Crystal Clear Fuzz Glow Fear Flight Death Not

Thanks to the cloud layer and the pouring rain, the day was a grey smudge that stretched on as far as the eye could see. I like that look...makes the world look a little smaller. The atmosphere...

Smells as dense as it looks. The falling water softens the edges. There was this bright blue neon sign that bounced off of the accumulated water on the ground, and it made the entire surface blaze with this bright blue glow. I didn't even see the sign until I passed into its view, so it made first sight of the street mysterious and inviting. Inviting?

And there is this constant roar of colliding particles throughout the day. The roar becomes a drone as you adjust. A liquid metallic drone that floats above your head.

And the rain becomes a companion. The water encases and ensures protection.

Steam.

These broken sentences fill my head, and stream together into thought. Much like these rain drops stream together to form the illusion of falling rays that extend up into the sky.

-The Piece

We've Come Too Far to Go Back Now

Don't look back. Keep moving. We must keep moving.

The sight of it will paralyze and mesmerize. We can't stop now.

We must keep moving. Don't look back.

We can smell it catching up, we are downwind.

The air is electrified. It's crackling.

We mustn't look back now.

We left a bad place. It's not far enough away to rest just yet.

It gains in long steps, we gain in short. We can be faster.

Don't breathe through your nose. Eyes straight ahead.

It's getting cold, we will catch our death.

Keep moving.

And the light will travel with us.









I like those songs that get started rocky and choppy and ugly...and then hit that sweet spot and flow forth into perfection. Like a laboring engine. The thing sputters and spats and grinds to a stop, and then sputters and spats and kicks into a roar...and then the thing just purrs.


P.S. That passage above was not ripped off from a song. I made it up. Haha, Seaaan.

The Paint on the Asphault

When I am on the way back home to my Dad's, there is a stretch of the freeway that has a huge splashed trail of white paint, and the trail goes for a couple thousand feet and traces the path of the assuredly devastated paint truck driver who veered off to the side of the road to seal up his cargo. And the trail of splashed paint is fascinating because it has this great texture and form, like you see of splashed paint on a canvas. And I can't help but wonder if a bird's eye view of the place would reveal some sort of modern art masterpiece.

It's the simple things.

-The Piece

Here Come The Bastards

A glance in the rearview mirror reveals their advances like an army of steel beasts, their headlights personifying them as mystic creatures sent to devour. We travel under overpasses, and the sun is behind us. I hate these beasts and their beastly behavior. The notion that they want to devour me is perpetuated by their irritating proximity. Closer.

Here come the bastards.

But then we change directions, we come out of the shade. The sun is reflecting and bouncing inside of their cab compartments. The liquid light melts and washes away the dirty, crusty shadows and the occupants shine free in my rearview mirror. And then there is forgiveness. There is no more hate. Because behind that glass is a human being, a human being with expressions and hopes and fears and imperfections, and all the characteristics that make us what we are. Anonymity is a dehumanizing trait, and that is what the shadows cause. Maybe it is why I like the shadows, because I shy away from being a human myself. But then there are these faint moments when I catch a glimpse of what it is like to be one of them. And though I am irritated with their terrible driving habits, I love them in their imperfectability. Because I am like them in the sense that I am imperfect myself, and I have made the same mistakes that are now driving me mad. I melt like the shadows. I am them. They are me. I cannot escape this hard truth. And then the shadows flood back over the glass, and the monsters resume their chase, and I go back to hating. We fear and hate the unknown. That too is human nature.

But these moments of clarity are beacons of hope...are they not?

We forget what it is to be human. But a philosopher will tell you that being human is alot more complicated than little flowery expressions and love for your fellow man.

So...heh...

Screw that shit.

-The Piece

Head Lag

I'm stuck here...in this place. This ship is sinking into the diamond studded black velvet; it's so incredibly deep. Beyond my comprehension, so it seems. They throw me ropes of salvation but the chords are midnight and blend perfectly with the devouring nothingness of space. I can't see the chords and I miss them with my grasping hands. There is a black liquid pouring into the hull but it refuses to shimmer because it cannot reflect light. I try to detect its shape against the starlight that bleeds through the cracks but it is worthless. Its presence is only known from the perfect void that it is composed of. We can feel it lapping at the edges like surging black water on the sea cliffs at the darkest hours of time. They left with their midnight ropes to save themselves. Better they survive. I'll refuse salvage and attempt to escape from the very bottom of the great depths. They'll find me years from now struck mad by the endless solitude offered by the absence of matter. And they will be quite surprised. Unrecognizable. The black enters through the mouth and nostrils, and at first it is sweet on the tongue and has a pleasant aroma, and then it disintigrates the stomach and collapses the lungs. To survive is to hold.

Is it possible to transcend this very prison that is our mind? Some think it is not. After all, human conscious existence is based on the stream of consciousness from the mind (or is it) and to cut away from the mind is to cut away from existence. What does this place look like unfiltered through our senses and intellect?

I've been having these incredible dreams lately. One after the other, and almost as vivid as conscious experience itself. Recurring every three months or so. One of them has me diving in an arctic ocean. Underneath the surface, the water is crystal clear with a deep dark purple hue. Ghostly light glows all around me and this arctic water is in fact warm. Giant colorful fish glide as far as the eye can see. It is incredibly peaceful and breathtaking, and terrifying at the same time, as I wonder what predators wait below the darkness under me. And I hover.

It's when it starts to blur together that the confusion arises.

And the ground is just below me, and I stretch my toes to meet it, but it is not there.

-The Piece

March On Suspicious Spider Army Alpha Squad

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the lights, and there was the friggin' hugest daddy long leg spider I have ever seen (some say it is an insect not a spider, but I say it's a spider so its a spider). And he was just sitting there on the wall, like inches from my face. You gotta wonder if those things are uniformly secretive creatures. I mean, whenever you turn on the lights they are just sitting there on the wall. And when you turn your back they are gone. It's like they all have agreed on this spider doctrine to freeze what they are doing when you turn on the light, no matter where they are. Such secretive creatures. It's like a bizarre game of red light green light. He might even carry a small assassin's kabar knife between his mandibles. You just can't see it cause its small. And when I am sleeping he is going to crawl right up my sheets and stick me in the neck with that piece.

Hey! That's what those goddamn red bumps are! Spider kabar knives!

You never do see 'em bite ya. The mystery is solved.

But I don't have the heart to kill them either. Poor bastards are just stuck in our scary and foreign house anyway. They don't know. Unless they agree on the spider doctrine to ritualistically attack vulnerable humans. But I still can't kill 'em. Maybe deep inside I believe someday I will be greeted by a great spider council and they will sign an alliance with me and a few of my select friends for being nice to them.

I have the greatest inclination to believe that nature and the animal kingdom is much more than what science claims to know.

-The Piece

Truth as an Emetic

Like an emetic, truth purges. The actual process is quite painful and exhausting, but conditions improve after the cleansing, and your health is much better off than when you had the poison inside. And you didn't even know the poison was there. You could just feel it eating away.

Well, maybe it isn't even truth yet, but there is a strong inclination towards validity.

After expressing my disdain for the conventional American educational system and its pointless busy work and fact memorization I was informed of an alternative. Of course, the alternative would be too expensive for my liking and it turned out to be inconsequential for my cause, but allow me to toy with the concept anyway. There are certain colleges dotted across the country (generally private) that focus on knowledge and understanding and writing and ideas within the confines of a small (10 people, give or take) class. There are no grades. No A's, no B's, no C's, no bullshit. To me, this is really quite ideal. It is an ideal concept to me because I for one am interested in the acquisition of pure, genuine, uncut knowledge (uncut like cocaine, aha I made a funny. No? Moving on). I am not interested in being a perfectass, with my straight A's, and my fading memorized facts that leave me to rot in my desert of ignorance. I am not going to sugarcoat my opinion on the grade. I was once concerned with such things in my junior high and early high school days, but those days are over. Granted, there are certain things a school can't teach, like eloquence, and cleverness, and creativity...and genius. I am not accusing our education system of failing to make us super genius visionaries, but geez...there has to be something better than this. Seemingly there is...I just can't afford it. Back to grades! Now I'm sure the guy who came up with the concept had good intentions and was meaning for it to be a sort of motivation for the students, but we all know from history that there are some great ideas out there that are just not so great in practice. All a grade does is cheapen our aqcusition of knowledge, and in this day and age, liken it to some little competitive sport to see who can be better at being a jackass. Which is typical of today's society anyway. But now things are getting a little too bitter, and I have to stop myself. This is only my opinion, and not the truth mentioned above.

On a lighter note, I bought and downloaded the full versions of Geometry Wars and Marble Blast and am having a good time with both.

Desert Bound on a Metal Beast

I never really liked flying. Not because of the hassle really. Not at all.

I had a vivid dream about a year ago. It was one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had. It was a plane crash. I felt all of the emotions that you think you would feel when faced with the oncoming monolithic mountain of your end. I awoke in such utter grief, such utter gasping desperation, that I wonder if I hadn't broken through into someone else's consciousness and experienced their very death at that very moment, or maybe even into the past or future. And that is why every flight from then on has been just a little unsettling. Like jumping into a body of cold water. It comes fast, and it is shocking. And then it is all gone.

I'm Arizona bound.

Whoever sees and knows this, have a fantastic weekend.

-The Piece

Additionally:

I encountered an apparition of my own design last night as it stood silent in the middle of my room and watched me lay before it in terror. It was dark and tall and in the shape of a man. Yes, the halluciantions are still alive and well. I couldn't drown them out with the floods of attempted rationality. I am getting better at recognizing them now, and they fade rather quickly to the beat of my laboring heart. This time was different however. This time I was overwhelmed by the notion that the apparition was me.

This morning I awoke with the startling sensation of accidental Draino ingestion. It burned something fierce.