what was that again? That was four periods. It was also ba and ka. One wonders if it has something to do with the blocking of serotonin reuptake. One wonders what a real orgasm felt like. On the wane. Like the dayglo freak face-painters became human racers. Like that. After laying into an impromptu multitrack, in a simulation of inspiration, with found sounds, and a tricky time sig, lurching from haste to waste, I've decided, I've run dry.
So many possibilities. They're all tiny fractions. They add up to one. I wrote a rhythm, in 13ths. It added up to one. So I multiplied it by five. It sounds like something. But one wonders what the purpose is. What this serotonin is adding up to.
I tried to do art, musical art, because I couldn't motivate myself to collect 150 purple coins in the deep dark galaxy. But I got tired of that facility for unholy matrimony with paternity. So that is a word, after all. So I'm writing now. And how. And I said the good times are gone. And Jung said the unconscious will terminate a life that has become meaningless. Richard Manual loved the women. I had to look away, at the Chinese restaurant, and then at the narcotics anonymous meeting, again with those pretty people, even unconventional, pain, dull pain. How do you dull dull pain?
Maybe I'll write a novel, starting with a female character who wears a tight black aerobics top to a buffet. Or maybe she'll have popcorn grease on her face. Or maybe this graph will be the extent of that venture. I would call this a cul-de-sac. The Gulf of Mexico is turning black as I write. I don't quite know how I stay so insulated. I was thinking of something that seemed....
to mean nothing, but felt everything: I played Tetris, over a period of a few months, on the Nintendo Entertainment System, with my friend Dan, in the first year of Junior High - the primary glows over the black backgrounds - tetris, even though it was such a pedestrian little puzzler, and we had access to bigger and better things, but we played it anyway, it was a miracle that this could have happened - and there was that time that he was even helping me to play, telling me, urgently "lay it flat", as that piece came down, and i had the same idea, and i laid it flat, and it was a good move - I want so badly to grasp the essence of this, like it has an aggregate I can't get at... I dunno. Saying "authenticity" would be disingenuous. Maybe the simplest way to say it would be that it feels more real and good, that sublime combo, then anything in my life right now, or in the past, or the foreseeable future. Otasan's disembodied hand with RGB oscillations, the cryptic promise, beckoning, inner-zippers I can't reach - it's better than any bullshit in the world right now. This oil slick, I can't let it out of my universe. And how lame is that? A fucking oil spill, how unoriginal. The universe is on re-runs.
Oh I tried, to contrive some sort of dream, but it's not even vapour, it's a poor man's metaphor, and I might have to wait hours to dream for real. Starting now.
<>><<> can i just say, fuck it all? just say how bored and tired and uninspired i am? how everything is disappointing? how i'm wanting to shrug it all off, can't even contemplate climbing back toward any state of marginal grace - succumb to mediocrity, know that i'm wasting, a waste, just straight out - not even wasted, that's not even fun anymore, anyway <>>>< honestly, binary, hacksub in thirteen - might make a good entry in the barkives
CANCEL the BAND. CANCEL the SCANS. CANCEL the JOBS, they're not calling back. CANCEL the PROGRAM. I'll keep collecting cheques till they stop sending them. This is better music than that tired piece of multitrash, anyway; it's the precursor to the next great artform {[(like slave songs were the precursor to hip hop) like historical extrapolations into the future are quaint and silly, but half-assedly precient centuries later] like my music is amateurish algebra, or could be, given the application of sufficient theory}, and the now cursor is blinking in a slur, slinking while i'm doing my lurking work, shirking responsibility to the void, that grants me dreams of half a heaven, 0.5c, chasing something of substance, desperately, but casually, just kind of disappointed, that's all, although not really expecting much. CANCEL.
4/30/10
4/19/10
4/18/10
----------------------------
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what do you do, mine malls?
No one's discovered this human resource yet - just as well. No gain, no pain. Why be a dancing monkey? They call it laissez-faire. The market doesn't demand labour from me. Maybe it would from a dancing monkey. I'm not inquisitive enough to find out. I am inquisitive enough to listen to Adam Smith's theories.
It'll be more of the same, with a tinted windowpane. Just a friendly warning, the plane is coated with volcanic ash, it won't last long. Which diamond vest has an interest? The leaders of tomorrow are beyond my ken. But I smell of Husk Musk, and that's all that matters. Hammett solo.
There's nothing to buy at the corner store, plenty of porn on the comp, medication will continue to block the groove. Well, I guess this is how it will have to be. This is how California crumbles, this is what the HTML code allows, this is how the world works, this is how my body feels, despite whatever I do or don't do, or think or don't think. Today it's that "abdominal" pain, a blast from the past. It could be a Hopi prophecy, I should consult the rhomboid oracle, it will clarify self-made destiny, not just for me, but for everyone. I don't find solipsism comforting, for the record. I don't find moral relativism tasty. But those objections were overruled and have been stricken from the record.
Item! It's Juneau fever. It's not a dream. Too bad, there was phencyclidine in a barrel, in a gulag dream. Dreams of work and phencyclidine in a Khazak lodge. It's in the top margin. Holy shit, shards look so good I could cry. O synthesis.
Join our quest for blame! It's the only thing that got me out of bed. If we could wield it, it would be better than the wheel. Imagine. Just don't blame me, if I'm leading you down the garden path. See, it's scenic, isn't it. It's a scene, anyway. Of a sort. Assorted scenes.
I know, I'll walk to the store and buy an energy drink, like I was gonnoo.
There's nothing to buy at the corner store, plenty of porn on the comp, medication will continue to block the groove. Well, I guess this is how it will have to be. This is how California crumbles, this is what the HTML code allows, this is how the world works, this is how my body feels, despite whatever I do or don't do, or think or don't think. Today it's that "abdominal" pain, a blast from the past. It could be a Hopi prophecy, I should consult the rhomboid oracle, it will clarify self-made destiny, not just for me, but for everyone. I don't find solipsism comforting, for the record. I don't find moral relativism tasty. But those objections were overruled and have been stricken from the record.
Item! It's Juneau fever. It's not a dream. Too bad, there was phencyclidine in a barrel, in a gulag dream. Dreams of work and phencyclidine in a Khazak lodge. It's in the top margin. Holy shit, shards look so good I could cry. O synthesis.
Join our quest for blame! It's the only thing that got me out of bed. If we could wield it, it would be better than the wheel. Imagine. Just don't blame me, if I'm leading you down the garden path. See, it's scenic, isn't it. It's a scene, anyway. Of a sort. Assorted scenes.
I know, I'll walk to the store and buy an energy drink, like I was gonnoo.
4/17/10
but i don't wannoo
psychosomatic, or simply somatic?
it's always something, psychomotor malfunction, glitches in the body, glitches in the brain, tactile obsessions, behavioral compulsions, something irritating constantly, barring sleep, can't even sleep, even though i shouldn't sleep, i've already slept enough for a dead man - it's getting worse, it's always something, this endless moment it's a dry mouth oversalivated, compelling me to swallow every few seconds, sounds contradictory, i know, it's been endless moments for several days
and it's being drained, i got a get out of gravity free card for a couple days but that expired today, and it's back to being tired all the time, i'd do that, but i don't wanoo, can't seem to manage it, if i could manage it, i'd do it, although that sounds like bullshit - nothing's to blame, or i don't know who fixed this game - i remember when chemicals were my keys, i'm trapped anyway, in any place, might as well pursue the fleeting illusion of escape
oh, it's nothing new, can't make any metaphors that aren't obvious, i'm just transcribing a ten millionth hand copy of the book of the dead on the inside of a wooden coffin for later use
it's always something, psychomotor malfunction, glitches in the body, glitches in the brain, tactile obsessions, behavioral compulsions, something irritating constantly, barring sleep, can't even sleep, even though i shouldn't sleep, i've already slept enough for a dead man - it's getting worse, it's always something, this endless moment it's a dry mouth oversalivated, compelling me to swallow every few seconds, sounds contradictory, i know, it's been endless moments for several days
and it's being drained, i got a get out of gravity free card for a couple days but that expired today, and it's back to being tired all the time, i'd do that, but i don't wanoo, can't seem to manage it, if i could manage it, i'd do it, although that sounds like bullshit - nothing's to blame, or i don't know who fixed this game - i remember when chemicals were my keys, i'm trapped anyway, in any place, might as well pursue the fleeting illusion of escape
oh, it's nothing new, can't make any metaphors that aren't obvious, i'm just transcribing a ten millionth hand copy of the book of the dead on the inside of a wooden coffin for later use
4/07/10
aswan obelisk
heavy lids mean nothing - sore eyes are irrational - algebra is absurd
i'll tell you what to do - listen to pablo francisco's flailing oriental stereotypes - they're so casually blunt they blur the line between laughing with racial humour, and laughing at it - and laugh at it, it's hilarious, and there's nothing wrong with a laugh - and no one will hear, the best laughs bounce off the walls, and it's lovely to hear the echoes and know it's your personal cave of laughter
it's not as good as the cackling cocoon of the mind before metamorphosis, when the itch is all there is, all you'd want, like an opiate reverie; how can i miss you if you won't go away, ghosts? but i guess i "lost" my personal data tracker in one of your apartments, didn't i? and it's pinging on my console, that's what that is, mapping routes through synaptic gaps, absence, to substance
they never got this obelisk out of the quarry, but why worry? do sarcophagi care? i put your bootstraps in a bank vault, young lad, it's a trust fund, i trust you'll learn how to levitate when i open the gate, it's a stargate, i wouldn't trust you with money, i trusted you with drugs and women, and they were real enough, at least you didn't crash the car like i thought you would, maybe you were east according to the west, and charmed
nonsense, you say - you don't pray, and you went back on your promise to complete the pro bono audio project the day st. anthony returned your keyboard's volume knob to you, safe inside the front pocket of the gig bag, i blame medication, the ones you're allowed to take, the mood stabilizers and nicotine blockers, they won't let your superstitions reign, and that's a shame i think, you don't know what luck you're missing, you gotta throw the dice once or twice in order to win big - back home they call that a swagger, they called me a braggart and a bullshit artist, well, that's where my heart is - living on reds, vitamin C, and cocaine - uptown, downtown, just drive me around, drive me craze azlong azthings'r in motion. Notice how my stenographer put the apostrophes in my slur, he's the only reason I get out of bed.
4/06/10
rationing
Urination is getting something done. The aim is subpar, granted, but the intentions are fair. They'd get a gentleman's C at Yale.
Becker's hunting mice. The world's still lazing along where the sun's set. I take it the bright boys and girls of my generation are building better machines at MIT, maybe they already sold their free energy generator to the multinationals that are pimping fossil fuels while they're still sexy. Technocratic capitalism, of a sort.
The pesticides in your head, my generation's Bob Dylan, are 1 part per trillion. Yes, they're there, can't deny it. But in statistically insignificant amounts. Or let me put that in a way you won't sneer at and turn into another song lyric: Insignificant amounts. In other words, they don't have any effect on your health. All those trace amounts of toxins and otherwise interesting substances in aggregate, on the other hand, well, that's kind of impossible to calculate. But I like when I get bonus chemicals. I consider it good fortune, better than I ever got from a cookie. Every Good Bear Deserves Fentanyl. You think these cats love us? I think they do. It's just hard to separate love from food and shelter and pesticides.
exciting
to imagine
breaking off
the chain
i keep
tied
to the wall
imagine there's no heaven
i quote that because it's from a song that's famous
because it was written by a famous person and it's got a nice chord progression
okay, i got out of bed today
after the most recent patch of half sleep
wandered outside in my perma clothes
and chopped some wood, it made a pleasing sound
Becker's hunting mice. The world's still lazing along where the sun's set. I take it the bright boys and girls of my generation are building better machines at MIT, maybe they already sold their free energy generator to the multinationals that are pimping fossil fuels while they're still sexy. Technocratic capitalism, of a sort.
The pesticides in your head, my generation's Bob Dylan, are 1 part per trillion. Yes, they're there, can't deny it. But in statistically insignificant amounts. Or let me put that in a way you won't sneer at and turn into another song lyric: Insignificant amounts. In other words, they don't have any effect on your health. All those trace amounts of toxins and otherwise interesting substances in aggregate, on the other hand, well, that's kind of impossible to calculate. But I like when I get bonus chemicals. I consider it good fortune, better than I ever got from a cookie. Every Good Bear Deserves Fentanyl. You think these cats love us? I think they do. It's just hard to separate love from food and shelter and pesticides.
to imagine
breaking off
the chain
i keep
tied
to the wall
imagine there's no heaven
i quote that because it's from a song that's famous
because it was written by a famous person and it's got a nice chord progression
okay, i got out of bed today
after the most recent patch of half sleep
wandered outside in my perma clothes
and chopped some wood, it made a pleasing sound
|--- Decadent Forest
- |\
- | \
- | \
- | \
- | \
- | \
- | \
- | \
- | \
- | \
- | \
- | \
|_wtf_\
- NOBODY
- nyet
- ni
- Hector the Crow.u says (13:15):
- medication makes me snicker
- and nothing else
- i'm a snickerin machine
- a diff'rent lel' o' profundity
- waiting for Godfrey
- Jones of the television show Rock Bottom.
- Whether there's a bright center to the universe or not
- I'm lying next to the lava lamp.
- Co-drawer, fill me with noise:
- "Hey Tessa. Tessa? Urp."
- Stop trying to be cute. Kneel before Zod.
- Don't mind me, just basking in misery. You're cute and stupid.
- I'm so much more voidful than you. Why don't you go all the way, Tessa
- go blissbabe. You know what I mean.
- "Hey Ki? Ki? Don't ask why."
- Just shut up and die.
- FUCK.
- Thanks
- for your "service"
- internet "provider".
- Nevermind, back to the coma.
- \--o|-OOO|--iii|------I-|---lllll-|---------L-|-------M|M-------|-LLLLLL------Lll-------IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-|||
- -\-o|-OOO|--iii|------I-|I--lllll-|---------L-|-m---MMMmMMM---m-|-[L-------L--lllll-----LI------iii---i----Oo---,---||\
- \-\o/-OOO|--iii|-----II-|----llll-|--------LL-|-----MMMmMMM-----|-LLLLLL------Lll-------IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-||/
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- ---o---OO-\-\ii|-----II-|-----lll-|-------LLL-|--m--MMMmMMM--m--|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-|||
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- ---o--OOO---\i\/------I-|---lllll-|---------L-|Xx------|--------|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-||/
- ---o--OOO---i\i\------I-|I--lllll-|---------L-|x|-----m|m-------|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,---||\
- ---o--OOO---ii\-\----II-|----llll-|--------LL-|-|---mmm|mmm-----|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-\\ \
- ---o---OO---iii\-\---II-|-----lll-|-------LLL-|-|-m-mmm|mmm-m---|-[L-------L--lllll-----LI------iii---i----Oo---,----\\ |--|__ __ _ _ _
- ---o---OO---iii-\-\-III-|-X----ll-|------LLLL-|-|mm---m|m---mm--|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.--///
- --oo---OO----ii--\-\III-||-----ll-|-----LLLLL-|-|------|--------|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-///
- --oo----O----ii---\I\II-||-----ll-|----LLLLLL-|-|X----M|M-------|-[L-------L--lllll-----LI------iii---i----Oo---,---|||
- --oo----O-----i----\I\I//-------l-|x---LLLLLL-|-m|--MMMmMMM---m-|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-||\. ,. .
- --oo----O-----i--i-I\I\/--------l-||l--LLLLLL-|-|m--MMMmMMM--m--|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,---||/
- --oo----O----ii-i--II\I\-------ll-|l---LLLLLL-|-|m----M|M----m--|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-||\
- --oo---OO----ii-----II\-\------ll-||----LLLLL-|-||-----|--------|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,---\\ |-|_ _ .
- ---o---OO---iiii----III\-\-----ll-||-----LLLL-|-||----m|m-------|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-///
- ---o---OO---iii-i----II-\-\---lll-|l------LLL-|-||--mmm|mmm-----|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-|||
- ---o--OOO---iii------II--\-\-llll-||--X----LL-|-||m-mmm|mmm-m---|-[L-------L--lllll-----LI------iii---i----Oo---,---||\. ,. .
- ---o--OOO---iii-------I---\-\llll-||-/------L-|-|mm---m|m---mm--|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-||/
- ---o--OOO---iii-------I--I-\l\lll-|||-------L-|mmm-----|-----mmm|-[L-------L--lllll-----LI------iii---i----Oo---,---||\
- ---o--OOO---iii------II-I---\l\ll-|||------LL-|-||----M|M-------|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-\\ |--|__ __ _ _ _
- ---o---OO---iii------II------\l\l/--/-----LLL-|-m|--MMMmMMM---m-|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,---///
- ---o---OO---iii-----IIII-x----\l\--/-----LLLL-|-|m--MMMmMMM--m--|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-|||
- --oo---OO----ii-----III-xXx----\l\/--- -LLLLL-|-|m----M|M----m--|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-||\. ,. .
- --oo----O----ii----IIII--x-\---l\-\----LLLLLL-|-|m-----|-----m--|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,---||/
- --oo----O-----i----IIII---\-\_--l\-\---LLLLLL-|-||----m|m-------|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-||\
- --oo----O-----i--i-IIII----\_-\-l-\-\--LLLLLL-|-||--mmm|mmm-----|-[L-------L--lllll-----LI------iii---i----Oo---,---\\ \
- --oo----O----ii-ii-IIII------\-\l--\l\-LLLLLL-|-||m-mmm|mmm-m---|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.--\\ |-|_ _ .
- --oo---OO----ii-----III-------\l\---\-\-LLLLL-|-|mm---m|m---mm--|-[L-------L--lllll-----LI------iii---i----Oo---,----///
- ---o---OO---iiii----III--------\l\l--\-\-LLLL-|mmm-----|-----mmm|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-///
- ---o---OO---iii-i----II-------ll\-\l--\-\-LLL-|-||----M|M-------|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-|||
- ---o--OOO---iii-i----II------llll\-\---\-\-LL-|-m|--MMMmMMM---m-|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,---||\. ,. .
- ---o--OOO---iii-------I--I--llX\l-\-\---\-\-L-|-|m--MMMmMMM--m--|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-||/
- ---o--OOO---iii-------I-II--lll\\--\-\---\-\L-|-|m----M|M----m--|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,---||\
- ---o--OOO---iii------II------lxl\\--\-\---\L\/-/mm-----|-----mm-|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-\\ |--|__ __ _ _ _
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- --oo---OO----ii-----III-I------ll\-\\--\L\LL[\-\--||mmm|mmm||---|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-||\. ,. .
- --oo----O----ii----IIII--------ll-\-\\-L\L\L[-\-\/////m|m\\\\\--|-[L-------L--lllll-----LI------iii---i----Oo---,---||/
- --oo----O-----i----IIII---------l-x\-\\LL\L\[--\|\|||||||||||||-|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-||\
- --oo----O-----i--i-IIII---------l--\\-\\LL\L\--/\/\///M|M\\\\\\\|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,---\\ |-|_ _ .
- --oo----O----ii-ii-IIII--------ll--l\\-\\LL\[\|||\|\MMMmMMM||||||-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-///
- --oo---OO----iiii---III--------lllll-\\-\\LL\/\///\/\MMmMMM\\\\\|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,---|||
- ---o---OO---iii-----III--------ll-----\\-\\L[\<\<<<\<\M|M>>>>>>>|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----I-----OOO--o--O---.-||\.
- ---o---OO---iiii-----II-------lll-l----\\-\\[=\=\===\=\|========|-LLLLLL------Ll-----l--IIII----i-----OOO--O--O---.-||/
- ========================================\\=\\==\=\===({X})======|-[L-------L--lllll-----LI------iii---i----OO---,---||\
- =========================================\\=\\==\=\=)}xXx{(=====|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.-\\ \
- ==========================================\\=\\==\=({x'X'x})====|-[LL------L--lllll-----LII-----iii---iO---Oo---,----\\ |--|__ __ _ _ _
- ===========================================\\=\\==)}x'XXX'x{(===|-LLLLLL------Lll----l--IIII----Ii----OOO--o--O---.--///
- ____________________________________________\\_\\({x'xXXXx'x})__|-LLLLLL------Ll----ll--IIII----i-----OOO--O--O---.-///
4/05/10
thinking about the bank vault
i remember what i stashed in there - maybe it would have been good to forget, but i'll never know - banking on this, banking on that - in service to the pharaoh's good intentions - good substrate credit rating vacant eZbreathe - can i make this a beacon of mediocrity and say that tired stagnation is not something to be envied, even when enduring the most dire consequences of hedonistic dialectics? doing nothing, nothing to do, doing nothing, oh, shouldn't i be doing this and that? hey, body thetans, take this golem model for a test-drive, his characteristics aren't getting much mileage
i tell ya, there's no soul in this mudhole, the sunshine don't synthesize it - i wonder if the banks will lend me money for self-destruction - damned if you do, who do, voodoo? damned if i don't, might as well rack up more debt to be destroyed - i wish i could extricate myself, the streets are paved with rock candy, slippery, i can never get far - i guess i'll lie down again, eventually chat with the bedbugs, eventually
i tell ya, there's no soul in this mudhole, the sunshine don't synthesize it - i wonder if the banks will lend me money for self-destruction - damned if you do, who do, voodoo? damned if i don't, might as well rack up more debt to be destroyed - i wish i could extricate myself, the streets are paved with rock candy, slippery, i can never get far - i guess i'll lie down again, eventually chat with the bedbugs, eventually
3/25/10
sleep is stalking
there's no where to hide. There's whens, I would guess.
Okay, I give up, can't think of what else to write.
Okay, I give up, can't think of what else to write.
3/24/10
See His Pugnose Face
Otherwise
known as walking, walking the wheel, walking it right. Left is
communist, right is the way we walk. On this floor of the Turkish
Sanitarium there is no American. You're one of us, I'm one of you. I
hear you're writing an etude, a self-deprecating ballad for Bowie to
sing.
Now that's what I call a swoon. I use a swoon to measure dimensional chasms, let's pretend they're synapses. It's a study in swoon, and one day I'll make Uncle Sucker pay for it, haha! Actually, it's not that funny. It's sad, it's meant to be sad, that's the meaning I want to impart. It's so sad when Uncle Sam is so senile, and so generous, and he becomes a character we care about, like Abraham before the writers of The Simpsons abandoned character-driven satire for shallow topical humour.
They'll be lining my pockets one day, the oracle told me, and refused to tell me any more, or the mescaline turned pedestrian and I blew chunks on the floor. But by then, when I subsist on arts patrons, I hope to be drooling poetry like Keats on auto-pilot. Or dragging pajama sleeves along the Berkley streets, as rumour has it I used to teach calculus in lecture halls. There's gotta be a lesson in that. Six hundred times around the wheel and you start to feel it. Ten to the power of six and you begin to see it. Your pinky fits your nostril exactly, pixels, perfection, telescopy. You lick your nipple, you suck your own dick, strawberry fields forever. Don't shut off the valve. Let it ride. Everyone knows you can’t leave the mole alone, no one expects you to try.
Now that's what I call a swoon. I use a swoon to measure dimensional chasms, let's pretend they're synapses. It's a study in swoon, and one day I'll make Uncle Sucker pay for it, haha! Actually, it's not that funny. It's sad, it's meant to be sad, that's the meaning I want to impart. It's so sad when Uncle Sam is so senile, and so generous, and he becomes a character we care about, like Abraham before the writers of The Simpsons abandoned character-driven satire for shallow topical humour.
They'll be lining my pockets one day, the oracle told me, and refused to tell me any more, or the mescaline turned pedestrian and I blew chunks on the floor. But by then, when I subsist on arts patrons, I hope to be drooling poetry like Keats on auto-pilot. Or dragging pajama sleeves along the Berkley streets, as rumour has it I used to teach calculus in lecture halls. There's gotta be a lesson in that. Six hundred times around the wheel and you start to feel it. Ten to the power of six and you begin to see it. Your pinky fits your nostril exactly, pixels, perfection, telescopy. You lick your nipple, you suck your own dick, strawberry fields forever. Don't shut off the valve. Let it ride. Everyone knows you can’t leave the mole alone, no one expects you to try.
3/23/10
ce n'est pas
who
turned up the gravity? who turned down my energy? fundamentally, it's
physical - the mentality is a consequence - march fourth in the
review mirror - this woman is painting the seaside landscape in this
picture on my calendar, she looks so into it, she's having a moment -
somebody set up this scene, to photograph - someone dressed up and
got posed, for this scene, and got paid for it, probably a lot less
than the photographer who sold it to the calendar making company who
mass produced it, newfie kitsch
some people get paid less than others - this seemed weird, illogical - then i got used to it - it seems normal by now, and any different arrangement seems perverse - reward for effort and sacrifice is like hairy man-ass sex, not that there's anything wrong with that - i've learned that logic is not pragmatic, protest is not effective, and "hippie" is a damning label - there's more joy to be had in the grudging acceptance of the status quo than in trying to change anything - which is to say, not much joy, but little moments here and there - acceptance, as long as it's grudging, as long as you carry that grudge, write a song about it - no point in trying to change anything - if logic won't work then what will? when logic goes on strike, they send in the scabs
some people get paid less than others - this seemed weird, illogical - then i got used to it - it seems normal by now, and any different arrangement seems perverse - reward for effort and sacrifice is like hairy man-ass sex, not that there's anything wrong with that - i've learned that logic is not pragmatic, protest is not effective, and "hippie" is a damning label - there's more joy to be had in the grudging acceptance of the status quo than in trying to change anything - which is to say, not much joy, but little moments here and there - acceptance, as long as it's grudging, as long as you carry that grudge, write a song about it - no point in trying to change anything - if logic won't work then what will? when logic goes on strike, they send in the scabs
arise, chicken!
It's
that club, in NYC dream geometry, where they beat you up for being a
fag before you go in, even if you're straight. The club hires fag
beaters for that purpose, it establishes your credibility. They all
had to go through it, those celebrity patrons. Try it, you'll realize
you aren't made of glass. Or throw away that golden ticket, we'll
gild another one and give it to an orphan. If she can do it then so
can you. It's just a matter of capitalizing on luck, by taking a
beating, then they'll let you in the club. Where you'll suddenly see
the possibility of being on an even keel with those artists who make
piles of money, and some of them, infuriatingly younger, even a few
of them local, gone nonlocal - well, now you're all initiates, but it
will take some humiliating lessons before you learn the difference
that remains between you and them. Like when that famous guitar
player corrects you on your fingering of a difficult passage of
Beethoven's Rondo a Capriccio - try not to act all surprised and draw
attention to yourself, did you really believe the rich and famous
artists are so soft and lite, they do nothing with their resources
but show off their toys to MTV camera crews? Did you want to believe
that so bad? So, you'll see that the gap is even wider beyond those
doors, the acceleration of multidisciplinary studies, and as an
afterthought, the aging process is quite a bit slower, but nevermind
that for now.
Why
am I writing this? Call it a Korean tea ceremony. Cigarettes were all
I had. This is where the willpower really matters, where the rubber
meets the road. Energy is mass times the speed of light squared. Zeno
says the arrow never reaches worth. It's not worth the walk to get a
bottle of energy drink.
Succumbing
is becoming a numbing comfort, the only thing worth anything. There's
a glut of sunrays on the outside, they'd do me good in theory - first
principles regime, god save the queen - still superstitious, i'm not
praying for anything, lest apocalypse begin - will work for food,
will increase energy efficiency - what? no? no place for me -
understood - it will make my family unhappy for me, stretch the
boundaries of charity yet again, but, oh wait a second, i gotta take
this call.
Tea
don't do it for me anymore. Maybe it's this deck of contexts. In
2013, I bought my first NYC loft. I paid for it by coming up with a
new euphemism for masturbation. They said it couldn't be done, but I
did it. Scientifically. I used a million monkeys. Even more
remarkably, I'd nearly forgotten what orgasm felt like, but I
remembered what it thought like. Consequently, I enjoyed the benefits
of owning a multi-million dollar apartment. Status, that's all I'd
really wanted, all along. Sure, I flirted with philanthropy, in my
youth. I flirted with self-destruction in adolescence. They gave me a
key to the ICBMs in adulthood. Thought they could trust me with it.
I'd be the deciding vote. I couldn't believe it was real. It was a
surreal strata of status, but it was a pure sky blue in every
direction, they showed me the location of every silo, they showed me
computer simulations of what would happen in this scenario, that one.
To give a nom de plume a raison d'etre for its next novel, I, yi
yiyiiih. Which way to the furnace? Everything must burn.
intelligence
xx xxx xxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
3/22/10
I could try and force that dream into the light of day. But what's the point? Really? You're asking me what the point is? Seriously? As if you don't know the point is what we make it? Yes, I know the point is what we make it. It's like, Whose Line Is It Anyway. And so what? So what. You know, your parents said "so what", when I started up this club. Some of them said, "see if I care". They said you kids wouldn't change. And you know what? You didn't change. But you changed me. That's right. You taught me that not everything is stupid. Some things are gay. And I thank you for that. I guess what I'm trying to say is... pack your bags, gang. We're going up my mom's ass.
And isn't that the real point?
And isn't that the real point?
3/21/10
The Unknown, you know?
Spaceman
Spiff saw me adrift, gave me a lift. I said, thanks, want a
spliff? He said sure, it's been a while. I said great, you got one?
He laughed and said he found my humour quaint. I said I agreed, and
furthermore, I found its quaintness quantifiable in this frame of
reference, as long as our motion was uniform. Spiff said, wait, I'm
gonna jack this thing up to 0.8 C. I said, that's the best you can
do? We're never gonna get outa this cubic parsec at that rate, and he
said yeah we will you dolt, how long you been in space? 80 percent
light speed, that's relativistic as shit, it won't take but a minute
by our perception of time, and Andromeda, that's a few days tops -
you wants a drop off anywhere?
Why
Andromeda? I asked. Why not? he said. But it'll be, like, a million
years later in relation to your people back home, or wherever they
are, I said. Is that about right? Close enough, said Spiff. So,
they'll all be dead, unless they're going on their own interstellar
jaunts. Or cryogenically freezing themselves, Spiff added. Yeah, that
too, I said. So, they'll all be dead when you get there, probably,
most of them. That's the idea, said Spiff. I hacked, well, my friend
hacked into the Welfare Cosmos mainframe for me. See, I wouldn't have
resorted to that, but it was getting ridiculous, every time I
completed one of their forms, they'd contrive some subsection that I
hadn't completed, or otherwise change the rules to postpone my claim
for income support indefinitely. It was getting increasingly obvious
they were never going to give me anything, so I had to take things
into my own hands. Dealing with them long enough, you learn how they
think and thus, how to sneak around their security grid. All I needed
was to convince Carlos it could be done. With his know how, we got it
done.
To
be honest, I still can't even believe it really worked, I could
barely convince myself, but lo and behold. So, I filled up my bank
account with a few zeros. Man, I can't describe how weirdly great it
felt to stick my card into a machine and, you know, just be able to
type whatever number, and then have credits come out. And then get a
receipt with numbers on the left side of the decimal place. So, I
bought myself a full tank of anti-matter. First time I'd had that in,
well, ever, I guess. It just felt so good. So good, I decided I'd fly
to Andromeda, just for the fuck of it. Maybe for more than the fuck
of it, but certainly for the fuck of it. And, well, I thought maybe
I'd dry out there. Have it be a spiritual pilgrimage, to the unknown.
The Unknown, you know? That's what I've always worshipped, I finally
realized. The only thing worth worshipping, the unknown, the only
thing godly enough for me. The only thing that could maybe be better
than substance. Absence. Listen, I've never told anyone this. People
think I'm some kind of a saint, or at least a respectable merchant,
or at least a scoundrelous pirate - but in truth, i'm not even good
enough to be that - i don't keep the armada in employ with dastardly
deeds - i don't do anything really, except abuse substances - at
least i used to deal, but i don't even do that anymore, i only
consume - and it's consumed me, it's the only thing i know - i need
to know something else - this galaxy is tapped, for me - i'm gonna
high tail it out of here.
I
said, wait, you tried synthetic ketamine yet?
Spiff
said, woah, did you say Ketamine? Woah. That is a name I have not
heard in a long long time.
Funny
story, I said. There was a derelict with a single cryo aboard. Old
thing, send out 2012ish, I can’t remember. Me and my buddy Sapio
found it while on a vespine gas recycling run. I help him out with
that, he gives me a little cut of his puny government paycheque.
Anyway, we thawed out Popsicle Pete, and he turned out to be a groovy
guy, just kind of rolled with the waking up in the future thing.
Turned out he had a stash of K, so we invited over some freaks who
would appreciate and had a welcome to the world of tomorrow party –
we were all giddy with the retroness of it, it was like Spanish
Galleon treasure but with the extra added virtual reality
malleability.
Sounds
like something I woulda dug, back in the day, Spiff said.
Yeah,
I would hope so. Anyway, the guy, shit I don’t remember his name, I
still think of him as “Pete”... he did some asking, and, can you
believe this, the stuff is still around! Man, he talked his way into
the circle that manufactures ketamine, albeit from the atomic level
up. And damnit, I haven’t made it back to that sector since, and I
was gonna get his contact info, and, fuck. I’ve been kinda looking
at shady looking people since then with this hopeful, could they be
in the circle look, but I never say anything.
I
know, said Spiff. I dunno how people do that, schmooze into the
conspiracy, slick willies, that eludes me. I never got the social
lube and scented oil that makes bullshit smell of sandalwood.
Yeah,
same here. But I know it’s around and that knowledge is driving me
nuts. Been trying to track it down and not having much luck. I was
kinda hoping you'd know where I could... but I guess you don't.
Nah,
I'm an old space dog, Spiff said. And set in my ways. Really just one
way. And it's Superglu.
Superglu?
Holy fucking Space-Christ, how are you still alive? I mean, that's
so, so sad.
Well,
yes and no, Spiff said. Mostly yes, but. You learn to live with it,
if you don't die by it. I'm on the right side of the suicide bell
curve. It's kind of a dream state. Like, you never get to heaven, but
it's always underneath the crack of the motel room next door. Some
people think it's like being a cockroach. Maybe I'll still be around
after the next nanoplague. But I should be on Andromeda by then.
Living large, or well, that's just one of those things you say, when
you're set in your ways. A whole lotta crack battery babble, the kind
Tom Green used to film, and not for its beauty, although maybe just a
little, and not in that trash bag flying in the wind American beauty
way. So maybe I'll be living small, maybe swimming naked through
space, maybe somehow I'll evolve, or adapt, or conquer dimensions,
and know the bliss of the electromagnetic wave in the vacuum.
Well
good luck with that, I said. I'd stay inside the spaceship for a
while if I were you. Are you sure you don't wanna go look for some
keta with me, before you take off to the next galaxy? You really
wanna turn your back so... inextricably?
K
won't save me, Spiff said. It's too late for me. There's no pot o
gold at the end of that rainbow.
There
never was, I said. And so what? Are you dead set on Andromeda then?
I’m
live set, Spiff said. I’ve never been more live-set in my life.
In
that case, drop me off at Starbase 229.
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