2nd guess - oh wait, i already said that - head ache - i said it better before - grow up and blow away - toxemia and atrophy - sounds deadly, does it? it's sickly, i'd say
so, i need food, despite what my stomach says
i don't want to take instruction - fuck instruction - i know you know things, academicians - between me and gee oh dee, well, i think there's something to be said for this dirty cleanliness, and going to my meeting, the original twelve step meeting to do with substance abuse - but there's too much on my mind, plate - i want to slough off these ambitions, to be this great person
holy jesus, apocalyptic gusts of wind - maybe we need a disaster - by the way, that's a dumb thing to say
calcium tums taste lovely, tangy fruit flavoured chalk - tums and eno effervescing powder are the best things in life right now - calcium with sodium citrate in tandem break the back of evil, fill the gaps in my body and mind and soul and right this sinking ship, let's pretend - it'll keep me able to function marginally before the gig i will get through, the audition i won't pass - maybe i won't go - i want to run away, or hide, or both - i want to be somewhere else - i don't want to be entwined - i want to unhook from the gears of this people machine
whatever, just a whim - what i mostly want is some magic and miracle, and money, and the moon - i hate just about everything, my mood is awful as of this writing - it's nice to be able to write about it a bit, though, i haven't done that in a while - i'll write, despite how it sounds, in spite of how mediocre this is - it's a hide hole wallow hollow, but not entirely empty - there's not a lot of hope, there's a hole in the serotonin bucket, or something that feels like that - it's depression, but i can see it's a part of the cycle - i have to live and work with the hole, but some sort of gauzy layer will blow it over in the next sandstorm, and cover the hole in the hydraulic thermodynamics of this machine, and then i won't have to live and work with the hole for another little while - and then it will be there again - i don't have to sleep with the hole though, my dreams bail me out
but they contain the beautiful person i'm on the rocks with, and that's okay, if it's in my dreams, it's okay - my mind is not, though - i'm in a hollow, and i want to be at peace in this hollow for a while, an indefinite period, hibernate - that isn't going to happen of course - of course, just to state the obvious, or make what ought to be obvious obvious, and qualify, and quantify, for insurance purposes, and append every possible permutation of caveat to every clause of the contract, cause everything is contractual and consensual, that's the only sense there is in it, chasing your own tail in hindu modernity, talking yourself out of buying the $100 i-rig
it's sad that i managed to turn spirituality into a dirty word - corruption, cancer - i made words dirty - i MADE everything CONTRIVED - haha
when i tumble out of the hollow, i'll meet life on life's terms halfway with fakery, and say: yeah, there's value in the real, that's where all this good stuff that i can't express in words really is, that's where it lives
the spider plants have gone without water for two extra days - but they'll be alright i guess - piles of things accumulate, obligations i heap on myself - setting myself up... what would happen if i stayed in my living room, and lived, and shrugged everything off? i don't know, it sounds lovely though - a wonderful fantasy - i can die now, or be dead to the world, go into a coma - i've strained and struggled and i haven't come up with NOTHING goddamnit, i've written a very good letter of support for For the Love of Learning to HRLE, so i've been useful that way, and i've pretty much finished that song of Rob's that's been sitting around forever, and he wasn't even expecting me to actually get it done, and it's quality work, and a good legacy, something i did for rob, and myself, and the place i work for, a high note to go out on - sure there's a thousand other projects that are undone, but so fucking what? i took on too much
i want to detach from everything, gee oh dee, i so want to do that - harder to do when there are no drugs allowed in my diet - so be it - i'll say it in my own way, how i want to say it
12/08/11
12/07/11
12/01/11
the judicial branch
quite frankly, if i hear the phrase "quite frankly" one more time, i'm going to scream - to give you my judicial branch credentials, i feel like many great things were said, and continue to be said, at the meeting - a certain amount of repetition and cycle is necessary - can you be judicial in return and take it on faith that from my perspective, being the fourth person and fifth wheel, not being acknowledged or looked at, that i'd gotten the gist of the feeling of the meeting an hour ago, and i had the gist before then anyway? i don't know what i can add, not being part of the managerial process - i didn't sign up for the managerial process, and wasn't asked to be part of it - so i get a little antsy at the long long meetings that repeat themselves endlessly, quite frankly - of course it's work, i didn't mean to imply it's not, just that it isn't a very good use of my time, when i'm not asked to be included in any decision-making or agenda-shaping
yes, i could be involved i guess - i guess you expect me to jump in and start skeet-shooting ideas for you to blow away in mid-air, but i'm a thin-skinned mofo, and i don't like having my ideas shot down, unless i think there might be at least one that has a chance of getting through - i have to know that i'm not fractally wrong, and that some effort might pay off eventually - and besides that, i'm a thin-skinned mofo, and i don't know if i know anything, except that
just between me and gee oh dee... and my poor blog - poor god - but god is a much richer entity for having gotten to know me, aren't ye, god? aren't you a lucky god? count your blessings
economics is for shoemakers, i won't place limits on my design - excess lace up stitch up fuckup - ah, mayun, i miss aesthetics, i didn't realize how much until now, feeling the pang, i've gotten the gist of that feeling, no meeting necessary
11/15/11
10/25/11
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
asdfl;kjasdf;lksjdfl;ksjdf;lkjasdfl;kasjdfl;ksjdfl;ksjdfl;ksjdfl;aksjdf;lkjasdfl;ksjdfl;kasdjf
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
asdfl;kjasdf;lksjdfl;ksjdf;lkjasdfl;kasjdfl;ksjdfl;ksjdfl;ksjdfl;aksjdf;lkjasdfl;ksjdfl;kasdjf
10/14/11
caulk the wagon and float it
climb every mountain
ford every stream
write something random
until you find your dream
ford every stream
write something random
until you find your dream
10/13/11
10/12/11
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?
10/05/11
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
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
9/29/11
can i say, what the hell i will, that i'm especially sick of the good - the goody goody, everything that's supposed to be healthy - i know how ridiculous that is, how ridiculous i am - how twisted my attitude is - how nearly everyone else is better, they've got something to offer, they do more with less - they've got character - unless they'd rather not be saddled with such a label, in which case, nevermind, forget i said anything
where does A get his attitude? i could go for some of that - surely it wasn't bestowed on a platter - even if it was genetic birthright, that right would come with the duty of cultivating said character in an arduous trial and error ordeal with hard lessons and all that
there's something about low character and mediocrity and the freedom to shrug off the burden of the good, that appeals to me - is this organic excursion in any way compatible with my nature? the simple well-worn rut of the effort equation doesn't seem all that humble, rather simply high and mighty on itself - now to do a low, mediocre thing for a cheap tin thrill and read this back to myself
hiding in the car on a beautiful sunny warm late september day because i don't want to weed - i'm refusing, because i can, because i'm taking a swoon, i'll call this a harmless substitute for the old-timey alchemical mega-swoon, that lapis philosophorum water skipping thing that i can't forget - if i could forget, things would be so much easier and softer, and maybe harder in all the right places - this is the living-sober equivalent to the old swoon, and it's vital to what remains of my spirit when i have to stay here out on the farm, to be, ostensibly, "working", but not weeding - i hate weeding, i really do - and plus, i'm not really interested in... anything - not a damn thing - that being said, there are still microscopic degrees of disinterest that make all the difference i can muster, in order to see color and hear pitch for some reason, or some seeing-hearing thing
there are still limits to expression, i wouldn't say this shit - and i wouldn't want to be caught by the weed tourists in this car on this day - so many hard swallows - you can swallow hard and acknowledge the heavy truths, but it doesn't change a thing, not even attitude - oh, that five minute rule for obsessing about things, i shot it to shit - but i'm still doing ninety meetings in ninety days
at least this day is nice for people who appreciate that sort of thing... which means my decadent self-indulgent decrepit attitude will not seem so unbearable - to those feeling warmed, body and soul, by the sun - it'll be a peripheral irritation
Weeding is Fun! :)
for ya'll, i'm guessing
it might be fun if i was concurrently on amphetamines - i can remember tasks like that being fascinating and euphoric on drugs like that - but even then, i'd be too amped to do one thing for more than ten seconds - when i'm on the crank, i burn through any and every potential activity like the wehrmacht through poland leaving scorched earth and sadness, and perhaps, doubt in god's existence, or at least, god's love - and look, here i am thinking about drugs again... scenarios
ow! car door in the solar plexus - or just the stomach - why do exclamation points seem so friendly? i'm sure that A's earned his car - he did something good, lots of things maybe, not in past lives, but in this one - the temperature in here is nice now - warm after the hammock in the woods - "davey boy, 26 years old... counting his curses, counting his curses" but a few blessings too - counting curses and blessings alike in the manner of a sour-faced accountant working overtime, paperwork off the grid - tallying the blessings with no emotional links
i wouldn't agree that i'm one of those brave new world citizens - i like my walks in the woods now and then - i have my neologism i call "sacredity" - i need more than Natureland, but i'm sure i seem pretty post-nature to a lot of these people - i'd like to be seen in the hammock, not in the car, but i'd rather be in the car right now, it's more conducive to the swoon - the swoon is synthetic in its natural form, to get it au natural, one must build an artifice of synthetic conditions - it's a fake swoon, a crude mimic, but it's something
these people, i respect them so much - i like them - so how come i'm always sneering and sarcastic in my head? maybe because i can't sway and swoon how i want anymore, and it makes me spiky and pent up and unsatisfied sometimes
where does A get his attitude? i could go for some of that - surely it wasn't bestowed on a platter - even if it was genetic birthright, that right would come with the duty of cultivating said character in an arduous trial and error ordeal with hard lessons and all that
there's something about low character and mediocrity and the freedom to shrug off the burden of the good, that appeals to me - is this organic excursion in any way compatible with my nature? the simple well-worn rut of the effort equation doesn't seem all that humble, rather simply high and mighty on itself - now to do a low, mediocre thing for a cheap tin thrill and read this back to myself
hiding in the car on a beautiful sunny warm late september day because i don't want to weed - i'm refusing, because i can, because i'm taking a swoon, i'll call this a harmless substitute for the old-timey alchemical mega-swoon, that lapis philosophorum water skipping thing that i can't forget - if i could forget, things would be so much easier and softer, and maybe harder in all the right places - this is the living-sober equivalent to the old swoon, and it's vital to what remains of my spirit when i have to stay here out on the farm, to be, ostensibly, "working", but not weeding - i hate weeding, i really do - and plus, i'm not really interested in... anything - not a damn thing - that being said, there are still microscopic degrees of disinterest that make all the difference i can muster, in order to see color and hear pitch for some reason, or some seeing-hearing thing
there are still limits to expression, i wouldn't say this shit - and i wouldn't want to be caught by the weed tourists in this car on this day - so many hard swallows - you can swallow hard and acknowledge the heavy truths, but it doesn't change a thing, not even attitude - oh, that five minute rule for obsessing about things, i shot it to shit - but i'm still doing ninety meetings in ninety days
at least this day is nice for people who appreciate that sort of thing... which means my decadent self-indulgent decrepit attitude will not seem so unbearable - to those feeling warmed, body and soul, by the sun - it'll be a peripheral irritation
Weeding is Fun! :)
for ya'll, i'm guessing
it might be fun if i was concurrently on amphetamines - i can remember tasks like that being fascinating and euphoric on drugs like that - but even then, i'd be too amped to do one thing for more than ten seconds - when i'm on the crank, i burn through any and every potential activity like the wehrmacht through poland leaving scorched earth and sadness, and perhaps, doubt in god's existence, or at least, god's love - and look, here i am thinking about drugs again... scenarios
ow! car door in the solar plexus - or just the stomach - why do exclamation points seem so friendly? i'm sure that A's earned his car - he did something good, lots of things maybe, not in past lives, but in this one - the temperature in here is nice now - warm after the hammock in the woods - "davey boy, 26 years old... counting his curses, counting his curses" but a few blessings too - counting curses and blessings alike in the manner of a sour-faced accountant working overtime, paperwork off the grid - tallying the blessings with no emotional links
i wouldn't agree that i'm one of those brave new world citizens - i like my walks in the woods now and then - i have my neologism i call "sacredity" - i need more than Natureland, but i'm sure i seem pretty post-nature to a lot of these people - i'd like to be seen in the hammock, not in the car, but i'd rather be in the car right now, it's more conducive to the swoon - the swoon is synthetic in its natural form, to get it au natural, one must build an artifice of synthetic conditions - it's a fake swoon, a crude mimic, but it's something
these people, i respect them so much - i like them - so how come i'm always sneering and sarcastic in my head? maybe because i can't sway and swoon how i want anymore, and it makes me spiky and pent up and unsatisfied sometimes
9/28/11
heavy lids, gordian knots
sitting empty, as jenn said, about her journal - this calls for extreme measures - a stretch of limbs that'll congregate in holy matrimony between earth and sky, a neverending parabola, a zeno's paradox of whatever that feeling is you get when you stretch for lack of anything better to do, a quadratic equation mostly
or maybe the extreme measure of filling up a wall with words, or more appropriately, a column, or several columns that fill the first foyer of a temple, floor to ceiling pictographic scrawl, it looks pictographic enough to me, even within the helvetica contours of digital stencils
or maybe the peaceful co-existence with megafauna, when they're never out of season, but the season is slow-paced, and we don't take so many of them down that they die out, cause god doesn't care for those big beasts, poor things, even if i do, but not enough to be an activist, like a friend of mine
it certainly comes back to heavy lids and the waiting for miracles... what is the prognosis, cocaine psychosis? no, can't be that, but it might be synthetic, could be this chemical or that, could be laundry detergent, cell phone radiation, mercury poisoning - and okay, could be psychological, cause if i can get perked up from the chronic recline of the damned by the simple thought that i could slash through the lethargy by doing something bad, really bad, but oh so fun, then the body is the brain's bitch in that case, isn't it?
well, that's whot itis, and coodn't be any tis'n'ter
or maybe the extreme measure of filling up a wall with words, or more appropriately, a column, or several columns that fill the first foyer of a temple, floor to ceiling pictographic scrawl, it looks pictographic enough to me, even within the helvetica contours of digital stencils
or maybe the peaceful co-existence with megafauna, when they're never out of season, but the season is slow-paced, and we don't take so many of them down that they die out, cause god doesn't care for those big beasts, poor things, even if i do, but not enough to be an activist, like a friend of mine
it certainly comes back to heavy lids and the waiting for miracles... what is the prognosis, cocaine psychosis? no, can't be that, but it might be synthetic, could be this chemical or that, could be laundry detergent, cell phone radiation, mercury poisoning - and okay, could be psychological, cause if i can get perked up from the chronic recline of the damned by the simple thought that i could slash through the lethargy by doing something bad, really bad, but oh so fun, then the body is the brain's bitch in that case, isn't it?
well, that's whot itis, and coodn't be any tis'n'ter
9/08/11
selected stenographical notes
the time for drafting
is past the horizon - "oh fuck", overheard at the rooms
flip flop flip flop
can you hop like a frog?
enDuress
skipwhisper ~ living in low-def scorcery
blah's better than the cursive slur
plug-ins are good too
can't do that
cause i gotta do this
be at a meeting
humility
is bringing such ideas to even this sanctuary
give me a medal now
SUB
level 4
is past the horizon - "oh fuck", overheard at the rooms
flip flop flip flop
can you hop like a frog?
enDuress
skipwhisper ~ living in low-def scorcery
blah's better than the cursive slur
plug-ins are good too
can't do that
cause i gotta do this
be at a meeting
humility
is bringing such ideas to even this sanctuary
give me a medal now
SUB
level 4
"Are you sure you're good?" Liz asked her again.
"I'm good," Gabby said. Good as angelic. Smug as a bug in a sarcasm security blanket. Good to go, keep you going through the show. Not that there was anything to play. Backstage work here, the chores. But they called her "manager".
"Good," Liz said, still with the darting eyes, unable to meet the gaze that wasn't there. Gabby could see the darting in her own peripherals, of course. She didn't miss much. But there wasn't much to do about it. Only a tight knot to behold, maybe influence but not in the intended way. Would Liz have called it "creative" or "destructive" interference, Gabby wondered.
"Are you really sure you're good?" Liz asked. Why not? Let her make conversation. Let her plant and farm it, reap what she sows. Or maybe you don't reap what you sow, not when you're a maker, making things for the takers and fakers - they just take and fake and fake and take until the maker and the baker run away together, find an island and drop out of society until the nuclear war happens and we're all in it together again, for the last few hours of life.
"Well?" Liz asked.
"Yeah I'm good, what could be wrong?" Gabby said.
"You sound sarcastic," Liz said.
"I know. I'm not though. It's sound and fury."
"Ooh, Faulkner," Liz said. "Or Shakespeare."
"Yeah, they exist," Gabby said. "You sound as sarcastic as me."
"I know," Liz said. "I'm not though. Forget it Gab, it's Chinatown."
"Ooh, Polanski," Gabby said.
"I know," Liz said. "It's a psychotropic reaction."
"Psycho-whatnow?" Gabby said. It's black and white pre-paradigm shell-casings. And it must be read or it's tired clenching eye-rubbing okay-ness.
nail clippings
flourescent
luminous failure following design principles home to the Atlantic Center foodcourt like a lost puppy.
Health clubbers master stairs, cycle, and tread behind screens through the windows above.
meditation bitch
Today, she says, erase everything, every symbol you can find on every flat surface of your cubicle. Tomorrow she'll say: fill those surfaces again, do a dance routine, a rote jiggle of writing, sometimes typing, for the inevitable information archive at the outer edge orbital plane of the biggest li'l electron in the world.
Cuticles sound like cubicles, crucial when you're bobbing your head in a sufi swoon, and the main theme exposition is glued symphonically to subject B, or maybe simply welded, crude efficiency, maximum chromosomal distortion of thematic intent, mainly.
The meditation bitch reminds me there's a first person here, and there is a 72nd floor room where that american can-do guru journalist tripped on microdots from a pillbox and used the experience for a chapter of a hardcover that sold copies, presumably.
luminous failure following design principles home to the Atlantic Center foodcourt like a lost puppy.
Health clubbers master stairs, cycle, and tread behind screens through the windows above.
meditation bitch
Today, she says, erase everything, every symbol you can find on every flat surface of your cubicle. Tomorrow she'll say: fill those surfaces again, do a dance routine, a rote jiggle of writing, sometimes typing, for the inevitable information archive at the outer edge orbital plane of the biggest li'l electron in the world.
Cuticles sound like cubicles, crucial when you're bobbing your head in a sufi swoon, and the main theme exposition is glued symphonically to subject B, or maybe simply welded, crude efficiency, maximum chromosomal distortion of thematic intent, mainly.
The meditation bitch reminds me there's a first person here, and there is a 72nd floor room where that american can-do guru journalist tripped on microdots from a pillbox and used the experience for a chapter of a hardcover that sold copies, presumably.
9/01/11
8/07/11
see-saw
a bowl of rice a day
tomorrow is a latter day
b plus for penmanship
a manly art, the captaining of the pen
a glowing collection of random
blinking things
a can of whoop-ass
and catharsis
the seasaw is next
tell me somethin i don't know playa
tomorrow is a latter day
b plus for penmanship
a manly art, the captaining of the pen
a glowing collection of random
blinking things
a can of whoop-ass
and catharsis
the seasaw is next
tell me somethin i don't know playa
8/05/11
lemon twists
why can't i be one of those people that just flitters from here to there every few months, like it's natural, like that's just how they roll, man, like a rolling stone... i know a lot of those people, or i knew them for a time - and i never questioned it, i just felt grateful they were around with me for a while - maybe i'll catch them later, at least on facebook
why do i feel so guilty about even thinking about going anywhere, like i ought to be here, like it's the Right Thing to Do, like i'd be so foolish and ungrateful if i packed up and tried some place new? oh, i guess there's a lot of good reasons for that feeling, but really, are there enough?
it's this weather, perhaps, it's not that it's that bad, it's that it's this bad in august - and it's like the sun is a godayum novelty - a little trinket dangled above the crib every now and then - and i never even got the chance to get bored with it - yeah, there's too much mood here - oh, i'm sure i'd find a way to bring massive nimbus moods with me anywhere
it's the age old churning of the substrate, to consign it to near-meaningless visual metaphor - but i like the sound of it - like the sound of geese honking and melding with the highway traffic - i'm going to eat another candy even though the teeth on my left side are protesting, but i'm going to use the teeth on my right side - they'll be good for a while longer
why do i feel so guilty about even thinking about going anywhere, like i ought to be here, like it's the Right Thing to Do, like i'd be so foolish and ungrateful if i packed up and tried some place new? oh, i guess there's a lot of good reasons for that feeling, but really, are there enough?
it's this weather, perhaps, it's not that it's that bad, it's that it's this bad in august - and it's like the sun is a godayum novelty - a little trinket dangled above the crib every now and then - and i never even got the chance to get bored with it - yeah, there's too much mood here - oh, i'm sure i'd find a way to bring massive nimbus moods with me anywhere
it's the age old churning of the substrate, to consign it to near-meaningless visual metaphor - but i like the sound of it - like the sound of geese honking and melding with the highway traffic - i'm going to eat another candy even though the teeth on my left side are protesting, but i'm going to use the teeth on my right side - they'll be good for a while longer
spike
yes, i think i'll go to a meeting - if i don't get sucked into the couch first - and lay my head down, and let the alien waves, now too-familiar, wash over me - demoralized - i think i made a bad choice - i don't fit here, with this job - the social dimension is what's strangling me - when i can work with people at all, it's individually, not as a group - i miss the savoury room, it's cut and dried there
oh no, don't make snap decisions, don't get off track because of an emotional spike... but this isn't just a spike, i've known this for a while - i've felt nauseated and embarrassed getting paid for nothing - so find something to do then - well after everything's been cleaned up and organized, or i've found what's left after all the happy dappy volunteers have rushed to fight over the chores... there's this awkward lack of purpose - i've been saying this for a while, and it feels truer than ever: the introvert is not being nurtured - all these attempts at extroversion are wrong-headed, so strained, so needlessly entangled, so compromised
and the center meeting goes on, and on, repeating itself, solving nothing - so, as i see it, we're faced with this problem - wait, didn't we just bring up twenty solutions, potential directions? oh, but i know how much you love hearing yourself talk, and cycle back around to the start of your grievance list again, prattle on...
what is it i do here? i dread telling people - i don't talk about it - well now i'm fucking talking, okay? every time i opened my mouth at the meeting, i felt like a jackass immediately afterward - i was trying to compensate for not talking hardly at all otherwise - a meeting gives me the impetus to speak my mind, a sanctioned sharing - but my words bounced off - i thought i had some useful suggestions but i just felt disrespected, like an idiot for talking, should have shut up - why am i here? fucking music? musical commitments are a drag - it's my play, not my work - i miss the savoury room - i don't want to be renting out my head
i should write a letter to the admins or something - maybe i can get out of this morasse
it's just been a frustrating meeting, that's all - okay? or maybe it's more than just that, maybe i'm realizing things - like, sure, this center is great and all that, but it's not part of my mandate, i'm not enthusiastic, i'm not here for these people, i'm here for myself, so i could just as well be there for myself, back home - do i really want to help bring in more high school people? i can barely stand the people that are already here - oh, i appreciate their personalities, there's no ill will, it's just that i can barely stand them - i don't dislike them, i just can't like them too much either, they don't like me, we don't get along - i'm peripheral - just as i appreciate the personality of the admins i have to deal with, they're witty and good-hearted, but interacting with them is like getting an unanesthetized root canal - speaking of which, i could probably use some dental work too, that's another thing i'm noticing today
a two hour meeting about contriving demand - fuck man, i just want to say, if it's not there, it's not there, why kill yourself trying creating it? i don't believe in advertising, it's not my thing, what do you want me to say? i'm not saying your PR sucks, i actually admire it, the posters are tastefully done, nice layout, good, on-point message - but if you see people as potential consumers, be prepared to be massively disappointed, unless you're barnum and bailey - sorry, i've been through that whole process, i'm not interested, at this stage in my life, in becoming an ad man - and yeah, it's my fault, i picked the wrong job - cause it is a whole lot of nothing
why kill yourself trying to create demand? oh, because you can't sound defeatist - never give up! we must ride this gravy train into the ground - the last days, the decaying republic, no more soup for you - or maybe it'll all get better with a new space - ebbs and flows and square dances and slack jaws... why is giving up such a bad thing? it doesn't mean i gave up on life - less is more - maybe it's an economical streamlining, or a minimalist thinned-out mix... i'll have to admit to feeling like a defeatist today, about certain things, anyway - but this is enough whining - let's all forget our troubles with a big bowl of strawberry ice-cream . It is your birthday. After all.
oh no, don't make snap decisions, don't get off track because of an emotional spike... but this isn't just a spike, i've known this for a while - i've felt nauseated and embarrassed getting paid for nothing - so find something to do then - well after everything's been cleaned up and organized, or i've found what's left after all the happy dappy volunteers have rushed to fight over the chores... there's this awkward lack of purpose - i've been saying this for a while, and it feels truer than ever: the introvert is not being nurtured - all these attempts at extroversion are wrong-headed, so strained, so needlessly entangled, so compromised
and the center meeting goes on, and on, repeating itself, solving nothing - so, as i see it, we're faced with this problem - wait, didn't we just bring up twenty solutions, potential directions? oh, but i know how much you love hearing yourself talk, and cycle back around to the start of your grievance list again, prattle on...
what is it i do here? i dread telling people - i don't talk about it - well now i'm fucking talking, okay? every time i opened my mouth at the meeting, i felt like a jackass immediately afterward - i was trying to compensate for not talking hardly at all otherwise - a meeting gives me the impetus to speak my mind, a sanctioned sharing - but my words bounced off - i thought i had some useful suggestions but i just felt disrespected, like an idiot for talking, should have shut up - why am i here? fucking music? musical commitments are a drag - it's my play, not my work - i miss the savoury room - i don't want to be renting out my head
i should write a letter to the admins or something - maybe i can get out of this morasse
it's just been a frustrating meeting, that's all - okay? or maybe it's more than just that, maybe i'm realizing things - like, sure, this center is great and all that, but it's not part of my mandate, i'm not enthusiastic, i'm not here for these people, i'm here for myself, so i could just as well be there for myself, back home - do i really want to help bring in more high school people? i can barely stand the people that are already here - oh, i appreciate their personalities, there's no ill will, it's just that i can barely stand them - i don't dislike them, i just can't like them too much either, they don't like me, we don't get along - i'm peripheral - just as i appreciate the personality of the admins i have to deal with, they're witty and good-hearted, but interacting with them is like getting an unanesthetized root canal - speaking of which, i could probably use some dental work too, that's another thing i'm noticing today
a two hour meeting about contriving demand - fuck man, i just want to say, if it's not there, it's not there, why kill yourself trying creating it? i don't believe in advertising, it's not my thing, what do you want me to say? i'm not saying your PR sucks, i actually admire it, the posters are tastefully done, nice layout, good, on-point message - but if you see people as potential consumers, be prepared to be massively disappointed, unless you're barnum and bailey - sorry, i've been through that whole process, i'm not interested, at this stage in my life, in becoming an ad man - and yeah, it's my fault, i picked the wrong job - cause it is a whole lot of nothing
why kill yourself trying to create demand? oh, because you can't sound defeatist - never give up! we must ride this gravy train into the ground - the last days, the decaying republic, no more soup for you - or maybe it'll all get better with a new space - ebbs and flows and square dances and slack jaws... why is giving up such a bad thing? it doesn't mean i gave up on life - less is more - maybe it's an economical streamlining, or a minimalist thinned-out mix... i'll have to admit to feeling like a defeatist today, about certain things, anyway - but this is enough whining - let's all forget our troubles with a big bowl of strawberry ice-cream . It is your birthday. After all.
8/04/11
fold tab A into slot B
ugh, how can i get rid of that bright white serrated sidebar demarcation? couldn't find any setting in blogger - does look nice with briar's artwork on top though
oh i see, it's bound to the text color - damn
oh wait, if i use a different template... well well - now i should actually write something for this pretty little blog - damn this drop-off - what am i, a fucking musician now? nah, screw music
oh i see, it's bound to the text color - damn
oh wait, if i use a different template... well well - now i should actually write something for this pretty little blog - damn this drop-off - what am i, a fucking musician now? nah, screw music
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