poco adagio

Sometimes a new paradigm can sidestep a jinx - even when it's talked about. Sometimes it can't be seen but approached with a blind stagger.

I remember when I would devour war movies like pringles - even fantasize about being in the shit. Sure it would be horrible, sure, sure, but what a fucking thrill! This thrill-craving extended to any kind of violence or carnage as long as I was safely away from it. There was something stylistic about the kinetic energy of steel on flesh, blood splatter, bullets, smoke, destruction of any kind, that turned my crank. The same way chemicals do today - that same stubborn obsession that laughs at reason and rationality.

I went through a paradigm shift in the last ten years - without expending any conscious effort to bring it about, or even realizing that it happened until recently. It involved an expansion of empathy, and a deepening of knowledge, about suffering, about the human condition, about the different ways people think and feel. A lot of that “knowledge” I knew before, and I had reason enough to know that suffering is a consequence of that thrilling carnage, but feeling it is another matter. This empathy was a downer quite often. It soured my enjoyment of movies and 3D shooters and everything I used to live for, because I would be forced to identify suffering that I would feel no obligation to before, when I had the ability to be distant. It took the fun out of my passions, and after a few years, it completely killed the craving for them.

Today, I heard some sad stories at my NA meeting. The woman who was jonesying to leave the hospital room where her dad was dying, so she could get out and use, so she could numb the grief for at least ten seconds, and go from there... The guy who gave up his wife and kids - I know these people. And even now, when they tell their horrible stories which I can relate to, with just a smidgen of extrapolation, I still feel the thrill of that destructive power, combustion of chemicals, flooding of neurotransmitters, stark consequences good and bad, kinetic energy!

But lately, more and more, I feel the dark and bitter tragedy of it all. The ratio changes a little more each day, on the whole. But the dynamics are so spiky and serrated and sea-sawing between insanity and sobriety. And there’s so many stumbles and step backwards for every little patch of ground gained. I can only hope that this new paradigm mirrors the last one, where I graduated from half-hearted aims at mass murder. I did say “half-hearted” mind you - whoever might take that the wrong way. But “half-hearted” is far too close for comfort, coming from a later, more-seasoned vantage. But Christ, not nearly enough, cause there's so far to go, so little peace of mind, and sometimes I splinter chips of skull into my brain trying to get past a blockage - when the whole time, the blockage is on its merry way out of my head on its own terms. That's as spiritual as I get these days.

win it ba ck again

"win it ba  ck again" the sign said

with a gap between the 'ba' and the 'ck' stick-on letters

like some gang of pro-bono hobos

gung-ho for the lottery industry

had vandalized a gas station for the purpose

of pimping gambling, just that

no particular casino or scratch and win

"win it ba  ck again"

sounded so desperate as a proselytization

some amateur solicitation for dreaming through gaming

win what back?

the soul you lost in the '80s?

the crack you vaporized?

"you're a winner just for playing"

the sign said to me, "and not hating the game"

really, you, win hope, right here on freshwater road

just for hearing the message, yo

double or nothing

whatever you lost (and we're sure it's a lot)

you can win back in equal measure

you can be a fat cat like wall street wants

that's what wall street wants, in fact

that's all wall street wants is fat cats

some conditions may apply

painful reminders

artistic expression
reminds me of ego
"look at this thing i made, aren't i awesome?"

ego makes me do things for instant gratification
reminds me of drugs
"look at this drug i took, aren't i awesome?"

drugs remind me of hangovers
"look at this pain i've caused, aren't i the scum of the earth?"

that's why it's hard to do anything creative when i'm down like that
it's painful
maybe i should play bach, instead of trying to improvise
but that takes work, playing bach, requires a lot of memory
i did manage to get a few good feelings while improvising
when i'm this depressed, i get more expressive than practically ever
even though it's hard to play even a note, it's the tragic feeling
of nothing having any value, nothing i do being of any use
no light at the end of the tunnel, no more chances
but i put it all into the music, that feeling sometimes
i guess it helped, a little, just now
as does writing, a little
don't want to lie down, i haven't earned it yet, haven't lived enough normal life
for a day yet

why do i get pissed off

at people who play music
that i don't like

when i actually even like it

it's MY music - you're not allowed to like it!
territorial pissings

i'm not like them

but i can pretend

lucky rocketship underwear aren't gonna work

i look desperately forward to the time that they will - i remember times when they have, but no date has been set, it's so indefinite

2+2=5=god is my summary of kirkegaard's spiritual outlook
you must believe in spite of rationality to get near the place that god exists
that's sort of how cyril thinks too, i think, or feels
he says something like: if there was no necessity for faith
there would be no power or point to god
that makes sense to me, but it also seems coldly utilitarian, self-serving
it's paradoxical, kirkegaard would agree

i can neither feel or think to any purpose these days
poisoned in mind and body
and certainly soul, wherever that is
this is a bad place to be
but there could be chasms even below that
maybe that knowledge is keeping me alive
or the thought of lucky rocketship underwear being useful
like in some barely remembered happy enough time

trying to get healthy
been coughing for so long
i threw my smokes in the garbage
which i've done many times
i thought, let's see how i feel when i get my next urge to smoke
i'll look down at the garbage and think about digging them out
if i think long enough, i'll decide not to
anyway, i thought to force some future thought
maybe i won't take that shortcut to thinking i normally do

upon reflection, i realized i also had to tear them up
because if there was the convenience of pre-rolled tailors lying there
i would probably dig them out

existential xmas

a sort of camusian "why not?"
sure, why not, it'll do

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that's why pencils have erasers

rubber pretense - but it's a cleansing feel, to wash away the words that shouldn't have been said - light hurts, but it's been worse - might be a resolution, no damnit, it will be a resolution, i resolve, even jumping the gun on the new year - well, new years eve itself doesn't count - or maybe it will - it's just another brick in the wall, all in all, rubber pretense - i need an accountant to add up all the damage i've caused, maybe then i'll get the picture

the terrible prospect of struldbrugian necessity

the struldbrugs are immortal beings, or near immortal, as i remember – they live on an island once visited by gulliver – they’re a race "cursed" with immortality, living long past any sensible limit, growing more and more decrepit in both mind and body, wishing for their misery to end - i guess it was swift's way of, stating, something

those are the shitty years, denis leary said – but anything would be preferable to death, wouldn't it? therin lies the reactionary posture, the necessity for believing in the void

but you wouldn't attempt to string out a beethoven symphony as long as possible would you? water it down to nothing to make it last as long as possible? you wouldn't pad it with mediocre beethoven for longevity, you'd be happy to have heard a great symphony, and accept that it was over - it was as long as it needed to be, right? a well written symphony, not a note too many or too few

but, what if you were never ever ever going to hear any music again, for eternity? then might you string out medicore beethoven? that's the more crucial question, in this context

and plus, most of our lives aren't beethoven symphonies, some of them are too full of crap, or cut short abruptly, as least that's how it seems to me - so why not rage against the dying of the light?

"and accept that it was over..." (and go home) - well, when you extend the metaphor like that it doesn't sound so bad - what is home? where i was before i was born? a realm of spirit? but that's manichean, right?

what i mean by the title is that the idea of this being necessary, for intellectual logic, or emotional logic, or whatever... is sort of dreadful, aweful, uh, et cetera... nevermand

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

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