I don't feel like writing.  In fact, I'm gonna crack a beer before I even begin...



Caribou Beer and Arcade fire suit me just fine....'gets me every time.'  If it isn't one thing it's another.  It never ends.  I'm gonna learn some things tomorrow.  Gonna feign interest in a conversation I should be interested in...like my life.

Dear Life,

  I am not so interested in you right now.

P.S You can do better.

R


Is that all ego?  To think better of yourself for certain things and not of in others?  Money is money is MONey... is death.  The pursuit of such nonsense beguiles me.  Who am I competing with?  Myself.....mostly.  I've been sad lately.  How much of feeling something is completely self induced?  I don't feel at ease here...yet?  It's like anywhere else, so why does it feel so foreign?  I may be racist.

My skin itches for something.  Always more.  If there's no growth there's no money!  If you don't eat yer meat.....!  I quit a job after participating for eight hours.  My participation consisted of annoyance, irritation, bemused aggravation.  A sickness set into me during those allotted eight.  I was at lost in a sea of ignorance and sloth.  Gossip and solitude.  Why would anyone do that to themselves?  Make an environment so intolerable that nothing could survive?  I had to get the fuck out of there.  I need no drama.  I create plenty enough without aid.

I've complicated things somehow.  I wanted the time to blend a life I've led for the previous year to something new and exciting.  Now I sleep all night and the live long day.  My desires to pursue desires is all so undesirable.  My taste for things is so fleeting.  Perhaps I've led such a charmed life that when things don't go as planned, my interest wanes.  Or I'm such a control freak that any step away from the previously ordained(by me) throws me....utterlyutterly throws me.  Maybe I'm just tired.  Exhausted of the new, of the change.  Everything's the same regardless, so why I must remain in the hunt is beyond me.  My inquisitive nature?  So curious.

I sound like such a prat.

I want to be distracted.  YET!  All of this shit that distracts only detracts from this so called existence I've birthed and given up on.  Whoa.  Am i so bored of effort?  How awful.  Truly fucking awful.  I should be doing more with my time mayhaps?  We all gotta keep warm.  I should be facilitating something to that effect.  Clean drinking water and all those integral bits we take for granted.  Am I so ungrateful?  Jesus.  It seems it.  I can afford not to work for a bit.  I have a roof and all the accoutrement that any sentient being could ever want.  Love and junk.  Health for me and those I name dearest.  Am i so inundated by 'shoulds' that my wants become a distant whisper?  I want to remember the language of my heart and have the courage to follow it.  Does being female prohibit me from making a decision?  I use to make decisions all willy-nilly and some pretty wicked things happened....glorious and opposedly, not so.  Getting there is taxing and taking too long, and I don't know where 'there' is.  Death, i imagine.  Well I'm not remotely there so what's next?  Why must I have constant stimulation?  Is that generational, or human?  Do I expect too little of myself?  Is that where others get it from.....me?  Gross.

How do i get what I want if I don't know what it is?  I want too much.  Stretched too thin.  So thin.

Sojourn

Do I fret for fear?  Do I complain for solace?  Am i insane?  Why must I refuse happiness.

Does being miserable comfort me?  Do i see the world as some great tragedy i star in?  How bizarre.  How unsightly.  Everyone dies in tragedies, so that's at the very least...fitting.  How I wish for consistent joy.  Too much to ask for?  I take on roles of leadership then despise the process.  Some of this 'process' is quite ridiculous though, isn't it?  i would so like to speak the truth to people who really need to hear it.  Would it do any good?  Would they stare up at me with obstinate ignorant eyes, confused and so fucking angry?  Would anything change?  Do people respond to being checked?  How do I respond?  I hate it.  Especially if it comes from a place of untruths and insecurity.  Why then, do I choose to bring it all in, consume and leave nothing but a dusty sky and taupe abyss?  I think taupe would be the worst color in the world to live with for all time; A time.  Life is meant for color and I have been unresponsive to it.  I look without seeing.  I should just harbor gratitude and leave it at that.

When I stop thinking about it, usually after a few tokes, I am divinely sated.  Then I abuse it and there we are.

I don't want to do good for him.  That sucks.  I want to do good.  I am driven to expel all energy, most of the time.  It's exhausting and I should love it.  i do not.  It insults me to try at this juncture.  I am torn.  Not enough to give up on my expulsions but enough to fuck with my brain...and skin!  Jesus, I feel like I'm in high school again.  Zit faced and busted.  I feel better.  Gonna watch war shit now.

Sips

A mournful tune of solitude was all I thought would be allowed.  By whom was this obscenity dictated?  By you.  You gave me less than the time of the day.  You gave nothing and took it all.  All of my passion and innocent longing and spirit for the only thing that matters in this life.  GET OUT
                                                getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout

You surface in my brain when I refused to let you in.  Has this refusal been my undoing?  What must I do to banish you from every fibre?  Every cell?  Every one of my memories.  Remembering you has not made me better.  I have learned what not to do, not because of you.  You taught me nothing.  You took and continue to take without remorse....Jesus Christ!  Without knowledge of what you've done.  What I allowed you to do.  I granted you this permission and now the gates won't close.  They've grown rusty with tired rage;  The hinges caked with dutiful diligence.  Why do I carry on in this?  Why do I permit the gates to remain in disarray and ill regard?  I want you out.  I want the gates to disintegrate and to have never have known your name.  You come to me in dreams without consent and fuck with me throughout the day.  Your unwitting refusal to be gone is infuriating.  To say this to your stupid haunting face would do no benefit.  You wouldn't even understand.  You don't even know my name.

I drained myself for the thought of the potential of you.  What have you done with all the power I gave you?  The least.  The worst.  You've done nothing.  It was all me.  It's been all on me and I sacrifice for a creature with no heart.  No concept of what it means to offer, to self-deny.  I can't even fucking blame you.  Or can I?  You knew.  I knew you knew.  We all knew you and know now.  You continued to creep back so steadily, so noisily.  You announced your arrival like a truck filled with bricks crushing a crowd of unaware onlookers.  Yet no apology.  No regard.  no notice.  Are you capable?  Are you able to feel what I've felt?  Do people like you get this?  I want you gone.  Do you hear me, you fucking worm?  Slithering about within my sleeping sight so I can't rid myself of you nor figure out where you are still finding ways in.  How do you block your subconscious from reaching you?  How do you keep things that seem out of your grasp under control?  I never even laid my hands upon you yet you haunt me as though I had.  I hate what I've allowed you to do.  I should have.  I should have.

Ode to the Normal

"What makes you tick..."
With her head in her hand.
Is it the new day?
Or with which foot you land?

I see you around
In fact, everywhere I roam,
I desire to rid my parts
Of this nagging feeling of home.

I was here once you know,
I bore it quite keen,
I, sponge and consumer
Imbibed in my gene.

It was only for fake
This I know for the truth,
I never fit quite well
Enough, too long in the tooth.

Why then still do I long and I wretch?
I am apart of a part
A dismembered sketch.

The lines are all there
Yet somethings amiss,
The motions are wrought
And I most listless.

Why i am the broken
It's never quite told,
I try to breach on
It's cold and I can't muster the bold.

So, I sit and I yearn
For a time when they'll see,
I've been here all the while
Scanning and Stifling and Longing to be.

The Art of Getting By

     There is great perfection in having the courage to be honest.  To rage with fearlessness at those too paralyzed to understand.  I rage....and I Regret.  Rinse.  Repeat.  Is the regret this very human connection to stand and fight for the due, present in all things?  I want to be good.  I adore that adjective.
     I want to do...good.  I hear a barrage of strings battling it out in my brain when posed with the choice to be good, to do good, or to be honest.  'Good' could kill a man you know.  Good can be somewhat...graceless.  When do common courtesy's fade to candid human interaction.  Perhaps alcohol appears in the foreground and makes it all palatable.  We can stomach the nonsense more aptly when intoxicated.  Or, on the contrary we are our most authentic selves once and all.  Why is there such difficulty in admittance?  Perhaps the horror, the horror of where we truly are would be deafening.  I want to have truthful interactions with others.  With everyone even.  I would be satiated with one a day.  What are we afraid of?  What is this ridiculous emotion which compels us to do our hearts such disservice?  Is fear even an emotion?  A cover for something more...substantial.  Something more fiendish?  Does it come in waves like misplaced anger? Is it uniquely feminine to complicate matters?  Not only of the heart but in matters of synergy?
     Men can be honest with their fists.  I often thought we had the high ground on that one.  We relate with our words.  Sure.  Lies.  We don't even know we do it half the time.  Especially with one bearing similar genetic stylings....chicks.  Chicks man.  Fucking Chicks.  We were sincere once upon a time.  But by the light of day our hideous behaviors come a prowlin'.  You'd think our encasings would remain throughout the dawn but no!  Alas, we sink into them even deeper;  Holding on with petulant hands and hate in our hearts.  Hate born from fear of ourselves and how others will respond to that depth or lacking profundity.
     How easy it is to remain there.  How comfortable it is to fall into it at our strongest.  Supplementing reality with coats of learned behavior.  I don't claim to be infallible in this.  I get caught up.  I see it.  I admit it.  So where next?  What other contaminants may I spew out to the world as to not get overtaken by them.  I don't ever want to live there.  Visiting helps to show me I still have a long way to go.  I won't fear it...me...them... anymore.  Let me bathe in the filth that I've created.  Let it find it's way down the sink.  Let me find comfort in what i possess.  Let the stains from things washed away fade and be kept at bay.

In The Sepulchral City

'I found myself resenting the sight of people hurrying though the streets to filch a little money from each other, to devour their infamous cookery, to gulp their unwholesome beer, to dream their insignificant and silly dreams.  They trespassed upon my thoughts,  They were intruders whose knowledge of life was to me an irritating pretence, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew.  Their bearing, which was simply the bearing of commonplace individuals going about their business in the assurance of perfect safety, was offensive to me like the outrageous flauntings of folly in the face of a danger it is unable to comprehend.  I had no particular desire to enlighten them, but I had some difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of stupid importance.'

My behavior as of late seems inexcusable.  I am not well.  Often filled to the brim with such intense hate.  So intense.  It's not my strength that requires nursing but my imagination that searches for soothing.  One hundred and thirteen years later and I feel the way Conrad did.  Would he still get these sparks of 'intensity'? The sparks affecting me seem to last longer...longer.  I feel a loss of control over my faculties...a loss of control over my control.  Being comfortable with my situation, sickens me.  Being bored is a fate worse than death.

What an Asshole

I said nothing.  Not a single word.  I'm sure the look on my face was...strained.  She ditched her popcorn by  a cars wheel and hunted down her keys-first real sign.  Then upon finding them amongst the tampons, dog hair and kid paraphenalia...(yah, she took it out of her ass once, thus creating life), lobbed her most gigantic of pops through the parking lot claiming, 'Don't wanna risk it.' And sat in the car.  Wave after wave of horribleness came out of this chicks mouth.

Uno momento por favor....

I am writing at my writing desk my grandma gave me.  I know that seems silly to write but to me it's poignant.  I recall a time where I would write terrible nonsense, totally different from now i know, on her typewriter at her very own 'writing desk'.  I've used this desk for a great many thing.  This is my first realization of my whereabouts...and its.

Anyhoo...I sat in silence which is the climax of this story.  It was my friends, friend and I allowed ridiculousness out of courtesy.  Courtesy?  Jesus Christ.  It would have been no skin off my back to rip her apart from ear to ear....but I chose to concede.  Would my hypothesized interjections have made a dent in this twat?  Am i just doing exactly what she did, now?  Is my judgement of her behavior just a reflection of my own  faults?  Am I the asshole as well as and in addition to?  Or?  Did this uneducated(in the moral realm and her brainy parts), MOTHER deserve a little checking.  It could have been delivered in such a manner that she would be taken off guard, not quite insulted cuz she doesn't really get what i just said and shut the fuck up.  Smooth but with after bite.  Who knows?  Not I.  For i chose to maintain civility.  What should I have done?  Which would be better for the world and not just a reactionary jerk of the articulatio genus?  I wanna be thoughtful for fucks sake...

I was in an understanding mood this evening.  Felt good.  I like good.  Good is....good and nothing quite compares.

Ode to Good

You are so fucking good, good.

I dig your crazy vibe

I wish I could spend more time with you

And all that imbibe with God on their side.

I've been thinking about this

And pining in wait

You can join me anytime

Good, and we'll bust open this hate gate.