could only communicate with my sister with some sixth sense. So I'm looking for one to tuck away inside me until the day comes when we lose our senses."

3d person

2010-02-03T12:21:00.002-05:00

I tell people I try see everything from the outside. Unbiased, ignorant. So I can give an honest opinion and judge how it would look to me if I were a stranger. I saw myself from the outside for an entire semester, to make up for the semester previous. I kept my ideas to myself and felt as though I was the only target of my reflections. But I was wrong.

Given all of this time, I havent had any truly contemplative moments where I see others as I saw myself, or really saw myself as other have seen me. I see others, and I see myself, but selfishly.

And I dont even know where Im going with this anymore, so if you have any ideas, I love comments.

yet another day

2010-02-03T11:51:00.002-05:00

so much olor so little laces to visit where I can be free as the ealges engagered as they are you cant even take a feather without taking a bite out your banbks asss. 25 grand or somehting rediculous like that. but without the feathers how can I make the wings to fly where i need be? Wax is nothing, thats the caution, the feahters are the ghings you need in life that are restricted . Without those feathers i cant escape. no hope but to stay in prison. I can smell the salted air but can never again tast fox's ice cream. the rocks would be a nice place to contem[plate thes things, ut now theyre overrun with tourists and people like me who only want ot feel uniquie. people like me. its not fair, we try so hard to leave, but we all head for the same place, so how can we escape? when would we be free except to hold back. I dont want to progress if it means the restof the world will keep moving forwards with no cares for me or my feathersuit. They'll call me a chicken, some tar and feather victim, but I'll know what the real score is. I'll show them.

paper:flower:girl

2010-02-01T18:27:00.002-05:00

folded like paper the flower girl at the ehart of things
she's up in there inside of me under the ehart with hear
that's red like setting sun not to beat around the bush
but she'sa mermaid and she flies and i've seeen her carried
i watched the ocean washo ver her the way it does
now the way its washing wright now the way its washing
over me its washing over you can you imaging living at
the sea side and never getting buried under the sand
that what is like that i promise you is what it slike
being baked
like a pie
being baked
under the sun
being baked baked baked baked baked
baked baked.
its' laa relative. the nateur of baking. the nature of the potato who's been sabotaged. the nature of the rose thorns on the patio. when pricked when bleed. when baked when dead. when ravens and crows convene to congregate about rose throns the black of their fetahres you can't see through its like ink, like word.s i wonder if anyone knows the truth of hte city. i ownder if anyone knows the beating hearts. i woner for you, mr. loner. i wonder for you mr. skin and bones, under this ghaggard flex. under these nipples udner these hair. i wonder if you've been baked. i wonder if you've been the city. a tumultuous pastime. i left os many behind. i tramped a girl under the city. i trampled a girl under my city. she remembered loving me once, and i told her about the curls and about the rubber soles and about the word that gets pressed when you stamp hard enough. i told her about the times in the night.
dear lady,

i love you

dear sir,

i love you

dear city,

i love you i love you dear city my love. somewhere under concerete is kin and bones. somewhere under iron is the passivity of grave. i wanted to talk about grace but all it comes out as death as skull and pones buy.

dear city, dear city,
dear city, i love you,
dear city, dear city,
this hoel, that i love you

its all coming out here, in this little letter in this last note to grace the end of the colelction.
this matter ofthe city. this matter
of the asphalt. the i disappointment
of the matter o f the asphalt.

the clock ticks down.

dear city.

the clock ticks down.

dear city.

simic writes that the end is as meaningless as the beginning,
or, that isn't correct, it is a paraphrase, a dumbing down, a
simplification of the city. don't you understand lungs?

look, i love you, and i remember things about
you mermaid. maybe leaving, maybe staying.

look, i love you, city.

look i love you! in the mirror,
there is a standout tower, a wall of windows
and portsl reflecting, and looking through
and looking through you see them, and looking
at the window you can see how it is really a mirror
and even if you are falling you are inside and the
carpet is plush or ochre

same time next week, jelly bean

seam times

like sewing

like she sewed

like the city's seaweed
as the saltwater comes up the streets and through the doors
and washes right up to your toes and you count he grains
that tgather in the ply of the carpet and you can see the cat
in a sailboat on mainstreet, he looks disctracted
there is a dead mouse in the bow
and you can see the ribcage
and you can see the organs
under the rib cage
there are organs
like uder the city there is another city
and under that city veins
and under that city bacteria

when you finally reach the bottom let me tall you something
YOU WONT LIKE IT BECAUES ITLL SEEM FALSE AND YOULL
LOOK BACK ON THE THINGS YOU"VE SAID TO THE CIT AND youLL
WONDER< DID IT REALLY MATTER ALL THAt much?

did it really matter because the mermaid still prefers the ocean
and the sandysilt backs at your toes

and your baking under this sun
your skin is peeling
and under your skin is someone
that looks a little like you
but younger
and paler
and more naive

and you just want to take them to town
buy them a present
say be well
say i'll see you another day
say time to go, lover

and then you'll wander back up the street
and the city will yawn
and the vast magnitude of it all
can be forgotten under it all
the vast magnitude
can be forgtotten

its been months

2010-01-27T15:50:00.002-05:00

I really considered it. I know what to ask for, I know the lingo enough to play smart. I know who to ask. And that would probably be the worst birthday present I could give. It's selfish and unforgivable. pay no attention to the legality behind the curtain. no one would be suspecting, but unforeseen actions play a role in every stupid idea. its not worth it. and I cant compromise what I have for some cheap thrill. Best to distract myself from reconsidering it again.

And if this wasnt vague enough, I can only imagine what my next post WOULD have been like had I decided to attempt this.

ode to michigan

2010-01-26T10:53:00.002-05:00

I danced to music that was built to trip to. The lights and sounds and videos were meant to install bliss and relaxation into the minds off all who were involved. The LSD was in mass doses that night, and I as straight edge as could be jumped and gyrated through the lost crowd to the melodies(?) of industrial light and magic. I recognized one from the crowd. My old roomie. DMT was rocking his brain, but not to the point where he was as lost and wandering as the faceless herds of new age artists hippies and morons. He was dancing and jumping as though he was native american leaping around and through the fire and flames. We rain danced. We warded off the zombie swarms. We were being, not just existing.

Earlier that weekend, I saw a boy lying on the ground. His eyes open, and a brighter blue than the sky. His lips parted in a slack manner, there was no animation to suggest he might be alive. We walked on to the concert. Later the cops had found him, and were either trying to rouse him awake, or checking his vitals. I couldnt tell through all the pot smoke. Where was he "being"?

The night before a new life

2010-01-16T17:11:00.001-05:00

Do they have lightning dragons in New Hampshire? Will I be able to taste shooting stars in the night air without out you? I hope for neither, or I hope for a way to fold you up in my pocket and take you there with me into the mountains. Maybe we can strip down and jump into a cool stream with no one looking, and stare at the moon in the reflection of the water. We can make song lyrics for ourselves, instead of clinging to a melody just not quite right.

Odds and ends

2010-01-10T23:17:00.002-05:00

Garlic in the juice and chocolate in the pasta sauce. Two pairs of socks and no mittens. Hot sauce in the fridge and butter on the counter. Fly to Mexico and drive to Canada. Live in Massachusetts and live in Vermont.

Wheat Field

2010-01-06T20:19:00.002-05:00

Glittering in the field of grass, a gentle breeze blowing the seeds of a new destiny all around. We sat waiting for the lemon drop rays to melt off the sky and plummet to the ground where we lay. I wondered where everything was going to go, how we were going to be, but the sun tasted too sweet to think of such serious things.
And as we caught each little pearl of sun on our tongues, our most important worries dissolved away.

It read so much longer in your eyes

2010-01-01T17:49:00.001-05:00

It's a new year. New plans. Our futures being quickly intertwined with our dreams, as if they had always been.
Now we'll sleep under a shower of burning stars slowly soaking into the strands of our hair, dripping cool beads of stardust on our feet.

everythings cold

2009-12-17T14:45:00.002-05:00

cars are the dominant species on this planet. Adams had it right. and so did the other adams, we're just star dust after all. I sat at the top of my parking garage, a hundred feet above that which I'm trying to avoid, and its all I could think about. I was frozen physically and figuratively. I hate the holidays, especially being broke and seeing money just being thrown away for junk. Junk that I sell happily but falsely to anyone. I love my job, but only the part where Im a kid in a candy store running frantically to the next hot item. I hate the consumer ideology yet I follow its creed to the letter.

thousands millions billions of us all scrambling and jostling for what they believe make others happy and I try to make only myself happy and fail. No one's to blame, but I'll do it anyway, the winter. Literally life threatening to stay outdoors, the one place I find solace, and being broke cuts the chances I can "be" freely.

I suppose thats enough, I dont want to be late for work.

how it used to be

2009-12-09T00:35:00.003-05:00

pick it up and look now, it's okay to look.
it's nothing new, it's all the same.
or, really, it's how it used to be.
well, you've changed a little.
but i'm the same. i think.
alright, i'll be honest, it's all different.
different than it's been recently, i mean.
it's the way it used to be, don't you understand?
it's not how it was, but it's how we started.
all this time i thought you wanted to begin again.
my mistake. i'd re-do it if i could.
but i can't.
so you'll have to be content with the way we've left things.
because we have left them, haven't we?
or maybe we're leaving them.
but it's how we began, anyway. don't you remember?
i suppose i don't either.

what I havent got yet

2009-12-06T21:18:00.002-05:00

just for a time, we should all allowed to be the people we want to be. I want to see what it would be like to be lost in the woods. To live in a log cabin by myself or with a dog. To be a professional anything through which opinion matters. I want to try to be in a failing relationship, or a new upcoming one, or an aggresive one, or a dull one. I want all of my friends to hate me and disrespect me., to spit in my path as I go about my day. I want to eat right, work out, be lazy and binge. I want a disease, some life consuming bout of sickness to sap me of all desire. I want cancer. I want euthanizing drugs. I want a family, both one to see me off with cancer, and one to just live happy with. I want a society of innocents; ignorant people sure, but happy. I want to live in the city, in the slums of new york. Skid row and have it feel natural. I want to fly. To swim without fear. to roll in the grass down a hill in summer. to jump in more leaf piles. To break bones, to injure myself. To do dangerous things just for the scars, the stories. Reading books. Reading magazines. Reading newspapers. to be an intricate part of the world and to watch from the side lines. to see the rise and fall of things like the economy, moral values, religious movements and tectonic shifts. Just bring it. All of it. I dare you.

A Revisit Mutilated

2009-12-02T23:14:00.002-05:00

Somewhere in the middle, I got to have my fantasy. Its brief like most men and all I do is sit.

After he takes off all his clothes, I say no.

And you see, maybe the problem was, I wanted to teach him color theory with my mouth.

.......

I had a dream last night in which I considered the morning, afternoon and night of a bullet as it traveled on the way to its destination.

.......

Last night, all I knew were the bloodstains on my pillow and how difficult it was to fall back asleep.

......

I’ve had my anger, my repulsion, my jealousy. I’ve mourned and celebrated you. You are the story I love to tell. The story necessary for those who want to know me. And in all of our destruction, we’ve never destroyed each other.

......

So the pressure, followed by the relief, my ability to disappear just like you. But now, pressing, like teeth against skin, sinking deeper, pain masked by the dance of the tongue. Deeper, begging to bruise... do you bruise?

......

Eager enthusiasm is my dis-ease.

2009-11-22T21:10:00.002-05:00

why do all girls drag their feet?

they weigh less than most men, so burden is no physical issue.

they wear sneakers like men. So footwear isnt a valid arguement

is it a way to get into our heads?

I know it distracts me. Why cant the soles be picked up?

Is it really that hard to separate foot from floor?

tell me why, as I ask in every entry.

please, for the love of everything,

stop ruining shoes and defiling floor tiles.

pick up your feet and move

sunspots and candy dots

2009-11-17T16:06:00.002-05:00

one last stand and Im no tlaone any more. Theese peeps wont stand idly by to watch the consumption of such an important ally. no more will the prosspcful doctors and lawyers watch the sick die young and unjust. My kids will live, and if not, I wont blame the doctors and lawers, I wont scream a lords name in vain. I wont seek revenge unless I need to.

happy go lucky and I, all a flutter. leaving it all to chance, and I cant really say what will return of it.

nothing here is in my control, Im succumbing to it all. let if flow, and if it flows angry and uphill, so. be. it.

dear red

2009-11-17T12:30:00.002-05:00

cup me up in your palm tips in your cathedral ribcage behind your oak doors behind your weigh lines behind your latitudinous planes all croos roads and vigor.

the simple spit of salt and peper.

the thin thin thin. the tintinnabulation of baldness.

stop thinking, start working

2009-11-16T10:32:00.002-05:00

so what today?

more happy go lucky sundance tales of yore?

or more recent complaints over internal systems?

or maybe a startling new revelation which I will now share with every audience?

maybe

not until this jargon sparks a conversation with a reader will any of this have any point, so until its all been seen, whats the purpose?

jargon is a word I enjoy tossing simply because it means to me the junk, the waste, the flotsam and jetsam of whatever Im referring to. thats what this is. my Flotsam and Jetsam. Ariel's eels, taunting her with failure and obliteration. Tide pool trash. washing along unnoticed until some sob walking their dog discovers it under their sandal. The smell of low tide, actually a smell I enjoy. It reminds me after all that Im at a beach, and no fowl smell will change that. I guess its one of the few things to be thankful for, and not whiney about. Where else can on get premium salt water taffy at a steal? where else can lobster be as guiness in ireland? where else is it not only customary to feed the guls, but to revere them as its their domain? Its no wonder homes are so expensive there, and still its wondrous how the home owners could complain about a little natural thing like the smell every 9 hours when I would happily trade places.

we dont all know what to be thankful for. Maybe thats why thanksgiving has never really been that epic to me.

3 more

2009-11-13T10:00:00.003-05:00

George Castanza needed to go up 5 flights because he forgot something important in his apartment. He starts for the elevator and I start berating him for being lazy. So I jump in the elevator with him to point him of his wrongdoings. We start up, its only 5 flights, but its 5 flights like willy wonka would have it. We're plastered to the walls, the ceiling, the floor, tripping out as we soared through space, through the clouds into the ground. We finally got to the 5th floor, and I know understood why George took the elevator.

A group of us were working construction or something by a river, and it was in the middle of night and time for me to quit. I make for my car, but I cant remember off hand where my keys or my car are. Thats when I get the sense that Im not alone, the pack has realized that Im alone and helpless. I hear one of them behind me, then 2 beside me, and I hear the scream of the hunter as its pouncing for me. I scramble for my keys, find them, press the unlock button and dive into my car. I peel out of the lot with a hunter at my passenger window, and I drive for miles in the south before I turn back. Its midafternoon by the time I return, and everyone is surprised Im still alive.

Two tanks were battling, and I thought, Great! they can kill eachother, and we dont have to worry. They heard me say that, and decided to join forces. Each of them turned to uber scary deceptacons, and were pursuing me. I think the trippy elevator will be safe. I jump in and pull my own personal autobot from my back pocket. By the time I reach the 5th floor I have a metalic heroic transformed cat at my side, ready to take on the double threat.

I wake up yet again.

in advance of a mental breakdown

2009-11-11T13:05:00.004-05:00

I had a dream where we became friends again, and you told me I was missed. things became easier afterwards, then I woke up and realized again that it will probably never happen.

I had another dream where I knew it was a dream, but I couldnt control it like people say we should be able to. It was sorta Lucid I guess, but I couldnt fly, couldnt even jump more than 6 feet in the air.

I had a dream that was like everyday. It was a text asking for lunch, only to be awoken by a text asking me for lunch.

Everyday I wake to dreams becoming dreams becoming dreams. I catch myself in shock and awe in the fact that some of it ISNT a dream while others unfortunately are. And I reprimand myself for ever doubting the realities I've so easily dismissed as dreamt, and grow fierce when I feel tricked into a world I cant have.

7 behind

2009-11-10T16:35:00.002-05:00

shouldne even be etaking the time to rambel there. no time but the little I have tp workd. why then do i insist on doing this to myself? I never ussed to be a student like this, Ivee always beena procrastinator but I;ve never slacked this bad. typing too fast to spell correctly, not even looking tathe screen, barely hitting backspace. watnt to just rest atop my parking garage back home. 5 stories a bove all other problems, alone with the birds, and church steeples. no one disturbs me, and I have a large desert of concrete to befreind. I can read, I can walk, I can breath slow, can smile. why cant i find any other place like that? That seems to be THE place. the place was searching for all summer long. I had thought I couldve found a lake or a place by the river to set up a hammock and bring a lunch with a book, but I never got around to finding JUST THE RIGHT PLACE. It was in concord the entire time, I have the parking garage now, just in time for winter to settle in and take it away from me, then spring to rain on, then summer when the tourists will fill up that desert and take all the privacy away from me. DAmn. but where then else? I cant take any of the woods, the mosquitos will make sure of that. no river or lake. casue all the places I find are places Id have to share. I cant find any clearings, they all lead to someone's backyard. I cant choose a building, cause that would destrpy the point. I need the seclusion, I need the privacy., I want to be sorta like Alexander Supertramp. He found a perfect spot (or so he thought) and he was happy for a time., thats all I want, only without the whole dead thing...

so anyway, these chapter summeries wont write themselves, I guess io can look away from the computer now.,,

circular desires

2009-11-05T15:50:00.005-05:00

she thinks it's funny when he extends his arms and spins around in a circle. she laughs and even sometimes curls up on the floor inside her laughter, comfortable and confined. he doesn't do it to entertain her, he does it 'cause he thinks he'll turn into a tornado someday. he knows that by any conventional rules of science or reality it won't ever happen, but he doesn't care. he's like that cartoon with the penguin that tries to fly. so he don't got the wings. small detail.

he gets so dizzy he throws up sometimes, but she keeps laughing in her little space on the floor. it's all funny to her, his illusions and his dreams and his vomit down his shirt. when he sees her laughing he wants to laugh, too, but he'll rinse out his mouth with scope first. he'll kneel down and wrap his arms around that little ball she makes on the floor. they'll stay there for a long time, small on the floor where no one can see them.

feverpitch

2009-11-01T18:34:00.003-05:00

feever fed this arctic snarrl on her lips, how she draws those canines
bearing fetid fresh-this is how it feels as the sweats descend and im doing
my best to trnslaet this to you in letters but i hope you don't understnad.

fearless and fearful the tribultaions how many ways they crossed the desert
and you she plotted the depths of the stars reflected in pebbles and particles
of the sandy spanse aliteration plot invaulable fagaries and vasilot tweeds.

exactly what you think it is. exactly what the person says through teeth and
tongue. how the patches. how the kneecaps. how the zany collapse like thin
creed. is this writing. is this roticulation. is this rotor mount. is this the way

we understand the constructions. the ship sails out of port at mornign and
i'll eb on it, waving. the shore sinks. the buildings steam and the boilers burts
and we know it'll all come down to pieces in the end, just like a juggle of dice.

The package said, Extra Soft, but I bought it because I had a coupon.

2009-10-20T21:25:00.001-04:00

It happens at least once a week now. I don’t have any control over it and I don’t think any particularly special thoughts before falling asleep. I don’t focus in upon, obsess quietly about, or even ponder it in passing. Mostly before falling asleep, I attempt to masturbate, realizing yet again that I forgot to look at porn for some new inspiration and get by on what juicy tidbits I’ve cataloged in my brain. And no, I can’t tell you what turns me on, I’m shy to the language involved.

And yet, come the dream, come the subconscious, whether its set in a dusty western town, or down wet New England roads, the same action finds it way, the same feeling, almost a comfort coming as a tickle on the heart, a slip of a grin during a dark moment.

I can rationalize it for you, I can break it down and make it simple. Explain the reoccurrence, the stutter of the mind, the stubborn situation that brings it up. An attempt to make the unknown familiar, an attempt to get closer, to feel closer and a small measure of satisfaction.

At least once a week now, and I can’t tell you I look forward to it happening but on the mornings it does, I try harder to remember…

beat beat beat

2009-10-16T11:26:00.002-04:00

Sometimes you wonder if this is it.
He's got feet like a monster.
Turn the pages til you get papercuts.
Beat, beat, beat, there's a rhythm in there somewhere, I'm just not qualified enough to recognize it.

long day

2009-10-15T01:03:00.002-04:00

What is this? simply my id being jealous? or something more? I thought these thougts were gone, but no, they were jsut repressed. I still feel like i've always felt. Nothings changed about me except my manners. I wonder if that IS all thats changed. I know I care less for many things, and on the same side I feel more care and compasion for things I once didnt. I sound the same, look the same, i thought I acted the same, but I guess not.

Is it better? I mean to everyone else?

I spent a third of a year telling myself to focus on the me, and less on the once was. I spent 4 months being selfish, and thinking this is allfor me. I should live to the fullest, becaase IM here and no one else. cant have it be wasted no can I?

but thats rubbed off now, and Im here, talking about it, for you and others to read if you'd like.

I need to be more polite methinks. I dont really know if that will help but I dont like that I came back truely different. I thought it would be an enlightening experience but now that I know its happened, I wish it didnt happen. I cant control the world.

I dont believe in solipsism. Existentialism drives me wild.

how can we believe as beings that everything has purpose,

likewise, how can we believe we're completely random?

to believe we're random, I feel its too much to ponder existence then. We shouldnt ponder our life if we're jsut a cosmic accident!

but the flip side, whats the purpose? I see strangers everyday that look unhappy or dull. We all do. We invent stories, and forget them. In our minds eye we swap out the faces with any one can imagine. Its days like these that make me question being an artiest, it makes me feel pointless and angry and afraid to know that Im one of these failed participents on existence. Im part of the same system

how i write in my notebook

2009-10-13T11:55:00.003-04:00

odor of vinegar --- i read about five
that always seems --- girls whose lives had
to follow around --- been irrepearably harmed
There was a dog --- by the men who had layd
once named vinegar --- hands upon them and the
because he was short --- words that had caught
and sour like bukowski --- in their throats because
who loved women and --- weakness had betrayed
loved his pecker and --- them. I wonder what
the story of words --- the eyes of their children
that flowed around --- are like. the three yeard old
them one and all. --- clutches a bottle of soda
Huidobro takes about --- half his size. All I
the divine creativity --- can smell is paper and
the revery that takes --- ink. What are the value
the poet and all I --- of these words anyway?
get is the low rage --- moving on to the word
I feel below my --- around me I have left
stomach that I --- the past behind for now
want to pinch off --- except in the context
to keep from polluting --- of colors and silence that
any blood vessels --- have had an influence on
the beating of the --- the the way i take my
heart is a simple --- sucks up and ball them
furious motion in --- in the corner with that
the historical context ---
of things. ---

Windex

2009-10-13T07:39:00.002-04:00

The smell of memories. I was so small, so high pitched, so innocent. JKujst excited to spend the day with my dad while at work. Those were my favoirte times during winter snow storems and school cancellations. I was allowed to help my dad clean the store. He let me wash the display cases with windex and a neatly folded paper towel. I would go over the seams over and over where the dried glue was showing. The smell stays with me now. Like

Bagelworks, and its smell of coffee. Hot cocoa and chocolate chip brownies for those winter breakfasts. I lived with those smells and the 123 inch tv and a stack of VHSs. My little lego sets too.

Our brains are our time machines brining us back to the past to an extreme not like the original. TImes bubble up and flash memory is always apparent. I remember Joe Tore telling me baout Christina and I under the couch in 4th grade. A flash of PCC, lost connecting memory there. Somehow flash to the cute and flirty asian girl at the museum of science. Oh right, Christina and I went there once. Our only date. Dates outside Dating.

Its all dead now, just more memories. more dissolving time travel. Jy dog. I had a dog. Her name was Saffron, Saffy for short. She died 3 days before my 13th birthday. ti cam over to console me. I remeber I was worried once that my mom got into a car accident on my 10th brithday. the day papa and I rearranged the furninture in my room for the first time. And now. in the present its so empty. Devoid of spectacular spectacular detail. only memories here now. and it fels like a very different place. Ive never had sex in this room but I have. I once had a Knex armada in the corner where my bed used to be/my dexk sued to be/where my closet used to be/where my camera trunk is. The carpet was pale in comparison to the child colors. my carpet shines comfortable now, and I wish I could take it with me now. Every inceh, even the tack holes: my memories. Flash bulbing and windexing my life.

Windexing my life.