safe house

dark house, lonely house, safe house, with a hidden door, not well-hidden
and one window - and a bed

safe house with a lego replica - some cleaning to be done, but 24 hours to do it
some more ill-gotten rest in the safe house, unconscious fingers might accidentally
turn down the guilt knob at some point

short-lived activities in the safe house, waiting for time to stretch again
or contract - not under contract - it's the off season

convalescence in lausane

i'm a lazy mexican - you can't see me
i'm not even life-like, i'm a cheap knockoff, a statuette
an inanimate object, so you can't see me
if you thought that was a human being, you're hallucinating
run along, go about your day

i'm impenetrable - there's nothing to worry about
i'm immortal, probably, or thereabouts, every day's a holiday
please ignore me today, i need to rest
rejuvenation, i'm trying to be all things to all people
but it makes me tired, to do that

good morning world!

or actually, forget i said anything, just leave me alone

President of Vice

muddled, so sa so mu-muddled - all i can think to do is write and write, even though writing feels bad and muddled as well - so often it's exasperation and desperation that move me to write - maybe it'll feel better later, maybe it'll seem worthwhile - material and words are dark magic at the moment, a lot of trickery i don't understand or care to

but i get cool shivers here and there, those are nice - they're like the woodsprite matrix, those cool shivers - the fairy dust that exists nowhere except in this ultra-rare limited-edition cerebral cortex that i wear like a fashion statement - only in there - it's a neurocortical pathway in many dimensions - when the subject thinks of the woodsprite matrix, it shows up on brain scans the same way as optical information received through the retinas, only dimmer - like an imprint

i need nice things very badly now - people are nice, even mean people are nice in their own way - should i kiss the viper's fang? material isn't so nice, but it could be kind of nice with some spice - it's something tangible anyway, when living in my head is so torturous

i've got a killer idea for a drawing though, i want to follow it through - it's what i need at home, a window into another world

can't stand some of these conversations i hear around me - such immense possibility, to get involved with people, and yet, the frustrating implausibility of it - i can't get in there, i won't bother - i just want to lie down, i've done my time - this computer is so slow - the duck is dead - the party's gettin' low rent

Zero -~-Crosser, or, everyone is better

the heart strings can resonate loudly if i let them... there they go...

i wish i could draw you - that would seem worthwhile, if i had the ability - once upon a time, you let me into your life - i can hardly believe it in retrospect, how did that happen? me of all people - i remember how it felt for a while - like being in heaven - presumably - and that feeling faded and i got complacent in the relationship, as most people do, but it still felt pretty pretty good - it would have worked for me - oh well - i sold my share for credit default swaps, or something, i dunno - this economy confuses me - justin said it makes sense for a while, then the econ textbooks come out of the blue with all this abstract strangitude and you're screwed

there ain't no devil, that's just god when he's drunk - apparently we're not nutty bunnies after all, we're just college guys

fyi, i attempted suicide - not really, but it makes a good story
the kind you can't share with certain people
but strangers, sure, giddeyup!

i'm only as sick as my secrets, someone told me
so i spilled the secrets, but i still felt pretty sick
almost felt like i needed some new secrets to feel a bit better, so i did that
but i still felt sick

my tapeworm doesn't run me, but i run my tapeworm sometimes, for fun, presumably - a fun run, is the idea, i exercise my parasite - but it don't come to no good

clench, relax, clench, relax... clench
cardiovascular masturbation
going up the elevator of perception today, the
eternal moment...

been a long long time since enlightenment - don't feel entitled to it anymore - but a past self could serve as well as a future self - for a role model - i was better then, like everybody - healthy, compared to now, in a lot of ways, although i wouldn't want to bring the naivete of those days to nowadays

i'm seeing nelson's front street in my mind's eye, even feeling nelson's front street in my mind's... whatever it is - our deepest fear is that we are all powerful beyond measure - all-powerful, or we're all powerful? what did nelson mandela mean? hmmm...

i drew a tower stretching into the sky from the perspective of an observer looking upwards, cause i can draw buildings much better than people - it felt alright - i might like to draw a good poster-sized version to put up on my empty walls - something that means something, or that i feel something from, an image - no pattern virtuosity, but a big bold statement of some kind, that's what i need - i also drew a person today, imagine that, who can be clearly seen to be lifting himself off the ground by his own bootstraps - he's actually levitating - i like that drawing - the ridiculousness of it - the impossibility - a cartoon paradox to express my dread and hopes and the confusion of it all

it's pretty okay to work here, when i don't want to yell SHUT THE FUCK UP! at people around me - that happens a lot, but otherwise, it's alright - maybe i need to vent somehow - like by doing this, for example - i got a bad attitude, sometimes - like i wrote this rant about the guy who walks around with earphones blasting pantera so loud that everyone can hear it - i wrote: fuck your music - it stinks of you - i'll gladly grant you ownership - wear it, advertise - be a buffoon - walk around, walk proud, look around to see if anyone is recognizing your coolness - rest assured, they are, how could they not, with music that cool? and it reflects your coolness for choosing it, like it's an identity - i remember when i was ten, i empathize

then i wrote: "presumption on all sides", to admit how presumptuous i was being about people's motivations and thoughts and such - i was sitting at a table with a bunch of people at the love of learning center - well-read people in dire straights, intelligent people - i couldn't presume any kind of superiority in anything, really - "everyone is better", i wrote - "but right now i've got no patience to listen to people who aren't addicts, or who say they're not, drug-a-logging about the crazy shit they used to do... byee..." i don't know how to spell that newfoundlandism, where they say a heavily-accented "boy" to finish every sentence

i drew a cloud bank regressing to the horizon behind the tower - reminded me of that drawing i did with a girl that i had a thing with years ago... and she wrote a song about it too, "my dragonfly" - so i wrote "no shrine" - i'm not building a shrine to anyone, though i do write about people from the past quite often, usually in codes

no, there's no crak on junk street and that's okay, it's a peaceful day, i've made peace with that, in my way, which is half-assed, but that's better than no ass - you know, i can't live with myself like this - i can't live like this with myself - there's a better place for me - i don't have to die first - there's a tower - writing these words is a first step

blues dues

no reason to STAY AWAKE
stay awake

so, i stole one from the devil, did i?
no, i don't think so
i didn't steel anything
and the toque don't mean a thing - i don't have what you need
and you got nothing for me

vacuum, vacuum kiss, vacuum kiss
i flunked out of grade school
never went to trade school

desperate, cause i have no inner strength
deprivation... in a hibernation
bedbugs help me to hallucinate
same old nothin'
dead weight

affectation... affectation
i could sound more street if i cut the suffix
with baby laxative
the toque don't mean shit

are you still awake, girl?
you still look a girlish thirty
your face is so pretty
our eyes are open... our eyes are open...

oh friends, not these sad sounds
i'm just doing depression right, paying my dues to the blues
that's all, okay? i'll let, i'll let, it'll scab over

i want to go to the meeting tonight, but i'm not ready
but there's worse things than that, i remember there's a banquet for my soul
there's a free lunch there, and fellowship, i remember
i'll stay awake for that, cause i feel like just lately
things would follow me into sleep
but i have a place on blatch street that i've made my own
there's a kind of comfort there
and there's a place on bavidge for me too
with less toxicity, and family

and so, there's four hours left here
hard at work, or hardly working
and there's even fellowship in the toxic
i can plant a house, build a tree
it's not as much fun to be me
and it's not all that fun to watch me
dignity in letting go, letting
good orderly direction follow
no need to qualify, just
mellow spirituality
pre-mature gentleman, byee

affection - love is a power beyond me
even if it sounds like a trope
even if i can't say much about it
especially cause of that

i've let you go, yeah, i've let you go
what else can i do?
there's other people in the world
i might cross paths with one, one day
until then, i've got a room, in which i can
keep myself company, i've got my music
tailored playlists, soothing sounds
i make a science of comfort, to fill the void
i learn things about myself, even if it's a drop
in the chasm of ignorance and delusion

flitter

avoiding the news... i can, at least, say that i'm no longer a news junkie - never was a participant, now no longer a spectator

snowpants are insulation and distraction

Testing Blatch

sorry lynze, no chat bleeps in there cause i had the recording set on "line in" - kind of wish they'd got in the mix - anyway... first improv i've recorded in the new place - i have a tradition of giving the first one in a new house the title of the street it's on

liar-eborts n

o

r

t

c

e

l

e

a

constant
and
verifiable
miracle

how the hell can i get out of it? services services services... could pretend i'm being productive, it would be so easy... but i can't fucking stand running out the clock... pretense... dot dot dot... blind leading the blind leading the blind... it's a miracle you're here as often as you are when there's as many rocks to be smoked as i hear there are out there... beyond that, i see no goddamn miracles...

can i get through this, while feeling the futility? just keep up appearances, reflect later when the pressure's off? should i try?

can't stand getting paid for nothing - even if it's effort, that alone is a sick joke, there has to be output - it's so sweet of these people to take a chance on me, and assume my capacity in education and youth work - but i'm out of place and besides that, i just plain hate it - i don't love to hate it, i hate to hate it... but i do, damn it, every time i try, it's torture, shortness of breath, stress pains in the joints, feeling like an idiot and a failure, sysiphian schemes, yeah

act as if

What to do now, rearrange the deck chairs? I'm unimpressed with it all, it's unimpressed with me, fair deal I guess.

If the big one really hit now, I would probably realize it was real and that I wasn't tripping, in that instinctive way organisms respond to calamity, and would therefore assume my role as scurrying lowly survivor, begging for scraps from the universe. I can check reality and stand outside it, or at least reach outside it, and call that periphery home, illusionary safety, can one get away with it, until nothingness?

"Came to believe" in the void...
"Act as if" anyway?
"Restored to sanity"... by the void?

What if belief in nothing is the greatest leap of faith, the one gripped tight with such unconscious fervor that the mind won't see it as belief? Belief in nothing, a positive belief in the negative, a need to believe so deep that the mind will create a shield of wishful thoughts as decoys, to mask the fundamental desire for a void, to pretend that it's a reality, instead of a desire. Ha, talk about wishful thoughts. Think about wish and talk. Walk to work or play at work.

slack heart strings

not broken, just slack

does the world need me? i hope not, i want to be peripheral
get to the culmination and be done with it
then slip into the margins, be at peace with that
instead of conflicted and compromised
and thinking i ought to do this or that, but what?
well THAT would be good for something, at least, wouldn't it?
if i could rouse myself from this slouch

traz won't do it tonight, nor even the professor's soothing fractal rap
can't fucking sleep, too many details in my mouth
not even the decency for a dark night of the soul
merely dim, no dusk, no dawn

can't be bothered to not write this on my blog
won't shape it into anything of aesthetic value

this is where this life has brought me
laden with all this stuff that half-works
i want to get rid of it and simplify
instead of trying to make it all work

emptiness, patterns, virtuosity, digital information, poetry
white-knuckling it, hanging on for the next meeting
the upcoming show, guess i'll practice a bit more, at some point
the closest i got to satiation was a little sedative glow
maybe when the trazzie kicked in, made me dream
about substances undone, yeah, just writing
not trying to say or do anything

no direction, higher power?
yeah, maybe, i dunno, i feel nothing
just the constant irritation of being alive, sort of
live for another sandwich
forget to eat
gotta express at least, don't know what else to do

oh, people are okay, can't be mad at them
i just hate that i'm one of them, and they're one of me
mirror silver, that's all, nothing magic
i take it the reflection would be explained
if i thumbed through that physics textbook
lying on the shelf of the room that happens to be there

music is the worst, an arrangement of pitches, so what?
slack heart strings, i could still feel the sting
if the cookie crumbled that way, if things went too far
and one way or another, i'd keep from going so far
that strings would snap cause i wouldn't want that -
would prefer the annoyance of life to the draining drama
the self-correcting mechanism would kick in
keeping me in gear
the same gear, keeping other gears
in theory, pie in the sky when you die

i'm in the vicinity of becoming a buddhist just to be something
and have faith in something, or believe something
belief or faith, whichever one was the non-clingy one
in alan watts' semantics
just something, whatever, eenie meenie minie moe