25 Oct 2011

praying for the timestamp to disappear

poor blog, i never write
poor woman, i never need
lethargically heartfelt
birth and death in a water-maze
i knew cheese

i will lean on trazzies tonight - it's almost like i need them - quasi-desperation - still can't say what i want - it's a situation i got into, entirely my fault - fyi - fmi - for my eyes

talismanic artifacts cataloged in an academic database

sublevel ten - what i think of as creativity these days would have been contrivance years ago - a sad slide -  i'll call it wisdom - this isn't reaching out, honest - i'm lying down to listen to my stomach churn like it does now, this is my life now - artists are external, the world does music, not me - i'm making peripheral use of this infrastructure while galaxies die on the other side of the torus universe, fyi, fmi


14 Oct 2011

caulk the wagon and float it

climb every mountain
ford every stream
write something random
until you find your dream

12 Oct 2011

hotel newfoundland

looks like a club, as seen on tv, with shots of pretty people laughing, and two or three visible minorities during the race-related routines - there's an eye-straining cathode ray glow lighting the corner of a fifth floor liquor-bottle littered sheraton hotel room - it sounds like the registered guest is laughing a little, just a bit aloft, a little above the booze-induced depression, cause that was a clever bit, a reference he got, and he feels like one of the patrons of the fake tv comedy club, fifty-four or some number, one of the just-drunk-enough patrons, perennially moderate

smells like vodka and mentos, and halls lozenges in case the freshmaker won't cover enough - the void needs entertainment, he hasn't run out of references yet, there's still shallow ditches to plumb, there's something somewhere that hasn't been made fun of yet

comedy lives in fiber-optic cables like blood cells, constituents of maximal entertainment, abused endorphins - if it could talk, it would tell the registered guest in room 513, hey, nevermind this sorry situation, nevermind you got kicked out of your home, homes are for old folks and retards, it's all a lot of bullshit, did you hear the one about the drunk, the cabin, and the dildo?

5 Oct 2011

it's the old civic center circus - i don't know how they fit this dark, bowl-shaped auditorium in the civic center - there's a ringmaster of course, shouting in between snippets of bears, elephants, tigers, rings of fire, showers of popcorn, hordes of children with the odd parent or guardian like a dandelion poking out a field of grass - there's all the expected circus stuff

the circus segues into a coloring book, with trademarked images of looney toon/disney characters, also with a circus theme - the coloring book becomes something like a crossword puzzle, which is superimposed on the circus scene which has become a tall ramshackle wooden building with many rooms that wraps, thematically and structurally, to the contours of the crossword puzzle, it's not a grid but rather, it's got lines crisscrossing a field of dim purple twilight sky - the solving of the clues involves keenly observing the circus scene overlaid on the house/crossword and figuring out what certain events transpired, and what the narrative of the circus is overall - this necessitates skipping around the timeline, forward and back through the events of the circus/cartoon - there are cartoon characters, but the scenes have a live-action look

i'm still trying to solve the last few clues, there's some frustration, but also exhiliration, that i'm almost there, i'll get it with just a bit more strain, and what will i get if i get all the clues? something pretty cool, no doubt - but i'm whisked away from this scene because i need to be in a planetarium - i feel microscopic though, a miniature being next to a giant chair next to an imax dome screen - it's got the same dark/flashy feel as the civic center circus but less crowded - there are massive looney tune characters floating above me in 3d projection, but they're more than projections, they're real somehow, and they're a family of mooninites, like the aqua teen characters, there's a massive Inignot, and several more members of his "family" who look like variations - they're floating with zen austerity, and i wish they would acknowledge me, but they're on some other level - i wonder where Er is? there's a salvia feel to this part too, with all of existence to one side of me being an infinitely regressing taffy-chasm - the mooninite family is constructed of light particles forming a dense laser lattice - i'm awed at the spectacle

then i'm in a room in the crossword puzzle building - i didn't realize the building was so big that it could contain a whole disparate section with its own office-like theme - this room has a "being in a school-room during summer vacation" sort of feel - there's a post-secondary physics teacher here in the room with me and no one else - actually, the physics teacher is in the next room, which is an office next to the classroom that i'm in - there's a flourescent yellow glow and sterile tables and chairs - i'm at a desk - this is my first day on the job, before school starts, and i'd better hurry up and get to it, and prepare some sort of a lesson plan for the students that will be filling this room in a week or two - because i'm not at all prepared to present material i don't even know myself

the physics teacher comes into the classroom, because he knows he needs to actually teach me the math before i can teach it to anyone else - there's a cold and impersonal feel to this - i'm in a vast system and i'm going to get ground by the gears, probably - no, don't take that attitude, pay attention, time is of the essence, i tell myself - the teacher opens a textbook and quickly breezes through several math problems by way of demonstration - i nod, pretending to understand, but i don't have a clue, i don't see a way into this - i can't talk to this guy...

interesting how transcribing a dream destroys my ability to recall it with any fidelity afterward - as soon as i commit words to describing a part of it, that part becomes terminally ensnared by the words, and the memory is compromised - still there, but twisted thereafter, distorted from the purity of the cerebral mockup that i call "pure", because it has a certain integrity, but is also a distortion of the actual dream itself, if such a thing exists