Clean And Cold

The clouds were like frozen violet-gray explosions this morning and the air was cold and clear and it is that time in the year that everything starts to feel slightly different.

There was a strange thunderstorm this morning that seemed out of place, but welcome.

All this new philosophy pouring into my head sends it spinning and spreading until I forget where I am or what I am doing.

I'm empty again but I'll take it for now.

Why

I was standing in the bathroom taking aspirin for a throbbing headache I had from a few glasses of cheap wine and I as I leaned back to drink down some water to wash down the pills I caught sight of a huge fly sticking there on the ceiling.

It was at that moment that it all froze and hung together and there I was, bent back from this antidote to spot the ugliness from this new viewing angle. The scene stood there like some grotesque 3d painting, or a combination of 2d paintings in the memory's eye, and I realized with all those years of the same recurring feeling snapping back together across so many isolated events what a fool I had been, and what a fool I still was, following those lines of thought and sentiment straight through like arrows to be stuck into the bales.

A sentimental fool still chasing that fairy tale stuff that we were made to believe in. And can you blame him? Like a bow was made to fire those arrows, straight and true and with deliberation, we were made to chase these happy endings, ignoring the digressions and warning signs, to land and stick in those unmoving bales.

Archipelago Travel

When one sinks, it is a good idea to hop to the next, which holds true for all iterations of this abstracted concept.

Cockfasting

A multi-semantic word, the meaning of "Cockfasting" can change with intonation and user.

One can say, "Cock (space of time) fasting", as in one is fasting not with food, but with cock. Both sexes of both sexual preferences can use the term: males can fast their own cock, and choose not to have intercourse for whatever period of time, for whatever reason, or fast from having other cock, or vice versa, or both at the same time, and females can fast from having cock , and I suppose lesbians are on an indefinitely prolonged cock fast, in terms of organic cock anyway.

There is also the use of the term that can be seen as similar to "Breakfast", pronounced in the same way...where...no, that needn't be explained.

And finally there is the use of the word very rapidly in that insolent "proper" English pronunciation, of which I cannot demonstrate because I am much too coarse, that sounds like something fancy you would do while fencing or riding a race horse, that really has nothing to do with cocks and serves to confuse everyone who isn't aware of its correct use.

The reason for this post I am not quite sure of, and am becoming more and more shocked of its own content the longer I sit to take it in. And the longer I sit and take it in, the more unaware I become of the origin of this concept, until I realize that a post such as this could look quite strange on one's blog, and then I once again realize the function of this blog: to exercise the writing muscle and vent and write about gloomy and strange things, these things not primarily meant for the entertainment of others, which can sometimes happen, if I dare say so.

But nevertheless, when I look upon my own uneasiness during the survey of certain disturbing things that I realize have originated within myself, it only serves to amplify the unease because I not only contemplate the disturbing content but the fact that it has in fact come from me and the effect is compounded.

At least talking in this way about this subject seems to help work it out a little. Silly outlet, this writing.

Maybe I should write a guitar solo that would evoke images of "Cockfasting" in the listener's head.

To The End Of Summer, '08

It was something. It hurt, and it felt great. And many other things that writing about would cheapen.

It hurts right now.

But later it will feel great.

And so on.

Now: The last year of my academic career.

Strange.

So It Goes

It is solitude and those subsequent heavy silences that allow the thoughts to begin to creep back in until they are swimming densely in my head. I put on music and tinker around with various logic games to dull the thoughts, or at least put something between me and them, but they still manage to leak in. I mean, a lot of the time I enjoy those sprawling, interconnected trains of thought and I love following them but sometimes it can be mentally draining, especially if the thoughts are heavy with certain emotions and you are suddenly put through that rollercoaster of changing emotions, emotions that are supposed to be saved for those dramatic events where the pent up tension in the parties involved finally breaks loose and we are left to ride out the ensuing events, feeling all there is to feel in the duration.

But the thoughts. What about the thoughts? There are too many. And when it begins to set in heavier and heavier (this large body of invading thoughts) a man begins to lose himself. Frightfully so sometimes.

I try to think of my newly cleaned guitar...with the fresh strings that slide and pull so well and you can navigate all over them nice and smooth...and I try to think of the music being piped in my ears, and of what foot is keeping the beat, usually my right, but it can vary...but oh you can only do that for so long, and those things in themselves can lead into whole other avenues of thought...for better or worse.

Oh Distractions, Another Suspended Life

Those sounds the guitar make produce images of trailing fires in my head, changing through a spectrum of colors depending on the intensity, and there is a story told that has a texture that's soothing and scathing at the same time.

And bass produces images of warm, crackling semi-solids that suddenly materialize like fireworks and swirl with a lava-like fluidity and move and dissipate and another story is told of a different type, of rhythm and texture, and this story interacts with the guitar's story and the two mix like paints and produce new fascinating colors.

And the drums shake up the images with that old primary beat.

Yeah, music tells a story of sound and rhythm and induced imagery and it feels great to get lost in it.

And white wine tastes great outside with the low afternoon sun lighting up the trees and the gnats and flies are buzzing in the grass and mixing with the dust and there is so much texture to behold with a buzzing head.

And sometimes they all combine and it is as if there is another life layered on top that one can climb to in order to escape that tangled undergrowth of maddened creatures fighting one another for some prize that I don't yet understand.

It all makes me forget that we are running out of money.