i'm a resident.

so this guy went to haiti for zombies. it's something you'd think sounds one hundred percent absurd, unless you've read serpent and the rainbow, which... hold on... doesn't necessarily SOUND BELIEVABLE or PROVE zombies, but it's weird enough and has enough things that [appear to be] facts (especially before the age of irony) that it warrants some thought. at the very least for the pharmacology of it. and yeah, the whole haiti/voodoo zombie is only a bit of an inspiration for the romero zombie.

right?

regardless, zombies have had a huge influence on a lot of people i respect. i have always been intrigued by the dark piece of WHERE and WHAT zombies imply, which is a state of complete chaos, complete 0. post-apocalypse is one way to describe it on a worldly level, but anything, any moment of complete classlessness, complete need to survive based on your skill, your rationale... a grand leveler, and an absolute reset: this is the place that, regardless of source, regardless of cause, and especially regardless of scale, i feel you can really see self-empowerment and the rise of passionate, motivated individuals. right, but be that as it may, zombies have always been a massive subgenre of that setting. pieces like the 28 X Later series, The Walking Dead, Resident Evil, so on and so forth. there's just been something about all zombie fiction that no matter how horrible all of the inbetweens are, if i see something that claims zombies are involved, i at least have to give it a shot. which is what brought me here.

the host, Hamilton apparently, is cool. seems like he knows how to host a show. his voice gets a little obnoxious when he's narrating things for too long at a time or if he starts pronouncing things with the "OH MY GAWWWWD" drawl, but he's pretty funny, keeps it light. my favorite part, honestly, was seeing literally how serious the haitians took this stuff. just as a culture, how much they engulfed themselves in that culture. which is odd, considering when i see those in the more "western religions" get this passionately involved,i call the same dedication ridiculous. but yeah, for that reason MORESO than the zombie portion of that, it ended up seeing. the ceremony towards the beginning? worth it. the reveal of a zombie later on (through the pink door)? ALSO. TOTALLY WORTH IT. it's a little more than an hour long, so it's heavier than a quick youtube toss, but with the interest there and with the right kind of night (i had it bookmarked for about three weeks to a month or so?) it could be a good sit-down.

you learn a bit about puffer fish ingestion too. and they also mention things about scopolamine, something i've linked to a documentary about on this blog (maybe somewhere else?) which is essentially a drug that somewhat hypnotizes the user for hours at a time.

berlin.

been a fan of band of horses since i heard them on the zune that was in the first gamestop i worked in. i think they had two songs on the preloaded playlist which was a major distinction of the time. i had "everything all the time" downloaded, but purchased "cease to begin" and that really cemented the deal for me. i'm a fleeting fan, i don't pump them that hard, i don't really know the lyrics or the songs from to back, but i am a big fan of what they do. very very reminiscent of the shins. haven't heard their new record "infinite arms" yet. i wanted to bring this up many months ago (i'm guessing by the comments i'm linking to in may). this particular radio interview i was listening to really inspired me in such an unbelievably positive way. just the outlook, the stance, the gracious manner in which they presented themselves. i remember having this conversation with at the very least beetle, but it definitely might sound familiar to a couple others when i bring it up to them. i finally thought to look it up and have it embedded, and i realized that really, when listening to it, there's no sort of philosophy or suggested level of thought or approach that they go forward with. it's just, and i hate to say this, but the energy they're putting out there that's so believable. so genuine. and it was something, a moment, where really, i would really be happy to come across half as grateful, precise and crystalline as they are.

starts @ 6:20.
live performance of 'no one's gonna love you' @ 14:01.

shit.

idle chatting.

there's been a fury of positive energy, up from the hoarding cortex mostly, and it's been stored away for just a time as this season, the days when it gets dark early and obviously, the days when it isn't just cold by kelvin or celcius but by physiology. a time last year when i was downing what the doctors gave me with devices much frowned upon by the labels and status quo (and better judgment). taking things hard and in all the wrong ways, mistaking presence for intent. missing and longing. spurring on beautiful things, yes, but shivering and de-enlisting. it's a different day. i was guilty of misconception. and presently, i can't see this being the same.

i referred to a reaction i had a couple weeks ago, and it was so unbelievable that i could watch myself generate such a complex hive of emotion, and have the clarity to see through it. to have the vision to not sit within it, and let it conspire and devour me and all i've built up out of myself, some great defining line. i was given some possibility, some fraction of time to experience something that i'd been anticipating for months. and when i was finally given the window of time, the quantified measure of the experience, my first reaction was denial and almost a manner of scoffing. not enough, or not as substantial, or not some endless perpetuation. i'm not sure what the expectation had been. and this was something that i'd made certain to appreciate. a volume put aside for an hour when you get an hour. the kind of thing that i'd pause in any event of escape. the match you let burn your fingers.

sneaking out of your room at night,
stealing glances;
just one peak.

i couldn't believe i'd let myself get such a negative view on something i'd allowed to come so calmly. the disheartening was over in an hour or so, once the glow settled in.

the window came, it went just as quickly. the air of it rushed out in a gasp.
i remember the commute home. how many pieces i floated together as, some suspension of quartered gravity. i still feel that force humming me from place to place, the hands of clutter that laid me down once i got home.

i relive the shortest of contact,
[her heavy bags on her shoulders]
a brevity drawn in decimalspeak:
[our coats all buttons and ringing]
so short, there is no ending.

the hangers on hanging on,
nanoscopic for the promise of more.



she is fact
& more.

--

had a conversation with dad today.
never shared those kinds of words before.
the idea might be enough inspiration,
but the funding, no small bit of it.
researching soon.

lumet.

i kind of won't forgive myself for not shaking the dust off of my bent knees in front of my xbox360 and going to see an exhibit at the new museum on brion gysin's dream machine. it was there, i could have seen it. a member of the beats, something i claim to care about, something i claim to be tied to and connected to and inspired by... nah, i think i'd rather do something recreational and stationary. -- that right there, that's a pattern. that's something that i've done all too well. got me a nice worn path. circular, foot patterns driving in like trenches.

that's why i have to almost shove myself, through convenience or inconvenience, through tact or not, to go see william s. burroughs: a man within when it makes it to the IFC theater in november. it's a must. anyone willing to join, i'm completely down to make this a group effort.



also, i have an idea of what i want to do for my birthday. and i need everyone's participation.

nonconsequent.

this is more a reminder and a trailer, possibly, to a future post. late last week, i had an interesting emotional reaction to a certain piece of news i got. and i had my initial reaction, and then my actual reaction. there's a whole backdrop of that as well. and i want to see officially where that whole thing is once the case is closed. so interesting.

also, nanowrimo is on its way. i have no planning, and no outlining, just kind of running with a loose story i have in my head, and a few characters i've had hanging out for a while. so i figured i'd let them have their little stage time now. threw the 'word war' widget on the side bar over there (on the actual blog site for those who just read through RSS). myself, brian, and ernesto are all tracked. if you are participating, let me know. i'd love to buddy you, and also add you to the 'race'. to me, there's definitely not a competition but a brotherhood for it. but either way....

columbine.

you can know what's at the end
and grind right on through it,
'cause god fuck all else.

the calendar track.

this is happening. i plan on writing as much as possible within the parentheses of 11/1 and 11/30 though i'm not sure if i'll be able to grind through the 50,000 words. i'm curious to see where i end up. i'm dedicating time to it, though, whenever i can. this month is meant for this. i have a couple of ideas always floating around, and it seems that one of them makes a lot of sense for this project specifically. let's roll.


---
(oh, also:
)

these have always been monsters.

oh my god.
this is how you [re]imagine.



rhys has always been dope, but this is why you follow an artist. because when they finally do the project you love with the style that made you get the chills from the moment you saw anything they've done. there's something about an artist finding their voice and running with it without ever looking back that inspires me so far outside my skin, but so far within it. unreal.

terminal.

highly recommend you follow this blog.
more specifically, the photo portion.

i've linked to one collection already, but i think they may have topped it with the one posted yesterday, highlighting urban decay. below are a couple of examples, but how do you choose just one.

sumatra.

i blame the red bull [girls].
they came by last night around 10, couldn't have been later than 10:15 and dropped off a bunch of cans of red bull, one for each of us. 16oz. and for me, it's proven to be a day-remover. worked the midnight release, drove home, played games til 5 or so. laid down out of necessity. hit the pillows and tried to let monday sail into whatever comes in the umbral dreamscape that then becomes tuesday. nothing. just vibrating and gyrating nerve cells. they're feeling everything. barometric readings from elsewheres. gravity. they're feeling below the bed, pressing up towards the ceiling hoping to discover the hoverways. my brain is still on an REM train. there was no stopping that. it could be all the dreamjournalling i've been doing, but there was no way that a calendar page was going to go by blankly. so i'm thinking about somalian children and the gas and liquid that fills their hungry bellies and if it would be any worse to cut them open (in a dissection manner) than it would be if you were to cut open any other person. would there be a popping or a hissing? all this depressurization talk got me thinking about space and then gold disco balls, but i'm still not getting any closer to sleep.

seven o'clock comes.
i have to move the car.
or it's $40. is it worth it?
is it $40? is it more?
i'll move it.

the sound outside is the kind of sound that only makes sense in city 17. a repetitive loud metallic bang, like God smelting a weapon for a bigger God. and it echoes off of everything, massive or not. it's a sound you'd hunt down if you could find which sound wave is the original. like the hall of mirrors in conan without monster masks. and that guy was RIPPED. and now he's dead. but the sound is everywhere on the streets, and it's everywhere in the stairwell, and laying down again, it's everywhere in the bedroom. and who knows if it ever stopped. has this been there always? or did it even start? is this a retranslated toothache? is this a body no longer able to feel pain, only able to convert it into sound?

[/]cat counts still all have to be done today. or tomorrow. can i do it tomorrow? who works tomorrow? it's not bad. maybe i'll fake it. can't fake it. what's the point. if you're going to fake it, just don't do it. [\]

work at one. which means leaving at noon. where am i going to park thursday night? whole block's parking is shut down because they'll be filming "the sitter". did i see shannyn sassomon the other day? jesus christ, i looked up her imdb profile, and i just need you to read the description of her next movie, man without a head.

fuck, this can't all be real.
i know i lost a moleskine by accident again. i don't know if i lost it in the house or in the world. i have tons of info in there, phone number, this blog address, flickr, twitter... i wonder if there was anything horrifying in there. i wonder if i'd return it to me anyway. and i did get a phone call from a number i don't recognize. just google'd it. and it's up the block from where i work. but i wasn't on
the island
all weekend.

tuesday remains.

[edit: i forgot to mention that in the early moments of me laying down, i heard a female shout or scream THIS statement outside. which i... i guess i don't see why i didn't even react to it at the time, because wow:

"mercy! chris, please! mercy! you are not god! stop! don't touch me!"

and i continued to inarticulate words screamed as they were down the block. just the female though.

end bracket.]

fossileyes.

two projects completed today. took this weekend specifically to complete a couple things as well as get my plans down for a third. feeling good about all of the above.

A LETTER WEST is complete, I have 20 of them to go around. sort of have an idea who is getting them, but I'll expand (or contract) that as it goes. if you read this and are interested, let me know. more than likely, if you read this I have you in mind. but who knows, I've been surprised before. conversely, if you read this and could really care less, let me know. I'll save it for someone else or no one else. no offense, really.

&

MIX XVII: ONCE THE HOME OF ROCKETS is also done. tracklist method went back to the old school with song artist, title, then blurb of explanation showcasing why I've included it on the cd. last few have gone a more minimalist route (or have had none at all) but a couple requests to bring it back made it easy to oblige. I've always had ideas to get more creative with the presentation of those cds, and the one I tried with the mini CD-R should have been joined with a customer service #. as always, if anyone hearing these mixes enjoys and tracks down just one song or one artist from the collection, I feel accomlished. if you want one and don't feel you're getting one, again, throw me a heads up.

the last project I worked on this weekend was a supplement to the dream journals I've done. just tried to get a bit of a plan together. and now it's just manning up, charging the camera, and executing a tremendous piece, regardless of audience.

I'm often proud of the things I do, regardless of how it's received or by how many. I'm hungry for feedback regardless of who it's from, just so I know where to go and how to make the next bit that I do more enjoyable. I put hours into these things, and it's all to entertain my friends and acquaintances. for free. I'm doing all of this because this is what I want to see come back to me at some point. I want to be handed someone's creative output. It often comes in the form of music in my circle, but I'm always excited to see what else my rotate back.

forget fame.
I'd screw it up anyway.

throwback.

in 2009, i went to las vegas for the manager's conference. this is a memo i had in my old phone. it was a list of notes i was taking in real time watching rick, ioannis, and ricardo hit on TONS of women passing us by in a shithole casino. it's been about a year since i've looked at this.

-------
-Women in mobile chairs do not like ioannis

-english women don't like rick

-english women are scared of ioannis

-australian girls like rick
-and apparently think he's gay

-ricardo is mildly enjoyed by hookers

-bitchy women are bitches to everyone

-old women ignore ioannis

-100% of men i've met on gamestop tv sleep with people in my district

-english chicks want cock

-olde english men love all of us

-asian women treat rick like godzilla

-ricardo loses money regardless

-girls from guam will more than likely be split into mutliple pieces by ioannis and steve

-ioannis is polite

-who wants to deal with the wheelchair bound smoker

-it's not good to laugh

-looks first, drinks second, personality third

-californians don't get high fives from californians
------

also, with startling relevance, here is the first video to surface from san antonio, as promised when i first got back.

and you know it.

we did some discussing earlier today. got to a point i really couldn't explain my stance or perspective outside of exactly how it was. no more dancing around the point and using euphemisms instead of pragmatic solutions.

i just want some time alone. and if that means living alone, then so be it.
i'm kind of begging for it. and in the past couple weeks, i've realized that every girlfriend i've had has lived with me, whether the invitation was there or not, since i've been doing relationships. rarely have i had the calling back and forth, or the so-excited-to-see-you, or any of that business. i've never had to look further than my elbow, really, to find whoever she is. and it's clearly been an issue. i'm at my end now, where i can't even find a moment's peace in dead silence. the proximity of another individual creates a noise of its own. i'm definitely not saying this is okay, or that it's their problem... but i'm saying it needs to be dealt with.

but in this discussion i came to the realization that i'm playing video games MUCH more than i ever have before, mostly because i can't get the quiet i need to read or write or do anything progressive. mindlessly sort of disappearing into these games. i'm not sure if there's a direct relationship to it, but i'm sure it could be written into some study about the affects or reasons for playing games. a whole level of role-play or self-escapism. usually don't give too much merit to these kinds of studies or statements but in this instance, it at least seems to add up.

went back, exhumed some.
found a genuine curiosity and pressing unique to love and only love.

saw the devout and frantic nervous words of trying to capture the mass overthrow of mentality caused by hungry and ravenous hearts. needing and knowing nothing else. not just the visage but the all-around tidal velocity undertow of her.

i kept the other half too. words where i'd see the deception of intent there. forcing effort just to posture them on a platform that was suitable for communication. untrustworthy; vultures swarming.


i'm in neither here,
and i missed my ship.









stockholm syndrome is real.

design.

aside from stripping down to oil lamps and that whole process, i agree with what's being said here. it takes different styles, different moods etc. i know people who can't even imagine sitting down and writing in a notebook being anything more than an archaic waste of time. personally, 100%, i would feel absolutely nothing if i were filling word documents with the kinds of things found in my myriad moleskines. there's a catharsis to it. the feel of so much blood.

sci-fi author on writing.

-

mix cd almost done.
dream journal filling fast.
video project to accompany if i can commit.

the many men of one face.

as far as i'm concerned, i haven't been here in years.
i threw a girl down the orgasm hole, stared down into it like a biologist. spasms and muscle contractions again. science versus recorded science: proper. my eyes fixed through her energy. you aren't here, you aren't here, you aren't here, you aren't her. i remember the heat when we couldn't even lay close but there was the desertpact we'd made, a cobra in heat, wrapped and torn together like arteries, moving like an anthill from meters off, the pulsing mass, thoughts drawn to the place where monasteries chant.

scales and scaling.
you walking off and oh god your human shape.

terror of the weather at its coldest and where i'd been a year ago.
when the volume got eroded.
when there was the finale as a curtain emergency.
lights up.
audience liability.
fingerlightening: your story vs your life.
understood, it was your life or it was me.
it was years you'd built up or years you'd spent.
on a has been.

i told you things i'd told my witnesses
about your stance and the prints you'd
left across my intricates. i knew you.
i failed as this is still a bridge of gasoline:
the flint in museum vacuumed glass, the steel my fingernails.

i'm an approach in recognized delay,
the pendulum held in apexloft.
say go,
i mean it:



you tell me go,
i go.

oxygenarian.

written on the commute to work while on the four ninety five. please excuse grammatical imperfections.

I often have no idea what anyones talking about and thinking back I have no clue how they fill up the silent space. What the stories are describing or who the characters are, or what has stuck. I think about trying to reengage some of them, the ones who are my age range, somewhat within my generation... But there's no venn diagram thats fulled with much more than blood. Movies, tv, music, games, books, any media.. Social appetite dripped down to minimal priority. I got to watch my dad, drunk because he was bored, stand up to flip some burgers, stagger, then smack his head on an air conditioner this past weekend. Mom laughs, "my husband has had a little too much to drink." What the fuck is happening.

portly.

i have spent the last few days thinking about drunk regret. and i guess i can't really say i've gotten to the point where i've succumb to it very hard at any point in my life. though this weekend could be a candidate for such a moment, with the juvenile karaoke bit, then the dancing with the girls on stage bit, though those things are just moments. i saw a video the next day cold-sober and i felt nothing about it. though i guess i start to think about the different levels and waves of people seeing it and the various possible reactions. but the amount of energy i've spent on thinking about that doesn't even show on the scan compared to what my phone history told me. called that number 3 times. based on the call time, i don't think i left any voicemails or anything brutally detailed like that. but still. how my fingers and mind continuously stray to that place is uncanny. it's so trustworthy. i'm sure it's best that these calls went ignored or missed.

if i can remember to associate it here, i'll post a link to any/all incriminating evidence from that night here (some are below, though these are just tolerable moments).

.

--

the first night we were out, we went to this horrible horrible place called "dick's last resort" (this particular location), and were told we were going to eat. instead they paid for a ton of drinks, and let us watch the house band who was decent, but seemed to be manufactured from the sum of dragging some lake. to explain a major part of the restaurant's modus operandi, they try making you feel like shit about yourself blatantly. in fact, an ongoing theme is that they'll make a paper hat for you and write some level of ridiculous quote on it (such as "i miss prison sex!"). the tablecloths are paper, and i had written down a TON of ideas for MY hat, none of which were taken. unfortunately, i ran out of room in front of me and started writing ideas down in a moleskine. i lost the entire thing. it's okay... it was only half full and was only from a couple nights before, the plane ride, and that day. but i can throw some ideas at you:

- my cock is a fortress of solitude.
- why does my mom's birthday remind me of the boy's locker room?
- this is the disney land of cop-a-feelia.
- the last chick i banged looked like lost highway from the waist down.
- the only thing gayer than me is the guy that came in my ass.

each time i offered a hat idea to the staff, they looked at me like i was some kind of foul-mouthed hooligan.

go hard or go home.

jazzman worked his cold.

I wish I felt this lucid all the time. When it happened I'm not sure but I got jumpstarted and sat down and couldn't stand up. Two, three different books with different purposes. Can't ever do this at home. It's never quiet enough and I don't have a place to sit and lean forward and push down into the pages. I talked about needing a writing desk and not just a desk to put a computer on and what not. Cowboy bebop dubbed is trash. But yeah I thought that was just an excuse. The desk thing. It is, essentially. A real writer a real artist would write genius in the palm of his hand and take a shitty snapshot everyday just to make it really work, to make it really happen. It's less about the audience more about the output. the sun shines because it can't do any other goddamn thing. And it'll be done when it's done. Like when it goes nova it'll care about who is going to freeze. I stopped writing here because I started thinking about who's reading and what's worth sharing and started putting up filters from me to you and started becoming a filing system that organized thoughts into yes/no piles, not okay/totally okay... It's all bullshit anyway in the best way possible. If all you ever read was Asimov and it made you happy, then fuck what they're trying to tell you are the classics. If it's not digestible or reproductive it's worthless.
Evolution's going outward in branches.
Even the species has species.

I'll be in texas in seven and a half days. I stopped drinking as much as I used to not because I was drinking too much but because others around me were drinking too much. I live so far away from where I work that I get nervous to sleep late because I feel like I'll lose my job so I sleep early and am constantly worrying. I like when people think they look like celebrities they don't look like at all. I am still writing down my dreams as often as I have them but I've stopped writing everything else otherwise. What I've become is a video game playing homebody. I don't even listen to new music anymore. I crossed over into the place I was growing into where NOTHING new is impressing me. It's like having the scabbed veins of junky scum and just as fun to talk to. You know what tomorrow is? Another day less of summer.