i got a long way to go, getting further away.

drunken mouth of words dressed as a tall tale, well she’s buttoned down, gonna tell you where she drowns argument where Everything’s for sale, cause it’s a damn tourist town, rob me of some decency caught looking down, the narrow lighted hall way, read exit in the end, I felt it was a metaphor for the circles I've been walking in

Do you want to know what it is like to have you stomache wrtech itself in to bewildering knots, not even a adtrot sailor has knowledge of. have you seen the night let the day from its clutches and paint its hemorrhaging heart across the morning, that is what hell feels like, when the small sincere child sees the impurity of the world and all that was once beautiful now crumbles away to dirt and ash—a perfect, putrid, vile, evil. I have seen the mirrored midnight compel me to to wonderous things, horrible things, things you can never know, things I will never remember. I painted a picture of blacks and whites, climbing the steps to an illusioned consequential breath--a shawowed perspective for what I realized as a rising success was merely the falling of my chest and all that is lovely only hurts my head. And I asked myself, Jack, I asked myself cold and sober, did you fall in love with the end of the world? To which the answer never came. But wait, slowly, quietly, surely, what is this light that emerges like a maiden from the mist—it is sleep. and behold my escape to a fantastical world of deadened emotion and unscripted reels played over the setting sun of a distant reality. For she was the end of my world, everything that I compartmentalized and hid as a secretive window in a pitch black cell. It was there I could invent. But an apocalypse, a personal apocalypse, changed everthing..

(dialogue by Mr. Brigwillow from The Secrets Of Cheshire Hollow--a short story i am writing)
Like all places I suppose. Certain existences in life are unexplainable my boy. The mystic, the ethereal, the subtle whisper you hear in your ear and heart that warps and cripples perception, granting illusion the mainstay of your addled vision—begs an explanation. For within the confines of a severely severed soul there lies an insatiable void of fascination for things less suited for the light. Such an inherent brew of the most fluid evil plagues the dampened corridors of our hearts, and living is but a wilted rose clinging to its last petal. All hope and fortune is abandoned here, beyond The Gates of Ends there can be no return, for regression of dying for the already dead would simply mean reawakening to the living, which is, nearly impossible, I might say. Which leads me on to come to say, why fear what you can embrace? Now, I am off to sleep, can't seem to get enough these days, it’s the anticipation I suppose.

“dammit kiddo, looks like you screwed yo’self on this one, aint no way even some slick shit like you cudda slipped outta this un,no, not even with no lies, big or small, not this time, you're stuck in that there corner”

“yeah, looks like it. Like aways when you live inside the circles huh? I know it is. I checked, I read it all through, nothings up ahead, I saw the sun rise this morning, it was murder red and foggy, foggy at best, at best. I barely could make anything out, it just isn't, normal. Not normal like I'm used to, ever since I gave it up.”

“aint nothin normal bout it sonny, aint nothin normal bout you neither. Id seen you walk up there like youdda own the place, caught a whim of smoke then choked back down to a skeleington of sorts. I've seen you before, pleanty of ya. Cause yarll the same. Think tomorrows always a day away, like it’s a drug. you figger its best ta push it aside jus like ereything else you done did. Till one day, one day it comes like the rains. Heavy hard and unrelenting, it soaks ya through, drowns ya. An all that time you couldda been lernin to swim, stead ya watched, watched and grew into the rocks an sand. Back inta the desert”

“naw now billie, you’ve got it wrong. You can't live how you do, I can't, no one can. Routine? Blah. I shrug it off like everything else. Id wake up everyday wishing for it to be new, but it was the same. The clock kept me living its twisted hurt, reminding me where I should have been when it said 2 or 3 or 4 or 5 or 6, and I never was there. it reminded me what kept on adding up. I stood frozen and kept on wishing something would happen someone would break the glass and stop those hands that machine. Nothing was worth it. The walls kept on growing yellow everyday a little more, like, like a disease. I had to get out, you don’t know what that does to a man, I had to leave.

“well, you gotta lern to walk before ya run I suppose. Aint much place for ya here, these days aint much place for anyone unless ya turned black to the soul, unless yur hungry for it, then they’ll want ya. Cigarette?”

“yeah I might as well blacken my lungs while I can, I decided I'm going back tomorrow, so I won't have a chance to do anything, you know how it is, they’ll figure out who did it then clip your wings before you get the chance to take off up the ladder. Damn government jobs, damn grey walls, damn gray life. I smoke too much and don’t read enough, I'm gonna die before I finish a book. Its always the last page.”

“yeah, I don’t know. Never was much for that kinda thing, always thought it best ta keep it close ya know, hidden and safe, jus go about trudging along toward something, I was never sure what but I thought the sun looked different so I jus took my chances I guess, didn’t get me far.”

“yes, see. It’s the clock, the damned clock, waving about like some police man thinking he can direct us where to go”

“maybe”

“maybe!? It is, it goes away when you don’t look at it in the face. Oh, that’s the worst, when you look close, real close, hell win everytime. My face always feels contorted afterwards. Ill write about it and then forget it ever happened”

“well I guess it depens on where youd had grown up at. I don’t care much for it now, aint gonna help none,shouldda sold out sooner though. Know it right as hell now. That’s the funny thing about walking in a straight line you ferget to take a look back erey once in a while, seen where youd been comin and goin.”

“yes well I suppose so, you really shouldn’t have. Say if you give me 5 dollars I’ll go buy some coffee and be right back”

“hell I aint got no five dollars, you're a writer for that news paper, I recoglized you soon as I seen ya from the picture there”

“no well, I used to. I told you, I couldn’t take it anymore remember”

“so you came here”

“yeah, I just walked out, and came here. Where ever it is”

“I don’t know, been walkin all day myself, forget where from. Don’t know where to”

“ah, yes. Eternally iconic the lonesome travler along some desert highway in search of something. Well I have driven down this particular rode plenty of times. There isn't much. Rocks dust, animal bodies. They smell. Especially when a deer get hit. Blood bathed the road. Looked like someone spilt paint all over the place. Then it gets hot and sticky, grimy and smells awful. I always get sick when I smell it now. Happens so much these days. Somethings gotta keep the population down though.”

“hmm. I suppose. Don’t change I don’t got no 5 dollars”

“ right, well I need to go anyway.”

“you aint going no where like you always do. All talk, that’s what ya are, newt and the big nothing, big lie, the big fool.ha.

writing words that erase themselves, I couldn’t get much better,

writing words that erase themselves, I couldn’t get much better,

i have come a far way from the basement on the circle. though 88 miles is not as accurate of a measurement. i keep staring down at the gray though, its the quiet screams of growing that pang deep inside when i am trying to stay light. i still dont smile much these days, not like i used to, its just so people think everything is ok, so i can finally convince myself it is. i am a painter who has been given palm full of clay. you feel like you belong somewhere in empty space between the bars you make it your own. opportunities come, and what you once wanted seems so much less appealing then it initially was. then desire is predicated by being a different kind of child. not like i am now. its when you want for the potential of things. there was a time when i didnt talk to anyone for months, at least it seemed that way. i better stop holding my cure close and listening to the notes before i start crying. i have forgotten why something and nothing are the same. thats when i know i am too far ok to ever be the same. its easy to go there, i know i am trying to stay clean but ill run away like i always do. i always said ill get through becoming you. i dont know who to choose.

midnight's rolled into a single cell. chalk white smoke that tastes like roses bled through the note I wrote right to peter and paul near a golden gate in midwest gale. ravens circle wide in the glow of a setting sun. exhaling extacy with the air that drains a freckled face's smile to a saddened sigh. says every time, you know you have to change. was an old man and his sea capsized over replacing pictures in a revolving game. (seven excuses. remembering the stripes on my shoulder don't ever match my face. i just stare at the gray turns black and white that dissipates into a lonely chair occupied in empty space. calculus bloomed into vines and slouching doves. fended off with a ghost named, ,passing by. the city stays quiet when im crying. the city stays quiet when im crying. polluted light pools in holes, keeps me up at night.

i realized today what i had forgot about since last april, that the sooner you recognize yourself for who you are and what you are capable of the sooner you will be somewhat happy in knowing where you are going to go or where you can go or at least have some semblance of an ideal of how your next step will meet the ground, and the one after that, and the one after that. everyone thinks they're a pro, or , rather, illusioned masses of people believe their school of thought is the best because oft he results it produces. i have heard relativism is one of the greatest evils of the world, specifically the 21st century (yes it was from on of those schools of thought). the thing is, not everyone is the same, and accordingly not everyone has the same desires, feelings, ideas about things--correct me if i am wrong (oh wait there cant ever be a wrong perspective! a triumphant victory of relativism) but unique perspectives, add flavor to life, it makes it interesting, worth being apart of and embracing. hell, if everyone was the same we'd be rooted in traditionalism...not that that's bad but i like to live somewhat comfortably in the modern world. having said that, i heard elliott say something that at first made me get start toward the ladder to climb up a smug pedestal but then i realize he was right. responding to an interviewer among the things he said was a sure way to fail was killing your emotions. i always thought a logical approach to things was the most sure way to succeed. but elliott is right. the man majored in political science and philosophy at Amherst. i am just a political science major who dabbles in philosophy and literature at notre dame. im trying to do something, like elliott, i dont like for 4 years. but in the end, we both are cowards. still i realize the necessity for logical thought. in order to achieve a lifestyle where i can pay off my debt and sever my ties to a life to hard, gut grinding, work i need to succeed logically now, and fail to be true to myself. the more i thought about it i realized i was always rushing for fools gold. but once i found some splinter of myself, i could never go back. and i cant now. we live constructively and progressively. everything must play its part. i forget i am alive sometimes. the times when i am not in the belly of a whale with a deep blue jail around me, floating somewhere between the notes climbing up and down some lonely cleft every day. its a medicine that causes more illness. i can tell its no good just because, but if that makes me human then why try to deny that the small bit of felicity i found in it. people will say, you should live this way if you want to be this or that. they say dont do that or this, or that, or whatever. its because they think in terms of checks and x's. they want some pie in the sky at the end of the day. really, its just that you finally get what you tell yourself you so desperately need/want. with death you get something greater than life. somehow through living by some set of rules and lifestyle you can make the portal to everlasting life open up by dieing. you have to live like a tailor. it makes me laugh. no one can ever know for sure, thats why people do it. because they would rather be safe than sorry in the long run, even after multiple trials and errors. its because people want to want something they can never have because without it there would be no incentive to live past realizing that very concept. eventually we just get sick of it.i guess it makes sense, thats why old people are religious. everyone counts on tomorrow to bring some change that they cant administer themselves. some people never realize it or crawl into themselves. i'd like to think that i wasnt a child even now, but i am. id like to believe i could forget about things i care about that other people think are a waste, but i cant, not right now anyhow. plans.maps.instincts. stars. thats what guides a ship straight. i guess we can interpret the prerequisites however we want.

i haven't talked in a while. i think its somewhat like that awkward silence in a conversation when your significant other interlocutor just lays down some heavy, heavy significant life changing comment that you dont know how quite to respond to appropriately, almost as if you want to answer the earth shaking comment that just hurled out of their mouth and hit everyone with an acme anvil, with another anvil so everyone is doubly dazed and amazed. but its not even that. its like i am at the uneasy exhale that comes immediately after, still groping for understanding, for even words to say something or anything, comforting, insightful...intelligible? its in certain situations micro and macrocosmically that a simple action will do. that of course is predicated by the setting straight of the head. tonight is a good night for farmer chords. if only, if only my throat was not as sore as the economy. only these days can someone get away with something like that.

i was fascinated at first that our stories were the same. then i realized we were both cowards, how noble.

midnight rolled into confusion.its the only time you can hold a setting sun and say, "how paradoxical living is at this very moment" i laughed. then i became depressed. i just sat by myself at tried to look up at a sky polluted by a autumn city in an autumn season. i have become an question mark. i see the eve of 1929. the lights always look the same outside. i am

people think they know things you don't. they make a mountain out of a mole hill whenever they can to shove your face in the dirt and pile dead weights to your already battered and sinking heart. they say"you mean this" or "you mean that" or "actually that is not right" you just smile and let it burn, i do. i think it is laughable. the incessant talking head with nothing to anchor its lofty, ever rising, prostitute of a human brain. selling space for egoism. laughable. sincerely humorous. (they will have their facts and no one to share them with. it is the principle of it all) a gadfly raging with ceaseless, nonplus facts and arbitrary melodies, endlessly eating away at your sanity, lays their eggs of perpetual motion, perpetual, bothersome activity beneath your skin. they hatch and crawl around beneath, growing ever larger with steaming, boiling blood and rage. why get angry at such simple things. i used to stay below it all, in a deep blue jail. life felt cool, and damp there. i am still learning to feel again. getting mad at things is a joke. i am scared today. i read elliott ithought about leaving a lot. it is a shame. i never knew how far he had gone before he stepped through the gates of ends. i think abandoned all hope when i entered into myself.once you crawl in and forget about everything its a long way back. i said to newt the other day, "what does it all mean" he replied "it is about spiders and lemmings" i said "newt, you are a fool and a thief! Dr. Hoeniker invented that months ago! how can you drop eves on such a brilliant man and claim his nobel prize!?" newt stared back with stale slate eyes, dull and lifeless, "do you think that old bag hoeniker invented something like spiders and lemings on his own? really, such a ingenious philosophy was not conceived by one man, alone, locked in his basement for a year to contemplate all of everything. i invented it over a trip with Paul on a visit to london." "Paul is involved in this!?" i said. "well, really it was me, he suggested the spider--thats like him you know" said newt "you know how he does tend toward the arachnids--quite curious really." still such a raw philosophy is too premature for revealing, i know this too. but it was the fact he mentioned it that made me connect the lines in my head and the ripples grew. i leaned back in my 40 dollar plastic desk chair and, time quake. there are circles within circles, how moronic and nearsighted i can be sometimes. newt just laughed, ayn did too. she said the humor derived from my limited intellect and the scales on my eyes made paul laugh so hard she could hear the echoes in new york. i am not much a fan of a hyperbole. ayn does it anyway. i was living in the middle of nowhere then--it was the fall of 2008, it was the second revolution of my circle. i have yet to determine how long my outer circle takes to complete one revolution. i would say that it is 16 years. that is when motion stopped. and subsequently it began again on an epistemological journey. i wonder where the travelers rest. i am not a particularly patient man. my two year revolutions are bearable, and quite frankly i remain ever pessimistic and frustrated at my nearsighted approach to life. i was living it, i am living it, but i missed it completely. just think of the things i could have invented in my head--social constructs, a blueprint to save myself and the world. my dissertation was delayed four years. im not sure how long it will be until it clouds drip into ink and form on paper a meaningful moan and complaint on life. it serves me right being solitary. waiting never helps anyone. it only makes them wiser and more tolerant. it is paradoxical, they hate it. i do. maybe i am too priggish. too confidant. yes. all too confidant in fact. how do you like that newt! you are always lifting the clever little things i invent and calling them your own as if all of us here are a collective brain trust at your disposal, your private crutch to hold you up atop the rest of humanity. well. as you know i have a history of katherines. ayn remarked that i am a man with no sense of direction. she gifted me a compass and circular spectacles for my birthday last april. "hopefully that gets you on track with life, and the other, you are always blind to the best of things that sit right in front of you" i doubt ayn has ever been wrong with such things. hopefully history never repeats itself again but learns from its mistakes and builds on it self to something greater. i was never asked to anything. i dont think it is because i am an esoteric soul. i think it is because i lack the refinement necessary to hold anyone close, and have anyone desire to come anywhere near me. if i told you a secret, hoeniker would say, i knew it all along, newt would already know because he always steals things of value from hoeniker, ayn would find out, call paul, paul would send his deriding laughter over the pond and i would be sulking. i hope there is a new queen. i know who she may be. it curious thing about attraction is, when you convince yourself of the initial notion, the irony is you are always late. i should have stayed north and wore my glasses.

i promise i wont go there tonight, today not back down mainstreet in the rain. im not going to let you see me waterlogged, floating in empty space. even thought i know im just alone, and i cant help myself to anything good. i tell myself i am falling down, i kick and cuss at the mirror that talks back wishing me worse, its christmas time in a black sheet havoc, blowing cinnamon slate storm clouds out at the ailing october air, im suffocating myself to feel ok, sometimes thats what you got to do, my lungs are screaming more when i swallowed a setting sun over a marble grave. i watch and wish for faith, wanting to forget i live in a bubble carton cell. it only one week until i can forget who i am and see the only thing that reminded me that its here and now, golden bronze singing a somber melody, i know you miss me. swear to me you wont get that way when you curse the heave droning beat and shallow valley breaths, ball your bourgeois hands in to an angered fist, i just turn up the music and forget everything. they love you only if you are shining with lime light pixie dust then forget you when youre walking home, its ok, i tell myself it is anyway. its no way to live. so why think about anything at all. to save someone else.

i am inconsolably humored. the Fry brothers are possibly the creepiest looking persons i have seen in my entire life--the resemble a sort of child's villan only older, strung out, sunken eyed, with a dark completion and aura the same, most defitenly more real than than a colored sketch filmed at high speeds and projected on a static screen. its no small wonder the mid west breeds organic musical minds.

some lyrics to a new song :)

bite the bullet and navigate the chemical clouds, the heart break anchor thats screaming out loud, it’s cross you inherit, that you're born to mourn, cradled in the womb of a storm, from the coterie, Catholics, with their stringent tradition, to the evangelical cannons with their canvassing missions, are convictions of the world in a white cap cell, living a paradoxical hell.

The global arena is a modern circus confound, we’re ecumenical clowns just singing out loud