bonita.

sometimes i wish i could put my head back against a surface and roll my eyes back really slowly and softly, like some kind of ocular trance condition. I'd groan deeply and gutteral like, almost animal in origin. the foam will pull and lull out of my mouth through gritted and tired teeth, and a slow machine of gyration would work through my chest cavity like some voodoo priestess shaking bone pouches to ward off a tribal war. I wish upon this action, i could reach out to all the ones i love, and all the ones who have seen the mind I've exposed to them, and they would know to listen, and deeply. and when i was collected there in my seat, knuckles now perched in a vulture's gnarl, i would transmit the audio around me, so rich in humanity, and pure untainted comedy. there are things that need to be heard. things that make me regret ever seeing them, because they are being seen alone.

"it was just a reg'lah day. juss a reg'lah day. I didn't feel no way, no body bought me nothin, nobody call me or nothin, it was juss a reg'lah day.

juss a reg'lah. day."

a poem.




I miss all of you.
I'll go foamy for you.

limbs to pompei.

so much has changed. it used to be that brooklyn was a novel concept. and for a while, it was this different type of place that was living up to all that it used to sound like. tons of weird folk, artist folk, who were into their own little things. i spent a lot of time at home, and then commuting to work with a car. drove everywhere, passed so many things as lane segmentors. these weren't locations, they were set pieces. as the summer starting waning, i began to walk a bit more, getting the slow realization that the sun would be disappearing soon. walking place to place made me start to take in so many more places. i think i learned more about the area i live in in a month or two of walking from point A to point everywhere than i did in the months that i did driving. and now that i'm without a car and i'm relying completely on the transit system, nothing seems too far, nothing seems out of reach. even things that are so close, down the block/around the block/under the block, it's all fully tangible. this place is meant for change, meant for me. so many options out here. and it looks like for now, i'm going to have to be taking it on alone. that's fine. because i know i don't want to leave. i know i want to stay out here. and the only thing i'm missing is my crew. the kind of love and respect and energy that comes from my people out on the island. i love this place and i'm hoping we stay right here. and i do plan on taking my opportunity a lot less for granted. this is the kind of place that a person like me can gel. let's do it. we out for the gusto, man. we tryin' to keep it raw.

also, for the time being, i've lost my entire music collection. wait. not really. kinda. see, i had it all on an external hard drive which was destroyed physically. but luckily just before that, i'd put everything onto an ipod which i had been using as my library. which, by the very same individual, is now wiped as well. so i'm now separated off into my own CD collection which i have to re-rip and relocate. it's all separated and in many different places since i moved out here. so i bought a bunch of CDs online the other day, something i haven't done in quite some time. mostly because i started to take that whole process for granted. the physical copy is such a requirement for me. the collection, the display, all of it. the last two places i've lived, i haven't gone too over the top with it. it's been very much an afterthought. but once we figure out where we're going to be in a month or two, i'm going to ensure that i have my CDs, DVDs and books displayed with respect. and i'll need a writing desk as well. and that portion, i don't care if it's some dismantled lumber pile arranged and attached with staples and paper clips. as long as it's something i can arrange myself in and be able to lean forward onto it at the ideal height and writing angle.

gotta gotta.
yeah.
just gotta gotta.

a body duct.

Babylon line. Departs Jamaica, 10:35a.

A woman behind me is talking about how she doesn't believe in christianity anymore. Comparing it all to oprah. Her mouth is outrageously full with food. And that she's going to be practicing buddha. Asking "where is that being a good god?" And as she's trying to figure out all of this stuff, she starts to stray off into a story about her husband or someone who spent time with her, got his citizen papers and now wants to bounce. Great! Priceless! And her mouth is so filled with whatever it is she's eating that i can't understand what she's saying 2 feet from her, let alone what this other person must be hearing across trainsound and cell phone clusternoise. She just asked what sign is he. Cool, that's great. "Let it be natural" she says. Ohhhh and she just brought up getting a divorce! And alimony. And!!!! She just said she's not sure how it's going to work, because you have to swear to god, but she swears to buddha. And since... she... I'm in love... since she is now buddhist, she will sleep better and think easier. And her spots in her skin are going away. Breast exam. Health plan. Yaddayadda. And her husband calls her on the call waiting. And oh god, she switches the line. And she's on the phone with him now. And when he was down and out, she made him go to "doctor school or whatever." And no, he doesn't understand. Not at all. It's not fair. And he's forgotten all the good that she's encouraged him to do. What does he mean by she's so emotional, asked 5 times successively. His name is luka. Loocha? Lukuh? Loo-ka. Silence, going on 3 minutes. And. He's hungup on her! The crowd. Goes. Wild.

cold webbing.

i was unbelievably afloat for about two hours today while commuting home and then resting when i returned to the apartment today. too much caffeine. far too much caffeine. the kind that made me feel boiled over and living weeks throughout my single moment to moment passing. i'm now out of the spell, but feeling bombed out and starry eyed, and begging for the effects to return. i get there sometimes. it spurns on creation unbelievable. i am massively inspired by just those golden moments, the ones where you're electrifying all of those points you'd wanted to comment about and the miracles you want to portrait onto maps and canvases. there's a demon who leads me back, though. one to escort me over the threshold i'd gone through.

i've made a new commitment for this year, and i can only thank my unbelievable crew of friends who are artists or who aren't. some of us create, some of us build, some of us charge onwards just for the sake of the forward momentum's existence.

for me, one of the funniest things on earth and in humanity is the act of taking one's self too seriously. however. it seems that most times when i'm pushing myself to be as confessional as possible, as earnest and pure as i can, i am taking myself more seriously than most people i interact with on a regular basis. i find myself blindtyping, not looking at any of the words coming out, not thinking or reconsidering or editing, and i feel alight with profundity and inertia. then i stop, if only for a second, and i look at what i've written, think about what i'm saying, think about my standards, think about those reading it, and i want to go back and dash it all away, ruin it, spit on it, mock it, spoof it, parody it... it's a fucked existence. not that i'm at all tortured. i've definitely started finding an okay meeting place between the two, and i think i've become aware at how hypocritical a lot of it can seem when i come down to being my most judgmental. i'm trying to keep present in that going forward, and i feel like it's my biggest opportunity to grow from.

really, there are few people i surround myself with who would oppose to me writing and being open as i am... and also few people who are in my circle who would be disappointed at me keeping even just a few of my judgments to myself.

no poet and no artist who has ever created something true and pure has ever stopped themselves because they felt it's coming across as too genuine or too honest. and anyone who's ever said anything to that extent about another's work is just another step outside of the kind of person who art has ever been created for or spoken to.

let's be this, all of you.

over here.

three star wars reimaginations from olly moss. outstanding.

alphionics.

fan.



click for more.

CHRONO-CUBISM.

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.