blogging in bed with my thumbs. haven't done this in forever. or ever. the tosh died, whatever death is... the tosh is in limbo, a machine without a spark, like bishop, who would rather be nothing. I won't be spry enough to even think about stealing meds from the care facility when I'm old enough to be a resident. this arbitrary auto caps is idiotic.
a decent crop of dreams later... actually, it was more than decent, it was fan-tasty! music composing and performing dreams, a signed to a record label dream, a tears-of-joy dream, which was the only teary dream i've ever had, and they were joyful tears, how weird is that? and building a tower on top of the roof of my friend's house in nelson... oh, and my spin on the ecstatic "exoskeletal" chorus from that cedric song, haha! what a righteous dream fragment, so weirdly sacred... now what am i doing? back to this, finishing a draft - burying things on blankets under blankets, curdled fever dreams, bunches in sweaty crumples, jaws on mandibles, oh heck, oh fudge, the dream was a nice opener at least, to this morning of multiplying virii - happens every time i quit smoking, i've made my throat and lungs hospitable again, and the germs start throwing parties in me
work don't work - school's a waste of time - i'm not gonna say the grass is greener on the other side either - i think i should get into selling drugs, HATE-FUCK THE WORLD! cut to the chase - i think i missed my chance to do that though, but i'm still keeping a lazy eye half-open for opportunity - still looking at the ground, for "ground scores"! my eyes are drawn to the dirt and the concrete and the ample detritus of that plane - as if that little crumple of plastic has something psychotropic in there, when has that ever happened? in dreams, yes, in shamble dreams, but rarely even in them! but sometimes, and though it never happened in reality, the dreams still draw my eyes to the ground
just offer me a fuckin job, okay? and i'll forget the whole me-against-the-universe thing, i promise... i'll never ever quit again, i'll hold onto whatever position i can get a labour contract for, for dear life, for the rest of my life, cause i never want to have to look again, it's never seemed to drag my sense of self-worth through the gravel like it's doing this time
how do people do these things? these getting through life things? i guess they must be strange and different people that i can't contemplate - my parents are wonderful people, they seem to fit in their own little niche, but their genetic combination is giving me maths problems, the equations produce infinities, they seem insoluble, they crop up more and more, they don't go away with a little medication here, a little 12 steps there - therapy, the sick joke of therapy, the self-delusion of spirituality... this is something i haven't been able to articulate, but i long to just dismiss this shit i'm struggling to believe - it's tiring to try and believe all the time - the most honest thing i can say is, i'm fucking confused, i have no idea what's true and what's purpose - meaninglessness is the trend, nothing coheres
Ignored at the meeting by the monstrous chad because of the easily missed frequency of my voice, when I tried to be friendly and join the co...
I'm working out new ways to perform and record. They take the form of melodic fragments, half-assed renditions of half-remembered songs,...