when the rules are broken
i become translucent
and
drunk
so
fucking drunk
though i am recovering from subconsciousness
there sits like a faithful dog who bites his master
the mahogany, autumn, and soil and soil.
the backwash dirty water
blackwater
from middle america
ferment. for me.
the sour mash.
it tastes like sadness to me.
sit in my throat.
be caught in my teeth today.
today. i awoke and wished to remain absent from everyone.
beset in fest. i am a
wild
voracious
beast.
unkind.
vicious of my kin. of my kind.
no teeth to my bite
no fist to my fight
no will to my might
crippled amputee.
cry for me.
says the ocean, bleeding salt, bleed me salt.
they would come to taste.
i asked the eternal question of the burlesque viz.
would i hit myself with my own life?
i would with a brick.
the world today is suspended like a liminal tv screen.
please decide whether you will be white or dark.
for her. for me.
i am 10 stories away from a fall.
we climb slower and more steady every day.
but the woman who sleeps two stories above me fucks all the time.
she finds the dregs, the hearts with holes, the empties, the sunken eyes, the ugly of uglies, judas and says
im easy.
i get sick when i hear it.
the woman i love does not find happiness when she thinks of me. i am skinny, love.
the father i love does not find happiness in life
the mother i love wishes to take her own
the sister i loved has given hers away
the brother i love has forgotten he is living
the friend i love wishes to remain fucked up on:
passing women
whiskey
cigarettes
angel feathers
sad songs
bad poetry
greenery
the self i once was is becoming stronger through the crushed veneer
that was indiana, that was yesterday
do i have anything that i can keep?
everywhere i travel i carry them with me.
so i travel light.
keep me together for the rules.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
i have been starving for the little bits of inspiration in my day to day. and enveloped in that darkness of self loathing and pity that often comes when you live in a basement and disregard much of everything you must do i realized that which is common sense, i have made myself this way. well thats ok. sometimes its good to grieve for the death of a former self. i keep making it up anyway, and i have been forgetting who i am with every breath so its something like the death of a stranger at this point. on the topic: someone i barely knew died last week. it was one of those things where you think you should be sad but you arent quite too sure what you should be feeling so you just kind of feed off the general malaise around you. i would feel fake if i shed a tear for someone whose name i only know. thats probably because in all my years of breathing and glowing i have never opened up to anyone. i dont think i ever cared about anyone, anyone that who isnt my family, anyone who i know would call me to see if im still ok, but they never do. which brings me to say i am sad that everyone i meet is stuck inbetween everything. i came across a girl who sits like an anchor around my chest, but at the same time i could say i will see you go, and so be gone. but then when she is speaking with other guys i feel betrayed. and i ask her who else is trying to love you. and she kisses me. and i feel then like i imagine Jesus did when judas kissed him, but not in the same way. i was going to ask her to dinner but that was someone i knew a long time ago. i guess i should invent, invent, invent, invent like everything else.
two years ago i saw a road sign that said speed limit 65 i was going 90 and thought about driving into the cement barrier that divided the highway from the wilderness. no one would get it though and i wouldnt be around to tell anyone--that being the main idea at the time.
two years ago i saw a road sign that said speed limit 65 i was going 90 and thought about driving into the cement barrier that divided the highway from the wilderness. no one would get it though and i wouldnt be around to tell anyone--that being the main idea at the time.
Monday, September 27, 2010
when once i said catch for us the foxes i meant it as a personal endeavor, but not for a collectivized self, a solitary one. yet, so noble am i, the judas, the second son. what was it? all the foreign substances? yes that was what did me in was it? no man! think! it was this paradox, to remain in the light you had to shut everything off, for it all perverts you the moment it touches your skin. yet afterall like a fool you still fell. i couldnt take the solitary confinement dammit! and so i am like a child in a bull ring. or maybe i am the angry bull. the foxes have raped my vineyards of any hares or small happy creatures. the creative edge perhaps lain to rest. well exactly not. it was the other self newton briggs. he was the one pushing me to it all. i stopped listening. we thought it was this great idea to write. for what purpose you ask...i never knew, we just did it. it was supposed to be for everyone so you could write a book or something. you know all that damned work. there is got to be a way out. "the future is coming. can you hear it?" he would say. "yes, it sounds like hell" i would reply. "no no, thats just the idiots next door fraternizing with fate" newt said. "exactly, dear friend, exactly" i would reply. and we had a good laugh. how i miss him sometimes. i dont write him often enough any more. we had ideas for two or three great works of literature. but now we are all so busy busy busy with the life we tired to run from. it was because we both feard of going mad. i wanted to love someone in this world, maybe the next. i wasnt every too sure. i tried any way. so i just need to find someone at the nexus of sanctity and depravity. one who walks lines and pushes for the better. so catch most of the foxes in the vineyard.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
vile conspicuous teeth, waiting in the wake of a dream. waiting for me to slip and fall into despair. you would so be inclined as to close around my feet if i dared, so sitting on the edge,
haunted by that indifference, that urges me to go and find myself at the bottom of it all once again, to pretend theres nothing going on here, no nothings going on in here, just a gray mind a placid faced disguise, oh tell me friend do you think sometimes you can never die? so do i, well so do i. scares me to death, ha ha ha, well sometimes i see someone smiling and i know its not me.
cascade from 1996 been tossin and turning since that waterfall, in experimental cures to the inevitable disconnect of this sullied up mind. oh so im wandering. the black people talk outside like lifes just fine, in the projects. where would we be without somebody doing something to someoneelse so we can all talk about whose going to wear the crown of disdain. i want something. something that makes me believe i can endure the here and now. dont pretend everything is distant for you...
haunted by that indifference, that urges me to go and find myself at the bottom of it all once again, to pretend theres nothing going on here, no nothings going on in here, just a gray mind a placid faced disguise, oh tell me friend do you think sometimes you can never die? so do i, well so do i. scares me to death, ha ha ha, well sometimes i see someone smiling and i know its not me.
cascade from 1996 been tossin and turning since that waterfall, in experimental cures to the inevitable disconnect of this sullied up mind. oh so im wandering. the black people talk outside like lifes just fine, in the projects. where would we be without somebody doing something to someoneelse so we can all talk about whose going to wear the crown of disdain. i want something. something that makes me believe i can endure the here and now. dont pretend everything is distant for you...
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
im weaing the size medium 16inch inseam mesh high school lacrosse shorts lying bareback against the cool permeating from the 50's lead based painted wall of the house where i currently live. not because its dangerous, but because i am willing to tempt death for sound comfortable night sleep--or really anything to escape the musty smell and heat of this century old house. i only hope its ability to contain heat carries through to the winter--i care little for drafty homes--this from living out in the african bush for a month with the hunter gatherer group called the Hadza. when dwellings were built they were built with stronger intentions of providing shelter than the physicality could perform. that adventure is another story entirely however. but back to the main purpose of this whole thing: i felt that when uncle kurt would talk of certain people being within your karass he was making a play on words about how crass it is that we as a race strive to make meaning and categorize everything. we could say "oh well johnny and i were in the same class in elementary school and now were in college in the same class, must be fate that we know each other...now what?" now what? for some people who have lived a somewhat sedentary existence by a seaside, cornfield, or skyscraper where faces remain changed only by time it is difficult to understand the genious of uncle kurts works involving the curiously humerous invention called a karass. i lived in one place no longer than 2 years from the time i was 0 to 22, well currently. so i see a lot of faces, meet a lot of people when i feel like it, forget a lot of people always, and am endlessly attentive and watching. there are a few souls who by happy mistakes or whatever fate wills for me to discover have crossed my path unwillingly, unknowingly, unexpectedly. from an initial introduction to a face pictured on a wall to crossing paths in work then again else where. in some instances its as if we are all aware something creepy is going on here and so naturally we stitch our lips closedand speak not a word to any of us. then by some circumstance we end up in the same place on the same time. im not talking about things like going some place to eat, i mean things that matter like life plans and how we carry them out. such as how two timelines of life in their entirety overlap. its maddening. only time reveals what purpose was indwelt. i wonder what will come of mine as people come and go i shall be watching with bright eyes, galvanized, to see what new there is to learn to embrace and to live.
i just had a idea about sin. but forgot it. i have been forgetting the little things a lot lately. age is no excuse im 22. and as i was thinking about sin i forgot i was not back in my own home, back east. then i remembered i carry the abatross of a consistent interior design--though it changes every now and again. i purchased the suburbs today. it is the adorned child you are not immediately taken to, but as time passes you grow and understand more, so too the whole damn thing becomes so damn beautiful and you wish you could cry--partly because you missed it the whole time and partly because its so human, and mostly because its all wonderful. i have some plastering of my body to this lead based wall to do.
i just had a idea about sin. but forgot it. i have been forgetting the little things a lot lately. age is no excuse im 22. and as i was thinking about sin i forgot i was not back in my own home, back east. then i remembered i carry the abatross of a consistent interior design--though it changes every now and again. i purchased the suburbs today. it is the adorned child you are not immediately taken to, but as time passes you grow and understand more, so too the whole damn thing becomes so damn beautiful and you wish you could cry--partly because you missed it the whole time and partly because its so human, and mostly because its all wonderful. i have some plastering of my body to this lead based wall to do.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
im feeling that i could live alone. i belong in some seasoned state of absence. living as a telescope to microscopically confess everything that is questioned. its when i work myself into destructive situations. all of everything that my parents have instilled come with all my joy and sorrow, to inculcate and brand on my mind with their love with their laughter, its the exact same feeling of sudden sinking when you find that youve wronged, or sinned all along. were relatively lost in a relative struggle to maintain our stance to reposition again as a new old plan to reignite the fires of passion to burn the world to a funeral dirth to ashes in urns to sit on some mantel where we watch and learn that passing love is all that matters all that death in selfless action. preaching the sameness.
manifesto on self help.
oh child did you know you are worth something
even in our lack of brilliance when you are kicked to the ground when you are up on a fence when youre feeling within that violent struggle, to place in a pan you heart and your hands to do as the devil or God would command im feeling so heavy like a summers dream coming over me between the 6 pointed leaves and talk so brief of what we discovered about the last supper.
when you dont own up to what you'd become or wished to see still seems to be staring back in every reflection in glass or water. to cleanse this sober. so im coming clean from this misery im repleding my heart over to the bedpan stoved as a waiting stricture, to get the picture. is it that im grieving for my own persistence of bad ideas. and know that what happened there in that hospital bed was nothing more than a act of instint but nothing happened, nothing happened there. as you lied back down and shut your mouth saying please stop kissing my neck here this isint happening i didnt enter my name in that page to write i love you dear, lets make dinner.
oh child did you know you are worth something
even in our lack of brilliance when you are kicked to the ground when you are up on a fence when youre feeling within that violent struggle, to place in a pan you heart and your hands to do as the devil or God would command im feeling so heavy like a summers dream coming over me between the 6 pointed leaves and talk so brief of what we discovered about the last supper.
when you dont own up to what you'd become or wished to see still seems to be staring back in every reflection in glass or water. to cleanse this sober. so im coming clean from this misery im repleding my heart over to the bedpan stoved as a waiting stricture, to get the picture. is it that im grieving for my own persistence of bad ideas. and know that what happened there in that hospital bed was nothing more than a act of instint but nothing happened, nothing happened there. as you lied back down and shut your mouth saying please stop kissing my neck here this isint happening i didnt enter my name in that page to write i love you dear, lets make dinner.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
i need to see the brighter things in life. every attempt to make music results in happiness turned sour. i cannot create anything joyful. there is always sadness or anger in it. i just want to cope. in many ways music is how i do cope. i have purchased a video gaming system. after 1 day i dont want it anymore. it disrupts my mind thinking of music and writing music. i used to wake up singing songs and i would write a song almost every day right after i woke up. i still do. but i have stopped drinking caffiene. my music is disoriented now. when i drink it comes in a flood. when i am high on mild amphetamines things get deep but the music is shallow. i feel it matters but thats what intoxication does. my teeth feel like they are coming out of my head. and crashing i can finally find sleep. i want to let myself go. i need to find a girl who just lets go too. i wonder why fate has been so unkind. i dont know how to put myself out there i guess. i am going to play shows this year. as many as possible. get a band started and start flowing.
Friday, July 9, 2010
right now i am sittng precariously in the cool comfort of the in between--a comfort that is rife with a restlessness and anticipation of something of anything but at least it makes me realize i am here and it is now. faced with some existential crisis yet again i am only 22. when i was a child i used to say childish things but not that i am a man i still think of childish things. logic, right? the key to intelligence and transcendence. its a delta. my life is. right now streams and rivers are converging and emptying into one big sea of uncertainty. and i must sail it then find some estuary to let down my anchor again. i was going up stream to recollect everything i missed in years 5-21. and so my heroquest has scome to an end it seems. i want to keep both doors open. that is my problem. the hall way is always too wide or too narrow so i am in both or neither rooms. maybe it is because i have contemplated death and my own in far too much detail. i am consumed by that perspective to some extent. what everyone thinks is deep and philosophical is really trite and dead end cognition. i forget what it feels like to have things matter. so now there is pressure on the hinges. i dont know what to do. my heart tells my head a cognitive dissonance and so they meet somewhere inbetween and speak those little lies to me like the impossible is not an impossibility. who knows where ill be, i need to figure out how to be happy in the present.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
I remember driving down to Indianapolis to visit Uncle Kurt when I was 7, sitting in the back right bench of the latest and greatest testament to modern americanism and the nuclear family--the dodge caravan. After two and a half hours of temporizing via mindless car games popularized by a lack of ingenuity and ephemeral familial camaraderie we would cave into my mothers incessant plea to recite a slew of glory-be's hail mary's and our fathers known in closer, more religious circles as the rosary. Its not that i was ardently opposed to saying this supposed great prayer of the Blessed Mother, like any good catholic parents my parents inculcated me to the importance of such things via the CCC animated catholic cartoons. if you recall Fatima: The day the sun danced was the episode where these kids saw the virgin Mary and she told them to say the rosary. so they did for fear of the fire of hell and brimstone and etc etc. needless to say it only slightly put the fear of God in me, but for me a 5 year old child riddled with adhd and hopped up on caprisuns and chex-mix i just wanted to look outside at the sterile and repetitious Indiana wilderness. my uncle always sided with me and reinforced my tendency to simpy enjoy things in the moment and to not be oh so worried with trees of tomorrow that when they grow, if they grow, will dull your moment in the sun. uncle kurt was a humanist. this was largely the result of years of ivy league and top 10 university education. he said that he had come a long way since his days as a religious child. with so much death in the family you can either go and become really religious about the whole thing or you can just come to accept it as the natural progression of life. with that realization you see were here to mess around nothing else. that was what the anthropology from chicago had taught him--well he says it completely affirmed his long harbored suspicions. i suspected it back then but i never really believed it. i like to think humanity in our age is remarkably different and is destined--not just for the endless cycle of replacement but for some teleological end. like uncle kurt saw and wrote about, with out that we are just ants wandering around until death takes us. i never had the chance to speak to uncle kurt again since realizing the inherent pomp and priggishness we afford ourselves as the modernman but i imagine he took the blow to our collective self esteem in stride. i suspect he would have said something to the nature of "its hilarious". he had that macabre sense of humor. but as i think of it he is right. if we arent really destined for providence or anything like that we are a fine, fine on-going joke. really we should just be enjoying this place. one of the real reasons i loved uncle kurts place was the greenery and gardens of his home. we would spend hours playing lawn games and sitting on his veranda talking about whatever. that was the thing that was the most satisfying about our visits, uncle kurt was a real person. he wanted to know about everything and anything that was going on with our lives--even me the 7 year old gadfly i was back then. he believed in real people too. there are those mischievous, daring, outspoken, deleterious souls who make life interesting and bearable for us all through their antics and devilish commentary on life and its current happenings. but they are also savvy and possessing some intellectual ingenuity in their teasing. uncle kurt said he saw himself in me as a kid. so we would exchange stories of pranks and wild adventures that often tempted fate and our livelihood--it was not living unless you tried to live life anyway right? every so often uncle kurt woud remind everyone what a grand time we were all having, leaning back in his lawn-chaise lounge and say 'well, isnt this nice'.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
dwelt in the cool comfort of the inbetween.
water drops perched, weighing down the tinsel of the brush.
mystic.
catching light, catching life.
i was someteen. i was 5.
i remember the discomfort of seeing so far into a tunnel painted black so young.
so temporize.
im moving past that feeling.
we walk with chests confidant with oxygen.
decortication finds a corner in malaise. no sunlight. anymore
when we walk with chests filled with oxygen, i climb to the summit of a breath, precarious and naive in realism.
a water drop atop a thicket, to be swallowed by the sun.
water drops perched, weighing down the tinsel of the brush.
mystic.
catching light, catching life.
i was someteen. i was 5.
i remember the discomfort of seeing so far into a tunnel painted black so young.
so temporize.
im moving past that feeling.
we walk with chests confidant with oxygen.
decortication finds a corner in malaise. no sunlight. anymore
when we walk with chests filled with oxygen, i climb to the summit of a breath, precarious and naive in realism.
a water drop atop a thicket, to be swallowed by the sun.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
oh so folly sand the choir i rought heaven inton hell with God raging inside me wearing the devil's pelt its the fate of our future i do battle with for the light, i could wake in the ocean i could break with the light, oh so safe oh so treason i aint got no other reason oh its ok oh the y are laughing on so on and on and on and on and on and on aon and wait till the waves come back up and pull lout out in the night and wait till the tides swallow you up what you left there in the light and breakingdown every item ever smile every sound i saw that i was nothing so im glad that you found me living up to the highest of lows in the ruins i like feeling sought for i dislike being used and so take me now form the bottom on up to a place wherei grew up and take me now from the bottom on up to a plce where i once grew up ad ill stop dreaming of the smile tha changed my heart my mind my everyday ill stop screaming out into this nothingness again for a simple chacne of hyperbole oh wait, wait wait wait wait im wasting my time oh wait wait wait i dont know who is really starting to write behind this all im bones and skin hate and sin and love and life and so ill try to begin again oh hey hey hey im feeling pretty bland im feeling pretty empty now im feeling pretty jaded im feeling like i need to scream and shout and cuss and do everything thats bad for me because it makes things seem so better back then again and i need to remember it, i need to remember it, oh so bury it all in fate and cross out the indeciencies as lessons of age and cross out my indecniences as lessons of age im growing older every day and so is that what losing faith losing everything you thought matters because somehow it does and then you betray yourself thats what gives you hell not that you wronged or neither you are right but because of treason youre up all night thinking and scheming how to let go just let it go let it go let it go.
im sorry its so poor of whatever you call literature, sometimes whatever comes to mind means more. or rather the statement of the general disorder and unelequoent delivery is a statement initself of what is going on below. i want to see everything as it is as it was. music will follow
im sorry its so poor of whatever you call literature, sometimes whatever comes to mind means more. or rather the statement of the general disorder and unelequoent delivery is a statement initself of what is going on below. i want to see everything as it is as it was. music will follow
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
i dont deserve your empty hand or your question, im fine in the blind spots knees tucked and stomach lined in silver dollars just a failure to mention, i was a old soul song, flying kites in the wintertime.
i cant connect to the big blue ether bound and bandaged round the wounded head, of this carpet bag, motley crew collective, saw my feet leave from confidence
stopped giving in to giving my confessions as an amputation of the modern man, just drank the poison, took the injection, leaned back, swallowed all the bad,
i cant lend you to this conversation, pygmy heart coupled with a pygmy head, to think i had suffered your rejection after 40 days id had enough of that,
dont you hide death, dont you hide it now, in falling out, cant connect to the big blue ether bound and bandaged round the wounded head of this carpet bag motley crew collective, saw the ground leave from confidence.
i cant connect to the big blue ether bound and bandaged round the wounded head, of this carpet bag, motley crew collective, saw my feet leave from confidence
stopped giving in to giving my confessions as an amputation of the modern man, just drank the poison, took the injection, leaned back, swallowed all the bad,
i cant lend you to this conversation, pygmy heart coupled with a pygmy head, to think i had suffered your rejection after 40 days id had enough of that,
dont you hide death, dont you hide it now, in falling out, cant connect to the big blue ether bound and bandaged round the wounded head of this carpet bag motley crew collective, saw the ground leave from confidence.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
be intrigued not empathetically thrust toward the initial reaction of sympathy. you know i know i am far below any semblance of a decent health. years of cultivation in the basement on the circle, years of growing pains has made me numb to you. and i had forgotten your prospective concern. i had forgotten that i was just blood and bones too, or maybe that was all i remembered myself as with just the sound of my own heart and a reflection of a dying figure what could you expect?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Steeped in atrophy
I am
By no means exhaustive
Merely a lifeless yet optimistic, hyphenate
The bastards son of holes, and holes and holes and holes
And
Holes
And mechanization.
But I've got water, so goes the scale of C.
Limbless exploration, limbless extirpation
I am an unholy son.
On the cross, you saw my skin.
See my eyes, see my sin
The bastard son of holes and holes and holes and holes
And water.
I feel ugly under the palms of the oligarchy of religiosity
I feel ugly under the palms of the democracy
I feel ugly under the palms of the matriarchy
It is the trappings of sunlight in every breath, expiration
Emancipation that comes with mortality that comes with sunrise, sunset
That comes with the pangs of growing up and old.
That comes with the pangs of growing sedentary
That comes with the pangs of shedding plumage undesireable
That comes with the pangs of growing beneath the skin covered earth
That comes with the pangs of growing limbs
Lifeless yet optimistic
I am not a hyphenate
I am
By no means exhaustive
Merely a lifeless yet optimistic, hyphenate
The bastards son of holes, and holes and holes and holes
And
Holes
And mechanization.
But I've got water, so goes the scale of C.
Limbless exploration, limbless extirpation
I am an unholy son.
On the cross, you saw my skin.
See my eyes, see my sin
The bastard son of holes and holes and holes and holes
And water.
I feel ugly under the palms of the oligarchy of religiosity
I feel ugly under the palms of the democracy
I feel ugly under the palms of the matriarchy
It is the trappings of sunlight in every breath, expiration
Emancipation that comes with mortality that comes with sunrise, sunset
That comes with the pangs of growing up and old.
That comes with the pangs of growing sedentary
That comes with the pangs of shedding plumage undesireable
That comes with the pangs of growing beneath the skin covered earth
That comes with the pangs of growing limbs
Lifeless yet optimistic
I am not a hyphenate
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
i think i am rejecting the donated parts again. i am very fond of your happiness however kind as it is. the rosy lenses the circle frames just subscribe anyone who wishes some certain fate. i never want to be a hyphenate. it seems we all succumb to this consumerist ideology that more is certainty better than less. doctor-lawyer. this term is prestigious because it takes brains to be both, and together means a helluva whole lot of brains. which is good. its good because we need people to passionately care so dearly about the twisted tendrils of our legal system and how to make it and people in it better when illness infests. we need these tepid souls. and of course humanity cannot move forward without growing pains, with out forces pushing in all directions at once, attempting to find the corners of the dark room called the universe and its conspiracy for our experiment and condition.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
i imagine someday people will ask me, "wherever do you find inspiration in this terribly, terribly trite experiment of the human condition." i am not sure how i will respond, probably in a lie of some sorts, because of the indwelt hilarity and irony of course. honestly, inspiration comes from love of monotony--from timeless entitites. whiskey, beer, girls, the collective unconscious, impending unanswered questions such as the unknown, outer space (however metaphorical this is), a dire want, ill obsessions with deprivation and self-deprecation, emulation, possessing the meaningful things, always asking why, people, the idea of meaning, etc etc.
Friday, March 12, 2010
i see letters conversing in steps and clefts.
so i guess it was pretty nice, a bittersweet punch in the face
dwell as a tightrope walker addicted to the dead weight trance
i suppose it was the chemicals.
when the curtains we're drawn, i remained.
i saw the infinite jest in irony, in paradoxical things, in the troughs and peaks.
and so sanity is only as sane as it seems, then because you are what you willst you will and shall be obligated to suddenly just be, to consign it all and simply be
just simply be
i am slightly turbulent beneath the chest.
wild and uncivil was desirable,
and mending walls are never so wide as they are tall.
connecting dots. . . . .
to the next annunciation.
so i guess it was pretty nice, a bittersweet punch in the face
dwell as a tightrope walker addicted to the dead weight trance
i suppose it was the chemicals.
when the curtains we're drawn, i remained.
i saw the infinite jest in irony, in paradoxical things, in the troughs and peaks.
and so sanity is only as sane as it seems, then because you are what you willst you will and shall be obligated to suddenly just be, to consign it all and simply be
just simply be
i am slightly turbulent beneath the chest.
wild and uncivil was desirable,
and mending walls are never so wide as they are tall.
connecting dots. . . . .
to the next annunciation.
the divide was so eerily similar, it was merely the
it was simply, space and the idea that remained behind everything that decided fate.
it
scared
me
senseless.
scared
me
senseless.
Geoff said this. I responded,
rightly, so.
you cannot go about
simply parading as some obscene novelist
flaunting some civil and largely respectable demeanor
only to turn your back on the masses of youthful african eyes
you cannot go about
simply parading as some obscene novelist
flaunting some civil and largely respectable demeanor
only to turn your back on the masses of youthful african eyes
at the mere mention of Elbaz's .45.
dammit man, have some back bone
dammit man, have some back bone
he just knodded. the savannah was different now than it was 10 years ago. we both knew it. we both felt it. the star and lemon grasses didnt whisper back with the wind anymore. the waters once animate and crystal now anemic and obfuscatory--tainted by the collective apathy and negligence of people who had succumb to the villainy of the machine. some one always paid a price. for the people of laikipia it was 1.00 USD a day clearing traps and gutting carcasses.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
i see people throw thier lives away. i see them indulge in the sick shallow transience of consciousness, of moving from breath to breath however metaphoric that may be. i see the sad sick sorrow played on a recycled hymn over and over. fucking, drinking, smoking, they all tattoo sin on their skin, tattoo love on their arms, written in blood and ink, in tears and alcohol. numb.
iron and yellow and white.
bell shaped blossom, sun shaped exposure of spring.
see me run.
i climb to temporize.
i climb to listen to whispering.
so seeing grows small.
and hearing is consumed within the wild wild bloom of wind, of life.
so trite.
so cliche.
this is what they want,
nothing new.
nothing changed,
only cast in blue and rearranged,
they cannot withstand the edge of exfinity
of impertinence they float and gaunt they stand, sunken and sickly waiting to grasp ahold of the newest imagry to conform to
these paracites are sick, and i am one of them
so i need a mould to call my own because confidance is a brush stroak of humanity and i stole mine.
so no one is like me now.
because they seldom doubt their immortality, when i doubt the breath just expired as a feat of anything but a gift of miraculous
spoke harsh and slow. lips stained red from a bottle of wine, seamy lines defined the contours of her face. the hair was evident at this age, white and gray, like the pelt of a peach, subtleness and blantancy combined into some mutually constitutent characteristic privy to distance. the teeth were crooked. they were faded brown to yellow and black. gums worn low. i suppose disease had set in. the hour glass had been let to run regardless behind the rib cage in her shallow chest. she said "frivolity, makes the distance longer. absence makes the maintenance nothing more than a chore." this was 80 years wise of a adage. and so we have fallen
ferry across fellow souls.
ill keep mine. tomorrow, tomorrow there lies a
sun
blood strained from stones
under it
chemicals stressed and unowned
under it
green displaced and covered in that blood
under it
i see 3 clover leaves
but how lucky am i to be the 4th?
iron and yellow and white.
bell shaped blossom, sun shaped exposure of spring.
see me run.
i climb to temporize.
i climb to listen to whispering.
so seeing grows small.
and hearing is consumed within the wild wild bloom of wind, of life.
so trite.
so cliche.
this is what they want,
nothing new.
nothing changed,
only cast in blue and rearranged,
they cannot withstand the edge of exfinity
of impertinence they float and gaunt they stand, sunken and sickly waiting to grasp ahold of the newest imagry to conform to
these paracites are sick, and i am one of them
so i need a mould to call my own because confidance is a brush stroak of humanity and i stole mine.
so no one is like me now.
because they seldom doubt their immortality, when i doubt the breath just expired as a feat of anything but a gift of miraculous
spoke harsh and slow. lips stained red from a bottle of wine, seamy lines defined the contours of her face. the hair was evident at this age, white and gray, like the pelt of a peach, subtleness and blantancy combined into some mutually constitutent characteristic privy to distance. the teeth were crooked. they were faded brown to yellow and black. gums worn low. i suppose disease had set in. the hour glass had been let to run regardless behind the rib cage in her shallow chest. she said "frivolity, makes the distance longer. absence makes the maintenance nothing more than a chore." this was 80 years wise of a adage. and so we have fallen
ferry across fellow souls.
ill keep mine. tomorrow, tomorrow there lies a
sun
blood strained from stones
under it
chemicals stressed and unowned
under it
green displaced and covered in that blood
under it
i see 3 clover leaves
but how lucky am i to be the 4th?
let me first say, i am so sad i missed the 90's. it was such an exciting time in our history as a human race with everything from liberalism triumphing over socialism to elliott smith still being alive and at the pinnacle of his career, to the penultimate slap in the face of public faux pas with zubas being the epitome of cool--i would have thoroughly enjoyed launching a foray of criticism on the wearers.
when i was a kid i dreamt many quixotic fantasies of becoming a super hero this or a war hero that or an awesome whatever. one dream that recycled perpetually in my head was playing music. music for some reason or another stuck me so profoundly as a child. no one seemed to be so obsessed with a melody line or orchestration of sound more than me at my age. being reared on musicals, classical and rock legends like hootie and the blowfish, the eagles, U2, sting, the police and the like i was enveloped in a blanket of sound since childhood. bouts deprivation saw me sad and sick, beside myself most of the time. perhaps it is because i am slightly autistic and suffer from a chronic lack of stability (at least much less now than it ever was growing up) music became some great equalizer for me. music is the reason i am at a top 20 university right now. its also the reason i dont know what i want to do with my life now at this point where the options are few. music is a profession that is a parasite to someother ability before it can take a life of its own. i was hoping to launch its own life from college but i have created an atmosphere where work alone can set me free, where doing school work and doing it well is the only way i can provide for the best opportunity for me to support and continue my addiction to music my love of music, in the way that i do now. i dont know why i make it anymore, for the fun, for the love of feeling ephemerally fulfilled and the hope that it can help someone else become fulfilled or lead them to discovering something about themselves or the world.
when i was a kid i dreamt many quixotic fantasies of becoming a super hero this or a war hero that or an awesome whatever. one dream that recycled perpetually in my head was playing music. music for some reason or another stuck me so profoundly as a child. no one seemed to be so obsessed with a melody line or orchestration of sound more than me at my age. being reared on musicals, classical and rock legends like hootie and the blowfish, the eagles, U2, sting, the police and the like i was enveloped in a blanket of sound since childhood. bouts deprivation saw me sad and sick, beside myself most of the time. perhaps it is because i am slightly autistic and suffer from a chronic lack of stability (at least much less now than it ever was growing up) music became some great equalizer for me. music is the reason i am at a top 20 university right now. its also the reason i dont know what i want to do with my life now at this point where the options are few. music is a profession that is a parasite to someother ability before it can take a life of its own. i was hoping to launch its own life from college but i have created an atmosphere where work alone can set me free, where doing school work and doing it well is the only way i can provide for the best opportunity for me to support and continue my addiction to music my love of music, in the way that i do now. i dont know why i make it anymore, for the fun, for the love of feeling ephemerally fulfilled and the hope that it can help someone else become fulfilled or lead them to discovering something about themselves or the world.
Friday, February 26, 2010
hey dear,
i wish we could stay here,
maybe wait until next year to give our bodies to the future.
please remember,
the black oak oath where we both carved "forever" on wood and in our hearts,
"together we'll be NAP and CCR"
if sweetest dreams can keep you and me i am all ears, dear,
cause i dont think we'll always be as strong as we appear
i wish we could stay here,
maybe wait until next year to give our bodies to the future.
please remember,
the black oak oath where we both carved "forever" on wood and in our hearts,
"together we'll be NAP and CCR"
if sweetest dreams can keep you and me i am all ears, dear,
cause i dont think we'll always be as strong as we appear
I see you're leaving me and taking up with the enemy
The cold comfort of the in-between
A little less than a human being
A little less than a happy high
A little less than a suicide
The only things that you really tried
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
Fond farewell to a friend
The cold comfort of the in-between
A little less than a human being
A little less than a happy high
A little less than a suicide
The only things that you really tried
This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
Fond farewell to a friend
the prettiest girls line up like heartless wretches bent on some sordid complements exposing the gaping hole in their chests where once the hour glass was reset to bind them and hold them in eternity so grain by grain they would dissipate in some unfaithful unforgiving sea. they say, i confess that this is unpleasant, but id endure this so, this isnt measured in the inches it takes to be beautiful, i'll be honest dear this hurts like hell.
what could you expect?
this is anything but bearing the pain of growing, up and old. all i can hear is the sound of 6billion beating hearts, all i can see is the emptiness they find in listening to their own cries, and all i could be will have fallen down right in front of you, and all i could be has fallen down right in front of me,
they take exit over opportunity to turn in their graves, two hands for a shovel or a palm as a spade, its slowly assigned in such brilliance, they slowly define the boundaries of emptiness, and i can see it brighter than usual the backward breathing force like centripetal, imaginary motion that presses you in places, against the glass of hospital where you once began and wont end up that way, i want to die by the ocean, in a summer sunshowered rain old and seasoned, accepting of my fate, i could be there together we could try to mend the holes
what could you expect?
this is anything but bearing the pain of growing, up and old. all i can hear is the sound of 6billion beating hearts, all i can see is the emptiness they find in listening to their own cries, and all i could be will have fallen down right in front of you, and all i could be has fallen down right in front of me,
they take exit over opportunity to turn in their graves, two hands for a shovel or a palm as a spade, its slowly assigned in such brilliance, they slowly define the boundaries of emptiness, and i can see it brighter than usual the backward breathing force like centripetal, imaginary motion that presses you in places, against the glass of hospital where you once began and wont end up that way, i want to die by the ocean, in a summer sunshowered rain old and seasoned, accepting of my fate, i could be there together we could try to mend the holes
arrested in fest.
cornered by the undertow
and so reserved in portions.
forgetting progressive regression
subsumed by the black tongue.
remembered in a memory painted black by it too.
resembled by the temperance. by such gilded edged, enclosed in black, black skin.
stretched, dried, and etched.
from limb to limb, anchors float,
they brachiate like wicked winged things, the ghost of the limbic system, haunts so too, the abhorrent bipedal.
yet optimistic in the undertow
cornered by the undertow
and so reserved in portions.
forgetting progressive regression
subsumed by the black tongue.
remembered in a memory painted black by it too.
resembled by the temperance. by such gilded edged, enclosed in black, black skin.
stretched, dried, and etched.
from limb to limb, anchors float,
they brachiate like wicked winged things, the ghost of the limbic system, haunts so too, the abhorrent bipedal.
yet optimistic in the undertow
Thursday, February 25, 2010
please help this badly designed poorly put together vessel. i cannot emphasize enough how sad i am to be revolving within the vacilations in the eddies, falling in and out consciousness, in and out of bitter hate and love for the skin on my face, the contours and depressions you dote on you press in to say cheer up melancholy, tomorrows another day so it comes swiftly and goes exactly the same way, and i heard on the radio british kids who'd fuck the shit out of the system because theyd given up and perspectives that golden ring that binds you to a life of solitary symmetry and solitary strife, i ve seen the sorrow line on the power grid, hoisted up by black birds who finally could rest, and its the same picture revolving in my head, waiting for the inevitable waiting for death, im stronger today im brighter today, im lighter today than ill ever be, and the beer was fine, the wine was too, the whiskey was right and it ended there soon, ill be weaker again, darker again, heavy low come back in the end, and the undertow is pulling me. oh and the undertow is calling me , the sea floor is a place where when i was 5 sat at the bottom and stared at the shore i saw the climb, the silicone strain, the levels and shelfs of ground down fate, be swept in the eddies and tossed over again knew id have to return to the so forsaken land, and then at once it came to me as if it i split the seam of time, and saw 20 years in the future where i remained there all the bottom of that same watery fate, waterlogged and tossed about in the unforgiving waves, and forever seemed like an instant in solitary pain, forever was an instant in solitary pain, and forever i'd miss it--life as it passed, as forever was that instant in solitary pain, i'd forgotten to kick off the bottom, id forgotten to breath, id forgotten to kick off the bottom, id forgotten to breath,
Oh Dear God,
Send me a basket full of apples, a Bottle full of rain, a red and white checkered blanket to carry all this weight, a darling girl, some elegant refined, strong hearted girl who could cure me if she tried, oh im everything hopeless but ive got a lot of hope, im everything to die, but save me before i am torn asunder. i want this life, i want to find whats right, they are nothing perfect, but they see all my flaws, i am nothing perfect but i could care less for it all, i am nothing perfect, but with you i am whole i am nothing perfect but with you i am whole
Oh Dear God,
Send me a basket full of apples, a Bottle full of rain, a red and white checkered blanket to carry all this weight, a darling girl, some elegant refined, strong hearted girl who could cure me if she tried, oh im everything hopeless but ive got a lot of hope, im everything to die, but save me before i am torn asunder. i want this life, i want to find whats right, they are nothing perfect, but they see all my flaws, i am nothing perfect but i could care less for it all, i am nothing perfect, but with you i am whole i am nothing perfect but with you i am whole
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
i am right now in a perplexed state of uncertainty. as if i wish to remain torpor for but a little while longer for friends to catch up to me so that i am not alone any longer and so that i can catch up to people so that i can catch up to everyone else around me. i suffer from a lack of motivation. but i realize everywhere i am lacking. i am at point where i have a sincere disregard for everything i just was, and perhaps for everything i am now and may be tomorrow. pretentious. yes, always. at some point that is our building block before we normalize it. because authentic person-hood is pretentious at some point. everything will circle back to where ever it was before. spend time to spend time. you must integrate everyday. so much is lost with a simple neglect, however innocent and beautiful. so you must realize the death in everything to see how it all has life. and just because you recognize the life please, never forget the death. for at both extremes you forget you are still human whether living or dead, there is a sincere disconnect.
in the promise land you must have had to convince yourself of your love.
the water is finally right, just like someone planned it
i picked up the wind across the atlantic
2 sheets filled with sin
in the promise land you must have had to convince yourself of your love.
the water is finally right, just like someone planned it
i picked up the wind across the atlantic
2 sheets filled with sin
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
i laugh all the time. but i do it in spite of the colors beneath. etc. etc, etc, is enough. i have seen and been to the gates of ends. after you seriously consider starting the last great adventure all by yourself everything is a joke, and every day can be beautiful, in a sad kind of way. happiness cuts with a soft edge. like when people who have absolutely nothing are perfectly content in each other's arms. company is such a paucity i hear it said by those clad in green. vaunt it nonetheless because its the kind of poverty that is valuable for itself for its elegance always. so people say they can only make themselves happy. because of the famine.
can i get a whoo whoo for change in time signature?
can i get a whoo whoo for change in time signature?
Saturday, February 13, 2010
almost a new song everyday.
i wrote an ep in open C. 5 songs in 2 weeks. so it will be released soon i suspect. once i finish writing some essays for school and get some free time. i was going to send it off to a few recording companies. i think also ill play some at my school or coffee shops around ND. i have so many different genres that i am confused about what to play so im going to release a story book type of thing i think. 3 albums, one pop-rock/indie/folk, one folk/experimental, one folk. work needs to be done on all fronts of living first. i dont know whether it should just be a purely acoustic ep, or with electric instruments too. i am tempted to include the electronic instruments, guitar, synth and the like. we'll see. we shall see. pray for us all.
i wrote an ep in open C. 5 songs in 2 weeks. so it will be released soon i suspect. once i finish writing some essays for school and get some free time. i was going to send it off to a few recording companies. i think also ill play some at my school or coffee shops around ND. i have so many different genres that i am confused about what to play so im going to release a story book type of thing i think. 3 albums, one pop-rock/indie/folk, one folk/experimental, one folk. work needs to be done on all fronts of living first. i dont know whether it should just be a purely acoustic ep, or with electric instruments too. i am tempted to include the electronic instruments, guitar, synth and the like. we'll see. we shall see. pray for us all.
Friday, February 12, 2010
exploring avenues of partial sleep, that destruction that self destructs everything you would cup in your hand. tear my eyes out with the tides. i never dreamt of such temperance. correspondence is advertisement of hale storms coming. alarmists claim it so, so follows gold is golden quietus. im the sunshine on your cheeks. do i make you happy. cause i am a skeleton living covered in anything worth seeing. im the sunlight on your face, do i make you happy? im the burst of blood in your chest, does it feel like living? you were this to me. now i dont know how to say anything anymore. i am in need of violence for vengeance, a fervor to combine the silence of quietus, the friendship of nails and wooden trees, plasticites parasites brought by the rain inside of me, the whole wide world is just as small as it seems from the moon. so ill go there too beauty is the scar that marks your fist from when you were a child. i am too. i am too. sick of the insufferable, dollar bill covered face, dollar bill covered vase, dollar bill covered mind, i need to let you know you are immanent paucity, vaunted indifferently by my messaniac message of peace, just let it be. some of us are born devils, they turn the silver merry go round. some the devils paw clenches your shoulder and turns you to the dark dark miserable mother night with hopes that you too will die. i found no happiness in their lies. oh how we nail eachother to the wooden trees made for you and me, i will carry yours if you nail me to both of ours so you can be free so i can see what its like suffering, apparently, its apparent that i never have accepted consequence, because we float on ok, float on. whats now all of this? you ve got a new world and new words follow coming through the landmines sent to provide weather changes in the happy happy june, indiana spring. i would think you were crazy. but its so cold in this little hospital wing. i'll beleive in anything. ill believe in anything as long as i'll be happy. i counted the plates someone was not at home. i counted the plates, someone was all alone. it was me. i was on the solstice, so its the annual joke.
new obsessions of once obsessions. obscene. obtuse. opulent love of obstacles. they give me grace.
3rd planet, is wrong. such immanence is wholly the truth. the universe is the earth.
i have a hungry heart. it wants blood. so i'll hunt. i think this too. i imagined there was a big breeze bending over lamp posts ripping the tin roofs off our shanty towns like bottle caps.
how do you pick yourself up like a new moon. a new light to shine. a new bell to ring when you keep living dark, and think of sad sick things. its the same old story told by a different tongue, life's the optimist doling sunshine and plenty of rope. you conform to the sea, could have made yourself out of anything but you're tired of trying, keep on giving up.
im so convinced, of laughing.
due to its disguise. due to its rise in tides. somewhere some cup is filling up.
nothing seemed more beautiful than sharing our mortality. but no one comes that close to me. i know just what they see, or what i ought to be.
all this thinking's just a waste of time.
yeah all this thinking is just a waste of time.
guess i'm going blind.
this obsession of regression
guess i'll keep re-writing those lines: all this thinking is a waste of time. cause you know somewhere some cup is filling up,
somewhere someone's cup is filling up.
3rd planet, is wrong. such immanence is wholly the truth. the universe is the earth.
i have a hungry heart. it wants blood. so i'll hunt. i think this too. i imagined there was a big breeze bending over lamp posts ripping the tin roofs off our shanty towns like bottle caps.
how do you pick yourself up like a new moon. a new light to shine. a new bell to ring when you keep living dark, and think of sad sick things. its the same old story told by a different tongue, life's the optimist doling sunshine and plenty of rope. you conform to the sea, could have made yourself out of anything but you're tired of trying, keep on giving up.
im so convinced, of laughing.
due to its disguise. due to its rise in tides. somewhere some cup is filling up.
nothing seemed more beautiful than sharing our mortality. but no one comes that close to me. i know just what they see, or what i ought to be.
all this thinking's just a waste of time.
yeah all this thinking is just a waste of time.
guess i'm going blind.
this obsession of regression
guess i'll keep re-writing those lines: all this thinking is a waste of time. cause you know somewhere some cup is filling up,
somewhere someone's cup is filling up.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
restlessness infests like a cheap drug.
like cheap whiskey, turned to acetylaldehyde, to an acidic vapor,
then
escapes and turns you back to the grave. into the living.
restless love of summer too.
the chocolate leather brown lumber--bones of trees hewed to 1x10 then nailed into place to provide rest for restless lover of summer.
the sun bled green through the tangled tendrils from the veracious vines, the wisteria that has yet to bloom in may, in april, in june, in august, in july.
i wait.
it warmed the air around me and so wrapped around my wounded head and feet in a medicinal breeze.
i think: these are not sebocorticals.
this is love. for i am dirt too, mother.
i too am dirt,
and ash, and dust.
restless love of summer is the paradox that drains the wintered veins from lifelessness.
but pruning is replaced two by two fold--they say.
now i wait.
within the restless.
so it hung in a distant expiration,
restless.
like cheap whiskey, turned to acetylaldehyde, to an acidic vapor,
then
escapes and turns you back to the grave. into the living.
restless love of summer too.
the chocolate leather brown lumber--bones of trees hewed to 1x10 then nailed into place to provide rest for restless lover of summer.
the sun bled green through the tangled tendrils from the veracious vines, the wisteria that has yet to bloom in may, in april, in june, in august, in july.
i wait.
it warmed the air around me and so wrapped around my wounded head and feet in a medicinal breeze.
i think: these are not sebocorticals.
this is love. for i am dirt too, mother.
i too am dirt,
and ash, and dust.
restless love of summer is the paradox that drains the wintered veins from lifelessness.
but pruning is replaced two by two fold--they say.
now i wait.
within the restless.
so it hung in a distant expiration,
restless.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
i decided its too late for me. i must go play mnusic. fuck the system. i meant it in ultimate terms. i am going to go to iu law school because its ranked 23 and its cheap for me due to scholarship reasons hopefully and va benefifts. then i shall write all the while, regarding my school work but nonetheless being committed to the finer aspects of life ie. music and writing. i decided this. i am not going to waste my life being some fucking white collar fucker
fuck that. man. illdo waht i willst. indeed.
soo writing and music. say you?
yes.
indeed, propose to me the idears behind this my good chap.
right, well i wrote two years ago if you remember correctly the philosphy of spiders and lemmings otherwise known as the philosophy of greed AND how every human can have purpose. i figured it out onenight as i was about to drift off to the netherland of sleep, i decided that people are beautiful despite them being sick nasty mcabre things at their core so i said that people should matter. and my theory makes everyone matter, but some ppl more. because frankly not everyone is equal. we;re worth more to society however fuckedup it is. that is why i wrote. i am writing about htat about how we are worthless if we arent"successful" ie capitalist cut throat pigs. we must be. i mean it is good for the "system: ie the world but its bad too for humanity so i decided that i would change it. and soomeone must be a savior a messiah for this to occur again. but JC issupposed to come and be like look the wolrkd is at peace when everyone believes the same thing the world will be so. but they are all incentivixed by things by money by what things money can buy ppl. its sad. so the story goes. any way i wrote a story i say. i did it. in my head its not on paper but its there,. and so i was depressed for 4 years and thoguht abt dieing alot and suicide and how pointless it was and all the what ifs i do go to hell i wouldnt want it. so i decided to live. and now i dont know if i want the christian heaven. to be honest. i mean i love God for my life but i am a capitalist at principle and GOd is not. so we would likely not get along i think, but i care for people. at least i say i do becase i need to to exist to be human. ahhhhh seee the system says that. the system says "good human like human" i do i like ladies. but in reality most ppl piss me off because they are so shallow. and sad. and sick. i am too. according to what standards>????? huh huh????/ i should have gone out. any ways it is so. i say ppl should be nice. and so the world is good then. kants moral imperative. i can remember this when i am drunk but no wehre else. its like my mind has split in two and decided certai things will be remembered only drunk and othersnot. so my memory is rediculous drunk. i remember everyones name everywhere i go everything i do mostly. but wish i didnt sometimes like pissing on the floor of the perkins bathroom when cops are int he lobby. or drinking too much and puking my guts out. gross. very uncivil. i dont understand how to be a good friend. i am nice to ppl but no one wants to hang out with me no one calls me up and is liek hey nick what up man lets chill, smoke cigs or drink or play music, or go do this or that or whatever. idk ishouldnt care. maybe its because i fuckedup my life being depressed for so long. i didnt know what humans normally do for things. what do we do? i just observed. i realize now i should have been an anthro major. but i am a poli sci. i took the lsat today i am hopeing i scored int he 160's but i feel i did bad. idk i shoudl cancel. law school isnt for me. i could be a lawyer but its not what i want to be. a preist isnt either. i dont like organized religion. i believe in God and JC but why do we need these ceremonial brain washing things? it makes God seem cheap. idk. brb. sooon.
fuck that. man. illdo waht i willst. indeed.
soo writing and music. say you?
yes.
indeed, propose to me the idears behind this my good chap.
right, well i wrote two years ago if you remember correctly the philosphy of spiders and lemmings otherwise known as the philosophy of greed AND how every human can have purpose. i figured it out onenight as i was about to drift off to the netherland of sleep, i decided that people are beautiful despite them being sick nasty mcabre things at their core so i said that people should matter. and my theory makes everyone matter, but some ppl more. because frankly not everyone is equal. we;re worth more to society however fuckedup it is. that is why i wrote. i am writing about htat about how we are worthless if we arent"successful" ie capitalist cut throat pigs. we must be. i mean it is good for the "system: ie the world but its bad too for humanity so i decided that i would change it. and soomeone must be a savior a messiah for this to occur again. but JC issupposed to come and be like look the wolrkd is at peace when everyone believes the same thing the world will be so. but they are all incentivixed by things by money by what things money can buy ppl. its sad. so the story goes. any way i wrote a story i say. i did it. in my head its not on paper but its there,. and so i was depressed for 4 years and thoguht abt dieing alot and suicide and how pointless it was and all the what ifs i do go to hell i wouldnt want it. so i decided to live. and now i dont know if i want the christian heaven. to be honest. i mean i love God for my life but i am a capitalist at principle and GOd is not. so we would likely not get along i think, but i care for people. at least i say i do becase i need to to exist to be human. ahhhhh seee the system says that. the system says "good human like human" i do i like ladies. but in reality most ppl piss me off because they are so shallow. and sad. and sick. i am too. according to what standards>????? huh huh????/ i should have gone out. any ways it is so. i say ppl should be nice. and so the world is good then. kants moral imperative. i can remember this when i am drunk but no wehre else. its like my mind has split in two and decided certai things will be remembered only drunk and othersnot. so my memory is rediculous drunk. i remember everyones name everywhere i go everything i do mostly. but wish i didnt sometimes like pissing on the floor of the perkins bathroom when cops are int he lobby. or drinking too much and puking my guts out. gross. very uncivil. i dont understand how to be a good friend. i am nice to ppl but no one wants to hang out with me no one calls me up and is liek hey nick what up man lets chill, smoke cigs or drink or play music, or go do this or that or whatever. idk ishouldnt care. maybe its because i fuckedup my life being depressed for so long. i didnt know what humans normally do for things. what do we do? i just observed. i realize now i should have been an anthro major. but i am a poli sci. i took the lsat today i am hopeing i scored int he 160's but i feel i did bad. idk i shoudl cancel. law school isnt for me. i could be a lawyer but its not what i want to be. a preist isnt either. i dont like organized religion. i believe in God and JC but why do we need these ceremonial brain washing things? it makes God seem cheap. idk. brb. sooon.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
roman miles
i wrote this song at the the very beginning of the great depression of 2007. i didnt know what any of it meant until years later. words just came from the chords and viceversa.
dead,
an open casket of lilies
a bouquet of ailing river veins
where angles lay me to rest
blooms of shivered glass--port holes in my anatomy
an addled disease of trembling hands, leaky faucets and weathered frames
last night it was burning, and aching, and climbing
the ladder of my rib cage to tourniquet my heart from insensitive things--
like melancholy outings and sitting alone in the rain.
cause ive been sleeping in a soggy november on a cobblestone sentiment for weeks.
no where feels like home.
its been a while since you smiled and i heard you say, that i love you. well i love you. i do.
cause youll be there to carry me, and bandage me, when im weary and bloodied and broken, still youll love me the same, despite the arrows that rain down i wont say "im giving up, im giving in, im tired now of living between these breaths." cause with you ill never be
dead,
winter is calling while i am biding this slumber till sunrise chimes,
light beckons a morning lurid in disguise, with a thimble full of desire.
can you take up these hands?
cause theyre calico with tremors of doubt and pity--a still frame motioned hand
resembled in tendrils of silk, ethereal precision, pinpricked by the rain blurring my window pane. well im waiting
for your healing whisper,
hold fast dreams are fleeting, just stay with the patter cause after the rain the sun always shines.
swollen, just like the summer, distant and scathing, darling im waiting,
is there a whisper, im always listening to hear you say i love, you.
cause youll be there to
to carry me, and bandage me, when im weary and bloodied and broken, still youll love me the same, despite the arrows that rain down i wont say "im giving up, im giving in, im tired now of living between these breaths." cause with you ill never be
dead.
dead,
an open casket of lilies
a bouquet of ailing river veins
where angles lay me to rest
blooms of shivered glass--port holes in my anatomy
an addled disease of trembling hands, leaky faucets and weathered frames
last night it was burning, and aching, and climbing
the ladder of my rib cage to tourniquet my heart from insensitive things--
like melancholy outings and sitting alone in the rain.
cause ive been sleeping in a soggy november on a cobblestone sentiment for weeks.
no where feels like home.
its been a while since you smiled and i heard you say, that i love you. well i love you. i do.
cause youll be there to carry me, and bandage me, when im weary and bloodied and broken, still youll love me the same, despite the arrows that rain down i wont say "im giving up, im giving in, im tired now of living between these breaths." cause with you ill never be
dead,
winter is calling while i am biding this slumber till sunrise chimes,
light beckons a morning lurid in disguise, with a thimble full of desire.
can you take up these hands?
cause theyre calico with tremors of doubt and pity--a still frame motioned hand
resembled in tendrils of silk, ethereal precision, pinpricked by the rain blurring my window pane. well im waiting
for your healing whisper,
hold fast dreams are fleeting, just stay with the patter cause after the rain the sun always shines.
swollen, just like the summer, distant and scathing, darling im waiting,
is there a whisper, im always listening to hear you say i love, you.
cause youll be there to
to carry me, and bandage me, when im weary and bloodied and broken, still youll love me the same, despite the arrows that rain down i wont say "im giving up, im giving in, im tired now of living between these breaths." cause with you ill never be
dead.
hey girl, you look confused, like youre caught in that black balloon, did they come to take you too?
hey now im floating too, close enough to get to you, in coming up roses too.
coming together now.
im watching the weather now.
im floating together now.
with my arm around the moon.
we're coming together now.
but im watching the weather now.
cant keep it together when you keep
well that is that and this is this, watch you burn backwards in my head, like fireworks and photographs did.
well start this over, erase the frame and make sure youre cut keeps you ok cause ive been hoping to change
im coming together now
watching the weather now
your arm around me too
im watching the weather now
cant keep it together now
with my arm around the moon
hey now im floating too, close enough to get to you, in coming up roses too.
coming together now.
im watching the weather now.
im floating together now.
with my arm around the moon.
we're coming together now.
but im watching the weather now.
cant keep it together when you keep
well that is that and this is this, watch you burn backwards in my head, like fireworks and photographs did.
well start this over, erase the frame and make sure youre cut keeps you ok cause ive been hoping to change
im coming together now
watching the weather now
your arm around me too
im watching the weather now
cant keep it together now
with my arm around the moon
Sunday, January 31, 2010
i am profoundly disquieted as of late. the proverbial chi has been due course south or some non-centric location. dash and damn it all. feelings of inadequacy. feelings of remorse. feelings of early addiction. feelings of no control over anything. there seems no steady ground to return to, whether in my head, where i work, where i live, where i call home, where i used to pray. it is a sickening of humanity, of them all. sad sick sorry ghosts drifting in and out of consciousness, haunting themselves. i see it i abhor it, i beseech release yet i am bound to the same vacillating torture of life and death, personal apocalypse etc. so i asked newt what he thought the once and future escape was. he was a protoge of elliott and kurt and marx and nietzsche but ended up like hemingway and elliott, and kurt's mother. you can guess. i wondered why it was the most beautiful are so sad to look at. always. newt said because then you have nothing to aspire to. he also was endeared to plato and socrates--the whole beauty of forms love affair appropiately labled a platonic love of beauty. newt was a bastard though. as all writers are. sharon though, she is different. i havent figured her out yet. you know i called her shannon. cut me a break, its a one letter difference-- its an r. some how that matters though. it does. the little things right? i say this because newts first wife's name was sharon. she divorced him after a year of marriage. she too was a writer--a damn good one. apparently 4th wave feminism was born from that relationship. congrats newt, congrats; that marriage wouldnt have died in vanity, it was merely, conceived by it.
i am the son of a bastard. not my father or mother. but what i have made me into. i was never too careful about what i would pretend to be, so i ended up so. this is homage to my uncle kurt. mother night. indeed it was. it is now too i suppose. newt wishes he was related to my uncle kurt too--he's related to hemingway! come on who was the real vanguard of literature!? i mean hemingway killed himself! way to go out with a bang. remorseful. such a sick sad way to die. uncle kurt warned me back in the fall of 2005 that he might be going soon, but that i shouldnt worry. he fought the good fight he said. i said i thought so too. he said hed run the race. i said i tought so too. he said he wanted to kill himself numerous times. i said i did too. he said do you know why i didnt? i said i think youll tell me. he did. he said it is because of the sermon on the mount and the beautiful person Jesus was. i can buy that. he said to me, you are not alone, there are others like you. you have been sick for a long long time, but now you are healed. i said it back to him. he smiled then said, sipping his lemonade on the balcony of his new york apartment, "well if this isnt nice, i dont know what is". so i say that too now. such a beautiful person. still, so sad. how is it that such calamity brings such elegance to life?
i am the son of a bastard. not my father or mother. but what i have made me into. i was never too careful about what i would pretend to be, so i ended up so. this is homage to my uncle kurt. mother night. indeed it was. it is now too i suppose. newt wishes he was related to my uncle kurt too--he's related to hemingway! come on who was the real vanguard of literature!? i mean hemingway killed himself! way to go out with a bang. remorseful. such a sick sad way to die. uncle kurt warned me back in the fall of 2005 that he might be going soon, but that i shouldnt worry. he fought the good fight he said. i said i thought so too. he said hed run the race. i said i tought so too. he said he wanted to kill himself numerous times. i said i did too. he said do you know why i didnt? i said i think youll tell me. he did. he said it is because of the sermon on the mount and the beautiful person Jesus was. i can buy that. he said to me, you are not alone, there are others like you. you have been sick for a long long time, but now you are healed. i said it back to him. he smiled then said, sipping his lemonade on the balcony of his new york apartment, "well if this isnt nice, i dont know what is". so i say that too now. such a beautiful person. still, so sad. how is it that such calamity brings such elegance to life?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Dr. Galt was a tall lean man-- a staggering 6'3 stalwart figure who self-righteously wore his dual Ivy league degrees on his sleeve as proudly as his heart. By all conventional terms he was the colloquial ladies man. restless scoping eyes perpetually combed the scene for a new fuck. Ibecause of this ive regarded him as most certainly a bastard in life, and convincingly a bastard in death--because, frankly he didnt give a damn about anyone. the only time i can recall him acting as a decent human being was the day his mother, lillian died. he didnt say a word. i wouldnt have either, she was so selfish she took her own life.
he asked me one day, "Newt, why people? How is it that you can muster any inkling of care, compassion, any empathy toward that sad sick race of mutually constitutive consumers?"
"Paul, I suppose it is because of the sermon on the mount. but then again this doesnt mean that i like people. because frankly i dont. i am obligated to this damn mess we're in. apparently my anatomy wills a continued presence here, the stubborn thing. so until it stops i merely make the best of it" i said.
"that is because you are a coward newt, youre a damn coward. afraid to bite the hand that feeds, afraid to say what you really think. a real 21st century man. a real spineless wretch"
"no, i think it is because i am just tired. worn by thinking change is ever affected by anything good. conformity is just providence. no?"
Dr. Galt stood up from the table in Lula's Coffee Shop rushsed out the door towards a blonde haired woman getting into a silver buick.
he asked me one day, "Newt, why people? How is it that you can muster any inkling of care, compassion, any empathy toward that sad sick race of mutually constitutive consumers?"
"Paul, I suppose it is because of the sermon on the mount. but then again this doesnt mean that i like people. because frankly i dont. i am obligated to this damn mess we're in. apparently my anatomy wills a continued presence here, the stubborn thing. so until it stops i merely make the best of it" i said.
"that is because you are a coward newt, youre a damn coward. afraid to bite the hand that feeds, afraid to say what you really think. a real 21st century man. a real spineless wretch"
"no, i think it is because i am just tired. worn by thinking change is ever affected by anything good. conformity is just providence. no?"
Dr. Galt stood up from the table in Lula's Coffee Shop rushsed out the door towards a blonde haired woman getting into a silver buick.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
i want to marry a girl who is in love with me. some real individual. so that we can care more about each other and in our selfless exchange of care we can survive the vices of a burning city smoking, of a world at war against itself. to be a drop of proof in an ocean of stubborn ignorance that says, such love isnt possible. damn you sea. damn you.
I looked over at Margot now leaning against the carmine colored bricks on the north wall of my new york apartment, she was looking out on the street below smiling. Her smile was penultimate poignancy. It bore an faint eloquence--a slight indication of immanent apocalypse, that deep below she finally realize the meaning of spiders and lemmings, of the callow weakminded skin covered ghosts, haunting the streets below, but it simultaneously exuded an ephemeral whisper of nonchalance, almost as if it were a sigh. poignancy indeed. such elegance. symbols upon symbols--as if it were a metaphor for this whole divine paradox called life. Still, it took a secobarbital dust storm to finally shed the scales. even i was a repeat convert to the concept of "prime and inferior valuations on humanity". why? because it all seemed inconsequential. i reasoned, why would anyone want to worry about the convoluted gyrations and complexities of inconsequential eddies in the larger ocean of the human condition? spiders and lemmings again. Elliott Gardner told me every ripple can cause a wave, regardless of its size. and when it gains kinetic energy in a snowballing effect to the size of tidal proportions is what we call a significantly high molar concentration of stupidity with the intend to distribute. people die with stuff like that. i asked what he thought we were all in right now? he said we're already dead. a true optimist!
sickness seeps inbetween the branches of skeletal trees.
so swallows and specters float
hither and tither in the weeping willows who whisper please please,
let me be. let me be. so just let me be.
jawless swine,
decorticated by an angelic whisper,
are swallowed in emerald smiles, in sunken eyes, in the thicket of sinister shadows. so i know where the silence goes.
so dead dance with the dead.
they prevaricate.
bloodied tongues whip the air to mouth in a tasteless phrase:
i exist for defilement and defiling so it goes.
anthropomorphic, skeletal trees, in january. in february. in june.
bloodied tongues fashion the air into a tasteless phrase, i exist to fuck.
so sickness seeps under the skin of a heart once bathed in the passive power of the truth. weeping willows whisper softly, in a distant care.
so it goes.
so it goes.
so swallows and specters float
hither and tither in the weeping willows who whisper please please,
let me be. let me be. so just let me be.
jawless swine,
decorticated by an angelic whisper,
are swallowed in emerald smiles, in sunken eyes, in the thicket of sinister shadows. so i know where the silence goes.
so dead dance with the dead.
they prevaricate.
bloodied tongues whip the air to mouth in a tasteless phrase:
i exist for defilement and defiling so it goes.
anthropomorphic, skeletal trees, in january. in february. in june.
bloodied tongues fashion the air into a tasteless phrase, i exist to fuck.
so sickness seeps under the skin of a heart once bathed in the passive power of the truth. weeping willows whisper softly, in a distant care.
so it goes.
so it goes.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
i wonder why there was a lack of confidence in the will to assimilate, to rely on some collective homogeneity to say i suffer nothing but fulfillment i am A. B.C. or 1. 2. 3. thus i know who i am and who i will be. do what you want. be beautiful. people need a savior, for they often cannot or do not save themselves. say to the codified machine that is the fringe of a self-denied lunacy, you need me more than i need you and so become free. yet the problem is that the system would say 100,000 lemmings are never wrong. i say would you hit a woman with her child? no you'd hit her with a brick as the old burlesque joke goes. so too they are fools. 100,000 lemmings is merely an increase in the molar concentration of idiocy not a dilution of what makes wrong. yet those tendrils are long and tangled into our fate. we need a real medicine man these days.
Friday, January 22, 2010
You’ll take advantage ’til you think you’re being used
Cause without an enemy your anger gets confused
I got stuck on the side you know, I never chose
But it’s all about taking the easy way out for you I suppose
There’s no escape for you except in someone else
Although you’ve already disappeared within yourself
The invisible man who’s always changing clothes
It’s all about taking the easy way out for you I suppose
Well I don’t want you making mistakes
I wish you luck I really do
But the problem with the puzzle
Whatever’s left to you
I heard you found another audience to bore
A creative thinker who imagined you were more
A new body for you to push around and pose
It’s all about taking the easy way out for you I suppose
It’s all about taking the easy way out for you I suppose
-e.s.
Cause without an enemy your anger gets confused
I got stuck on the side you know, I never chose
But it’s all about taking the easy way out for you I suppose
There’s no escape for you except in someone else
Although you’ve already disappeared within yourself
The invisible man who’s always changing clothes
It’s all about taking the easy way out for you I suppose
Well I don’t want you making mistakes
I wish you luck I really do
But the problem with the puzzle
Whatever’s left to you
I heard you found another audience to bore
A creative thinker who imagined you were more
A new body for you to push around and pose
It’s all about taking the easy way out for you I suppose
It’s all about taking the easy way out for you I suppose
-e.s.
when i think to myself, what will there be tomorrow? what, when, and how shall the future beset me in the pitch black cell of uncovered certainty? i am reminded of times when i used to cast wishes on stars for the will to facilitate my own breathing to slow and heart to seize up in a fit of defiance--a sure way to escape, but then i am always comforted in by thought that as long as the invention of distillation is kept remembered and i have clouded air left in my lungs, i could care much, much less for this pithy, prat, horribly wonderful thing called life. somehow the potentiality of a new dawn is enough to quiet those demons, to put to rest the sad sick songs that play and replay in my mind--for me and me alone they comfort, so loyal, so fake. i see the routine revolutions of a rippled life, spiders and lemings, spiders and lemings verbiage spun out in silk and cotton lettering, words wasted on the iridescent, the lackluster clowns pitted in their corporate personality of contrived congeniality born from feverish bid at homogeneity. so i laugh and say, what a joke, what a gift. so let them be the same, let them be different too. life would be tastless if there were not lemings--so too would death.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
im so sufficiently wasted alive, i dont need to survive you again, i got my own needy hands.
supine palms unfolded dead awake in chicago, trying to needle and dime the larger ends
its a sad sick song,
so
i play along.
got 40 invested in the irish distilled broken down brothers all cry,
its my brothers blood, its my punched gut,
so what?
so sing sweet and soft, ill befree
supine palms unfolded dead awake in chicago, trying to needle and dime the larger ends
its a sad sick song,
so
i play along.
got 40 invested in the irish distilled broken down brothers all cry,
its my brothers blood, its my punched gut,
so what?
so sing sweet and soft, ill befree
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Eli lay aplomb on the sidewalk, bleeding from the bullet wound in his chest under the yellow glow of the solitary streetlight on Prichard St. beneath him was the vast expanse of the system, miles and miles of twisted iron rebar and moulded concrete, now stained a sanguine crimson, a melancholy heather once again as eli's breathing slowed and riptide eyes rolled back and forth in a phasing consciousness. everything was silent.
"Ayn, i have forgotten why i came here. to this whole big nothing, this hellish mess of entropy"
eli said in a spidery whisper, bearly audible to ayn as she leaned in to listen bringing her ear close to eli's mouth.
"eli, we never asked to be born. no one does. i dont blame you, for anything. death happens as life does. when we never really want what we're given at the bottom of everything any way. be free, life is no way to treat an animal, even a mouse" ayn repiled calm and quiet. her voice suggested a collected elegance, much like words a mother speaks to a freightened or maimed child.
eli's breathing was slow now, faint and timid as his soul slowly began to leave this world. he took one more breath and upon its exhalation, smiling he managed to say " what a gift, what a joke, this has all been. so too this shall pass."
"Ayn, i have forgotten why i came here. to this whole big nothing, this hellish mess of entropy"
eli said in a spidery whisper, bearly audible to ayn as she leaned in to listen bringing her ear close to eli's mouth.
"eli, we never asked to be born. no one does. i dont blame you, for anything. death happens as life does. when we never really want what we're given at the bottom of everything any way. be free, life is no way to treat an animal, even a mouse" ayn repiled calm and quiet. her voice suggested a collected elegance, much like words a mother speaks to a freightened or maimed child.
eli's breathing was slow now, faint and timid as his soul slowly began to leave this world. he took one more breath and upon its exhalation, smiling he managed to say " what a gift, what a joke, this has all been. so too this shall pass."
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
though i mean all this to say promises we make to ourselves are always nebulous. my uncle would have had something to say of the sheer brilliance yet coterminously exuded idiocy we existentially confused humans display in our day to day mindless interaction. he is in heaven now, i suppose. though for all his faith in humanity and invaluable insight as to the blatant obscurities and tell tale truths of the human condition i feel as though all his life was a tit for tat, pound for pound farrago of pranks between him and God. both thought they were right. what can you do? laugh. though, i wonder if it ever occurred to uncle k.jr. that his existence too, would precipitate in an aftertaste flavored as a joke. his best yet. that is something magnificient. so what i mean to say is he is somewhere not here, but not the heaven Christians envision--eating pie with Jesus Christ somewhere in the clouds--or something of that nature.
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