It Will Pass

I've got the fear.

Loose Bolts on the Highway

I didn't trust him. With his black Acura swaying to and fro. The man was unstable. White hair, balding, pretty old probably. I'm no anti-old proponent, but you know how they drive. He put on his blinker to get into my lane. But I was too close, I couldn't brake for the sake of the tailgating nut behind me, so I sped up. To my great stupefaction, and utmost wonderment, he cramped down and bolted over, and I was forced to brake. You car behind me will have to make do with what you got, sorry bub. "You maniac!" I thought, and then vocalised. But it was over. He was in front of me and I was still alive. There's no reason spitting and howling over this, I suppose. I passed him up, and dismissed him as just being old. But no! Just 2 miles down I fall behind a woman in a beige Honda! She is chugging along at the most ponderous speeds! She has the reflexes of a TV cabinet! She stops miles before she needs to stop! No! No! No! I pass her up and all is well. But wait! Up ahead! A stop! And lo and behold, she is right next to me, and right behind her...the old man in the black Honda! Both of my arch nemeses, right before my eyes! What were the chances?! I saw two coffins, one black and one beige, idling just next to me! Could I get past ? Could I leave them behind to be forever forgotten in this stuffy suburb? The cars lurch forward on the green; I am gaining ground! Just a little further! And yes, I speed past and change lanes, just one car ahead of the double menace! And I am home, left to paradoxically shiver in the smoldering heat of my car, and I am left to contemplate the intactness of my life.

It is a jungle out there. And the predators come unannounced.

And now, and now...a few more papers and a few more tests, and this year is over. This year.

My my.

Ahhhh Maaaaan

I don't wannnnaaaaa...I saaaay I don't wannnnaaaaaa.....

Go to school go to school go to school go to school...

Go to school school school school school school!

I say I don't wanna!

Ahhh ahhh aahhhh aahhhhh ahhh! Sunbuuuurn deluxe!

Bad tastes in the mouth left ovvvveeeeerrrr!

Oh oh oh oh oh...I still have to write this journaaaaaal! And this introoooo!

What a drag drag drag drag, drag drag drag drag.

Bollocks.

Wake Me When It Has Begun

I've been having these strange naps here and there. I fall into this deep and dark sleep for just 15 minutes or so. You'd think that would not be enough time to hit the slower wavelengths, but it is I guess. And when I awake, I am incredibly disorientated, and am more tired than I have ever felt before. It feels like intoxication.

And then there are the thoughts.

Maybe it is the subconscious still trying to wrap up its dealings. Maybe I awoke and caught it with its pants down. These thoughts are still lingering, thoughts that I can't understand or remember later on. Maybe I have something going on, like a sickness of some sort. Or maybe its completely normal. I don't know.

Goddamn cats are dickin' around in the bushes. I can hear 'em. I think they are cats. No peace since last week. We got a flyer for a lost cat in the mail. I hate lost pet flyers. They break my heart.

I wrote some stuff and then just ended up backspacing it. I don't even know what I want to write tonight.

Get a grip, ride it out.

Maybe that lost cat will turn up.





How does a man learn to hate himself? What kind of strange computing machines did they supply us with? What damage a brain can do when turned against itself.

Glock with Drum Mag

I drifted in and out of sleep almost the entirety of the afternoon, hating anything that made noise when I was in that delirious transition between periods of sleep. I was disappointed to hear other people arrive at the house, and I don't quite know why. It had nothing to do with the person, it was the fact that they were there, and that I wanted to be alone. Still, not sure why, amidst the delirium. The dreams were many and strange.

And then later tonight I looked in the mirror, and I couldn't figure out what I was looking at. I can't even remember what I saw.

I keep getting mail from this politician. If they hate their opposition so much, why don't they just have them assassinated?

Hate is a strong word. Merely an exaggeration.

There were nerds next to me in class and I think they were playing Marble Blast on their laptop. I wanted to talk to them and find out if they were gamers. They probably were. I always liked nerds.

If Her Skull Was Red, My Skull Was Blue

"Your Skull is Red", one of the better Team Sleep songs. Hopefully they flesh that project out. There's some real latent beauty in there. Unfortunately, half of the cd or more grows a little tiresome. Supposedly Chino did a duet with Patton in a song called "Koolaid" that I really want to get my hands on. Or something to that effect.

Someone keeps sending me paper after paper telling me to vote for this certain someone to be put into California office. I have my absentee ballot that I'm gonna send in and all that. Rockin', man. Part of me wants to not vote for her because of all the annoying shit that has come in the mail. But then another part of me thinks: "Well, they surely went through alot of effort to get me to vote, and maybe I should just humor them by voting for her." I mean, she sounds qualified and everything. Gosh, what a monumental conundrum. What if she is the next Hitler? And I vote for her to be nice? It has happened before. What if instead of benefiting the taxpayers, she wipes out an entire race of Starbucks frequenting, young pseudo-intellectual, poem toting hipsters in the world's greatest genocide yet? Well I don't know why she would do that, but it is possible. What if she hates their very souls, their very essence and purpose for being on this earth? I can't possibly know these things! Oh, the pitfalls of voting!

If your skull is red, well that's just fine, but if your poop is red...

Oh alright, alright! That was terrible, I know. I'm sorry.

What if someone voted with poop? How disgusting and repulsive would that be to the administrators? What kind of bizarre, terrible message would that communicate?

Life with its endless questions. Surely when we run out of questions we will run out of reasons to sustain.

My Life as an Activist

Moot.

I do not act.

I think, and maybe criticize.

The action is for the pragmatists. Direct action.

Maybe I should be ashamed of my inactivity.

Or maybe not, since criticizing can be an action in itself, another form of action.

That is where the idealists come in. Indirect action.

My life as an idealist, a thinker:

Not Moot.

Nothing Compared to Good: Bad. But Alas.

Today was another one of those ghost days. The polar opposite of taking a stroll through a ghost town. The place I walked through was vibrant, full of life. People crowded the walkways everywhere I looked, all with different colors and expressions and presences and auras. These were rivers of many colors wavering and ebbing and flowing, spilling all over everywhere I could see, dappling the lush green parks and trickling over sidewalks. Life was everywhere. But I...I was the ghost. I was not there. I could not feel anything that I saw, or heard. Relativity would have that nothing rated better than bad, but I was comparing it to good. That nothing was rated bad. And thus it became bad itself as a result.

Ah but then I was lost into the starbursts of electronic shoegaze. And my head slowed, and my body slowed to keep in pace with my head, and the world slowed to a crawl to meet my perception of myself. It was like a great miracle drug. All of the effects of an imagined psychadelia without the bodily risks.

Music and art. The great saviors. Wings and feathers and blinding white light.

I understand many of my sentences are fragments. It is how the thoughts occur. So I should like to disregard rules.

Nooooooo!

Snow peas will brighten my day, so they say. I can argue for just the opposite. Indeed, McDonalds, indeed.

I often stare into space when I am deep in thought, which is most of the time. It gets me into trouble. We are in class, group project. She is across from me. I am thinking. I am staring into the void beyond her. She sees my gaze and follows it around her shoulder. I focus onto what she is looking at. The teacher is bending over! Nooooooooo! Oh the impression! Oh the misunderstanding! Oh the unpleasantry! It gets me into trouble.

But you will never know me, girlie...just as the public pervert classmate. What does it matter?

"Oh yeah, that's that one pervert." It's almost entertaining to imagine.

As the population grows, we grow too comfortable of each other's presence. No more turn signals. There are people that just drift around now. They drift from lane to lane and go as they please, with no warning. This is when conformity proves useful...to keep us from crashing. What happens if semi-trucks stop using their turn signals? What then? Shall we just be smooshed off of the road? Into the weeds? And I have seen certain trucks do this! Not semi-trucks, but large enough! Like Uhaul-sized trucks! Maniacs!

I still have to brush my teeth. And floss. No one likes flossing. Or brushing their teeth. No one flosses either. I'm just trying to prevent this one cavity that the dentist warned me about. There are people that get all of their teeth removed and have implants put in. It sounds strange at first, but the concept grows ever more attractive the more I think about it. All you have to do is keep them clean. No rotting. But there has to be a catch.

I'll fire a snow pea out of a blowgun right up your ass, McDonalds. Now there's a thought!

I feel so playfully hostile. Don't take my empty threats seriously.

I am but an old man in a young man's body.

Mistakes of Audio

Jesus, sometimes his snoring sounds like the savage bellowing of a bloodthirsty junkie gunman just beyond my door.

We Are Creatures of Information

This internet offers a sort of viewing window on the outside world.

Running on beta waves is creating that feeling of lying on the ocean floor, just watching.

I could watch people in the world, these past acquaitances, and they have long departed for other corners of the country and branched off onto their own paths, to embark on that journey that we all take. But I can watch them, however 2d the experience is, and I can watch their current life unfold for as far as they tell the truth on that glorious web blog.

Just watching on the ocean floor, sedate, and there is no reason to call out to them. Some of them are on their marry way. Some of them are no less ignorant than when I knew them and that can be ok. Some of them are sad. This makes me somewhat sad as well, but I still have no desire to call out to them.

There is one thing for sure. The more people I look up and observe how their surface life is going, the more empty I feel inside. I can't tell what is causing this. People are supposed to act as mirrors to show you who your true self is. I think I operate differently than this, and that is where the emptiness comes from.

We know ourselves in relation to the people around us. Without evil there could be no good, and etc. Maybe that is why we are such creatures of information. Each of us is a node and all of us as nodes are in constant communication, reinforcing small little connections that build into networks, that eventually build into a cohesive consciousness. That's what I make from the current reading anyway.

In the past, I have a been a person of art and emotion, and now in the present I am more of a person of logic and rationality, though I have not lost the artistic aesthetic. Logic is comfortable, but it is turning out to be so boring. I am hoping that I move back in the art/emotion direction in the future, and maybe establish an equilibrium between the two extremes.

Moderation! Moderation!

Science cannot tell us all truths for there is too much we do not know. And in the end it is all a metaphor for something bigger, and beyond understanding.

Art cannot be leaned on too heavily in the search for the meaning of life, for blind faith leaves too much to the dice.

Moderation! Moderation!

I have been too preachy lately. Too full of philosophical words that should be in a book to be read. Just a phase.

There is a lot of philosophy going in at the moment, and what goes in must come out eventually.

Pardon.

Swelling Down, Spirits Up

I often wonder if it matters what I think. The insignificance of me alone is almost enough to answer that question, but it is more complicated. I suppose I am important as a small cog is important to a machine in that it keeps the machine functioning on a more broader level. I wonder if it would matter if I was suddenly gone tomorrow. Would it create unseen ripples that permeate to every corner of the globe? This I cannot say. And leaving is not like taking the cog out because your death is supposed to happen at that time, and thus the event of dying itself is a cog of its own. Nevertheless, I wonder. What is this machine for?

The subjectivity of existing is more vibrant and incredible than any experience of being a cog can be anyway. It is what keeps us going. So it does not matter whether you are insignificant or not. It matters that you are. I am. It is amazing isn't it?

As I sat writing my paper for...writing...I saw these brilliant green flashes in my room. There was like three of them, one after the other. Following that was a very loud thrashing sound that came from somewhere behind my house. At this point, I can say that the events are very unrelated, but at the moment, I was almost sure it was some sort of ghost that was breaking into my house. Yes, the ghost was breaking a window, as it needed to get into the house. It was flashing in its task. But after recent events, I am pretty sure the light was some of my bulbs burning out. I can't be sure. I hope that was what that was. And then the thrashing was coming from a neighbors house somewhere. It continued into the night accompanied with muffled conversations, maybe being shouted. Now, I am not sure if that was domestic violence. I sure hope it was not, because I let it slide. Someone is over there thrashing some shit around. Gosh if it really was domestic and I was sure it was domestic, I would go over there and add to the thrashing. Thrash their ass. Well, whoever was doing the abusing. I wouldn't join in with the abuser. Gosh how sick. You know what I'm saying?

But anyways. The swelling is almost gone. Still minor bleeding. Stitches haven't dissolved yet. My mouth still hurts. I'm still on vicodin. But it is sure as hell better than Saturday and Sunday.

The spirits are up. I have another Hunter book to read. I still play Oblivion. I'm listening to Bark Psychosis and Black Flag, they are contrasting greatly. I have a book to find this weekend. For school. Let's hope I find it.

The spirits are up.


For now.

Still Tired

And so I have just about emerged from one of the most miserable periods of a few days that I have experienced so far.