GODS.

we drank only a little bit not enough to be drunk and we let two of the guys smoke as much marijuana as they wanted. we all stared into the sky and talked until we brought up every amazing memory about when we were as young and meaningless as we were today. the moon was still far away. the stars were still out there and dead and being born and dying and ignoring us. our voices were separating our laughter. nothing was wrong. the van was running. the speakers were loud enough to be blankets. we knew the songs and it was enough. we had no names. the world didn't end that night or ever again.

rings, splayed.

i've found myself boiling. rolling over and over in true and deep anger. this is over the past few weeks, weeks that i've found myself getting snippier, feeling more and more misunderstood. not as a person, but in real time. having the things that i'm speaking getting translated less clearly than i'd anticipated them being.

the fact that it's happening on such a broad and wide level and at such a frequency has me believing that maybe i'm not communicating as directly as i'd like. or possibly even too directly. with too little flourish. are these the kinds of things that make communication easier? description? lack of brevity? i've been trying to minimise (btw, this) the words i use to be as clear and concise as possible. it clearly isn't working. at least for me. i think i'm finding myself in my head a lot more frequently than ever before. i'm often a reacher, trying to extend my thoughts and opinions to many, usually through the internet. through this blog. through myspace bulletins. wrankmusic. twitter. now facebook statuses. i'm doing that less. sharing less.

is this breakdown of communication contributing to be spilling and sprawling rage? i'm mindfully suffocating these bouts, keeping them from coworkers and friends and customers. i'm hitting my closest friends with the results at times. but more often than not, i'm allowing it to contribute to a growing fatigue, a darkening of my usually vibrant and running energy. somewhere, i became embarrassed, somewhere i have become withdrawn. is it my entire audience? is it a particular audience member? is it the lack of an audience? is the embarrassment a result of the acknowledgement of the existence of an audience altogether? whatever occurred, whatever shift started and ended, i'd like to see it end. i've been looking towards 2013 with an excitement and an expectation of rebirth and refresh. it's one that i'll have to make my very own, one that i'll have to undergo without the assistance of the turning of a calendar page. one that i'll have to completely helm.

i think i've got it, i think i've got the kind of focus to do that.
i think i've got the people around me to support and facilitate me.
for some reason, i've always had this hang up, this sort of delay or fear that there are going to be people or peoples or voices of one or both who are going to call me out on any sort of improvement i try to take the reins of. to become more positive or more progressive or more conditioned or more fun or more adventurous. i feel like some one person out there is going to be telling me that i can't do that. and i don't even give them the opportunity to say any of those things because i say it to myself before i even give the notion a chance to flourish.

i feel extremely comfortable exposed and doing wrong.
i feel comfortable on stage, even if it's playing a role.

everything's easier when you've got a sadness tied to you, because at least you're tethered to a place. i've felt a little bit liberated by several events over the past few years, and i think it's freeing me not only of limitations but also of excuses. i've got so much to do and so much to accomplish with zero expectation and zero limitation. that could just be it. i'm going to have to put it all together out there in the vacuum. i can do it alone or i can do it with you.

metro.

god.

it's getting cold again.
grey again.
and a disaster is about to come down on us all.

i thought i might post a thing here.
tell myself that maybe i'll find a consistency to post about. some media or some other life changer. going over it and over it is exhausting.

the need to constantly share and [potentially] inform is overwhelming.

i've got nothing for you.

gails. gails!

you swinging your arms in massive arcs!
reaching for plagues and plagues.
OH!
i watch you in grainy video in slow motion
with my arm sleeves pulled to the elbow.
spittled at the pixilated monitor,
that redgreenblue
redgreenblue
red and green and blue.
boxes know you better than I ought.

I thought about you Monday morning,
standing tall and filthy native.
perfect.
some resurrection provided
by burial.
mounds of dirt and holocaust you endowed and denied.
walking across the creakwood floor barefooted.
mean in a way. you reached out, knew there was nothing.
we’ll bury you on repeat.
we’ll bury you on repea.t
build a cross on your hollowed mound.
taller until it’s a symbol, the story larger than its myth.

numb receipt:
God, how is this still you?
your fingers auctioned at cost.
ribs pawned across fingertip plexiglass.

your eyes, resemble the fawn.
pensive; you are sleeping.

a great hail.

she reminds me of pouring rain in the morning.
you wake up and drive.
you delete the windshield.
not the windshield wipers.

the old ways.

talked with an old friend last night.
tried to keep an itinerary of where we headed.
hope to spend a lot more time with him.

regardless of who people are or what they do as they are, it's often the most genuine level of inspiration to be inspired by the person one chooses to be when they think someone isn't hoping to be inspired by them. collecting, churning, exhibiting utility nectar.

--

- the hell of thailand.
- dad pulling a mugger's arm through the car window and flooring it at a red light (flint, MI)
- genius of awful tattoos of your children
- "mana machine"
- j alfred, proof rock (this)
- "the free development of each is the condition for the free development of all."
- tarantino's realer than real world universe v. the movie movie universe.
- the real life parable of daniel mccarthy
- is our generation responsible for anything?
- elephants and the mourning of their dead.

urethrismus.

the envelope held a brown letter
and I had nothing else from you but some rest.
you are somewhere else and only spend some days looking back.
it's pitched completely desolate, a single speck of civilization on a planet's view from atmosphere.
you run the shape of my skull through your fingers and it barely shakes your penmanship.
the ink is unconventional and cheap. haphazard and makeshift.
you remember more than you let on. and fuck it.
i begged you back in words and in a way i told fiction.
there was a ditch you could have followed to where they lay me down at last.
you run the shape of my skull through your lips and it barely shakes your songs.
the notes are flat and disgusting. you laugh and drink wine.
they were meant for me but they're easier sent to shore.
for men with honor or less.
at least there are patient moments.
i found a way for you to take me back home, disassembled.
schematics scattered and written in masonic symbols.
almost religious the way you disbelieved it.
some ritual for the other ones more or less sacred based on how bad you needed it.
shape of my skull on your lips. you spoke in genuflections.
lay some flecks on the ground in seminal patterns.
a ceremony for ill conceived plans.
i left but you just left better.
for real this time.
except you don't leave.
you send me pictures of yourself sleeping.
the words of the letter, and the way you looked up from it.
and will you always keep the envelope?


this was submitted to two poetry blogs. both declined.

bailed beds.

now playing: caribou's record, swim.

 i don't want to spread myself too thin.

 i noticed yesterday that a major part of how i think and why i react and find myself in panics so often is that i don't focus on one thing and get strong results from it. instead, i take the time to notice everything and so many things at once and sprawl out trying to maximize my output on all of those different things at once and exhaust every mental and physical resource i have in the process. and while i wait, i hold my breath. i have nothing to go back to, no spine of what has been rooting all of those other things, those other spin-offs. the thing i keep coming back to is being the strongest and the best at the reactions to all of those other little things. without a stimulus, i feel a little lost. strongest antenna.

i can find concentration for concentrated moments. when i believe in a work or when i believe in a movement, i can keep myself focused on that particular entity for decent periods of time, coming back to it, keeping the cork board littered with the pieces of little trickle that find its way through during the other living i'm doing. i can keep notes, i can keep full themes present, almost like a sedimentary layer of my crust. but at some point, it tails off. usually once things have become difficult. it can range from a simple losing of interest to a full blown temper tantrum or panic attack that spreads in waves across everything else i have going on.

[i have to shave.]

i think about wanting to get into a one-a-day blog. picture a day, blog post a day, tumblr post a day; any of that. i don't think i can pull it off, though. at least at the level of quality i'd want to be able to claim from it. it's an idea i'm attracted to, though would my inability to follow through (and my extraordinary ability to create excuses and justifications) put itself in the way? but of course it would.

remarkably though, i see this in many of the people in my life. it doesn't make any of us any less willing to pursue what we say we will. or at least less willing to say that we will pursue that thing. it's a regulated, eager intention. and i think it's a beautiful thing. there are two people in mind that i have seen carry out their intention on a consistent basis, and i want to draw on those people as sources of inspiration, and if nothing else mimic their behaviors, patterns and mantras. the ability to remain a consistent pillar of action and not just empty cages or bags of art supplies is an incredible feat, even if for any of us who are outside of that consistency.

i'm an easily destructible mammal.
i'm the only one who can fix this.
i'm the only one who wants to fix this.

gall. proposition.

i've had one of the most emotional months. not much to report, unfortunately. drew some conclusions about the ways i've failed myself and others. it's all just me being hard on myself and drawing/finding similarities in all of the ways things are occurring and calling them the same thing.

 i'm finding myself moving back into sync, though, the division between my actual self and who i can find myself acting as sealing up. soldering the seams up.

 if i sit here long enough,
 maybe it'll figure itself out for me.


 expedition.

suzanna.

i lost another moleskine today.
just to the public.
these things happen and will continue to happen.


i'm only upset conditionally:
if someone is to keep it, even as comedy, i'm cool with that.
if someone is to pick it up, look around, ask "is this yours? you? no?"
then toss it, i'm appalled.


i'll someday get to the end of this.

1/17/2006.

this
record
is always
you.

i'm not competing with you, never.
you want it, take it.
ask ask ask or tell.

and pat it down.

bury.

from the desk of...

more found street love.

plugboard.

she has the heart of a Machine.
paced in constant revolutions
so efficient for the age.
little room for chaos little room for entropy
and always craving fuel for more.

decatonic.

make no excuse.

massive.

saw these incredible minimalist marvel posters done by marko manev.
really blew me away. wanted to share the power of the direct and poignant.

more.

smoking is...

wrote this november 9th on a whim.
wasn't sure if i'd wanted to share it.
two months later, i guess it's too cold for change.

I don’t feel this is a solution, though I don’t feel that I have a solution for very many things. being part of the ninety nine percent is not some sort of shameful thing or a definition that we are part of those that lack. we just happen to be the result of a broken system that we perpetuate. this is the system we all have trusted for years, and even if we didn’t trust it, we followed it. there’s been a kind of involuntary slavery to it. for every moment we felt control slipping away, we should have been questioning and recoordinating from that very moment. sitting down in wall street is not affecting their bottom line. there are always going to be people who are going to be able to ignore the fact that one, a few, a many, or even all, dislike their concept or their means of getting to an end. seeing those who are trying to represent us in wall street either through sitting, occupying, or marching isn’t affecting their day. their eyes don’t even register revolution. they don’t recognize a new progress. for every cluster of you that boycotts their product or service, there are millions who still engage. of the 99%, those of us who are active in utilizing our voice to demand change, whether it’s through written word, presence, violence or otherwise, you are not even 1% of that mass. this method doesn’t work if you don’t get everyone on board. and everyone isn’t going to get on board. we’re not all going to go to the big cities to speak to this motion. your occupation requires attendance. even for things that are enjoyable, there is no way to guarantee that people would show up for such a thing.

x

I wrote that at 0540 one morning before work. I wasn’t even dreaming of the whole thing. I think I read something on google reader, and the solution seemed obvious to me. if you don’t like the rules of a game, you can leave the game. there are so many people shouting about the gravel being hot lava. if we cross it, and throw back a middle finger, or even just walk back into the school or back into our houses, anywhere, enough of us will realize that the bully has been convincing us about hot lava just so we can’t be first on line for lunch.

this whole movement has been unavoidable, being part of the generation, the demographic. I started doing a bit of research on the whole thing, the whole open thought of it. I wholeheartedly support what’s going on. my major issue with the entire thing has become the process of trying to figure out what exactly we’re doing about change, and overall what we’re really fighting for. what it’s all seemed like is a bunch of people my age standing around to represent that “shit ain’t right.” got it. I think we’ve been saying and hearing that forever. but there’s one quote that I finally read that stated the one demand that started the whole procession:

“one simple demand—a presidential commission to separate money from politics—we start setting the agenda for a new America.”

fucking refreshing. it’s taken so long, so long for me to finally find that nugget of information. and the one issue I was having finding that information was that I was reading about it in the wrong places. in fact, what am I saying? I wasn’t reading about it at all. I was talking to people about it. people who related to it, who supported it. and they hadn’t even a real, solid clue as to where it started, what’s changing, what the demand is. what they were telling me was what was happening to it. it was an endless oroboros. “the police shot rubber bullets, the police broke down the tent village.” got it. but why was the village there? “well. um. the um. the police sprayed girls with pepper spray.”

this isn’t the race riots. this isn’t about the police hating these people. or being taught to hate these people. this is more reactionary. these are the same guys who we used to hate in high school, the sloping, mannish strong-arm types who if you start a group of people laughing, will demand the spotlight and do whatever it takes to steal it. stand in his way, he will forcefully move you or make you regret it. got it.

but finally reading that demand, that one demand, puts it into perspective. make it so that those who we are voting for will make decisions based on moral fiber, genuine interest or belief as opposed to who is providing the most money to their re-election. with it. got it.

there’s so much to this whole scenario that no one’s really talking about on the outside. much of it may be happening on the inside, but I’m kind of afraid that… wait. I’m not afraid. not for real. I am convinced that a lot of what’s going on on the inside is a lot of preaching to the quire. the choir, you know. it seems a lot of the talking that people who are walking that line aren’t hearing is being kept cushioned deep within the heart of the whole occupy movement.

for different reasons, I get that the movement is important. but I feel that at every chance this whole group gets to really make a giant leap in the right direction, they end up looking either worthless or terrified because they aren’t able to really demonstrate outwardly and openly because of various rules of where you can and can not protest and other things like how you can do it and what you can’t say and onward. i feel like there’s a big thing happening. a great thing where this mass of generic progressive young people are making enough of a rustling to get noticed by press and media and the thought structure, but once they get the camera turned to them, once they get the microphone time, they sort of blink their eyes and get nervous and throw together their best coy smile.

I want to believe that there will be change due to this standing about. or at least ignited by it. but there is no leader. no real spreading wave of effective stirring.

I think we all at the very least understand what’s happening. but whether or not this stand is building to revolution is another thing entirely. it’s a very positive thing that a lot of people polled or interviewed aren’t seeing the occupiers as pigeon holed fist-shakers who are making a big stink over nothing. I think they’re being taken pretty seriously. but the lack of a stance makes it hard to climb or progress. I think that’s mostly due to the lack of quantification we can see. who comes out of the Door of Imagery waving a white flag with a puppy dog face, saying, “alright you kids! we’ll do it, we’ll make this better!” ? no one. we can’t change any chair and watch things overturn, get overrun, and then all of the color returns to Pleasantville. rather, we have to use this moment of silence in the room caused by an urgent, somewhat shy, but forceful ahem as a chance to gain a representation and a voice in the room that continues to get louder and louder of big wigs hearing themselves speak.

as long as these guys are counting zeroes on their checks, they don’t care. they’re not afraid of us. they don’t even see us. we have to make a radical change. an entire structure has to collapse, and the only way to do that is to operate outside of them. the unique opportunity of cities of this size is that if enough of us are on the same side, we really can make some major dents. I am genuinely curious if all of us in the metro new york area didn’t pay our credit card bills, or closed our bank accounts in a slow and quiet gliding landing of a movement, how big of an impact we would have on those companies.

I’m spinning off a little bit. I’m not sure what my point is here.

but I guess I’m stating where I stand on it, and putting my fingers to keys on a laptop is the easiest way to do it for me. I love this moment. I love it. I just want to treat it preciously and importantly instead of like something that we will look back and remember fondly. I don’t want this moment to be remembered. I want it to be a start of a new look, with new eyes. because this is not enough. we need a leader or at the very least a representative. a voice that will be recognized. we need someone who knows our priorities, and they must be defined. we need someone who will see us, our demographic, our generation (and those that follow it) as a people. the scale needs to shift. somehow, we’re still going to these schools and building college debts that aren’t helping us get the jobs we want to build the world we love with the skills we’ve nurtured for our entire lives. we just want to trust the system. and we’ve never had a chance.

from where we’re standing, we’re going to keep following the rules that we hate because we’ll reluctantly take the cues from a hierarchy we never elected because we never had a chance to show we had the credentials to have our voice sound like an equal because we never bought the proverbial suit that looked nice enough to let us into their meeting. our ideas matter because we are our own ideal future. we’re walking in the one big kid’s hot lava, and there are a dozen of us meeting eyes and rolling them. no!

we need that one voice, that one trust, that one small victory to prove we have a say in the way that our tide sways. I believe in all of this, I do. but even my attention is faltering.

clay dries so so slowly. but yes, the clay will dry.

clarke st., sunrise.

there will be no je'taime, je'taime.
just puffs and deep woofs
and the covering of ears.
it will be wrong, so very wrong,
and while we're searching for a hero amid the strong and true
the looting will run dry.
a place which had seen so much good
now holding up the knees of those struggling
or weakened too deep to believe any longer.

wheezer.

i wouldn't consider myself an archivist, but honestly if i still lived in brooklyn and attached myself to that artist lifestyle, i more than likely would. what i can say is that i love finding people's written word. i almost obsessively collect it. even if it's just a shopping list or notes from a construction site. i collect them, and pin them up places, or stuff them into whatever notebook i happen to be filling at the time. it's almost proof or almost nothing. there's something about it that i get a warm feeling about.

this particular piece was in the next door neighbor's driveway. in the driveway itself. and i walked past it, almost intimidated by getting on that person's property, because already this is the kind of guy who we've been warned about, the kind of guy where if you're too loud in your own room at 11:36 at night, you feel like he's peering through the shades at you. the kind of guy, in fact, that knocked on our door at one thirty in the morning because someone parked in front of his house and heard that someone get into their car and "it disturbed him and his family".

but i went back and said fuck it, i'm taking it. which is no heroic gesture or maneuver, but still, while i'm walking into his driveway, the number of scenarios coming into my head are numerous and the explanations of excuses i'm building are hilarious and terrified. but i grab this and i see the first line of it and i know immediately that it's been worth it.

it's a story written by a child, and i can very memorably recall that feeling of writing stories on pieces of loose leaf, and thinking that a chapter can fill just one page, and then you put the illustration on the back of it, because obviously all books have illustration. i pinned it up under my adventure time logo because it makes perfect sense to. what follows is the transcription.


chapter 3
the transformation

Then Nachos came and then Something happened to steven. I couldn't believe it. was I transforming? Lets see my 1st transforming Power oh yeah It's called R.t.p. that stands for radioactive transforming powers Rtp for short. The power is I have blonde hair you can throw Powerballs, Lightning Strike, Lightning Balls, and Gigantic power balls. Then Someone Named Master dokoye He said the transformation has began! Rtp will live forever! Then Some bad creatures came they had Sharp teeth So I said I'll kick you butt!