Sunday, April 29, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
North Now, To Riverside
Descend into the dusk-lit valley that is Riverside. Coming down from the hills, steep grade. 80 and past. Faster. Floating down now. The sun is still leaving. Descend with the sun. The hills are lit with an orange-magenta. This is the time when the colors are soft and bold. The hills are striking with their defined shadows in the purple haze.
In the valley is a glittering river of lights of a thousand stopped cars against a blazing orange sky. The lights are white, which means the locked traffic is going the other direction. Not to worry.
The speed goes all the way. Smooth transitions between lanes. Streamline. Lingering memories of the descent in the setting sun of a time just past. It is these times.
With reverence.
In the valley is a glittering river of lights of a thousand stopped cars against a blazing orange sky. The lights are white, which means the locked traffic is going the other direction. Not to worry.
The speed goes all the way. Smooth transitions between lanes. Streamline. Lingering memories of the descent in the setting sun of a time just past. It is these times.
With reverence.
Just South Of UC Irvine, Heading South
This toll road is a winding stream that you can see curve up into the hills blazing white against the green-brown, and you come down a hill doing 80 and the valley opens up and you can see the road curving up into the hills and you can see a massive suburban sprawl in the hills, their westward-facing windows glinting from the late afternoon sun. This is the road that all roads should be like. They can't of course. They can't. But they should. Many speed on the toll road. Not as enforced there. Not as much population. Past the suburban hills is nothing for a while. A good sight in a place like this. And the wind roars against the car because the road is wide open and there is nothing to shield it. And the desolation and the wind and the speed and it feels like...by god it feels like anarchy. However obscure of an association that is.
You do have to pay. So it is not the holy grail road, no.
But there are certain moments here that inspire that feeling, that feeling like...ok...this is good. This is fine. This I don't get to see so often. Or feel. This is alright.
Whatever that fleeting moment is worth.
You do have to pay. So it is not the holy grail road, no.
But there are certain moments here that inspire that feeling, that feeling like...ok...this is good. This is fine. This I don't get to see so often. Or feel. This is alright.
Whatever that fleeting moment is worth.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Ehm Ehm
Yes yes yes yes yes.
Mmhmmm.
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.
Yeeeep.
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.
This little cold bug won't let go. Or whatever it seems to be. Mysterious forces and creatures and such and such and such.
Aha.
No.
Mmhmmm.
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.
Yeeeep.
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.
This little cold bug won't let go. Or whatever it seems to be. Mysterious forces and creatures and such and such and such.
Aha.
No.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Not Like Elmer's (Jeez, Poor Cow)
I was just about to go to bed. Just about to.
It's just, it's just these 5-6 pages of questions every week. Annoying as hell. I usually do the philosophy reading without any nudging or suggesting, because I enjoy it. But having 5 pages of questions to answer makes me not want to read. And I don't. I just find where the question wants me to answer and I answer it. I haven't done the questions yet. They're due tomorrow. Been doing them in the morning. It is a bad habit lately. So I think about what I have to do tomorrow, and I think, fuck class. I'm not even feeling that well right now. So I set my alarm 2 hours forward. I'll just go to discussion and turn those stupid questions in. If I get them done. Jesus. That's healthy.
Well it is healthy in a sense I guess. Used to worry too much. Now not so much. But the academic discipline has literally decayed over the years. It is rotten now. Like a termite infested stair step that collapses under foot, and maybe even scrapes the inside of your leg where it will be annoying because of the sweat and abrasion.
And I get to thinking about the great glue monster. You know, general humanity. It has these goopy tendrils that it slaps on the deviants and it drags them in. It wants everything outside of it to become like it, as it, become it, essentially. Do something, say something, anything odd and outside of normalcy and you are dragged back in to be homogenized. At least in concept. Sociologically speaking. In our heads. I'm not suggesting that this really physically happens. Or something I dunno. But...
But I guess that is nature. That is how it functions. That is part of the structure of humanity itself, and to be any living extension around here you have to acquiesce to the framework of that form of life to exist as such. A small price to pay I guess. But I think I can still grumble about it. And there's always living at the top of some mountain somewhere, subsisting on the environment with beard and all.
I wonder if water ever gets tired of its liquidity, or rocks of their solidity. Is there an atom in there somewhere that is like, "C'mon guys, we should try vibrating a little more sometime, we should move around and do shit", only to find that the other atoms don't do that kind of thing and the lone atom is doomed to stay vibrating with that low activity that he is so tired of?
Ah well, you know how that goes.
It's not like I'm proposing nihilism.
Yeah. Fuck class tomorrow.
It's just, it's just these 5-6 pages of questions every week. Annoying as hell. I usually do the philosophy reading without any nudging or suggesting, because I enjoy it. But having 5 pages of questions to answer makes me not want to read. And I don't. I just find where the question wants me to answer and I answer it. I haven't done the questions yet. They're due tomorrow. Been doing them in the morning. It is a bad habit lately. So I think about what I have to do tomorrow, and I think, fuck class. I'm not even feeling that well right now. So I set my alarm 2 hours forward. I'll just go to discussion and turn those stupid questions in. If I get them done. Jesus. That's healthy.
Well it is healthy in a sense I guess. Used to worry too much. Now not so much. But the academic discipline has literally decayed over the years. It is rotten now. Like a termite infested stair step that collapses under foot, and maybe even scrapes the inside of your leg where it will be annoying because of the sweat and abrasion.
And I get to thinking about the great glue monster. You know, general humanity. It has these goopy tendrils that it slaps on the deviants and it drags them in. It wants everything outside of it to become like it, as it, become it, essentially. Do something, say something, anything odd and outside of normalcy and you are dragged back in to be homogenized. At least in concept. Sociologically speaking. In our heads. I'm not suggesting that this really physically happens. Or something I dunno. But...
But I guess that is nature. That is how it functions. That is part of the structure of humanity itself, and to be any living extension around here you have to acquiesce to the framework of that form of life to exist as such. A small price to pay I guess. But I think I can still grumble about it. And there's always living at the top of some mountain somewhere, subsisting on the environment with beard and all.
I wonder if water ever gets tired of its liquidity, or rocks of their solidity. Is there an atom in there somewhere that is like, "C'mon guys, we should try vibrating a little more sometime, we should move around and do shit", only to find that the other atoms don't do that kind of thing and the lone atom is doomed to stay vibrating with that low activity that he is so tired of?
Ah well, you know how that goes.
It's not like I'm proposing nihilism.
Yeah. Fuck class tomorrow.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Wowzer
200th post.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Well, I'll have to do something special to celebrate.
Ummmm:
Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.
Well, I'll have to do something special to celebrate.
Ummmm:
Monday, April 23, 2007
Today Was Cock (At Least The Beginning)
He told me something about my hair and my sunglasses. He was holding out his hand, a big smile on his face. Why me? Always me. They always find me. They know I'm patient, somehow, they can sense it. I felt sorry that he had to get my attention by throwing out awkward compliments. At first I thought he was crazy. I felt sorry. I felt sorry that he had to do that, I would have listened to what he had to say anyway. I gave him a little money because I felt sorry about that too. He gave me some literature that I ended up throwing away at the end of the day because for a minute I hated myself and I hated the literature and I hated the author who was critiquing philosophers based on his own narrow religious world view. Maybe I was being narrow myself. It doesn't matter now. I blew it all away with rum. Washed it all down... into headache oceans...disorientating...like falling down a flight of stairs unconscious and waking to what it is, what really is at the bottom of the stairs, and not a bunch of pillows like there was during my childhood.
Childhood. When I was a different creature altogether. You'd think we really do have free will, and it sure feels like we do, but I am such a different person compared to the kid I once was. I wonder what a self is, what an individual is, if it stays whole as one. I used to scream in my sleep and my parents thought I was being murdered. What a heavy thing to hear in the middle of the night (sometimes I do every once in a while). But I don't ever remember any of it. You can't. You can't remember the things you do in sleep. I used to sleep walk all the time. Find myself in strange places.
Where do the dreams come from? Sometimes I feel like I'm just along for the ride and I'm piloting some strange beast that I still don't understand. It is like there is this center of cohesion but under the center where all the workings are is this ancient alien mind. The average man thinks he knows himself, probably because he doesn't really think at all. What freedom that must be. Maybe its just me.
I watched a trail of ants out in the backyard, and noticed that they seem to converge and gravitate to one another when they are passing each other, even if they are on opposite sides and could easily pass without touching. But they seem to like to stop and touch for just a second, and then move on. I don't know if that matters right now or not.
The sun was warm and a bird passed by overhead and that moment was frozen cinematic and I felt like I knew it would happen just that way as it happened. Your color balance will make the world blue if you close your eyes out in the sun for a while.
In class at the end of the day when I was feeling especially cynical I overhead a really great conversation. People were talking about the article we had to read, the correspondence between Freud and Einstein, a correspondence that I thought was very classic and insightful. I vaguely remember what they said:
"So I was trying to read that thing with Freud and Einstein last night."
"Oh yeah, yeah."
"Yeah like...I was like...uhhhhhhhh. Man so boring. They just babbled on. No real points or anything. It just felt pointless."
"Yeah babble is a good word for it."
I guess it was my opinion against theirs. They have a different way of thinking. Or the absence of the mentioned. Their words were insightful as well. Almost as insightful as the correspondence for sure. Very classical. I agree. No point. Lots of babbling. They were very wise in their particularily scathing critique.
They looked like hairless monkeys sitting there exchanging glances and laughing. I thought about feeding them a banana. After maybe beating them with it.
Sometimes I worry about this venom.
Then I try not to care. And then I don't care.
The drunk survives the crash because his body is loose and relaxed.
Childhood. When I was a different creature altogether. You'd think we really do have free will, and it sure feels like we do, but I am such a different person compared to the kid I once was. I wonder what a self is, what an individual is, if it stays whole as one. I used to scream in my sleep and my parents thought I was being murdered. What a heavy thing to hear in the middle of the night (sometimes I do every once in a while). But I don't ever remember any of it. You can't. You can't remember the things you do in sleep. I used to sleep walk all the time. Find myself in strange places.
Where do the dreams come from? Sometimes I feel like I'm just along for the ride and I'm piloting some strange beast that I still don't understand. It is like there is this center of cohesion but under the center where all the workings are is this ancient alien mind. The average man thinks he knows himself, probably because he doesn't really think at all. What freedom that must be. Maybe its just me.
I watched a trail of ants out in the backyard, and noticed that they seem to converge and gravitate to one another when they are passing each other, even if they are on opposite sides and could easily pass without touching. But they seem to like to stop and touch for just a second, and then move on. I don't know if that matters right now or not.
The sun was warm and a bird passed by overhead and that moment was frozen cinematic and I felt like I knew it would happen just that way as it happened. Your color balance will make the world blue if you close your eyes out in the sun for a while.
In class at the end of the day when I was feeling especially cynical I overhead a really great conversation. People were talking about the article we had to read, the correspondence between Freud and Einstein, a correspondence that I thought was very classic and insightful. I vaguely remember what they said:
"So I was trying to read that thing with Freud and Einstein last night."
"Oh yeah, yeah."
"Yeah like...I was like...uhhhhhhhh. Man so boring. They just babbled on. No real points or anything. It just felt pointless."
"Yeah babble is a good word for it."
I guess it was my opinion against theirs. They have a different way of thinking. Or the absence of the mentioned. Their words were insightful as well. Almost as insightful as the correspondence for sure. Very classical. I agree. No point. Lots of babbling. They were very wise in their particularily scathing critique.
They looked like hairless monkeys sitting there exchanging glances and laughing. I thought about feeding them a banana. After maybe beating them with it.
Sometimes I worry about this venom.
Then I try not to care. And then I don't care.
The drunk survives the crash because his body is loose and relaxed.
What? Que?
Many dreams last night. All an indefinite blur. Parking trouble? Ordering strange tropical drinks? Class is done and we are returning our books?
Waking up when it is cold is the hardest. It is a great leap from the inside of the covers with warmth to the cold outside. Thank goodness for hooded robes. Taking a shower sucks. Too hard to turn off that warm water.
I don't wanna go to school.
Waking up when it is cold is the hardest. It is a great leap from the inside of the covers with warmth to the cold outside. Thank goodness for hooded robes. Taking a shower sucks. Too hard to turn off that warm water.
I don't wanna go to school.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
A Lone Black Cloud Passes Over The Sun
Sometimes I am in that rare mood when I look back over past blog posts of mine and I think about how stupid and pointless it all is. This deconstructive retrospect ( or destructive, both of which would be suitable names for whatever it is) can apply to any other activity or endeavor I have been engaged in. It all depends on what my attention is focused on when the mood hits.
And I must say, I hate that fuckin' mood.
I hate it.
Good thing it is rare.
And it could just as well stay that way. We know what happens to people when that particular mood doesn't get so rare anymore.
And I must say, I hate that fuckin' mood.
I hate it.
Good thing it is rare.
And it could just as well stay that way. We know what happens to people when that particular mood doesn't get so rare anymore.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Imageshit
eSnips or whatever the hell it is called sucks for photo upload. I think I have to sign in every time I want the photos to appear or something. Bullshit. Photobucket will have to do. Now that I know how to get into my account again, since they took a week or so emailing my password for some reason.
In the meantime: DiRT DiRT DiRT DiRT DiRT
In the meantime: DiRT DiRT DiRT DiRT DiRT
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Have A Coctail
"You know she's dying. Cancer. It's gone into her bones."
"Hm."
"Supposedly he took up cigars so that he could get it too and then he wouldn't be left alone."
"Yeah?"
"Sort of beautiful in its own way I guess. They're like one. Terrible way to go though."
"Mm."
There was a long silence as they sat and thought about the image. They were facing the ocean and watching it as it ebbed and flowed on the shore. There was nothing but the roar of the ocean, and the distant calling of a group of seagulls, and they sat, and the silence told them both more than conversing between themselves could ever tell. After a long period, they broke the silence.
"Where do you think we go when we die? What is it like?"
"Probably just nothing."
"I can't imagine that. It is hard to imagine."
"There was nothing before we were born and there will be nothing after we die."
"Maybe we just don't remember. Do you remember before you were born? Do you even remember being a baby?"
"..."
Just then a pack of seagulls drifted overhead, glowing white in the sun. Below them, the ocean surged.
"Just look at the ocean. Look at the seagulls. There's always life. Where do you think they are headed?"
"Probably North. But I don't know enough about seagulls to know for sure."
"But they'll always be back. They always come back."
"..."
"Let's go inside and get drunk. And then come back out and watch the ocean for a little longer. I like the wind and the sun."
She went inside to fix some coctails, closing the slider behind her. The less moisture inside the better. He turned to open the slider and saw the reflection of the ocean before him. Something glinted amidst the water and he turned to see what it was. The sun, he thought. He opened the slider and went inside. Air conditioned stillness. The slider closed and the roar of the ocean died and there was only the soft hum of the inside.
But the roar would be back.
"Hm."
"Supposedly he took up cigars so that he could get it too and then he wouldn't be left alone."
"Yeah?"
"Sort of beautiful in its own way I guess. They're like one. Terrible way to go though."
"Mm."
There was a long silence as they sat and thought about the image. They were facing the ocean and watching it as it ebbed and flowed on the shore. There was nothing but the roar of the ocean, and the distant calling of a group of seagulls, and they sat, and the silence told them both more than conversing between themselves could ever tell. After a long period, they broke the silence.
"Where do you think we go when we die? What is it like?"
"Probably just nothing."
"I can't imagine that. It is hard to imagine."
"There was nothing before we were born and there will be nothing after we die."
"Maybe we just don't remember. Do you remember before you were born? Do you even remember being a baby?"
"..."
Just then a pack of seagulls drifted overhead, glowing white in the sun. Below them, the ocean surged.
"Just look at the ocean. Look at the seagulls. There's always life. Where do you think they are headed?"
"Probably North. But I don't know enough about seagulls to know for sure."
"But they'll always be back. They always come back."
"..."
"Let's go inside and get drunk. And then come back out and watch the ocean for a little longer. I like the wind and the sun."
She went inside to fix some coctails, closing the slider behind her. The less moisture inside the better. He turned to open the slider and saw the reflection of the ocean before him. Something glinted amidst the water and he turned to see what it was. The sun, he thought. He opened the slider and went inside. Air conditioned stillness. The slider closed and the roar of the ocean died and there was only the soft hum of the inside.
But the roar would be back.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Thoughts On Justice And Other Things
So I get hypoglycemic during the afternoons when I don't have lunch. And my stomach starts to cave and contract and whisper dark threats up into my ears, and I remember my therapist saying a long time ago that untreated hypoglycemia may be the cause of many, many crimes and sometimes I can see that she might be right. I mean, as I was walking through the park in the middle of campus I was thinking about all the people I should rob and bludgeon and break open for sustenance.
Well actually I didn't really think about this when I walked through the park, but I thought other things. I thought about sitting in logic and thinking about my fellow students, "Golly, what a bunch of cretins." And how scary I must have looked with burning-coal eyes looking at something that can't possibly exist in the space above.
And then I thought about my Austin crackers. Well, I thought about them because I was eating them at the moment. I bring a pack with me every day because they have peanut butter in the middle of two crackers, like a sandwich. And protein levels out the blood sugar and helps the black thoughts become maybe at least gray (I'm pretty sure a fair amount of people go through this, including my Mom). And no fuckin' Windows I don't want to fuckin' restart my computer fuckin' now or for fuckin' today (I still haven't eaten yet, however it may be more beneficial to get this written in the appropriate state of mind).
Well, anyway, the Austin crackers. See, I was eating this peanut butter chocolate flavor, which is pretty tasty for what it is, and what they do is save on expenses and very cleverly leave out filling for every two sandwiches in each package (I am right about this, I have checked). And this makes me feel gypped. Now I think justice would be had if they were told to fill all the sandwiches with filling so that I could get two more sandwiches of protein, but what if someone out there really liked the crackers by themselves? Wouldn't it be just for them if the crackers were left unfilled? And furthermore, would it be even more just that all the crackers should just come as crackers and nothing else? (I know they could just buy another type of cracker but that doesn't help the argument).
So now I am thinking about the relativity of justice and its relations in terms of current power and control, and then certain universal ideas of justice such as human rights (which is still not completely universal I guess) and how all these moving parts collide and cause friction in the machinery and what a mess it all is.
And then I thought about other things and went to my next class where the teacher was talking about the Pullman strike, and I could swear she kept looking at me and I was growing very paranoid and dark and the whole vibe was very strange.
And all those fuckers out there driving...who's giving these cretins licenses?
Well actually I didn't really think about this when I walked through the park, but I thought other things. I thought about sitting in logic and thinking about my fellow students, "Golly, what a bunch of cretins." And how scary I must have looked with burning-coal eyes looking at something that can't possibly exist in the space above.
And then I thought about my Austin crackers. Well, I thought about them because I was eating them at the moment. I bring a pack with me every day because they have peanut butter in the middle of two crackers, like a sandwich. And protein levels out the blood sugar and helps the black thoughts become maybe at least gray (I'm pretty sure a fair amount of people go through this, including my Mom). And no fuckin' Windows I don't want to fuckin' restart my computer fuckin' now or for fuckin' today (I still haven't eaten yet, however it may be more beneficial to get this written in the appropriate state of mind).
Well, anyway, the Austin crackers. See, I was eating this peanut butter chocolate flavor, which is pretty tasty for what it is, and what they do is save on expenses and very cleverly leave out filling for every two sandwiches in each package (I am right about this, I have checked). And this makes me feel gypped. Now I think justice would be had if they were told to fill all the sandwiches with filling so that I could get two more sandwiches of protein, but what if someone out there really liked the crackers by themselves? Wouldn't it be just for them if the crackers were left unfilled? And furthermore, would it be even more just that all the crackers should just come as crackers and nothing else? (I know they could just buy another type of cracker but that doesn't help the argument).
So now I am thinking about the relativity of justice and its relations in terms of current power and control, and then certain universal ideas of justice such as human rights (which is still not completely universal I guess) and how all these moving parts collide and cause friction in the machinery and what a mess it all is.
And then I thought about other things and went to my next class where the teacher was talking about the Pullman strike, and I could swear she kept looking at me and I was growing very paranoid and dark and the whole vibe was very strange.
And all those fuckers out there driving...who's giving these cretins licenses?
The Suggestion (Urgent Now)
"Rest, man. You need to rest. You are sick, and it will not go away. It is all catching up. It will claim you yet."
"Yes I know, I know. It's my goddamn sinuses, and my stomach. My head just feels so sour, and my throat, and my nose, oh. And I try to swallow some of it down and it goes into my stomach and those waves come up and I just can't stand it. It has been like this for at least a week."
"Yes, yes I have seen this many times before. It is a case of the Hell Ass. It is a vicious case in which a cold/flu attaches its vicious tendrils and refuses to let go. They say it feeds on your soul, if it exists. Bed is key. You must lay down. Fluids. Immunity boosters. Rest is key. Power down the machine, close the sails, lock the place up. There must be darkness."
"Hell Ass? Jesus. It is pretty serious then. I suppose you're right. Sleep? Sleep sounds good. But I have to go to school. Oh I can't stand it. I can't even concentrate in this condition, I don't see the point."
"Aha, right. Well you must carry on you know. I prescribe plenty of rejuvenation for sure, if you can prescribe that, or if that just comes from what I prescribe I don't know do you understand?"
"No. I'm going to go get some rest. Thanks. Goodbye."
"Yessirree goodbye sir. Hibernate like a bear does. Hell Ass will not claim you yet."
And so I powered down the machine, and I got into bed, and as I lay I stared vacantly into the room across from me, into the mirror, and I saw my face, and I wondered what a sick man looked like, and when I looked into the mirror, my face didn't look any different. It looked like it always looked. And then a wave of nausea took me and I lied back down and went to sleep.
"Yes I know, I know. It's my goddamn sinuses, and my stomach. My head just feels so sour, and my throat, and my nose, oh. And I try to swallow some of it down and it goes into my stomach and those waves come up and I just can't stand it. It has been like this for at least a week."
"Yes, yes I have seen this many times before. It is a case of the Hell Ass. It is a vicious case in which a cold/flu attaches its vicious tendrils and refuses to let go. They say it feeds on your soul, if it exists. Bed is key. You must lay down. Fluids. Immunity boosters. Rest is key. Power down the machine, close the sails, lock the place up. There must be darkness."
"Hell Ass? Jesus. It is pretty serious then. I suppose you're right. Sleep? Sleep sounds good. But I have to go to school. Oh I can't stand it. I can't even concentrate in this condition, I don't see the point."
"Aha, right. Well you must carry on you know. I prescribe plenty of rejuvenation for sure, if you can prescribe that, or if that just comes from what I prescribe I don't know do you understand?"
"No. I'm going to go get some rest. Thanks. Goodbye."
"Yessirree goodbye sir. Hibernate like a bear does. Hell Ass will not claim you yet."
And so I powered down the machine, and I got into bed, and as I lay I stared vacantly into the room across from me, into the mirror, and I saw my face, and I wondered what a sick man looked like, and when I looked into the mirror, my face didn't look any different. It looked like it always looked. And then a wave of nausea took me and I lied back down and went to sleep.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Working On A Sheer Stone Face On A Scaffold Stretched Over An Immense Darkness
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a displacement here, for whatever forces I contribute to, for whatever weaknesses, whatever vices I have, I can't confess sins I don't believe in them and I can't...
"What are you mumbling over there? Stop shaking the scaffold, we need to finish the Construct so that they can gaze upon it and be filled with majesty. We cannot fall into the unfinished ruins below or we will be lost. Are you not lost yourself? We are payed well for this job, do not mess it up for me."
He was standing with his arms crossed over one another, a hammer in his right hand. A chilled wind came down from the mountains (you could see them in the distance over the green hills) and cut through us both.
I resumed mumbling to myself, internalizing his threats that were now spewing from his vulgar mouth, feeling the acids rise and submerge my insides. It hurt so much and I hated it.
"I can't work anymore. I don't want any of this. I don't want the construction. I don't want the money. I don't want there to be a Construct (I obscenity in the milk of the Construct. Muck it. Muck. Milk. The unprintable words, the substitutions)".
The Construct is to be a monolith, a testament to everything that stands, to inspire all who look upon it with awe.
My hand comes down from the clouds and plucks the antagonist from the scaffold, and I crush him into a fine paste in my palm and then sprinkle the remains over the unfinished monolith.
I shudder with laughter at the sudden vision, and he looks at me in wide-eyed disbelief, and his expression freezes immortal as I shudder over the scaffold edge and fall free into the immense darkness below, still laughing, almost like a caw now, like a great crow, flapping and cawing and mad with relief and release.
And it is good.
"What are you mumbling over there? Stop shaking the scaffold, we need to finish the Construct so that they can gaze upon it and be filled with majesty. We cannot fall into the unfinished ruins below or we will be lost. Are you not lost yourself? We are payed well for this job, do not mess it up for me."
He was standing with his arms crossed over one another, a hammer in his right hand. A chilled wind came down from the mountains (you could see them in the distance over the green hills) and cut through us both.
I resumed mumbling to myself, internalizing his threats that were now spewing from his vulgar mouth, feeling the acids rise and submerge my insides. It hurt so much and I hated it.
"I can't work anymore. I don't want any of this. I don't want the construction. I don't want the money. I don't want there to be a Construct (I obscenity in the milk of the Construct. Muck it. Muck. Milk. The unprintable words, the substitutions)".
The Construct is to be a monolith, a testament to everything that stands, to inspire all who look upon it with awe.
My hand comes down from the clouds and plucks the antagonist from the scaffold, and I crush him into a fine paste in my palm and then sprinkle the remains over the unfinished monolith.
I shudder with laughter at the sudden vision, and he looks at me in wide-eyed disbelief, and his expression freezes immortal as I shudder over the scaffold edge and fall free into the immense darkness below, still laughing, almost like a caw now, like a great crow, flapping and cawing and mad with relief and release.
And it is good.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Excerpts From a Time Long Past Pt. 3 (Extrapolated)
- While in a haze: Black and white, glowing skeletal frame, sheen, phosphorous, sheets of soft light on neon black.
- The same bug is wandering on a field of endless gray: my bed sheet. What does it look to him? What does it feel like?
- Uneasy. Say that. Just a little.
- Sometimes you put a band-aid on a wound and the wound heals but your band-aid is still there and you treat the area with the band-aid like you would treat the wound if it wasn't healed at all, like that band-aid symbolizes what the wound is supposed to be, and has managed to take its place. You still favor the area. Maybe it even still hurts in your head.
- On receiving a parking ticket in Newport Beach: We lay down glue all over the coast and wait for the flies to land so that we can suck them for what they have while the water laps, shimmering in the sun and the seagulls glide over the haze above. What we do to ourselves in the face of such beauty, such beauty that should be untouched, but is now covered in our glue.
- Coming down: Smashed glass fissures, interrupted memory flow, diverted to other comers of the piece, sullenly awaiting the reflection of another time (thought?).
- Go peacefully into the ink night while I roll up into myself and deeper, as the cave opens up into the main chamber.
- Gossip: How does it all work, I ask you asking me to ask him what he thinks there you go. This fractured story-telling excludes most of the audience and isolates them into themselves. See how this silences you and sets your mouth at a slope.
- On peaks and valleys: Getting high is like jumping into the air. You leave the ground, reality, for a period, and you are above it, and then you come back down. The crash is hitting the ground, feeling that ground, reality, more intensely for a brief second before everything returns to normal, and the ringing nerves in your feet quiet themselves.
- Finally, a great quote: "I think it's really important to be environmentally aware. That's why I drive a car made of imaginary magical bricks!" -Some flower chick in Peggle
Sunday, April 08, 2007
More (Believe)
When I close my eyes I start to lose what I have when they are open.
My feet are above my head and darkness is everything I can think of there is a warm equal pressure on just about everything I can feel that is not numb at the moment.
This is pretty good with the squealing strings operating just above me on the ceiling curves.
To confuse.
My feet are above my head and darkness is everything I can think of there is a warm equal pressure on just about everything I can feel that is not numb at the moment.
This is pretty good with the squealing strings operating just above me on the ceiling curves.
To confuse.
Detox Intox Neutral (Does its matter?)
I am running out of what is inside me. The sounds are washing against the walls and flooding the room and my head feels like it has been cushioned with a thousand needles.
Life is flooding around me like a ton of arctic molasses. Can't even know what that means. Does anyone care to try? Slap a symbol on it and call it yours. It only returns back to the Great Organism.
What is this nonsense? This rubbish? Is this alteration of something that can lead us in the right direction? The room is still filling with a liquid we cannot see, which is not a liquid at all. This is too much to expect from someone who cannot think correctly, in relative terms.
I am filled with a great energy that I never knew existed. There are two patterns oscillating and dragging to somewhere that I have been before. Everything is too beautiful in this state to care about what is ugly. That is what the tunnel vision obscures. What it saves us from.
There is too much to take in. To take it all in at once could lead to a certain insanity. This is something to avoid, something to hide from at the moment. This automatic writing will lead us to where we have not been.
Thunder, thunder now. Hear it before it comes. Fear it, but respect it, for it is something of a simplicity before our time.
I cannot grip anymore concepts or thoughts or feelings and I must teminate this stream of thoughts and symbols before it consumes, confuses, or demolishes that which we almost understand, oh I am off balance.
At once.
Life is flooding around me like a ton of arctic molasses. Can't even know what that means. Does anyone care to try? Slap a symbol on it and call it yours. It only returns back to the Great Organism.
What is this nonsense? This rubbish? Is this alteration of something that can lead us in the right direction? The room is still filling with a liquid we cannot see, which is not a liquid at all. This is too much to expect from someone who cannot think correctly, in relative terms.
I am filled with a great energy that I never knew existed. There are two patterns oscillating and dragging to somewhere that I have been before. Everything is too beautiful in this state to care about what is ugly. That is what the tunnel vision obscures. What it saves us from.
There is too much to take in. To take it all in at once could lead to a certain insanity. This is something to avoid, something to hide from at the moment. This automatic writing will lead us to where we have not been.
Thunder, thunder now. Hear it before it comes. Fear it, but respect it, for it is something of a simplicity before our time.
I cannot grip anymore concepts or thoughts or feelings and I must teminate this stream of thoughts and symbols before it consumes, confuses, or demolishes that which we almost understand, oh I am off balance.
At once.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
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