Hey I heard you calling from over there. I was just staring at where the blues diminish the grays and the mountains are different shades of peas. No no I thought I heard your voice but maybe I was mistaken. There are so many different bird whistles, from the Cardinals to the Blue Jays, to the Ducks and the Snow Fouls. It was to early in the morning to actually see you. Only the noises could be distinguished from the monotony of darkness. Did you not say something from behind that oak tree between the two bushes that produced those thorns. The one’s that have dug into my skin from before. The kind that can get stuck into your skin and dig, crawl in between places you didn’t know you had, extra storage, the fleshiest pieces of skin. Can’t you just come back out and tell me your question. Was it how old am I? Or how bold was the Mayans? I could only pick up the syllables between the whirring of the leaves, the peddling of the creek, the wind just under the horizon. Only the murmur could come in contact with my ears under my knitted hat, and I was a little uncomfortable at the time too. But then when I say that orange, blood clotted circle appear, the wisps started to scatter, you know the whispers, and the dew driven gnats passed over the horizon, slowly lifting above our atmosphere, passing into unilateral time, never to be, only, seen again.
***
I saw the words on the other side of the stars. People usually say stars twinkle but their light remains constant, as an object, and if they are transforming slowly, fading and awning, that means they are only passively entering death. Stars have options before they die like words have many ways to be interpreted. Each second I stare, the wind passed over the clouds, usually pearl white, now hardly distinguishable between the midnight purple of space and the blackness of the clouds. It’s as if the words on a page were being wrapped underneath the spacing between lines, were missed between the message of a sentence, the massage of senses. It never truly made any remarks, no remembrance of my past, no insight on the future. Just letters illuminated under my own two flashlight eyes. Letters I have never seen before, only touched with my hands, only smelt being spoken from chapped lips, from a parched mouth and a salivating tooth. I thought I saw it again, even when I stare at the same spot, just north of Orion’s belt, after every blink, looking until the dirty particles project into my thin veiled plasma obstructing my lenses.
How can I break the Fifth?
Are you there? The person reading this without an affair. With your sterling eyes stuck on a page like a match to sage, can you give me advice with your interiority, make me, the author, feel wanted or relate me to sink in inferiority. I’ll just keep pushing like a support is falling like Sisyphus.
But how do I break the wall, any of them. If there is a fourth, how many are there, what are the first three?
The hardest is to signify the first, the origin of the piece of work. But before the work, there must be the words. The act of communication between you and I, more me and you or I and you like there was a strawberry between us, seeds being digested and like ideas being rerouted. Breaking down the words, consisting of definitions and constricting symbolic contradictions, only leaves me to, only leads me to, you, you.
So now I can tell you what I feel and you then take those meanings and translate them into experiences, and do it by yourself, add meaning to you, and it makes me the giver, a personified holiday.
Second wall has to be, possibly must be, reality. It’s not just a communication, it’s from me to you. It’s not conversational, you never talk or even respond, just listen. It’s a story, it’s own reality apart from ours but our only relation to it (the story) is by referencing ours to mine (that I created.) It’s that multitude of shadows that cast from a proximity of street lights, artificial, with the faintness of the moon’s shine, your original shadow. We realize it’s a matter of fact, these words are as concrete as concrete and can never be changed. It’s a story, that reads as if it’s a part of history or from a different, possibly parallel, universe. Now the story is mine, given to you by the gratification of me. I am apart of you but apart, higher, possibly lower, giving you information that you could now use as experience.
“Jimmy started frolicking in the field after he found a feather that belonged to a foul.”
It’s not only a story, a one way street but we, even I, realize it’s fake. The more we push at the falsities of the communications between us supposedly the more we start pushing towards the third. But now we hit the brakes but we still crash land into the third wall. Artistic merit. It’s not just similar words, language that is engrammed in us, it’s stationary between all of us, and there's a story, the conversation is lost because of me but now our respected positions have been established and we are now being entertained. Not only by the story but by the sanctity of art, the education of experiences, the relatability from one universe to the next. The universe I have created is now known to be false, your’s is true and there is a correlation, a message being wrought from falsehood into your reality and now you ,the audience, start to actualize that you reality, your life and every possible possibility, could add up to the story, a story, any story, our third wall will is the juxtaposition of all universes and now we realize it’s art, it’s an experience, a thought for entertainment or education that can only be given by the medium by the constitution of art. I am nothing but the giver, I have set it free into eyes, into perception, into memes.
Then we come up to
the fourth, the most talked about, what we want to explore, where we are afraid
to knock to much. But so much is
described, added to the forth that, it upsets me, the logic is phallic, is to
loose. Don’t look into the lens and know
you are in the film. Is the fourth wall,
this barrier of entry, the acknowledgment of the audience or the insertion of
them into the act. Is it the artists
assertion into the piece, the mirroring of shadows, or even the story knowing
it’s a story. If one is here and trusts
the structure of the walls, the bricks that stack up over our heads and we must
agree that there are at least six walls that all are layered on top of each
other in an archway. The fourth, to
follow my structure, would be if the characters in the story absolutely knew
that they were in a piece of art. The
characters would be aware of this and adhere to the new, natural, laws that are
given to them. An artist can do with
what he chooses but the first idea that comes to my mind would be if a set of
characters liven in our universe, know the inner workings of the cosmos and our
physics and then know that they have been transported to a new world and then
they would have to cope with the fiction and the juxtaposition of this new
reality. It’s like being in an event, knowing
you will tell it later because it’s so good, so you stretch it, you start
crafting the, or your, story.
And then the firth wall, would
be inserting the audience into the story, now our reality, our spectators, are
influencing another reality, and start to become the author of it as well. The art starts becoming a democracy and the
audience is then on a double duty, taking on two roles, one as a myriad of
characters at their choosing and also the critic. Thus, if done correctly, gives the
participants a positive experience. A
double shadow, two experiences in one.
Not only is the message or the entertainment educating them into the
experience as a catharsis and on top of that is the present of experience of
acting, a dream for all, that is finally become a resolution.
And then there is the last, the
overlapping of the archway to exploration.
It’s the artist, me to you, being added into the story. Not only am I writing in my own voice, my own
individuality but then I make a copy of myself, or who I identify myself ass
and add him to my story. I break through
all the walls simultaneously and then try to hide my foot prints. I acknowledge I’m the author, authors craft
stories and then the audience knows I am
the writer, I’m on the cover and now, both universes have been shattered and
fragmented together into a piece of art.
It’s in pieces like the wall and these are the barriers of literature,
of art that has been lost. I have
finally lowered the pedestal and either lifted you all up to my level or I have
come down to experience it with you, as a public. The art is now grounded.
#2
A tribute from a
center creature
within a territory
of insular tetrahedrons
each side fitted
with nomenclatures
until the senses
seem suspenseful
lest the moment of
over load
Hire the realtor to
my mind
Before I lose the
twinkling of consciousness
that little grave
that woke you up.
This is just like
the nights I’m about to
throw up. The spinning of music between
axis of sound. The growing up
geometry from
peripherals to inverse
walls, slamming
together like parts.
like sex until the
chunks slide up
my throat with no
participation.
My throat feels
like fish nets
on the closest
woman’s leggings.
Swallow like you
were sprayed by
cellar smoke or
vent fumes.
All the wants can
be answered
only outdoors
by ones self.
But then you
realize its you
inside your head,
those thoughts have
a property.
Staring at a
cigarette that’s lit filter first.
Blasphemy blasted
back, arrogance
draws down like
hale.
Cropped out of
pictures,
forgotten by a
flash,
tensions in oneself
like a gutted salmon.
At least I am
surrounded by lights
and a friendly
voice.
I smoke cigarettes
So I've stunted my
growth
But even before
that
I was on caffeine
Mixed in with
arrogance and
A low self esteem.
I already disrupted
my pre-determined path
Of who I should
have been
By unhealthiness
and
Imaginations of
being rich again.
Now I have the hard
choice to make myself into what I
Picture would be
me.
What about my
relatives or even older brothers?
They have just
fallen into what
I picture the
future, a place that's too similar,
Nothing like my
parents,
Nothing but
conventional.
Still trying to
re-claim their old selves, buying video games
Just for the
collection, their identity, not the experience.
The only thing I
want to repeat is no kids.
I never knew a
newspaper would hold my obituary before I was deceased. I'm still here properly dressed, about to see
my uture wife in her brilliantly blue wedding dress.
Announcements,
announcements
Across the white
wedge
Walking in a
straight line,
On a ledge made of
pearl
Don't worry
Just a curl
It's just one curl
Off from your
hairstyle,
A breeze must of
knocked it aside
I paid, out of a
canvas wallet,
For the public
notification.
Credit is weird and
a strange beast to worry about. We all
know it's fake or built on using no money.
This is nothing new but what I find the most peculiar is the consumer
side. We need credit for the score. It's like an ACT test score for college or a
dissertation for your doctorate or a recommendation for a job but the system
isn't built on preparation or intelligence or an ability but it relies on
responsibility and your active part in being able to pay more money then
something is actually put on the market for.
It's like a loan that you carry around in your back pocket. So here I am, trying to save money for maybe
a new computer, a television, some convenient appliance that I want because
I'll use it and I don't have it. Do I
need it? No and actually getting it
would actually cause me to be less productive.
It would inhibit me to become counter intuitive towards money. I make money on work, so I should spend it to
either live or make more money. On my
understanding of money is that it is used as a debt service. Shouldn't we only pay if something is done
not undone? Like a hospital bill. Should we pay if the relative is still dead? We pay money to continue making money, to pay
that money back but when we start offering our money for uncompleted tasks and
just to pay for equipment, which is the producers concern, and for the
employees, which is the producers concern as well. If we can't pay, or don't have the ability to
keep living and proving your worth/making money then money would become low
risk. We wouldn't just be throwing it
around to somehow make life exist. But
let me leave the capitalization on a community, it's been said and it's
reality. Where we break from reality is
the purchasing with a credit care. We
have appeared to spend x money where x is the amount that we should be able to
make on the payments. So we get handed
money that we supposedly can pay.
[Sounds like a concrete sign of a social caste system.] So we start buying things to further are
standings in the world, owning nothing but the emotion of having these
artifacts, that support a capitalistic, four tiered social stratification. We are supposed to have these things, we
think, because that is who we are. It's
a certain dilemma on our identities. The way that it escapes reality is that it
is a futuristic thought; it's an object that you would be able to afford
eventually based on the idea of credit, if you overcome your thoughts of
necessity over pleasure. The object
becomes materialized before you because of who you are and the security that is
entrusted on you. The object is there
but it's not real, it's entertainment.
One could buy necessities on credit but this arguably is foolish,
because it's digging your life into a hole, not for shelter but for idleness. You're only waiting for the hole to come full
circle and you exit miraculously or a gravedigger to put the excavated dirt
back over you.
With the inclusion
of reproducibility, we start to lose the idea that art is an experience that
keeps brewing and marinating. It can't
age the same way an artistic movement once was.
Now the act of making art is about time tables and dead lines. Art has become more public, instead of
separating the consumer from the producer, the art has now been marketed,
branded and even commercialized because the release of art is on a cyclical
schedule of weeks and months.
With the Internet,
the digital revolution, two things that have once thrived on art has now been
removed. First the Internet is full of
art, pictures, films, drugs, writing and music.
Everyone has something to share.
The connectivability is international.
It's unique but with the ability to pick which art we want to watch,
what the audience wants to be, leaving the audience to one at a time. It is not only takes away the interaction wit
the art, leaving ones world to go explore the new, delving not only into the
singular but the architecture, the surrounding of plurals, of many different
pieces of art that compliment each other.
Second, we are given, the public, the audience, the lens, the narration,
and now instead of viewing randomsity, exploring art that you wouldn't with an
option. We pick and choose and have the
remote controller to stop the art.
Instead of only having two options (to experience or to disengage) we
know of. We can pause, stop, fast
forward, rewind, put it on slow motion, and move onto the next, completely
different from the last. The more
options present and to us, the audience, the lose control artist has a mode of
experience and the shift, when the artist sells his byproduct, he gives the
consumer the authority not only for spending money but by giving them the art with
all the appliances to modify the experience.
The internet gives
the ability, the market/town square, to share in hyper reality since we are
dealing with a community that is elongated across the globe. Art forms are made to supplement what another
art form can't do but is presented throughout the work. But forms are mode shifting, we are beginning
to explore new structures to the forms.
Web episodes, especially and now we have a market for any length instead
of short stories to novels or singles to records or to shorts to feature
lengths. But these new areas aren't
exploring the artistic credibility that the original five started. These five are still exploring each other but
in the reality arts (film and photography), perfection is starting to happen. Web series hit a peak, talking into the
camera, with a first person account has one of the first things people did with
web cameras. It's engaging and
purposeful. But forms are supposed to be
exploring there medium to eventually be transcended into a new form but since
the form isn't only being set aside but being reproduced entirely since art is
now a money gain and a market. And
markets need marketers. With the form now
disrupted by the static, the passing of and touching of innumerable amounts of
art, form or even the natural progression of art has been set aside so we can
modify cult stories leading us into reproducing work instead of distributing
work. But this could of been seen all
along, art was on display, then distributed, how it's directly given to
you. Art has been discovering a path of
convenience this whole time. Art has
been so consumable and digested before digestion. Instead of just experiencing a form at a time
like we are trained to do, go out for a movie, sit in silence for a book, view
art at a galley, but now we can do all of them in the comfort of our own
house. They can even be mixed. We can read and listen to music of our own
choosing's. Form has become extraneous,
the experience has become a public connection rather then a connection with the
art. It's not entirely about the
emotions the audience explores and that's why they connect but above the level
of consumption.
The animal
specialists were marveled by these Kenyan Wild Dogs. This was the first time they have seen an
actual animal ritual before there eyes.
Sure there are bears that hibernate for no good reason or squirrels that
collect nuts like crack cocaine but this was something else. The oldest dogs of the neighboring packs got
together all gra haired and balding, and convoyed there way to a special
clearing off in a patch of grass. One
took the lead, the specialist called him the alpha dog, the oldest and
wisest. His head was low as he sniffed
the wet grass and as he sniffed his head jerked back and he let out a long howl
that called the other dogs over to encircle him. They all began howling and the specialists
were cheering with excitement. The dogs
then stared at the specialists with annoyance and continued on. They all bowed there heads took one final
sniff and started digging up the sand like soil. The dirt was being scraped in piles behind
them almost like a circular mound. The
alpha male would start digging when white poked up from the soil. The would take his gnarly, rotting teeth and
pull up the bone, move it to the outer ridge of the mound and place it. There was one dog outside of the group that
just watched and laid next to the bones weeping and he was confused. The specialists were trying to keep quiet but
kept on whispering there enjoyment and enthusiasm. Wow dogs have ceremonies like us and this
must be a cemetery like us. The
comparisons between canine lupis and homo sapiens kept boiling over, until they
couldn't hold there information to whispers anymore and they started yelling
because they all had some crack pot theory to let out of their safe guts. The dogs, yet annoyed, looked at them as
their sight was being diminished by the growing mound. The specialists wanted to get closer, to get
a first hand look but all safety guidelines told them not to. They wanted an aerial view. They needed this on tape but no helicopters
were in the area. The dogs kept digging
until the alpha dog growled, loudly, and howled one more time. The dogs moved around him and all sunk down,
and laid on there bellies and stretched out.
They all looked comfortable and in relief. As the alpha male finally laid down after all
the other dogs, he let out three successive barks. The dong on the outside perked up on his hind
legs, looking over the mound to see them all laying there. They all started yipping like puppies and the
only way the dog could get to them was to push the soil over them slowly. Each yip kept flaring up through the soil
signaling the dog to keep putting the soil over them, easily and smoothly until
the area in the grass looked exactly like it was just a few hours ago. The only thing left was the new alpha male
and a pile of dog bones and the descending echoes of dog yips. When the sounds
finally stooped, you could hear one last howl, the alpha dog doing one last
sniff of the area. The new alpha dog
started running off as the ground shook from the reverberance of a last good
howl.
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.
The origin of experience is the
closest one gets to living in their fantasy.
That initial time will always be engrammed into the soul as a stepping
stone for future endeavors.
The first time we consummated
was the best it could be because the buildup of desires and hormones could
never reach that exact level after the sex.
When I laid her on my twin size bed and we removed each other's clothes
delicately will always be perfection and now we are stepping further and
further away from it.
After we both orgasm, her
usually on top, grinding her smooth hips into my bony pelvic bone, she gets off
and crosses her legs and exits the room.
To my knowledge, she goes to the bathroom and cleans up but I have never
really checked because I tried once when we were still engaged and the door was
locked. It's always locked when she's in
there. This gives me about ten minutes
to lay in the bed in peace and to tally my results in my little black book.
So orgasm, she leaves, and I
scurry to my bottom drawer of my dresser, underneath my old work attire when I
worked the random bars and clubs and got presented event t-shirts, and I flip
to the page I was on and tally. Each
time I have had sex has been recorded in this book. It's a book that contains some of the most
triumphant acts in my life and also the most pitiful.
But for the last nine years,
I've been stuck on one woman, my wife, and the number, today, has just reached
1000. Each tally stares back at me as if
I could recall each one but I can't. Sex
started to blur. We have had sex every
three and a quarter days.
A number, after awhile, after
acculmation, starts losing its signifigance.
Either the number never meant much like counting the rain drops in April
Showers or that number has been inflated and has lost its original value.
Sex after awhile, with one
women, starts becoming a chore. Either
the sex never held any weight like having sex on the beach during the sunrise
or the sex has been transfused with your life, no longer an experience but an
act like going to the same job every day.
She knows about my book or
knew. She found it when we were still
dating in graduate school and laughed.
She thought it was cute because of how few of "conquests" I
had. I'm sure she thought I ditched it
when we moved from our apartment to this house, our transistion from engagement
to marriage. But I have always kept onto
it. I was going to leave it behind by
girls keep their childhood diaries and men keep the baseballs they caught at
the games. All I have from my past is
photographs and this black book.
Objects can hold more
experiences in them then a human. They
are within an experience and a simple appliance could turn a man from selfish
thought to pitiful to happy on a different day of the week. The thing can blind involuntarily or it could
change your life for the best. But you
can always throw it away or put it in a display case. Each and everything we come in contact
with. And we designate the physical as
an artist tells us all about the fictional, imaginative, growing world that is
within us. But what changes the object
isn't the description or the definition but the beginning and conclusion. The middle, the present, never matters.
I hid the black book back
underneath my retired work clothes and then I turned out the lights, my
responsibility, and went underneath the white sheets adoring our bed. I begin to hide, fall and hide behind my
pillow. I can hear my wife skip to our
bedroom, each lunge hitting wood, I can see her with her eyes closed afraid of
the dark but not hers.
I heard the door knob turning
and see it, the bonze metal turning against our white door. She tries to be
silent, to sneak in if I've fallen asleep which I have never done before. The door creaks like an echo and she slowly
slides her body in the wedge between the door and the wall. She glances at me peaking at her and we both
smile, mostly with the crow's feet beneath our eyes but her simple teeth show
through her dewy lips. And she steps
towards me, unsheathing her pink, rosy, robe so we can lay naked. She holds me
tonight as her breasts tickle my low shoulder blades, caressing our love
between our skins. This isn't an
everyday occurrence but it's happened before and it's refreshing.
Love is a constant struggle of
mystery. What is it? It's the only thing, a constant experience of
a spectrum of emotions that will abrupt your present thought. You are always waiting, surprised or
disappointed, but waiting for your pre-conceived notion to occur or for it to
be turned against you. Love is the only
thing that can't be trained, can't be understood through mathematics and
logic. It's an angst teenager against
Mother Nature and Father Time. It is the
only news you care about and the simplest thing one could live in always and
experiences wholly.
My wife lets out a whisper but
I can't hear her, only certain letters between the gaps of breath. I ask her to repeat herself. My wife asks, after clearing her throat from
the long day, "So what are we up to?" like she had some premonition
of the number.
I tell her, into her left ear
that was resting on the curvature of my neck "We just hit 1000." And
she breathes slowly. "That means we have had sex every 3.28
days." She grinds closer to me,
in-between the line made up of our compressed bodies. She lets out a "Wow" and a
"good night/love you" and quickly diminishes in slumber.
A body is usually defined as
one, an individual, but usually it includes more than one would think. Inspirations contend within and protrude
outwards. Influence affects us and the
touching of bodies, in and out, is a slithering of snake skin. It's an escape into our next, more developed,
consciousness. We live on forever, a
passing of influence and energy. And
soon enough we will lay together, back up, arms crossed, next to each other
dazed by our lives together, pushing us deeper into death forever. But it doesn't matter; the thought doesn't
hurt as much as it can, as we lay holding each other after dealing in nature
and reality for a day or two. We hold
each other the way we are supposed to, the way we came, naked and for
security. We never get in our way unless
we ask for it and our home becomes the heart as quick as our love turned into
tradition and back again.
Day never feels
like things. Heat usually brings in
forgetfulness.
Problems only leave
blisters. And you never knew the
difference.
Anatomy looks like
a blue print. Applications are
appendages.
Can’t hear voices
through the sound. Points are subjects.
Nothings can tell
the difference. Answers go like energy.
Presents under the
conscious. Spheres scan us like
4-D.
Through it into
maniacs. Tellings from a Muse.
Will these
work? Mending the soul sincerely.
Things you know
some times don’t feel the same.
They used to feel
but then the eventually left.
For a moment. For a delusion.
It never was a full
opportunity.
Even a mistake can
turn into a roll.
Many a days with
the same dreams.
And then you
recognize the distance.
The differences
between and within.
The measurements
between clouds and skies.
They could be the
disruption.
Taking paths down
family trees.
Even when the
energy still exists consequentially.
It’s all you learn
about.
Hear it from the
mouths.
Feel it like a
melt.
And the only thing
that hurts is no intimacy
and not being able
to pick what to say.
When did it happen?
[Or] Its only
marked by the wind.
Even when you
discuss it over and over.
In your head and
Out your mouth.
And the only way
the fog can pass is through distractions
and I see the steam
coming me.
Out of soiled pores
distant from one another.
Far enough where I
can’t vision them
deep enough where
it penetrates emotionally.
And count forward
from 1-1000 and don’t
miss a conclusion
with each thought.
Sad, Sad Things
Cry in the shower
so you don't remember where the source of water is from.
Its when the easy
things decide to slip like where the garbage bags are that you know a mistake
has happened and we are to flung into the future to remember. But we must care.
My roots are only
veins. Simple blue intertwined running like dampened creeks down my thin hands.
Some branch and come together farther down the habitat. Flow. Flow through my
bones so I can induce movement. So I can murmur under propriation. Flow till my
nectar ceases without breath. Without my knowledge of oxygen invading and
escaping my heart. I rape. I rape my
surroundings selfishly like the next stranger rooted in their bubble. Ill take
without a yes. Ill take it in my fantasy until reality is suffocated even when
my eyes close. I cant find you anymore. I could never know the you that you
intend to be. You are who I rape and your veins are immaterial. Your flow is
only around you that I can manipulate under the stress of my imagination. You
bend you bleed and you succumb to my enslaved thoughts. Even when you are less
then nothing only the thought of a lonely spirit under branches that never
touch again.
Black anthems space
canting only as shy as rancid. Temper tantrum only as quick until the darkness
unfolds and we get sick. Love is as infinite like a mandible and interior space
is spacious like a room of cancer fulls. Cant keep a trained thought many run
like I had a gang start or a gang Starr. Verbally unfocused static particles re
broken. Bones can only become fractured but emotions are a spaceship wreck on
given cleft looking for a lonely moon waiting to be swept under a queen size
mattress with a deaf broom. Only heard when I hate what I say and its been
dictated so it burns when I pay. Under graduate but I'm stuck under the bed
worshipping the miles of heads stuck vertical and ill just be stuck under
incontrovertible.
These things don’t
feel the same
When it’s run off
into the distance
when I’m in the
light
picking up the
fragments
but when will the
fattest
problems arise
Differences passed
onto a degree
And I don’t know
where I’ll be
if the beds finally
touch
and we find out we
weren’t missed much
Findings the keys
to the possession
Will only be able
to look up
moments
not feelings, don’t
act accordingly
I’m supposed to be
holding the
I’m a man
just liked the
one’s I was shown.
Never again
will we face the silences
isn’t it hot again
trying to travel
ahead
Not being able to
move from my bed spread
so many thoughts,
only dead again.
Static Particles
Uh, Yeah,
Sad Sad Things
Brought to you by
Halucigens
and
Numbah 4
We Made This!
Ugh, Yeah
It’s never going to
happen again
Not going to feel
the same things
Never going to look
the same way
Only passing on
what I learned
from broken books
and Burnt
languages, turning
from Presbyterians
Pass the black
Only if I can spit
a stack
And this is where
we heard north
where the fiends
start to become poor
and the
possibilities are farther from shore
and we never knew
it would fall like this
on a clouded city
next minute in an
octopus
And it’s all sad
sad things
like when you hear
a wet dream
and you can feel
your own self esteem
beginning to wonder
whose real
the couch or you
and you pass blue
and know it’s
supposed to make you sad
and the knowledge
doesn’t help
you can’t ever be
glad
not for a witness
not for a stand
and I’m the only one
that can make it better
not if I wrote my
online girlfriend a letter
Hey I’m working in
your town
what would that
bring but shy attempts
and endless let
downs
See a frown
and bend it back
down
and see a tear
and send it here.
Up for the morning
lightning, only see flecks of light through opaque clouds.
Asleep from the
sun, the one that I can only imagine what it feels like.
No sleep, no sleep,
just nap un expectantly. Fall asleep
before you can reveal a thought
and expose the pain
that only over analyzation can bring.
Blame the
therapists. And yell at our brains to
stop revealing such slander.
I’m trying to feel
the objective just one last time. But
the receipt has no numbers.
And it’s just a
torn piece of packaging cardboard from action figures.
Been lied to like
god less visions, passed up through thoughtful decisions
Passed out in a
friends basement, absent like a cave painting
I don’t know where
to go, viewing through a prism
a dream or a
prison. Never pushing up
in life
just all around,
trying to find my way like being in snow cover
and I can’t even
count on my own brother
it’s a bunch of
sadness, on different planes
and abstract
planets
It’s a day where
you find Atlantis
while you are stuck
in traffic
and the clouds are
in panic
because the
difference between sun and light
and the ball is
tasteless
while the energy
can only see color
in movie theaters
playing the Titanic.
No I rather get my
opinions from someone completely removed from the experience. If you have tried it and had to choose, you
would obviously tell me to choose the route you did not take. Having someone that has never occurred upon
that experience provides the best knowledge to the subject. He is an ally.
Spending Money to
Make Money
But I can get it
for free.
We have all heard
the fable or would it just be a quote or a quim. But I can own the thing without having to
purchase it through piracy. Piracy can't
be a bad thing because it explodes boundaries of entrance. But if I have the money to spend on it,
shouldn't I be saving instead of splurging.
But that thing could make you money.
Well I have both, savings from working, and the program to suceed. But you are not spending money to make
money. It's an anomally in our
society. It makes sense though. If I have rent or revolving payments to be
made, I need a job that makes me money.
I need that job. With the idea of
spending money to make money would work if everything you bought past a
minimium boundary could then calculate into money/value/physical. But their is too many promises to keep up
with actually spending the money. I
could make X doing X if I am lucky enough.
Luck is too wide with the boundaries of entrance demolished.
The cities are exploding like yolk. The streets are full of em. Little eggs trying to push their way through to me. To us. It's a bother really, the peons entering into the economic playground. This is nature, this is how you survive. It's worthless to enter with divided attention. The atmosphere is not understood.
It's forgotten through the years when the final impact hit. We are looking for change but haulted by our will to escape traditions. Have we been changing or just adapting? Evolution or a Revolution. Soon we will feel it take shape in us. The urge to fight across the oceans. Our power of irrational will soon be able to take shape into a tangible being, a wrecking ball of extremes. It fell from the hands of the Undertaker. No one could be the face of Reason, a drastic fact pushed out of our enviroment like archaic nature. Is that the worst part? The willingness of our pathes to cross in a world developed not by us but by all. When can we all leave? We were supposed to be shipped to mars as well. They all went and disconnected transmission wit us. They knew. And now we would respect reparations. Fate took our money. Called it Necessary Taxes. We needed regulation, we needed reform, we wanted innovation. I thought dishonesty left in 2025.
Sketch
Man walks into convenient store and asks the clerk for 2 grams of Coke. The clerk looks donwright pissed. The man notices and grabs at a vial of Coke Cola. And points to it and says see. He opens the top and a microphone goes off saying "Don't forget to watch American Idol on Mondays on Fox" and the man says "Yeah Yeah I know" and drips it into his mouth.
Joke is about trademarks and how they don't change through culture.
We had plans to move to minesota
but now you still have to go with your
new best friend
something I was called
but now I'm just your ex friend
I know it's supposed to be blessing
Now I'm just the next man
A being single is not what's it cracked up to be
Opening my eyes was never hard before
And I'll never be anything but poor
laying out for the sun on the glass shore
I can't see the bar, hell I can't see over anything
except these petty rings and obvious dings
no suit, no soldier
no polyamarous, no boulder
thoughts aren't adding up, still trying to take
the chips off my head and shoulders.
I used to be your best friend
now I'm just your ex/friend
and here comes the blessing
but now i'm just the next thing
placed in a filing cabinet labeled
"supposed to be a blessing"
And I'll always have this sickness
it's a disease, it's known for it's quickness
All along just a spell, I could tell by the
flick of a wrist
And I always thought I would be better than this
dead before the beheading
a state of shock,
a caberet around a wedding,
even though the layers of reality
are sheading.
And it's an open ending.
I used to be your best friend
now I'm just your ex/friend
and here comes the blessing
but now i'm just the next thing
placed in a filing cabinet labeled
"supposed to be a blessing"
even though the layers of reality
are sheading.
And it's an open ending.
What makes a world a world?
You can only spin me around so much
What makes a world a world?
A Civil War
The Civil War
What makes a world a war?
a long black road
a long black road followed me home
a long black road
When wil lthe war happen? You know the next one, number three. The next world war is among us but like the rest of us narcissists and cynics just want to know when? Jeez how many times does America have to just wage war on anyone, who will notice, when will they notice. That being said, everyone have always told me that the 20th century wars were fought over oil. I'm not a fact checker because I'm sure I could find reasonable information to support any broad claim over any reliable resource. But I have to admit that the later wars (gulf war) is wasily recognized as the oil war. Then these same spouters (people that just say whatever to get people into their world) have also told me that wars in the 21st century will be over water. Boring. If that wouldn't be the most embarrasing war ever fought, I don't know what would be. All that comes to mind is when Germany invaded Poland and road there tanks over horses backs. Are we going to fight for the oceans? For Antartica? That doesn't really excite me. The only thing that is exciting is killing mass amounts of people and then saying "Look more water." And people drink it up because it's so fresh but really it's from the byproduct of murder not manslaughter. "Yeah now I get water" is said by the children. "Look I can take a shower three times a day" is said by the mistress. But it had nothing to do with the war, or a righteous idea to manipulate others usually harmfully, just the decrease in humanities population.
God I can just feel the next war coming and all I can do is rub my fingers together, softly. It's not that society is all that bad. Come on, I'm American. I have the nicest things delivered to my door step. My home is my sanctuary. But the inbalances in our culture is big enough or should I say wide enough to bring about a change. Alot of it has to do with information. Yum yum yum let me get a hold of that new tasty information. It's hyper... It's a giant stream that will soon catch up to the speed of light. Give everyone a way to communicate and see it flooded. We will soon not care who we speaking too, friends are obselete, family is just for survival. Soon, the prowl will catch up to us and we will feel nature release us. When will we domesticate things for leisure? Robots? Jeez. Concepts laid behind by marketability. Give me my damn robot that writes for me. Or delivers pizzas. Either one, I'm willing to make a trade. A trade with the robot.
Is world war three on it's way or is the world too nice to go to war. Who would we even war with? Can't we go to war just to fight and to lose millions.
sell the moon to china
spend, innovate, plan
buy back the moon from china
give them the world
we pack up everything
and
move to the moon.
All we heard about for years was Diablo. If you never played Diablo, everyone who ever seen it played told you how good it was. How great it was. The cow level. Diablo! You heard about people selling items on ebay for money. The scams and hacks. The usual end to the game and the wait. Blizzard makes you get hard (to each its own genderly) before they release the game. Diablo 3 hit a flaccid influence with constant delays. So they released it to fun. Personally I was waiting at my laptop in my parent's basement waiting. I would of gotten it at gamestop to play it at midnight but no, I had to wait for Pacific Time. Okay two hours, it will only be 2 in the morning. Try to log on at 2. Problem, Error, thirty minutes later I'm just listening to pandora constantly typing in my password. Hour into it I'm watching the comments fly in on disgruntled customers. I finally get a bite. Character Creation. One Whip Dr. (what I call my witch doctor) coming on up. Create please! The server lags. For about a minute. Character Creation screen again. Character failed to be made? One whip dr coming on up. AGAIN. Throws me out of that. Bad start but I waited. I was a junkie for Christ's sake.
Got in and played it for five hours until I beat the Skeleton King (where the beta ended.)
If you like a solid gameplay, you wil lfind your self in awe. Now this game is addicting. Yeah there isn't a talent tree but the same elements apply. Each skill has runes to boost the ability or have some aura effect that heals you or increases your speed of attack. Their is about five abilities to pick from. two for the mouse and then the first four numbers. Six times Five equals thirty different moves. Then they have about 5-6 runes each. The number of unique play styles to your character is unimaginable. Later in the game, there is going to have to be some fine tuning on your character's "build."
Diablo is fun with a friend. I played with my roommate and it can really just suck your day up. You lose track of all time and start living on Diablo time which seconds are mobs, minutes are quests, and hours are acts. You want to plow through this game. Story? Oh yeah I'm helping people by killing the seven sins? Okay let me just kill Diablo and get this over with.
Could never stop getting excited over loot. So tasty. Loot goblins running through legendary mobs. Get it for lootfest. Oh it's like a parade of swords, daggers and wands. And you need all of it. So you can have money to pay for everything. You saved a blacksmith by killing his wife? He will build these things for you with a giant mark up. Who in the right mind would gamble thousands of gold for a yellow random attribute shield? You lose all that material for the worst thing you have ever seen, casting it aside to just repetitively make shields to lose all your cash for mediocre shields. Option to custom item build would be amazing.
The always online really does suck and live up to it's hate. I got hacked. Just got my new computer (laptop broke and computerless for a week @_@) and then I get it all running, up way to late, and bam, my characters been hacked. I yell at the customer service rep about discrimination and me being pissed off so I get it all situated in about two days. Close one.
But then the grind starts to kick in. I probably have over a hundred logged in hours. Man I was playing it with my roommate non stop. We work together so we had the same days off. But running two characters simultaneously was a risk. Playing the same story of a game is never fun. You learn all of the maps and the places you can't skip. The fights are harder which is a lot of fun trying to out maneuver the mobs. There is still fun but the length is dragging me down. Act II sucks. Act III is great. It then starts to feel like a chore. "Hey lets knock a few out in Diablo tonight." Playing other games, quicker games, pulls you out of the length of time you devoted to entertainment's nothingness. But I can always view my level 60 w/d and think, I can still fucking beat Inferno. Every hero needs to wait.
8/10
Pros
-Highly Addicting
-So many ways to play
-Loot will never unappeal. Legendaries are twitter worthy
Cons
-Highly Addicting but easy to get off.
-Not enough end game except for entrepeneurs
-Bad start to game already waning.
I don't necessarily know where this fits. The discussion behind web series has really flickered after the independent crowd really tussled it up. I personally am I giant fan of them. I've seen the guild and watched it all in about a week. I also enjoy shorts by "Stella" and David Wain's "Wainy Days." It's free television, shorter, quicker, and usually ironic.
I actually found out about Burning Love through stumble upon. So devious of me, but I am surprised I did not know about this. Yet again, huge fan of Ken Marino from Party Down and The State. Lover of Michael Ian Black. I own both his books and pretty much anything he's written, directed or acted in. I find this crew or even style of comedy (reminescent of The State (early MTV sketch comedy show circa 1990's.) These shoot right at low brow and high brow which is great because they hit so many ranges of comedy.
But back to the WEB SERIES called BURNING LOVE. (http://screen.yahoo.com/burning-love/) The beauty is that it is completely free. Yeah there is an ad between each webisode (about ten minute long episodes) but whose to complain. This is what we have always wanted! Free entertainment. Burning Love is a scripted reality show where Ken Marino's character tries to find love while be introduced to 15 women.
This is where it gets interesting. Not only does it feel like a straight up reality show (are those things scripted because I LOVE THEM) but it is also intentionally funny. First off, the girls are great. It could be that my girlfriend just broke up with me but I am entirely indifferent about women. This show has the best range of women characters ever. The closeted lesbian, the stalker, the tits, the partier. The best characters from your favorite reality shows have a role in this, fictionally of course.
I think I already said this but this show has amazing cameos. And great "What you will be seeing next episode" moments that are on par with Arrested Development's. Yeah I said it. (E> chris rock)
Each episode revolves around at least one elimination. There's a talent portion and then he picks the winner of that which he goes on the date. Basically Ken's character is an every guy. Guy's are easy to write for and they really nailed him into just this guy going with the flow. He has a therapist who isn't a license therapist. Man this show (webishow?) goes off the rails in a gooood way.
Pros
-Definitely MY thing
-Best cast
-Hilarious. I don't laugh alot but I at least laugh twice OUT LOUD an episode.
-The Big Bang for it's buck
Cons
-Web Series are confusing
DOTA 2 BETA REVIEW err First Impressions
I don't know if I am supposed to review a Beta. It's usually looked down upon in the industry but since I am not in the industry I feel like I must do everyone my fellow service of talking about this game. Dota 2 is run by Valve. Yeah the same type of company like Blizzard that survives off of hype and long, development cycles. Who knows when Dota 2 will actually be "out" even though it will be free2play like the beta. Like all free2play games there is a cash shop that unbalances the game. Who would spend money on a beta? I wouldn't even spend money on a game unless it's on a console.
Dota made the MOBA genre famous when it was released as an "add on" for Warcraft III. Now there is League of Legends and Demigod and so many other developers trying to get into this new cash crop. These games are fun. It's 5v5 team deathmatch. Each side has a "town" that must be destroyed to win. You get to pick from way to many characters that are "different" and they level up to 25. Each character has 4 unique abilties that you level up while you level up. Different builds are important to know and if you are not an expert at a characters use, you will get called out and you will have a bad time.
Dying is basically calling yourself a noob and everyone on your team will definitely be thinking that. The player base in these games is that if you give someone something to complain about, they will use it all day to complain about because they didn't win a match. Because this game is all about winning (which game isn't) and being the best.
Since this game is completely online it has a few flaws. Heres my issues with the connections. It takes about 4 minutes to find a match. All ten people have to accept and after four minutes, the most patient person is still looking at their facebook account. Each time you want to play, expect waiting ten minutes to get into a match. But when you get there, the player has to connect as well and somehow through glitches and shitty computers, they could drop. Thus waiting another ten minutes. It's a really bad matchmaker. Also in a game, players decide to quit before the game starts. Someone might of picked there hero before them or they had to actually leave their chair to do something. It's a travesty because then the game doesn't even count. If one player, I.E. STRANGER, leaves then you don't get a win. Worst example of a democracy ever.
The games are fun if no one leaves and each side has equal skill levels. This happens about once every 5 hours of gameplay. So one out of five games. Usually people leave or just quit and begin to farm. If a character if farmed then not only do they not have any money to buy gear but the person that kept killing them has lots of money. Probably money the game had to give him because I didn't even have that money to begin with. There is no better feeling in the world then beating an elitist at their own game and this is it. If you can beat some "pro" at DOTA II, then you can go to sleep tonight. If you have ever listened to people scraming in your ear, wanting to be manager/supervisor, and telling you how to run your life (play the game) then BEAT THAT FUCKER.
Also finding your hero is excuciating. You could possibly play 90 matches (I know the amount of heroes is around here) and have to start over looking for your hero. Each hero is picky, has different ways to be played and different items to be purchased to enhance it. Getting over the learning curve in this game will take a long time. Ask questions even if you get called a noob. You are a noob for a reason so embrace it. I've been playing these since 06 and I still ask questions. Each game is different. Each hero is different. If you like randomosity then you'll love this.
Two more things that are on the fence. The user interface is ugly. I think you should be able to zoom out just a tad more. I can hardly ever get the screen in the right spot and a misclick could lead you to happy killing or enraged dying. Very touchy game but a lot of this game is luck. One player could win the game. Also you pretty much know what team is going to win in the first ten minutes of the match which sucks because then someone leaves or you think about leaving but rather waste twenty more minutes and not play another match. I get in and get out of this game. I never play two matches in a row. Just don't do that, you'll have a really bad time. It's not a gamble, it's an educational game on your adeptitude. Matches can be from 25 minutes to over an hour.
675 blips out of 1000
Pros
-Love ruining elitist/nazi's days
-Lots of customization
-Great time killer.
-The original is back!
Cons
-User interface is too busy
-Too much luck
-We need to start making people pay us money if they are going to quit a game. Ruins the game for everyone even the winners.
-Other free MOBA games that work out some of these flaws much better then DOTA.
I whisper, you whisper
we whisper
the same damn things
I try to understand
the meaning of this hand
it's the same damn thing
I whisper
we whisper
down a wind tunnel
two bottles, fluid
tornado funnel
A whole hill
Can' stand still
on the peak
I whisper
you whisper
we are all freaks
we whisper
I whisper
Not a long streak
I whisper
minutes are weeks
you whisper
Memory wreeks
we whisper
reinforcements
Final Distraction 500!
First Final Distraction, probably the last. This is the first one I have ever seen and I am happy that I got it for free.
It's hard for me to write a review of a movie without revealing spoilers and this is a Final Destination movie so I am sure if you are familiar, unlike me, then you know what is to come. First off, the movie is estaticly full of nail biting suspense. It runs off the general horror formula which is done primarily through cut edits. The tension builds up through scenary other then through charachter interaction and/or story progression. The reality of this movie runs off this strict structure of life and death. Souls are to be counted for. I don't know if there is a steady rate of death that needs to be followed or that if you should die, then you have to. It's very empirical and kept me on the edge of my seat or clutching the innerness of my stomach from raw, gruesome shots.
Each death has to do with familiar fears. Fears that happen to anyone and everyone in the specific events they show. A laser (our inner fear of science fiction and doctors) scorches a persons eye off which makes her fall out a window and pop her eye out which gets run over by a fucking truck. I wish I got to write this thing. It's like saw and paranormal where everyone feels like they could of written a scene for this movie. That's a good thing.
But it all starts off with a premonition. Its just a boring story of people trying to escape death and finding out what they can know about the bullshit event they have been drawn too. But it doesn't matter what they know because none of it all helps even if they did what they were supposed to, or what they knew. What you come to see a movie for is not present in this film. A story. Not really. It's interesting to see that this all happens after a women breaks up with her boyfriend to not hold him back but he wants to be held back. Love pushes the story but then the relationship starts back up after he saves his 8 friends. They all work together too which shows you in modern society, friends are the only people you work with and date and talk too. Work mates are your everything so make the best of it or you ain't saving your life to eventually die anyway. What a revelation!
The death scenes are amazingly shot. It's like watching a Rune's Goldberg machine of death happen to all of these bystanders of retribution or whatever. We fear construction for the healing process that could lead into destruction. AHH a bridge with nice water underneath. Keep on this falling apart contraption with a lot of metal. Don't jump off a swim to safety because, AAHHHHHH! Either these people are blinded by fear or just not animals. Where are you survival tactics when you need them. Shoved up your butt. There is so many fears here that it feels like some snuff fetish film I am watching. It's dark with love and deaths. It's almost a turn on.
I wonder why I would never watch the other four and I realize that they are probably formuliac.
711 Blips out of 1000
Pros
-Awesome kill scenes
-Suspensful
-Gory, Mushy, Classy
Cons
-Everyone dies
-No story
-Actions aren't controlled so no climax or character change.
The wind can't show me my direction
And I can't go
far away
The wind won't show me my direction
and I won't go
far away
Even if I have to
mindless distraction
The wind can't show me my direction
and I can't go
far away
when I can feel home
with uneven fencing
The wind won't show me my direction
and I won't go
far away
Shadow couldn't see it coming
Ego couldn't feel it coming
The wind won't show me my direction
and I won't go
far away
We could always go home
Or we could shut up
and stay home
but
The wind can't show me my direction
and I can't go
far away
far away
far away
Take off your protection
softly
and hang it up
to dry
Take off your protection
slowly
and just try
to say good bye
I can't hold your hand
leading back to your mothers
because I can't say it.
When will the wind
blow me down.
So I can
once and for all
be leaf-less
just decay
before today has to get
weirder
Chorus
I fear Her
Cross the Styx
I can be near
but I'm no where
This used to be paradise
location is a parasite
I've lose sense to motion
throwing rice in an ocean
or ice in the stove
Chorus
Forgot how to fold
And these loving memories
have wrinkles
or that's just what I'm told
Chorus
I am useless
I am useless
I am useless
I am useless
Can't seem to break this death wish
staring
staring
waiting
my arms are braided
and legs are stranded
where is the positivity?
it feels like something's missing
and are you even listening?
I can't find my pair of ears
the windows never clear
I just ccan't
always be right here
chorus
my eyes are rolling out
and I
can't look to the world
no more
Can't look to the world
no more
It's not the same as it was before
the sea is changing
the greens are changing
It's not like it was before
I just can't
always be right here
the window is never clear
and
chorus
I wanna be a shade
I wanna be afraid
A lousy ghost
in the dirt
A second birth
it wasn't worth it
I can only be
what I see
I'm just paint
You need to brush me
so I can dry
And then it ends
finally
Pretty Little Things
Season Three Episode Six
This is not really going to be a review but my praise for Pretty Little Liars. If you also watched shows like The O.C. like me (twice) then some familiar faces will arise. Just because you have crushes on teenaged characters in a show doesn't mean the ACTRESS isn't 25. These girls are cute.
Then comes to mystery. This is about secrets....shhhhh. Keep it down. TURN DOWN YOUR MUSIC IF YOU ARE READING THIS. The whole show is on big cat and mouse game. The cat are the 4 main actresses and they are trying to chase down not only a killer but a stalker. I am not saying you need to catch UP to the series but start watching it yah know. You get sucked in and I can hardly remember all the nuances. I am not fanatic but I will stay caught up.
The characters are funny at times because they get into stupid situations. Teenage girls going out at night into the woods and doesn't think she is going to get hit? BUT IT WAS A! That's the antagonist. Well one of them. They also have the girl that was their mutual friend that got murdered.
I really don't feel like people watch this show so I might not actually tell you about the episode. Watch it. It's great? If not move on possibly.
The real problem is I watched two episodes back to back and I don't remember what happened in which one. That good.
Pros
-Great multi-layered plot (several protagonists and antagonists)
-Thriller constantly and behind the corner
-Sexy characters with reasonable emotions
-Fun to get into the High School Atmosphere. Whose dating who now?
Cons
-One character keeps getting played up as if she is going to leave the show but never does. Just do it, we are all waiting.
Won't strike gold
Can't strike riches
won't stike oil
can't strike bitches
because I am a man dammit
and we are just in it for the passion
wHile I stand, paused with dirty compassion
write words with thought so they can be elaborate
My words will go down in history
gramatically
and we are going to call this
The New American English
let's keep sitting around watching the world
We are all static
I'm going to be a trend setter
and you are going to be my
bandwidth.
I haven't been on a train in so long.
people think you are better then me but I think not.
You can't be, you can't be, you can't be
Right down to the buttons.
A shallow depth
In my Throat
Need refreshments
Only got breath mints
You can't be, you can't be, you can't be
On my own
Lifting up branches
Try to rake my leaves
Sounds like my dreams
You can't be, You can' be,
Like a memory.
Where, where ever did it exist?
These notions, this possibility
the endlessness of momentum
the toppling of design
the fallen structures
underneath each shoe
When did you know?
When the emotions became
to hard to handle.
Can you imagine holding an
emotion?
What about on the brink of extremes?
And the only thing left
is the physical reaction to it.
And now you can't even look anymore.
And if it's broke in your mind
it must be true for all of us.
A chance is still a sliver
of a percentage.
And now you get a piece of the pie.
One moment.
It's forgotten through the years when the final impact hit. We are looking for change but haulted by our will to escape traditions. Have we been changing or just adapting? Evolution or a Revolution. Soon we will feel it take shape in us. The urge to fight across the oceans. Our power of irrational will soon be able to take shape into a tangible being, a wrecking ball of extremes. It fell from the hands of the Undertaker. No one could be the face of Reason, a drastic fact pushed out of our enviroment like archaic nature. Is that the worst part? The willingness of our pathes to cross in a world developed not by us but by all. When can we all leave? We were supposed to be shipped to mars as well. They all went and disconnected transmission wit us. They knew. And now we would respect reparations. Fate took our money. Called it Necessary Taxes. We needed regulation, we needed reform, we wanted innovation. I thought dishonesty left in 2025.
Sketch
Man walks into convenient store and asks the clerk for 2 grams of Coke. The clerk looks donwright pissed. The man notices and grabs at a vial of Coke Cola. And points to it and says see. He opens the top and a microphone goes off saying "Don't forget to watch American Idol on Mondays on Fox" and the man says "Yeah Yeah I know" and drips it into his mouth.
Joke is about trademarks and how they don't change through culture.
We had plans to move to minesota
but now you still have to go with your
new best friend
something I was called
but now I'm just your ex friend
I know it's supposed to be blessing
Now I'm just the next man
A being single is not what's it cracked up to be
Opening my eyes was never hard before
And I'll never be anything but poor
laying out for the sun on the glass shore
I can't see the bar, hell I can't see over anything
except these petty rings and obvious dings
no suit, no soldier
no polyamarous, no boulder
thoughts aren't adding up, still trying to take
the chips off my head and shoulders.
I used to be your best friend
now I'm just your ex/friend
and here comes the blessing
but now i'm just the next thing
placed in a filing cabinet labeled
"supposed to be a blessing"
And I'll always have this sickness
it's a disease, it's known for it's quickness
All along just a spell, I could tell by the
flick of a wrist
And I always thought I would be better than this
dead before the beheading
a state of shock,
a caberet around a wedding,
even though the layers of reality
are sheading.
And it's an open ending.
I used to be your best friend
now I'm just your ex/friend
and here comes the blessing
but now i'm just the next thing
placed in a filing cabinet labeled
"supposed to be a blessing"
even though the layers of reality
are sheading.
And it's an open ending.
What makes a world a world?
You can only spin me around so much
What makes a world a world?
A Civil War
The Civil War
What makes a world a war?
a long black road
a long black road followed me home
a long black road
When wil lthe war happen? You know the next one, number three. The next world war is among us but like the rest of us narcissists and cynics just want to know when? Jeez how many times does America have to just wage war on anyone, who will notice, when will they notice. That being said, everyone have always told me that the 20th century wars were fought over oil. I'm not a fact checker because I'm sure I could find reasonable information to support any broad claim over any reliable resource. But I have to admit that the later wars (gulf war) is wasily recognized as the oil war. Then these same spouters (people that just say whatever to get people into their world) have also told me that wars in the 21st century will be over water. Boring. If that wouldn't be the most embarrasing war ever fought, I don't know what would be. All that comes to mind is when Germany invaded Poland and road there tanks over horses backs. Are we going to fight for the oceans? For Antartica? That doesn't really excite me. The only thing that is exciting is killing mass amounts of people and then saying "Look more water." And people drink it up because it's so fresh but really it's from the byproduct of murder not manslaughter. "Yeah now I get water" is said by the children. "Look I can take a shower three times a day" is said by the mistress. But it had nothing to do with the war, or a righteous idea to manipulate others usually harmfully, just the decrease in humanities population.
God I can just feel the next war coming and all I can do is rub my fingers together, softly. It's not that society is all that bad. Come on, I'm American. I have the nicest things delivered to my door step. My home is my sanctuary. But the inbalances in our culture is big enough or should I say wide enough to bring about a change. Alot of it has to do with information. Yum yum yum let me get a hold of that new tasty information. It's hyper... It's a giant stream that will soon catch up to the speed of light. Give everyone a way to communicate and see it flooded. We will soon not care who we speaking too, friends are obselete, family is just for survival. Soon, the prowl will catch up to us and we will feel nature release us. When will we domesticate things for leisure? Robots? Jeez. Concepts laid behind by marketability. Give me my damn robot that writes for me. Or delivers pizzas. Either one, I'm willing to make a trade. A trade with the robot.
Is world war three on it's way or is the world too nice to go to war. Who would we even war with? Can't we go to war just to fight and to lose millions.
sell the moon to china
spend, innovate, plan
buy back the moon from china
give them the world
we pack up everything
and
move to the moon.
All we heard about for years was Diablo. If you never played Diablo, everyone who ever seen it played told you how good it was. How great it was. The cow level. Diablo! You heard about people selling items on ebay for money. The scams and hacks. The usual end to the game and the wait. Blizzard makes you get hard (to each its own genderly) before they release the game. Diablo 3 hit a flaccid influence with constant delays. So they released it to fun. Personally I was waiting at my laptop in my parent's basement waiting. I would of gotten it at gamestop to play it at midnight but no, I had to wait for Pacific Time. Okay two hours, it will only be 2 in the morning. Try to log on at 2. Problem, Error, thirty minutes later I'm just listening to pandora constantly typing in my password. Hour into it I'm watching the comments fly in on disgruntled customers. I finally get a bite. Character Creation. One Whip Dr. (what I call my witch doctor) coming on up. Create please! The server lags. For about a minute. Character Creation screen again. Character failed to be made? One whip dr coming on up. AGAIN. Throws me out of that. Bad start but I waited. I was a junkie for Christ's sake.
Got in and played it for five hours until I beat the Skeleton King (where the beta ended.)
If you like a solid gameplay, you wil lfind your self in awe. Now this game is addicting. Yeah there isn't a talent tree but the same elements apply. Each skill has runes to boost the ability or have some aura effect that heals you or increases your speed of attack. Their is about five abilities to pick from. two for the mouse and then the first four numbers. Six times Five equals thirty different moves. Then they have about 5-6 runes each. The number of unique play styles to your character is unimaginable. Later in the game, there is going to have to be some fine tuning on your character's "build."
Diablo is fun with a friend. I played with my roommate and it can really just suck your day up. You lose track of all time and start living on Diablo time which seconds are mobs, minutes are quests, and hours are acts. You want to plow through this game. Story? Oh yeah I'm helping people by killing the seven sins? Okay let me just kill Diablo and get this over with.
Could never stop getting excited over loot. So tasty. Loot goblins running through legendary mobs. Get it for lootfest. Oh it's like a parade of swords, daggers and wands. And you need all of it. So you can have money to pay for everything. You saved a blacksmith by killing his wife? He will build these things for you with a giant mark up. Who in the right mind would gamble thousands of gold for a yellow random attribute shield? You lose all that material for the worst thing you have ever seen, casting it aside to just repetitively make shields to lose all your cash for mediocre shields. Option to custom item build would be amazing.
The always online really does suck and live up to it's hate. I got hacked. Just got my new computer (laptop broke and computerless for a week @_@) and then I get it all running, up way to late, and bam, my characters been hacked. I yell at the customer service rep about discrimination and me being pissed off so I get it all situated in about two days. Close one.
But then the grind starts to kick in. I probably have over a hundred logged in hours. Man I was playing it with my roommate non stop. We work together so we had the same days off. But running two characters simultaneously was a risk. Playing the same story of a game is never fun. You learn all of the maps and the places you can't skip. The fights are harder which is a lot of fun trying to out maneuver the mobs. There is still fun but the length is dragging me down. Act II sucks. Act III is great. It then starts to feel like a chore. "Hey lets knock a few out in Diablo tonight." Playing other games, quicker games, pulls you out of the length of time you devoted to entertainment's nothingness. But I can always view my level 60 w/d and think, I can still fucking beat Inferno. Every hero needs to wait.
8/10
Pros
-Highly Addicting
-So many ways to play
-Loot will never unappeal. Legendaries are twitter worthy
Cons
-Highly Addicting but easy to get off.
-Not enough end game except for entrepeneurs
-Bad start to game already waning.
I don't necessarily know where this fits. The discussion behind web series has really flickered after the independent crowd really tussled it up. I personally am I giant fan of them. I've seen the guild and watched it all in about a week. I also enjoy shorts by "Stella" and David Wain's "Wainy Days." It's free television, shorter, quicker, and usually ironic.
I actually found out about Burning Love through stumble upon. So devious of me, but I am surprised I did not know about this. Yet again, huge fan of Ken Marino from Party Down and The State. Lover of Michael Ian Black. I own both his books and pretty much anything he's written, directed or acted in. I find this crew or even style of comedy (reminescent of The State (early MTV sketch comedy show circa 1990's.) These shoot right at low brow and high brow which is great because they hit so many ranges of comedy.
But back to the WEB SERIES called BURNING LOVE. (http://screen.yahoo.com/burning-love/) The beauty is that it is completely free. Yeah there is an ad between each webisode (about ten minute long episodes) but whose to complain. This is what we have always wanted! Free entertainment. Burning Love is a scripted reality show where Ken Marino's character tries to find love while be introduced to 15 women.
This is where it gets interesting. Not only does it feel like a straight up reality show (are those things scripted because I LOVE THEM) but it is also intentionally funny. First off, the girls are great. It could be that my girlfriend just broke up with me but I am entirely indifferent about women. This show has the best range of women characters ever. The closeted lesbian, the stalker, the tits, the partier. The best characters from your favorite reality shows have a role in this, fictionally of course.
I think I already said this but this show has amazing cameos. And great "What you will be seeing next episode" moments that are on par with Arrested Development's. Yeah I said it. (E> chris rock)
Each episode revolves around at least one elimination. There's a talent portion and then he picks the winner of that which he goes on the date. Basically Ken's character is an every guy. Guy's are easy to write for and they really nailed him into just this guy going with the flow. He has a therapist who isn't a license therapist. Man this show (webishow?) goes off the rails in a gooood way.
Pros
-Definitely MY thing
-Best cast
-Hilarious. I don't laugh alot but I at least laugh twice OUT LOUD an episode.
-The Big Bang for it's buck
Cons
-Web Series are confusing
DOTA 2 BETA REVIEW err First Impressions
I don't know if I am supposed to review a Beta. It's usually looked down upon in the industry but since I am not in the industry I feel like I must do everyone my fellow service of talking about this game. Dota 2 is run by Valve. Yeah the same type of company like Blizzard that survives off of hype and long, development cycles. Who knows when Dota 2 will actually be "out" even though it will be free2play like the beta. Like all free2play games there is a cash shop that unbalances the game. Who would spend money on a beta? I wouldn't even spend money on a game unless it's on a console.
Dota made the MOBA genre famous when it was released as an "add on" for Warcraft III. Now there is League of Legends and Demigod and so many other developers trying to get into this new cash crop. These games are fun. It's 5v5 team deathmatch. Each side has a "town" that must be destroyed to win. You get to pick from way to many characters that are "different" and they level up to 25. Each character has 4 unique abilties that you level up while you level up. Different builds are important to know and if you are not an expert at a characters use, you will get called out and you will have a bad time.
Dying is basically calling yourself a noob and everyone on your team will definitely be thinking that. The player base in these games is that if you give someone something to complain about, they will use it all day to complain about because they didn't win a match. Because this game is all about winning (which game isn't) and being the best.
Since this game is completely online it has a few flaws. Heres my issues with the connections. It takes about 4 minutes to find a match. All ten people have to accept and after four minutes, the most patient person is still looking at their facebook account. Each time you want to play, expect waiting ten minutes to get into a match. But when you get there, the player has to connect as well and somehow through glitches and shitty computers, they could drop. Thus waiting another ten minutes. It's a really bad matchmaker. Also in a game, players decide to quit before the game starts. Someone might of picked there hero before them or they had to actually leave their chair to do something. It's a travesty because then the game doesn't even count. If one player, I.E. STRANGER, leaves then you don't get a win. Worst example of a democracy ever.
The games are fun if no one leaves and each side has equal skill levels. This happens about once every 5 hours of gameplay. So one out of five games. Usually people leave or just quit and begin to farm. If a character if farmed then not only do they not have any money to buy gear but the person that kept killing them has lots of money. Probably money the game had to give him because I didn't even have that money to begin with. There is no better feeling in the world then beating an elitist at their own game and this is it. If you can beat some "pro" at DOTA II, then you can go to sleep tonight. If you have ever listened to people scraming in your ear, wanting to be manager/supervisor, and telling you how to run your life (play the game) then BEAT THAT FUCKER.
Also finding your hero is excuciating. You could possibly play 90 matches (I know the amount of heroes is around here) and have to start over looking for your hero. Each hero is picky, has different ways to be played and different items to be purchased to enhance it. Getting over the learning curve in this game will take a long time. Ask questions even if you get called a noob. You are a noob for a reason so embrace it. I've been playing these since 06 and I still ask questions. Each game is different. Each hero is different. If you like randomosity then you'll love this.
Two more things that are on the fence. The user interface is ugly. I think you should be able to zoom out just a tad more. I can hardly ever get the screen in the right spot and a misclick could lead you to happy killing or enraged dying. Very touchy game but a lot of this game is luck. One player could win the game. Also you pretty much know what team is going to win in the first ten minutes of the match which sucks because then someone leaves or you think about leaving but rather waste twenty more minutes and not play another match. I get in and get out of this game. I never play two matches in a row. Just don't do that, you'll have a really bad time. It's not a gamble, it's an educational game on your adeptitude. Matches can be from 25 minutes to over an hour.
675 blips out of 1000
Pros
-Love ruining elitist/nazi's days
-Lots of customization
-Great time killer.
-The original is back!
Cons
-User interface is too busy
-Too much luck
-We need to start making people pay us money if they are going to quit a game. Ruins the game for everyone even the winners.
-Other free MOBA games that work out some of these flaws much better then DOTA.
I whisper, you whisper
we whisper
the same damn things
I try to understand
the meaning of this hand
it's the same damn thing
I whisper
we whisper
down a wind tunnel
two bottles, fluid
tornado funnel
A whole hill
Can' stand still
on the peak
I whisper
you whisper
we are all freaks
we whisper
I whisper
Not a long streak
I whisper
minutes are weeks
you whisper
Memory wreeks
we whisper
reinforcements
Final Distraction 500!
First Final Distraction, probably the last. This is the first one I have ever seen and I am happy that I got it for free.
It's hard for me to write a review of a movie without revealing spoilers and this is a Final Destination movie so I am sure if you are familiar, unlike me, then you know what is to come. First off, the movie is estaticly full of nail biting suspense. It runs off the general horror formula which is done primarily through cut edits. The tension builds up through scenary other then through charachter interaction and/or story progression. The reality of this movie runs off this strict structure of life and death. Souls are to be counted for. I don't know if there is a steady rate of death that needs to be followed or that if you should die, then you have to. It's very empirical and kept me on the edge of my seat or clutching the innerness of my stomach from raw, gruesome shots.
Each death has to do with familiar fears. Fears that happen to anyone and everyone in the specific events they show. A laser (our inner fear of science fiction and doctors) scorches a persons eye off which makes her fall out a window and pop her eye out which gets run over by a fucking truck. I wish I got to write this thing. It's like saw and paranormal where everyone feels like they could of written a scene for this movie. That's a good thing.
But it all starts off with a premonition. Its just a boring story of people trying to escape death and finding out what they can know about the bullshit event they have been drawn too. But it doesn't matter what they know because none of it all helps even if they did what they were supposed to, or what they knew. What you come to see a movie for is not present in this film. A story. Not really. It's interesting to see that this all happens after a women breaks up with her boyfriend to not hold him back but he wants to be held back. Love pushes the story but then the relationship starts back up after he saves his 8 friends. They all work together too which shows you in modern society, friends are the only people you work with and date and talk too. Work mates are your everything so make the best of it or you ain't saving your life to eventually die anyway. What a revelation!
The death scenes are amazingly shot. It's like watching a Rune's Goldberg machine of death happen to all of these bystanders of retribution or whatever. We fear construction for the healing process that could lead into destruction. AHH a bridge with nice water underneath. Keep on this falling apart contraption with a lot of metal. Don't jump off a swim to safety because, AAHHHHHH! Either these people are blinded by fear or just not animals. Where are you survival tactics when you need them. Shoved up your butt. There is so many fears here that it feels like some snuff fetish film I am watching. It's dark with love and deaths. It's almost a turn on.
I wonder why I would never watch the other four and I realize that they are probably formuliac.
711 Blips out of 1000
Pros
-Awesome kill scenes
-Suspensful
-Gory, Mushy, Classy
Cons
-Everyone dies
-No story
-Actions aren't controlled so no climax or character change.
The wind can't show me my direction
And I can't go
far away
The wind won't show me my direction
and I won't go
far away
Even if I have to
mindless distraction
The wind can't show me my direction
and I can't go
far away
when I can feel home
with uneven fencing
The wind won't show me my direction
and I won't go
far away
Shadow couldn't see it coming
Ego couldn't feel it coming
The wind won't show me my direction
and I won't go
far away
We could always go home
Or we could shut up
and stay home
but
The wind can't show me my direction
and I can't go
far away
far away
far away
Take off your protection
softly
and hang it up
to dry
Take off your protection
slowly
and just try
to say good bye
I can't hold your hand
leading back to your mothers
because I can't say it.
When will the wind
blow me down.
So I can
once and for all
be leaf-less
just decay
before today has to get
weirder
Chorus
I fear Her
Cross the Styx
I can be near
but I'm no where
This used to be paradise
location is a parasite
I've lose sense to motion
throwing rice in an ocean
or ice in the stove
Chorus
Forgot how to fold
And these loving memories
have wrinkles
or that's just what I'm told
Chorus
I am useless
I am useless
I am useless
I am useless
Can't seem to break this death wish
staring
staring
waiting
my arms are braided
and legs are stranded
where is the positivity?
it feels like something's missing
and are you even listening?
I can't find my pair of ears
the windows never clear
I just ccan't
always be right here
chorus
my eyes are rolling out
and I
can't look to the world
no more
Can't look to the world
no more
It's not the same as it was before
the sea is changing
the greens are changing
It's not like it was before
I just can't
always be right here
the window is never clear
and
chorus
I wanna be a shade
I wanna be afraid
A lousy ghost
in the dirt
A second birth
it wasn't worth it
I can only be
what I see
I'm just paint
You need to brush me
so I can dry
And then it ends
finally
Pretty Little Things
Season Three Episode Six
This is not really going to be a review but my praise for Pretty Little Liars. If you also watched shows like The O.C. like me (twice) then some familiar faces will arise. Just because you have crushes on teenaged characters in a show doesn't mean the ACTRESS isn't 25. These girls are cute.
Then comes to mystery. This is about secrets....shhhhh. Keep it down. TURN DOWN YOUR MUSIC IF YOU ARE READING THIS. The whole show is on big cat and mouse game. The cat are the 4 main actresses and they are trying to chase down not only a killer but a stalker. I am not saying you need to catch UP to the series but start watching it yah know. You get sucked in and I can hardly remember all the nuances. I am not fanatic but I will stay caught up.
The characters are funny at times because they get into stupid situations. Teenage girls going out at night into the woods and doesn't think she is going to get hit? BUT IT WAS A! That's the antagonist. Well one of them. They also have the girl that was their mutual friend that got murdered.
I really don't feel like people watch this show so I might not actually tell you about the episode. Watch it. It's great? If not move on possibly.
The real problem is I watched two episodes back to back and I don't remember what happened in which one. That good.
Pros
-Great multi-layered plot (several protagonists and antagonists)
-Thriller constantly and behind the corner
-Sexy characters with reasonable emotions
-Fun to get into the High School Atmosphere. Whose dating who now?
Cons
-One character keeps getting played up as if she is going to leave the show but never does. Just do it, we are all waiting.
Won't strike gold
Can't strike riches
won't stike oil
can't strike bitches
because I am a man dammit
and we are just in it for the passion
wHile I stand, paused with dirty compassion
write words with thought so they can be elaborate
My words will go down in history
gramatically
and we are going to call this
The New American English
let's keep sitting around watching the world
We are all static
I'm going to be a trend setter
and you are going to be my
bandwidth.
I haven't been on a train in so long.
people think you are better then me but I think not.
You can't be, you can't be, you can't be
Right down to the buttons.
A shallow depth
In my Throat
Need refreshments
Only got breath mints
You can't be, you can't be, you can't be
On my own
Lifting up branches
Try to rake my leaves
Sounds like my dreams
You can't be, You can' be,
Like a memory.
Where, where ever did it exist?
These notions, this possibility
the endlessness of momentum
the toppling of design
the fallen structures
underneath each shoe
When did you know?
When the emotions became
to hard to handle.
Can you imagine holding an
emotion?
What about on the brink of extremes?
And the only thing left
is the physical reaction to it.
And now you can't even look anymore.
And if it's broke in your mind
it must be true for all of us.
A chance is still a sliver
of a percentage.
And now you get a piece of the pie.
One moment.
Sad Stories
Guy is trying to find a way to die. He becomes a stunt man. Even though he is a novice, he does it easily knowing that he wants to die. In his first attempt at his first stunt, he tells the actor who is seated next to him in the car that this is his first time. The actor talks him through it i.e. being a good actor and he performs it amazingly the first take. The actor passes his name down the hollywood ladder and he becomes a star. He tells his ex that he's going to try and pay off her student loans before he dies. She is worried but he can not die. He easily pays off her debt in a year. He finally gets struck by a drunk driver and is killed. She is unharmed and continues on her social climb. Curtains close.
I always knew it wouldn't be easy
Getting over things that you thought were going to come your way
Like a Day
But I'll just try to bite my tongue
and take the plunge
so I don't know which is one
I'll be able to pass the blame
all away around this huddle
So I can stalk a shuddle
and find you on it.
It's just in the moment,
I'm feeling kind of weak
I rather give up then face the stains
All over my DNA
And I'll do it again, Pass the Blame
On to the next one
Make sure it means nothing.
Hey, I just want to be something
I guess I having tried hard enough
To see the stuff that most people
glance over
And while fuckers are making Millions
I'll be busy cooking Builoons
at home, by myself,
Even though I got room mates
but one's my ex
And hopefully I'll be next
Stomach all the saliva
don't throw up, get it behind yah
So you don't ruin your next step
And this is just the next schlep
into failure
So I shouldn't sail her
or sell her
under my umbrella
Because I need the rain
to try and stall her.
I wannt get Rachel Ray
Ass on a platter
On a Kitchen Tray
I want to
you know
Get Cray
Lying on my sofa
getting brain
gotta say it till it comes true
gotta say it till it becomes true
A broad showed up with
a smug look on her face
and MAN, I wanted chaplin
to get in this race
I only fuchs collected her ass
it was lying an impression
All in All, Thought mid section
But she's so far
she kept the door ajar
when she was dressing
need to find new boxers
in my dresser
Gotta say it till it comes true
gotta say it till it becomes true
I don't even know their names
real girls, they are all the same, texting stains
shaved off the hair strands
so I can be a new man
So I can have the opportunity
to get some ass again
So I can probably pass again
Passion, man
is a far thing
like I'm planting
seeds and seeds and anal beads
gotta say it till it comes true
gotta say it till it becomes true
A ha
The friends will be the end of you
soon enough we will all turn blue
and start yelling
Leave Me Alone
so I can send all your asses right back to your home
I'll take that same vacation like Dr. Manhattan
Hey, I'll ghost whippin that Rover
maybe I can turn our future around
and Find fry's five leaf clover.
gotta say it till it comes real
gotta say it till it becomes real
But, Im just the same me
Just a sad, sad thing
trying to find fiction
in a folk tale
so I can set sail
erotically and it bothers me
pornographic ancedotes
sexual philanthro-posts
so you can boast about
your dramatic contralto,
THAT DEEP THROAT
and I don't care if you are mulatto
because all I see is black faces
in lady's laces
just sexual beings, in dark places
in frustrations,
In the gutter
between illustrations.
gotta say it till it comes true
We think we are all Fuckeddd
gotta say it till it becomes true
We think we are all Fuckeddddd
I haven't been on trains in so long. I feel like trains are the only transportation devices that aren't private. You never see a person driving there own train around the state. Maybe you do but you never realize. Trains offer an experience that a car has been trying to mimic all along. Trains were first. Private planes are nice but hardly ever individualized. They are staffed like comodities but offer no substance other then a fast travel time. We have managed to set time to a budget thus never truly stressless. I want the future to be as follows. First off trains become our new homes. We leave the earths rotation and start spinning around on our own motion. Second, our business becomes our home. We personalize our trains for entertainment. You become an owner/creator. A designer too. You plan the iteranary. Then that is how you make money through admissions in your train trip. Since everyone has one, sales would be infinite. We could link trains, build communities, and construct our own fantasies for others to enjoy.
Really I am just lost, in a state of confusion that an ex-patriate must feel. I don't know what is right for me while others warn me. It's iritating but so is anything negative. We view change if directed to you as a negative. You've been influenced or tainted. But everyone wants to influence you, it's life. Being in or around another's reality is the only way to change life. Changing yourself is a positive and one could tell you a plethora of ways he has changed. Or hasn't, some people are afraid of change because they don't want to be percieved as changing for SOME ONE else. It all delves on two things. Power and Identity.
Power comes from the past. It's old and a structured organism. Change is suspectible to power. Change wants to, in a different note, be peace. Change wants everything to be equal or fair or even unequal. We want to do what we want to do and have it perfect. Perfection is a curse which power controls. Society is shaped to be perfect. People can necessarily be what they want. Things are so cheap to take up any therapy but what isn't the same is money. We want to act only if we see the same check that actors get. It's a fiction, an identity.
Identity like communication like words are stuck in the past. We try to alter them, even change them but wanting to be in power, we reject the change. We argue with it because change opens the mind. We want to know what we know, not have to constantly know. Knowing something is staying in the past, and anything in the past is comfortable since it has already happened. It's already been done thus doing it can't reprsise any consequences. This is a delusion which is a present problem. Thinking that what we do to become what we want can only be done by past examples is absurd. It's imaginging that we live in the past, in complete totalaritarian fashion.
Words change with our lives. The sentences that reference the words in the dictionary don't even relate to us anymore and most of them are just objective information. The reference is so obscure that it's only a word to inform us. Using a symbol as education doesn't lead to innovation. It doesn't make us ethicists. It makes us irrelevant to the word and using it always feels wrong. You are looked at funny for using it. People just assume it's used right and it always is. Misusing a word can't occur. It can only happen. It's not misused unless looked at in context. We can tell an unidenitifiable sentence but is it necessarily wrong? It's wrong in your reality because you can not accept it. Everyone is selfish but to be so selfish to not believe an object that exists is delusional. It has to be. You will spread fiction to dilute the actual reality. Thus confusing not only yourself, in a pool of fallacies, but you will try to convince others that you are actually factual. You are using your arrogant power to identify yourself with what you believe in and your perfection rules your belief. If everyone was like me.
I'm so dead. It's the feeling in your tissues. It pulls you down under the frail surface. It's abundant and beautiful. You feel like you really have fallen off the hinge. Duing the unoridinary all the time. I guess I strive for it, the more you see the more you experience. I feel like with the people I know, that I have done it all. And now I'm underneath trying to see if it's stable. Can naps be my sustenance? And I'm just curious where the dreams went? Little neutrinos in reality feel like dreams. Who said that? They were both tall. And it was new and awkward. And I still don't know if it was real or not. All the other times I sleep, it just feels like a mirage. Was I in there or not? Don't I still feel tired! And then I just sit back thinking, well where have I got myself now? And then I say out loud that I ask myself too many questions. Who knows? haha. I know but answered questions have never equated to reality. They are only ideals, certain structure, that are to be broken like any law aught to. Communication is not correlated to action. It's really inverse to it. Saying something you already know the outcome but if you do against your past wishes for yourself, you are actually expanding. Maybe not ethically but through logistical truth and actual truth.
We have become inherent workers and progressively lazy. We only want what we can not have and work when there is no work to do or vice versa. It's hard when you feel like you want to do more but can hardly find the time when we have it. When we get around to doing it, it is looked at as rushed. How am I supposed to keep looking when all I have time for is counting? It's like gambling sleep for encouragement or even better yet, or wishing not to have such heavy eyes. I guess all I am saying is everythings a gamble and you see that you are in for a long haul because the chips are just days. That wasn't supposed to be a lesson or smart or awkward. And no I'm not gay.
I wonder if I can leave early?
Would you be bothered if I left?
(asking co-workers)
I couldn't really tell and I don't know where to go. I know where it all adds up but have no idea how to get there. I'm just a writer like Childish is just a rapper. I feel like you can only push stupidity for so long until you get embarrassed. Then embarressement comes to anxiety and the reciprocal. There's no way I can make anything out of this. On with it. I have to murmure mantras to not just nap on all my little time to myself. It would probably be more beneficial. It's just that all the talk about financial insecurities while you feel it just makes it hurt worse. This is it huh? I saw my parents doing this grind my whole life. Everyone always says that our generation will change it all and then we get old, lazy, and content and follow suits. It's an oddity because things are changing all the time, but are you changing them or are you being changed to the change. Thus being an influencer or the audience.
Put it all back in the kitchen
because I'm ditching the dishes
and trying to make my own wishes
like I'm making pictures
Oh sorry you want some references
keep you interested in the differences
well I guess I like Community
with abed and porn childish
you wish you were some stylist
But these faux cats are just denialists
And some times I don't know what I'm saying
I'm spraying, tailoring like an asian
Your birthday was belated
and I dress like I've been dated
And Shaded and Afraid again
Went to court today for my hit and run. Wood panels and all. Checking in and waiting in the cold trying to figure it all out. Interesting translators and shitty grinned attorneys. Stand in line in front of the judge. 1 or 2 words. He calls my name, dismissed. Everyone hates cops but I've got a clean record. Isn't the easy things easy?
Or that's what I'm told by the bill
And I'm thinking bills
To a duck
you have how many stacks?
why would I give a fuck
I'm sick of nodding
My head as an insufficient nope
And I was never taught how to tie a rope
Severely lost without my throat
Ill have to remember this
Pea coat to hide this ruin
From your moat
Oh yeah
I'm lost internally
Just hand me down
To the ocean floor
Just hand me down
Like my oldest brothers clothing
Your just a wishful dream
Trying to mime the alphabet
But now your just a black hole
And I'm a quasar
I can only look from so far
Because you are stealing my light
And my birth and my light
The wheels are growing
Like thorned vines
Through our railings
We need knowledge like I need a transplant
White sauce or a deep dish
Sides with no limit
Call it an out of reach niche
Dinner table with no edging
I didn't know lunch
could be served this late
On such a hot plate
You're just a black hole
And I'm a quasar
And you're stealing. My light
My birth and my light
All the spots in my heart are already full
How is a man supposed to reload
Try to impose
Or find. New things he hasn't read
Or been told
You cant if you're driving so I just scratch my scruff
And sail past the asphalt
Cars like my office
Don't know how to stop it
Cigarettes like my next thought
Don't know how to stop it
And I'm only really interested in what the kids in school are doing
But I only ever talk to middle aged men with small pupils
Working laborious jobs working too early
Waiting for their eyelids to widen too late
Sorry I cant feel you
Its been like that for too long
And can you repeat that
If I'm not facing you
You aren't talking
Oh where did I come from
Alley cat rattling this cage
Flung open thoughts boastin
Coasting on the ease of tv
We are all made
Made to be believed
Pull me up from my pants leg
Nah pull me up from my bat cave
So I can be real
Now to behave
Always under cascades
is this a stampede
Or a blight wind
Or like a wife
Just swim
Just win
Fuck sin
And maybe probably
Don't throw that idea down a waste bin
Im a beginner
Imma be in big problems
Like a singer
Like an artist
Where the days are long
And all you feel is starving
To live
I'm imploding and barfing
Cant be an object
Cant be my own father
So why bother
Even though the circumstances are righteous
Like a tight kiss
Hit it from the side
That niche
Cant be a black kid
So ill have to make my stacks big
Drifting on a dune
Up and down
Like a clock
Or a spoon
Up at noon
Or midnight
Ahh come on
We all wish we were just sunlight
Sun light sun light
Sit still rise soon
Rise soon
Engine flooded like a typhoon
Can we die to this tune
Its all I remember
Like a child's bed room
Picked up by a tow truck
My flee was misleaden
Thought all automatics had power steering
Guess that's my free will arguing with luck
Like a buck
Paying a couple bucks to lay sprawled out
On a trucks trunk.
Inhaling fumes
That's my might
Doctor doomed
Ahh come on
We all wish we could be sun light
We all wish we could bask in the sun light
Even if the chamber was air tight
Or we had to live in a bugs life
Abhor come on
We all just wish we were sunlight
We are all too busy
With our hands wrapped the bong
To do what we want to do
Isn't this what we want to prove
Being singular but independent
Handing down genes like a measurement in metric
Two tonnes phone rung
Too busy
Hands tied visualizing tie dye
Its my parents
Happens everytime
Should of just been drinking
That cheap boxed white wine
Zinfandel sent me to hell
Where your throw up is bloody
And smells
Two tires like a bicycle
Stole that like an eye from an icicle
Two timed picking up vagrants
I can count your shells on the sea shore
Even though I'm walking the pavement
All these boys are trapped in the basement
While I'm brave with my demons
On a sleeve in a sleeve
Your still under the sea irritating me like a flea
Or a tick
Still under review so I can own a stick
So I can make sure I'm credited in debted
With all this waste
Pass the bong
Forgot that taste
Already forgot this place
Half a year I cant wait
To leave you with no date
Because the high road
Isn't blurred isn't a mistake
So I can swerve
And wait my turn
And wait your turn
And wait tthere turn
Only a few degrees
Until a burns a burn
Oh and do you miss me
Sorry I'm just too busy
With my hands wrapped around this bong
Doing what I want to do
I feel like I don't journal anymore. Its not that I don't think or have these run on thoughts anymore but its more of a conflict of interest. And now that I'm so behind on writing about myself. What should I even journal about. The break up my hit and run my jobs the disintegregation of my friends my travels living with my ex and how it ruined my relationship with who used to be my best friend. I could write for days with these subjects but I feel like I don't want to pin point my problems in the lime light any more. Should I still let people interpret my emotions anymore. Its hard to write even though all my stories seem to revolve around me as the narrator or me as the observer which isn't new but since I'm single and feel like a stranger in my own home and body. Why bother. I know how I feel and I feel it everyday. I'm alive. Think about how these new variables and how they changed me altered me into this bitter body. People say all you can blame is yourself. But that isn't true. Its not logical since I don't try I do. I try to involve the community around me but laziness steps into the array. I try to be nice and people see it and react they buy it but I'm to the point of not wanting to. Everyone I know has their contradiction their vice that makes me infuriated. Why bring me here to ignore me. Why share a room if you're just going to leave me trying to change in front of me next to my bed every night like what's the difference here because its not apparent and all you are is transparent.
And should I discuss my options only to let down the friends that only want me in there lives. And its like who do I want to spare who should I cut loose who should I sacrifice. Is this the new life crisis. I'm already where I don't want to be so what could get worse. Only two months left till I have to start paying student loans. Aren't we supposed to travel. I was just in school for 18 years and my brother wants me to go back. Why. I already am working the job I had in high school my first real job and I'm back with 40000 in debt to myself the government and my parents like this was where I wanted to be in the middle of some culdesack. This is the only struggle worth noting because its happening to everyone since everyone is now going to college. I was invested in to go nowhere. Now onto my Chicago style piazza in Lincoln Nebraska.
Why so sad
Why so gloom
Don't you know that the earth
Is like the moon
Why so mad
Why so blue
Don't you know that your life
Is like the moon
Want to kiss
Oh your on your phone
No ill pass
Before the moans
Do you live
Yeah I hunt
Want to fight
Do you want a gun
I hate this
And I hate you
Even though I know my voice
Is like the moon
I hate you
Earth is at a bloom
No turnovers because
I'm the moon
Seems I got myself trapped. Whatever happens from here on out doesn't count and really doesn't matter. I should just swallow my dignity and let the stampede continue. I tried to be combative with it at first, at least stick up for myself because that's all I could do. Hey, I don't agree with that. But it never mattered, no one shared the same point of view with me or really saw it through my eyes. People just want to do what they want to do even if they call themselves your friend. Even if they say they want to be friends. Any words you learn in school, through meeting people like friends, interests, honesty and love has all changed. Their meanings and definitions and even their synonyms have altered. These words don't mean as much as they once did. I guess things change in front of you when they are ripped from you. Have you ever felt like you were just an outsider? Maybe we are on the outside because we can't stop looking. We are observants which makes us a servant. We hold ourselves to some unqualified ethic because you've seen it all in movies, in life, through imagination (perception.) I study the surroundings but also still try to live blinded because living without the facts is easy but destructive. But being an observant, you find yourself being nice, being stuck in relationships even if they weren't what they used to be through semantics and through neutrality. We aren't getting anywhere that we currently were looking forward too. I'm just some skipping stone and I'm currently in between positions. I'm present, stuck, waiting, focused, and hurt. Where else is there to go though? Leaving would have me pay in isolation. Leaving would only hurt my aura that's seen through the money trees. Sure I could flap my wings but I'm already dorminant. It would be easy to wait. Easy enough and convenience is a virtue. It's how we want everything from our foods to our entertainment. From our lives to your life.
This isn't for you.
Successions of misery,
It comes in waves like an industry,
vague as in a memory,
I just wanna be you, boohoo
Not worth it
not worth you
like, like, like
we yell, we roll
out the smoke
and no water emerges
we roll on each other
till we see the surgeons.
Skin graphs, take the skin from
my ass, cover up the details
make sure I'm perfect like a sea shell
round and sewn, forgot your throne,
you never had it, who was I before
I don't want to lie to you
who was I before
stuck in the present like a
descendant, hope in the clouds
like a pageant
no looks, I'll recite you some books,
just crooks, notebooks, she looked
I saw her, but I ignore
like a passenger door
till it happens over and over
the looks just go under
the sky
like a sun set
rolling in a corvette
hopeless so I don't turn yet
or even left
you a mess
I just sent that text
Have you been there?
Have you done that?
Sweep those whispers
back up the back alley street
Hide it under the mat,
The ways you wouldn't talk
in my ear.
I guess I couldn't necessarily
call it true
but the rest of the news is only
based on blue symbolism
The few blots
to a new winter.
And it's too soon
to sweep this dust
under our flying carpet
we've wasted too much
time together.
The accidents only
a fender bender.
The memories need to
be rememmbered like
a dream inside a feather.
Trying to be an artist is especially complicated. The first thing one must have or possess is talent. But talent is subjective. The reason musicians like mozart and writers like Shakespeare were so effective was because of the lack of population in their arts. there works were easy to be influenced off of because not only have they existed for hundreds of years but they were also an epicenter, an omega point, or an origin. Shakespeare to drama, mozart to classical. But now owning a piano doesn't cost us thousands of dollars. I got a synthesizer that can play hundreds of sounds for sixty bucks. With this increase in consumption surrounding the arts, what is there left to influence others? Being a cheap artist only proves to be succesful after death. I could do everything under a budget that only includes my pocket change. But I've done that. And the bigger the budget you have the more you need to be successful or you are just going to be a one hit wonder. So how do we expand? Is there anymore chips to knock off the block to reality? Is there a new way to express, a new way to explore, that is clouded in all of this art?
Then there is a lot more too it. We could not work for weeks but just plan. Like myself, I don't get paid for writing or making music or drawing and this is the start of art. I find time to do this. Between jobs, on break, and any little moment that I can focus. There can be a few days were you get nothing done. Then there can be a day off where you finally pull together and finish that chapter, finally record that song, or make that song, or keep going on that journal comic. It's all about holding onto projects. Get a few ideas surrounding different mediums and just start. You can talk art as much as you want but if you don't start you don't have any art. If you aren't making anything then I feel like you aren't trying to break down anything. We can try and conceptualize in pre-production but too much thought before an object is even started only leads to traumau. An artist is going to find it nearly impossible to try and make something towards an idea rather then having an idea unravel to what you made. Is the post-idea hold less weight then a pre-idea?
Because how do you actually define a piece of artwork until it is actually finished. You can embark on the things you did in the pauses. The events or experiences you had prior to going into the work. Did this piece of artwork some how change you while you were making it? Maybe it was just the music you listened to that helped you finally hit this inspiration to make something yourself. It's now meta art.
But if you don't have a recognition for art how do you know where your piece stands? Up to the field and up to your own portfolio. Without a notion or a premonition of your work before you head into it could lead your focus into different avenues instead of trying to achieve something that hasn't been done before. Or embarking on a gestation, an inspiration of art from the same medium. Very traditional. Without a weight to hold onto, each time you embark on this continous project, each time is like facing it a new time. Then what do you do? Look back on what you have already done thus bringing inspiration from the piece of work that you are still creating for. Finally creating a cycle where the inspiration that your work has been become has been accompanied by the inspiration you put into it. It's recycled into a selfish piece of work.
Then this leads us to the idea. Why do we put so much time into this? Themes, concepts, all production. We can say it helps market our story, it helps us target an audience, and the idea gives us the motivation to overcome the project and finally make it yours. Because if it wasn't your idea, anyone could of done this art right? We need a reason to be the artist, the narrator and we have structurally altered ourselves to become this person. This craftsmen. But the idea is only such a flicker of what the work actually is. The idea manipulates the art and categorizes it. It sets itself into a list. The idea can be simple, complex, new and or satirical.
The idea changes though. You can have the idea surround your work or you can engrave the work in this idea. Have the idea shine more then the art because the idea is more then the art can be. This is when we pre-produce the idea before the work. The gallery is trying to cement this idea instead of the idea wholly being understood. But if we seek an audience, ask these members to attend our show, our idea, aren't we giving them the rational to conceptualize the idea themselves thus varying our idea. Taking our idea and expanding it. Taking our idea and askewing it. Taking our idea for themselves. Is this inspiration? Or is this blasphemy?
This is when you break up
that is how you break stuff
pick of the liter
eat it down like dinner
this is why loves thought
open up and the tongues rough
mama's strapped, act up
yell like a felion
sting like a bee hive
be silenced
line up next to the one you loved
like a one eyed giant
I'll be eyeing
this is supposed to be
darn it
layered in barnacle
sexy like tentacles
only true
if overhaul is through
these testicles
I might be able to finally
call my self special
Just looked back
with all the problems goong on
just look back
life not going away
just look back
things were easier
reason was nearing yeah
just look back
always been a young boy
too small, two toys
never owned this confidence
couldn't face humans but
isn't it obvious
and my soul is over style
cause we are the sloppiest
what's flirting?
if It is not obvious
how could I even try to approach this
because it's that foreign
the place where tears are born in
the same location with them orphans
born with shyness
eyeing the eyes of my own wish
but I'm hardened and I'll just have to wait
till I'm strong again.
It was a break, a convenience
being online only made us think quick
never actually seeing each other till we were grown, sick.
We made plans but you alwats abandoned them.
Meet up at the skate parks
you were always lying like a genre specific tantrum
until my hands became chips
typing and trying to plug and chug the never ending
anyomnity, all my hopes and preys surrounded by problems.
I heard about your party sides and always kept that in my mind
you are from Ingleside,
that you cheated on me
and that's just where the music hides.
If I couldn't do it online
how could I do it in life
there's to much energy around an assumption
that complicates contemplating under penatlies
and mirages
you can't look both ways during a miss communication
do my eyes need some scent of persuasion
like keep it simple
or you miss just end up being amazing.
they say I was worth it
love you, a picture on a wall, too small, a frame like a grand slam, too tall
like watching an eyelid fill
just toss it often
those lies keep the moon still blind a stale rind
I don't care about what you find useless unless it's me, isolate
in a techtonic plate like China
until it's broken
wishes are only for those doves
fusions called humans
found love an oceanic bath plug
and who are you witout
scars and decisions
it only takes time
send reinforments to obtain the line between us
perpendicular mist between the ridicule
and only if my eyes were metal reticules
so I could see the change
live and all your change,
but we all couldn't give.
Not even a budge like we were all sleeping and a nudge isn't enough
and I can finally dream and I can piece the scenes together
I'll control it, Lucid but my actions are so stupid.
Why would I likc your face if I can't look at it.
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 disipating 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.
The driver pulled away from Humphert's garage with ease.
This was easy, he thought.
He pulled off onto an inter state and went off.
His truck, white to the wheel wells, handled well.
Cars passed, families focused on the road ahead of them all.
John just drove, shifting up and down but mostly just long, unfiltered, driving.
While the car passing him had a wife and husband laughing, John just had his CB radio collecting dust.
They passed without even looking over.
The road eventually turned into a highway.
The towns of hotels and gas stations passed by, each stop progressing the trip.
The states easily began to blur.
The grass is beginning to burn the farther John goes South.
The travellers pass faster.
The roads become wider, the drive easier, but John is still at the wheel.
Shift, brake, gas, shift, pass, check mirrors, look at cars passing, check gps, sleep.
Radio kept playing the same old songs.
The speakers cracked while riding over overpasses and construction sites with no workers.
It was winter where the snow was patchy and the geese stayed in the man made lakes of yesteryear.
The white mixed with the blue to create a foggy tapestry to stare at.
Over the horizon was nothing but the continuation of this one road.
John began to scratch at his right thigh.
His truck passed over an over pass.
He saw rivers as he went over bridges.
He witnessed the state borders blend into one another.
Homes off in the farm lands where the new barn was placed next to the old one that fell under gravity.
But the half way point began to fade behind John.
It was back in Pepsicola. A few hours behind John now. About a hundred stops.
Miles and miles that were too hard to keep track.
Construction zones. City mergers. Cop cars and slow drivers sleeping at the wheel
when our sun was still so out.
The night began to fade in.
All the landscape turned grey beneath his truck.
The only way to see a sign is from maybe
shifting your eyes into the right alignment
and read the exit signs with those stupid little lights
they pass and each one makes John seem agitated.
In the dark the cars drive faster, the stranger're stranger.
The yellow lights spaced out look lost.
John thinks to turn here.
And he goes for it.
Just to make sure, he thought twice.
The parking was the hardest part.
backing in for the first time.
slow, simple, gentle
it was easy.
It was all too easy.
the hardest way to start a story is realizing that the character needs to seek a change in the beginning.
A story just can't exist in the character but his enviroment must insist change upon him.
sure the world can be interesting.
the character can be unique.
but without a change looming in the beginning to face the character, then the character is just the same.
The same character that he was before the story plays out.
He's just himself. That person he has always been. And it's difficult trying to understand where he will change.
Because in a story, in a life, any event could and will change the character.
But is it told fairly, the right way, or will he not even realize that he has changed.
Then the question persists, does he really change if he is not aware of the change?
Inevitably, it is yes he does. Because we are constantly changing. A character is just changing by still living. Once he is who he has been prohecized then the character is either then a god or a corpse.
But he hasn't truly changed unless he has forecasted it.
He wants to be one way and his achivement is getting himself one step closer.
The story plays out in his favor no matter the circumstance.
We witness the change.
He's only lives his life given to him.
So that's when a story can be started anywhere.
A story can start at any moment in time for the character.
He might be doing a mundane task and it leads off to a change.
At any moment a change could want to happen.
Is he waiting for it or wishing for it or just content?
Is his memory phantomed by a reoccuring moment?
That he must live out and try to piece together
while going through the moments of life
hoping that if he can change his reflection
it could help him change his change (being.)
#2
It was the same trip.
Long roads measured by thumbs on a wall map.
each road shifted to fit in a tetris box
like a sand clock.
The trees would change.
leafs would grow green
then turn yellow
and then fall
to the ground.
rain to heat to wind.
Snow came and went to ice.
John was thinking of scaling as a freelancer.
The truck was his.
And he could invest in himself.
It was just one three day trip a week.
Money floated in.
It didn't come all free.
It had to come to him but he was a step ahead.
Before, in the dark age, taking a trip was always a job.
A sattellite turns it into a chore.
Follow the directions until ending.
Reverse. Repeat.
Watch the surroundings. These white lines can hold the road together.
Look through the mirrors
and notice the cars that are following this truck.
Getting ahead of him to arrive earlier.
Get passed and take longer.
Travel in the space of another
only separated by moments of wind
between air and metal.
The grey road began to close in around the Truck
it hardly ever widened and it's growth stagnant
to the surrounding gas station towns.
The space was becoming a much closer world
to the transportation vessels.
The travel still lasted as long.
The roads the same
and the moments still dull
all occurred on the reoccuring days
when the truck needed to drop
a box off.
#3
Then the truck became nothing. This simple gesture of
convenience and money.
Responsible to bring this from here to there.
John was just parading around parphenilia
like the next vendor.
But the truck was discrete. It was just white,
carrying something, and each driver
that drives by tries to solve the mystery too.
No one ever approached John about it.
Just medicine he would tell himself
as he gripped the steering wheel
with one hand and put the other out the window.
The towns were all curious. Here was this trucker
trucking past them all all the time.
It's like the prairie dogs look in a pack as a fox
is running by.
And this fox has jeans on metaphorically.
But the trucki was hooked up with cameras.
The cameras told the truck who nodded with certainity
where the enviroment was.
The truck loses his blindness.
The truck now follows the directions.
The travel is an event to watch.
John observes the road around him
and only needs to manipulate the truck
if it translates the enviroment incorrectly.
The chances of John adjusting controls
before a camera is pitiful.
John just went to thinking
as the surroundings around him blared past
him in consistency.
This was just an obligation.
All he had to do was stay in the white truck
and supervise.
But John wasn't fulfilled.
Each time he parked, to pick up or to
drop off was another notch.
The camera's being able to sync
past user data to set history to the Truck's travel
onlyobliterated any human existence.
John was just a body
with eyes
that engineered this simplicity.
Each trip got him closer and nearer
to answering his thoughts.
A future is in the next word, the next dotted line,
the next breath, but is the moment after
actually change.
John just wanted to be John, not a body
holding down a truck, to drop a package off.
The wind forces us to face these uphill battles.
These simple choices held above our collective heads
like ideas we never got to say outloud.
View it as an accolade, so many notches
on a black leather belt, before so many
piss you away for leaving.
Trying was an understatement.
Not so much could be said about your all
because we all have faced that giant
and we all had to lose at the same time.
Sex isn't fair
because it's always on the table.
Now it's stripped away like that rust
on your car you were made to pay for.
And the loser is the one that gets out last.
They can't see it coming, they lay
in a naked fetal position hoping the world
could be resolved again.
Then it's all fruit fall and over hauls.
The days are long like flag poles.
The direction is only straight
but the travel is pushing down
where growth is uncertain
and the rays are broken.
Before the decisions can alter
a vision, the feeling of defeat
already has preyed
on the level of horizons.
Nothing brings pain
easier then betrayal.
The seperation of wood and space
ends up with splinters.
Trying to crash ontop doesn't
comfort just burns the feelings
at the end of each nerve.
And each sacrifice to freedom
only ended up being to survive
in between the four seasons.
All this free time masked
by the economies cascade
and the faces, once sad,
weren't made.
Together, only alone
living on a crowded road
on the perimeter of a community
threatned by extinction
when our own hands and eyes
turned towards a projection
of ourselves.
But some of us are still here,
waiting like a child ready to be picked up
after a long day
at a place we never wanted to be
but forced upon through
aquaducts and rice water.
Cold statues touching the
burnt edges of novelty pages.
In a grey crypt
even if it was a stale chick.
Underneath cherry pits
and thinless tits
an insidiuos gift
by a music player with
Big B playing that Great Ol' Twist.
We could really find the self
under a cave waiting for patience.
Science is tribes and frustrations
mountains over many
and then sentience.
Strives above a new perception niche
unamended modes for transcedence.
Here it is again,
touch the mentors list
camping around Oxford
typically, statuesque like a brash oxen
tapping out on Ash Wednesday so I
can talk to my boss about mediation
and ponder the paralysis of meditation
being work
or is my being being worked?
Oh come on, we all work to stay poor
never letting ourselves
push on that strange door
the one that has never been seen open
like it was an emergency
to emerge for the sake of gold rings
like a goalie.
Gone bowling but I can't tip the rail
I can't fit my fingers inside
these caves.
What if theirs a spider in these holes?
The centripical force will
pull him back to his web
the ball is a totem pole
the lane is a smoke signal
and each time I clear out
my wallet like a patient
trying to remember the deets
until the fluid is flowing
and all our brains are only connected
to one place.
It's like bonding with a loose leaf
I want to do a movie. Or even a short. It really doesn't matter but something on video. But all I have is myself. I don't really want to write a full fledged script because I don't even know what it is about. What can I do with just one person. The character needs to have a story to tell but all I have is everything I own. IS the character in the film just me? Then what is the story. My life, where I'm at, after college working two jobs. Still that is only pure background. That's no story. But is there conflict with only one character that is one age. It's like I want to make with the least amount of effort. I guess I'm just the best man for the job since I can just do and I'm always just representing myself. But where could I take the character. I can do life shots. Maybe those are some how dramatic in their own right. It's almost like a reality television show but each day can just be fast forwarded through. Slow at some parts. I always thought I would just narrate since I have the sound editing equipment. But I still have no idea what I would narrate on. The scenes happening infront of the screen. I could just have scenes and a narrator narrate over them. He's doing this for this reason even though the link between the two could be absurd. But with the literally white space of footage, the possiblities are grand. I could do music for it too but I'll have to stop myself this time. If I feel like I can't add to the experience then I'll need to reassure myself that I can do better or just cut it. Leave a sense out of the mix.
Since I always feel like I can't focus ona specific project, I designed a process to help me at least focus on a medium of art. First week started off with art. The decision with this is because art harnesses spontaneuity. During that spontaneuity, ideas (or particles) start to clump together. Art leads into narration with sequence. These sequences lead into words to develop the narration into a story. The second week is then just writing. this week has been pretty loose. Write in my journal, write a poem work on a story start something new. Then the week after is music. The writing, if poetry or just some free verse number, gives me material to record if I need it. Music is another form that tends to blend into spontaneous, experimental, and helps ideas form into projects. Songs can be used for many things. Soundtracks for movies or even written word. Also this helps me practice my instrument of my vocals. Then for the last month I was thinking video. This could help me develop into a new area which I haven't thoroughly explored. I watch a lot of movies and television shows and I've been in movies and shorts but it's nothing I've ever done solo. Film borrows heavily from music and words so much that these leading up to this could provide me with material to use for the last week. Then it goes back to art. In a cycle.
cigarettes and opportunities
static particles
this goes out to all my bum fucks
post grads with all the talent but no luck
working to jobs just so we can keep ducking
them bills, saving up for some cheap thrills
but my moneys in the bank still
so i can spend it on my saturn
and we used to go by the name lantern
friends forever
artists are better
because we stick round
for all that bad weather
and we experience
this experiment
live by the thrift broooil
outdoorsmen niche
no response
just battered only ever underweight
like a disaster
the paint stays splattered
because art is just art
it's not smart like you're bladder
and the worlds fatter then me
afford the super size
with two sides
and you're still blue right?
because happiness never gets too stick
around for the food fight
bitter like a radio transmitter
during dinner
because you were a so so winner
you're the difference between a heavy binder
and a reform sinner
now your off in the distance
picking pockets, sucking odd dick
behind the laundrymat's kids
but back to business
you can't act weak
behind your egotistical innocense
bend the fender
and i'm just trying to keep ripe like bananas
yellow in a blender
smooth too smooth us over
but the dirt was just too rich for our land rover
now just sand over
because i can't do these bars over
at my own apartment
that last place we almost got charged with arson
and i'll never hit the target
bored like a bored
i am too sure
to be investing in ore
yah poor?
what to expect
yeah i'm poor
and no i can't get blown
i need to stay responsible
so i can pay back my student loans
supposed to be a writer
but i walk to what i love
like a hiker
and use my own energy
like a biker
none of us were supposed to end
up like this
and i smoke between the breaks
between both my shifts
because i just want to kick it
fuck sleep
i'm still dreaming about
all my wishes
and trying to come up with my
life's wish list
is implicit
yah gifted
get back to the end of line
where all the grown kids is
VIP at New wave
a slave in that logan maze
a place to get your glasses concaved
and I passed it on my way
turning around Chicago
to get these high hopes
tied down like Pilsen with Chicano's
and I visited Sam in Pilsen
still dreaming about those high notes
we are all professors
confessing education, smoking
our brains out, tell these kids
to stay out, tell these men
to stay put
and these women to stay up
AMA, LFG, A/S/L
datun's can't swim
and basements can only smell like cat piss
but it wears away
even if the smoke don't
my work always sees the po-po
to force out the theifs drifting
bums slipping, schizo'stwitching
and now where is the fucking picture?
I said, I threw it in the dumpster
about a month ago
and I'm proud I know
we came from the stars
so far, so far
[sulfur] or [from a perpetual mistake,
you know the distinction between a holiday
and a vacation
you bathin or are you bakin
and no the seats not taken
two strangers achin
your walk looks like the mad hatters
you drunk, are you high
or just a bad actor
a fractions of a cent
a factor lied upo against the bench
eat the word, the prosecution even has my defense
your gonna be the worst
and it's fun watching you fail at these fun events
it's like you could neer see kids
a picture, rising from Halucigens to a mister
I'll shoot this pen
and I can't wait to get to know my kid sister
and I can't wait to get to know my young sister
and this is for all my brothers and sisters
Is life so sinister
or will it all end like twister
too awkward must fall
in a tornado, somersault
while the wonderful
viewing on the side lines
maybe on day i'll just vault
over the bar and I'll always
grab for my refund
a five finger conundrum
and you know i'll make you smell my green thumb
i'm a bear, son
and to fuck with me
your going to have to
tear down my apartment
or better yet
tear out my catharsis
because you still bump
that retarded
while this sage
is blowing up the graden (of eden)
and this music
is great and it's given at a bargain
I'm like an arson's sale
a drive by retail
because e-tail
is for less r's and cheap thrill
and we are all like Sysuphus
it's a battle, uphill
while the snows battering, land fill
and the ends having yah
no till so no more pulls
and you'll be wondering
why the bad man killed?
and you'll be wondering
why the band aid killed?
and you'll be wondering
why the band mate killed?
Ponder like a giant
eyes still sore like a solid
i've been promised
to be extoniced
over heavyweights
yeah I'm polished
astonished
new folk being abolished
high club polidicks
bathroom olive dish
carter flinched
just a pinch
before siinge
not across my bridge
family four kids
rope below porrage
my life is in storage
Everytime I come to write here I always feel like I have to backtrack or just write something quick to see if it all isn't just a fluke. I have these thoughts that usually blossoms into me wanting to transcribe it here but I hardly ever approach the computer because it's while I'm doing another task or about to go to bed. I don't turn myself away but I do not give myself the time to do or even finish everything I want to do. It's this grippling fact that I work too much. Then when I have the designated time for a specific task it becomes a game of dodge ball. Since I'm on my computer I'll open tabs, flip through my music library, even check my sites views. Then these projects get put on a pedestal because they are nothing I could finish in a week. My novels have come to this. I want them to be written silmutaneously but one sits and the other one gets a chapter ever week or two. Working on them needs to be precise and clear. Or i'll just stop writing/ typing.
But then that's just writing. No, I do more then that. I've never been able to just ween my hobbies and skills into specific ammenities. And it's like, stop being so hard on yourself and I have to live with myself too. At times I wish I could make something that was actually valued by a person besides me. Or it's just not taken at the level of critique I would enjoy. Theres discourse to be hard on all art. But the theory of entertainment creeps its head into the mix.
Other times I want to do more. I have other tools that I want to use but either my lack of talent in drawing tablets and computer art stop me before I even conceptualize or the fear that it's all going to take too much time. Yes I recorded the song but now I have to record the video with my dash cam and choreograph the whole things and make sure each take works together. Then I have to act and make sure I have enough stock footage when the whole video and audio don't line up. Anything that gets me up and out of the shell of writing and drawing (2-d art) will help me open up but it will also be stealing me away from my two fundamental forms of art.
And then I think about art too much. Or I worry about other people's art too much and I listen to music all the time and the same music or I only stay the interests I have carried on my shoulders for a decade. Or I want to do something like sing but I can't make the music for it and I don't have lyrics for it. Like I want there to be a space where I can listen to the song to write the lyrics but also write the lyrics to the song but I tend to recycle. Make a song and then do the lyrics from notes I've written.
Then I hit walls where I think that I'm running out of material. Now that I am working on a lot of things that are non-fiction and eventually I'll just be repeating my story like a novel does. At least it can't change. I feel like revealing only helps me understand myself but also helps me strip away from it. I've lived through it. Gotten over it. Written about it. Read it. Understood and then released it for others to intake.
Until things just don't feel like they are heading anywhere. A chapter at a time, the novel won't be done for another year and then I have to start working on the other one which should be the easier novel. Writing about life is a lot of research (just figuring out titles, references) and things are still being changed when I talk to friends or think about it enough. Then when there both done then what. Sell them somehow. I am so unprepared and how would I manage. I know how to do it by filling my hours up with steady work but I dream of the day I can dedicate specific days on a project rather then a week on a form. Even for a year.
Frequently I remember what it's all about. It's about observing and all that means is that I need to experience. Try new things, do things outside of what I would do. Getting invited out is a treat or having people over is a good thing. The more people you have the less expected everything around you becomes since all of us are full of spontaneuity but just need the right catalysts to spark the actions.
Finally I run out of time.
I didn't get into the Stanford (Stegner) fellowship this year. It's nothing that I didn't expect but it was definitely a dream that I was hoping for. It would of been really nice to feel like it was finally time to focus on this, whatever this is or even becomes. But now one out of the two places I applied too has passed on this opportunity. It would make me feel grateful if making was my job. Something I could do every day and feel like I was working towards a project but since my time is seperated awkwardly throughout the week, any one of these projects just becomes a place I put things I'm doing. They're hardly edited, probably not focused, and since it's so spontaneous, might not even go in the right project category. And then when I feel like something has to be finished, I've been working on this project for months but when I really wrinkle out the time I put into it it's probably more like hours. Even though I could go back and reread everything I wrote word for word or sketch out a design and go on a canvas and paint it near perfectly or make a song that is tight and dynamic with vocals that don't always include some background noise like from a dog or from a dryer. I really could do that but it's more time. Editing the projects would hold me up from doing another project. Focusing on one just lets one rough gem pass through my finger tips and memory webs. I feel like editing would hold me back but I also feel like I've written this paragraph before. That's the downside to just doing instead of carefully conceptualizing the things I do. Where does this fit in the art world, the music industry or the publishing warehouse? These things I do not know and I don't think they are necessarily relevant. I could just focus all my attention on one thing and promote it but I'm no director. I'm not a person that says I do something just to say. I rather do then say. I rather do then sit around and talk about it. I rather do, throw it up online, and go back to doing. Because if it's important, we will know and if it isn't, at least I did something instead of waiting around for the right deal, publicity and accredidation.
He was born ready with the little fists of a childs bunched up waiting to be opened. He finally got to see when the hallway started to never end. He was just being pushed farther and farther from his home until the nurse opened the door and kept him in a closet. A closet with a humidifier pumping pure oxygen into the lungs of the feeble. The walls decided to grow up and up and the ceiling became just four lines turning into a black speck near the edge of his vision.
Wanting to go the distance
used to mean just taking a trip
when there was only a small
gap of time
where it was all beatiful
but now a path
is cobbled and simple
and we aren't going
too fast because
i'm sure the next step
will be too fast
and the frame
will be shook again
until the perspective
isn't based on height
but the wait
is just making things
un-focused
with all choices
no prospects
with the same voice
honest
even when the
temptress is tarnished
and you made it that way
and you can't change
backstory if news is
only passed under
mattresses
Distant like a filament
throw a discus through the two day mist
Left unsettled
liked a birthday wish missed
and this day turned to yours
you hardly took shrooms
the static swept under
with a broom
and I thought I saw things
but I was just watching.
Over the monitor
only off day
my holiday
and now all the entertainment is too loud
and I'm trying to read articles
through the irritable particles
but I'm farther
you can't bother with the volume
because your heads in a shalom
and I've been their before
way before
so I try to keep up
but no bother, can't follow,
can't argue because I'm the designated life driver
the only tool is a nail filer
and a red shirt, start my shift
I grow and go to Meijer.
start clapping
give me an ovation
now i got the clap
and you're ovulating
as this cramped space
keep populating.
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