In the city

In an urban square
where the soil is the cement
and the statues are the trees.
where the faces stare beyond
the horizon.

As kids we would use them as boundaries.
As teenagers we would look through them.
As adults we read the inscriptions like our parents obituaries.

Around a brick corner
there are only stop signs and old folk
where they still shop at bodegas
and use their crutch for elevation
because The Dead Wind is still down there.

The buildings don't have faces
and no one owns the yard in front.
Your room mates don't remember
your name and she doesn't look the same
with your new beard and her dyed hair.

You tried to sound out any name
starting with E
but you ended up just saying "E!".

This is how the alphabet murders.
Letters too close like our home in the city.
Uniquity silenced by dissipating smog
when familiarity is only one word
in one spot.

Communication is limited and timid
since all passengers are on the go.
It's one, decisive ride
where you culturally begin
to clump like mussels
and you're not only a genre
but also plenty of jokes
and we all act like it's fine
but you just said it right to his face
and you never even leave.

leafs are perpetually wet
hanging out by the gutters.

Just Look Back

http://staticparticles.bandcamp.com/track/just-look-back

My Personal Personalities

Here is a photo album of most of my artwork.  This includes medium from canvas, to printer paper, to numerous journals. My Personal Personalities
Also it's my facebook page too.

Daedra wants Dick

.  http://staticparticles.bandcamp.com/album/daedra-wants-dick

Daedra Loves Dick

Daedra wants Dick

    Daedra is walking down the cold sidewalk with her four closest friends in the middle of the week.  They are all on their last year of college, ready to live in “the real world” as they call it.  But what they live resembles the television show more then they think.  Living with strangers, they call them roommates, just so they can get an education but taken in certain strides, partying and not taking school seriously would lead me to specifically call it a “lower” education. 

Been Doing

I've been trying to keep myself busy as usual.

Projects that I'm working on.

1. Daedra wants Dick.  I'm still going on this story very slowly.  It's coming to the end in it's written state.  I'm at about 40 pages and the shift is about to happen.  I want to see if I can get it published some place other then here but it's length is troubling.  I also want to do a tele-pod on this or pod play.  I feel like listening to something an hour long is more approachable then reading something that would take an hour.  No one I know reads consistently anymore that are my age so I'm shifting as well.

2.  I've been in the talks with a co-worker (Kris Solum) to do a few things.  I've always wanted to try out animation and he's actually done some animation so we are pitching ideas back and forth.  I gave him the idea of a man travelling from his old home to a new home with a mini-fridge.  As the trip grows longer, the surrounding landscape changes into a surreal being.  I finished up the storyboard and gave him a canvas painting of the final transformation of it all.

3.  Kris and I also are talking about doing a stop motion video.  We want to do produce battle raps between fruits versus vegetables.  I just wrote up the banana vs. head lettuce verses.  The video will hopefully be raunchy produce battling and I figured that the lyrics could also be semi-educational because I'm just talking about produce which is something I never learned about in school.

A.  Journal has been on a halt.  (Heard you Calling)

B.  I want to start working on music again but I feel like it could be too much for me.

Also been playing a lot of borderlands.

Measurements of Noise

So I just realized that I made enough music this summer for a cd's worth of noise.  Enjoy.

1. Sad, Sad Things

2. Unit 1

3. World at War

4. Open in On

5. Whispers

6. Wind Direction

7. Use Less

8. Finally

9. Protection

10.Like a Memory

11. Together

12. Drummin

13. Jonesun

14. Seasons

Blue my control

Beauty Be Held

Beauty is in.

Between the lines and under.

Mine my reality.

Other things I have been doing

I think I touched up on this on a few of my other posts but I wanted to actually formally address them.

 http://mammothparticles.bandcamp.com/   
First off is probably my main project.  My friend Dakota (who is 1./2 of http://mammothrecords.bandcamp.com/album/for-the-floor-of-your-car) and I used to be a band called Twin Pipes (http://soundcloud.com/halucigens/sets/twin-pipes-two-strangers/)  But he is in Massachusetts and I am back home in Illinois.  We are trying to send music to each other but he's a busy man so he's worked only on 1 of the songs.

http://www.bliponradarblog.blogspot.com/
Then there is this.  My buddy Sean who goes to Columbia and works with me at Meijer started a blog about television, movies and video games.  I pretty much write bias reviews for him and use this outlet to be funny, critique the things I enjoy and figure out why I enjoy them, and to do something.  It's been fun and even though it's only him and I who have been posting the majority of the content, it's a little thing I do whenever I find time.  Pretty unserious stuff.

http://staticparticles.bandcamp.com/
Finally there is some more music I have been making.  This is all instrumental for now as I work up the courage to do other stuff with more experimental qualities.  I kind of want start rhyming but can't seem to get the lyrics out of my head.  So I just make music that feeds that tendency and It's always fun doing live work.  Most of my music is live.  I record the productions live then go over it with another instrument and perform live.  Then I sing live throughout the whole song.

Finally there is a few things I have been writing.  My journal "Heard you Calling" has been just my lyrics and some of my reviews as of lately.  A few sprinkled poems and maybe a few sentences.  I have also been working on Daedra loves Dick.It's pretty out there.  Stalker Narrator, alternative reality, absurd reality (which one?), love triangles and mystery and contemporary.

Mammoth Particles

My friend Dakota (Mammoth) who has also contributed here before (long time ago) and I started a band across the sky called Mammoth Particles.  He actually has not contributed yet but this is our bandcamp.

mammothparticles.blogspot.com

Just posted a review on my friends website

http://bliponradarbloggamereviews.blogspot.com/

If only we had a chance

http://staticparticles.bandcamp.com/

Carrier to Language

I found a piece of dry wall on my neighbors porch.  It has been there for a few weeks so I decided, since I am in a transition between graduation and employment, that I needed to do something with it.  Paint is acrylic and  I started with the blue teeth at the top right hand corner.  Then I made the rocket ship and moved to the tree trunk of the blue.  Then pent back with a yellow that looked enticing that I picked before putting any paint or concept to the work and took a wide spread brush and added it haphazardly.  Then came the red and the face and I wanted to make it look like it was a rocket ship and a heart started to form so I went with it. 

A Mirages Diffraction

Splitting too Fast

homeless children tend to bend at a characteristic,
living like a wolf, with a wolf.

Rich men, the ones the strangers are scared about,
speculate on how to be above the wolves,
to send the wild grass and the un-touched nature
and set it on fire,
to unleash the smoke above our heads,
even theirs.

Discussions in the Wilderness

Discussions in the Wilderness.

By Egan Maxwell Click

For the year of my life I found myself in a city.  To everyone that found me in that same city.  First off, Jackie for being my roommate for another year and my lover for more.  For Brooke and Cody for doing this with us.  For Sam & Sam for quitting and joining us. To some Columbia students. To some University of Illinois-Chicago students. Also thanks Andrew and Anthony for giving me a job where I could make money, live and always be working while doing this.

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And now the series has passed.  I recently left this job so my napkins will cease too.  I'm either going to make this into some grand collage in my next apartment or start giving these away as promotions.

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Twined Together

                The moments between silence our always the hardest to swallow.  The pauses in words could transform the dialect into slurs, blending syllables and synonyms, trying to remember the sentence structure.

                The moments between thrusts are always the hardest to continue.  The pauses in breaths could transform the sex into repetition, blending moves and desires, trying to remember where it began, our first time.

                Sex is an easy thing to explain.  Desire leads to energy then the energy tries to be spread between the two people.  Then kissing, possibly foreplay and then the standard sex.  It becomes crippling after Matrimony, where you begin to over analyze the sexual situation.  My wife and I want to stay healthy and relieved from worldly stress, so we have sex.  She heard about it on Oprah and I heard about it from Mancow in the Morning. 

Masculinity

After running on the elliptical for forty five minutes, Brian realizes he’s a tad late for his date with his wife Kara.  Not actually late but he didn’t have enough time to drive home and prepare himself before the dinner at, her favorite restaurant, Guvnor’s. So he decided to shower in the men’s locker room, a first for Brian since P.E. class in high school where he still wore a bathing suit.
    He nervously stripped down to his gray boxer briefs and started slowly walking over to the sound of running water.  As he came up to the tile floor where heated water laid dormant, he decided to peak around the corner into the bathrooms to get a layout before he made his entrance.  To his sight, he saw no one in their underwear, all four men in the open just easily naked.  Brian snuck away ashamed, to go put his briefs in his locker.
    “Come on Brian, you can do this.”
    He thought of his wife, as he locked the Master Lock, and how proud she would be.
    As he crept back to the showers, Brian closed his eyes and walked until he felt a warm breeze of water rinse off his sweaty, groomed, body.  He tried to instinctively reach out for the body soap dispenser but couldn’t find it. 
    When he opened his eyes and discovered the dispenser was to his left, not his right.  While Brian was snickering to himself about this realization, he also realized there was only one other guy in the shower besides him and he was close to him.  He could hear the water fall of the other guys shoulder blades.  Brian habitually peaked as he saw movement out of the corner of his right eye and stared.  Stared at the vineyard before him.

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Fork in Frequency

I.  Amber State of Grain

Seldomly held opinions,
relapsed on adversity like an enthralled pear.
Tirelessly bashed from odd ended, blue’s sweatered spectre.
One legged begging as the tailored suit coats
filled with jest filled twenties and antique photographs of ashtrays,
golden hazed glassware holding onto sunken grayscale ashes
full of burly guilt and one side fits of embered rage
But the insides different
then the triumphant outside.
The silver luxuries only cleverly speed when seen
in brick layered alleys
and the beggars and peddlers
only tell you they are
unless when they forget to selfishly pray.

II. Humming a Dew Drop

Floating on green buoyancy
waiting for the sacred fresh water to sneak out from under me
like doing labor without any value to show or
for a man made wave to bombard, trying to turn a pet
into a one off slave.
Staring at where clouds used to feverishly evolve
when association meant abnormal
and word play was a sex game, not an effective technique,
just a way to bang a black sheep
because their opinion of you was handsomely strange
and mentally able to bid on a farewell.
But I could never shamefully kick her out and the esteem
and she wouldn’t passively passionately tell me I was full of nothing
and starved on biscuits filed with absolute innuendos.
She willfully passed away after our first vacation
to the attic and I tried to educate her on
stuffed similarities and seductive semantics.

III. Being Told Later

Six pack plastics lining a tub full of delicately used ice chips
bought out by precise pigeons wanting a place
to tremendously crash.
Only when the awry robbers come out do the self sufficient,
double blinded humans show up to wait,
black denim khakis, long banks lines that double as death sentences,
winos trying to act tempted by the lush beaches
of Barcelona where age is nothing but an illuminated filament
in a heap of heavy star dust.  Carbon meddled down to complex basis,
left eyed stasis besides a myriad of parallaxes.
I always loved staring at the cracks, separating the pixelated grooves
of sidewalk because they reminded me of dying sunflowers
being prescribed  out of date penicillin providing immunities
for therapy.

IV. Calming Essence

Grit over the Mahogany coffee table, missing legs
like a childhood memory still stuck on the trunk of their
now axed apple tree.  Not even a ladder could pull
us together even when it’s made from splintered words.
Tenderly pressing up against the momentum
that swung down the types of gyrations,
capillaries hibernated in the desolate icy strife
of memorable mnemonics.  Fate always seems to
miss when shot towards sun rays and family hay,
grouping pieces of tether under sloppy weather,
the kind you salivate to, the touching of nail
clippings in the toilet bowl, and only when
the figure of a meat head shines through
a dinner tube will I feel
biblically cyclical, naming patterns
like a group of neo nerds plausibly
calculating the reincarnation of heaven Gates
or the returning of middling Jobs.

V. Wandering and Wondering

The optometrist recommended me shattered
glass to prevent my disorder.  It’s like a round robin,
heads on soss hinges, never a mood to articulate
under the tunnel from seamless up and
draught down.  Bounded by discrete alienation, the kind
when the proprietor is only chasing down a one eyed
Saint Bernard.  And numeric's  lead me to fenders,
tramp packed in a Blue Moon soaked napkin,
scent of blood orange’s nostalgia sting underneath
those external bones, binding those stray, loose
strands of cob webs tossed on barb wired tents
contemplating Lucy and her band of mixed wicks
like a sunder under the Pacific,  Rusted pedals
hyped up to be a new changeling.  Seeing in
the fog of old men’s stench went through the
percentage of tomorrow.  In it for a future’s vision
on a thyme leaf later lent out to a cricket
thoroughly reminiscing on a banana jacket,
refining a pig silhouette to be unafraid of a
trumped step.

VI. Produce a Serpent

A green black board full of dots
like a universe covered in backwards t-shirts
used as smocks.
Sprinkled acrylics silvers measuring the seconds
before the chaotic taps of the paintbrush made
from dissected shoelaces as it’s hairs.
College backpacks in direct violation of a cosmetic affair.
Clashes with grave stacks and moss stashes that
only a pairs burden could negotiate with.
A dimpled cheek that only a blade of artificial grass
could interrupt these slow tides of sanctity because
when I view the fishing boats sail down mud raked rivers,
bending at every trigger finger, where many wedding rings,
each detached contain the lost souls of a steadfast maturity
that once seemed so extremely branded like a dinner table
but ended up notoriously bland like mixing all the colors.
And that's when the young, self sustained import adult
could finally abrupt their Netherlands and waste their
abundant time to reclaim their primary feathers.

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Words to Myself

http://books.google.com/books?id=c-AYNpEzafQC&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false

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