Yes it was long overdue, and I am days away. It hasn't really hit me yet. . . . I have been so ridiculously busy with finding jobs, registering for classes, and a lot of other riff raff. I've had some moments where I sit and look at how far I have come and relax. But I am mostly dominated by constant stress. And what do I do under duress? Strange, strange things.
I play lots of music, make lots of art, read about string theory, watch videos about string theory. . . . . It's almost as if I think that understanding the complexities of the universe will help me solve my debt.
But all of this is for that one ticket; CSU. Finally a major university is within my grasp after much deliberation and so many turns of events. I was close to forgetting that deal I made with myself when I dropped out. But I can't even focus on this long term goal, I only keep thinking ahead of that. Then I want to go to art school. Then what? Win the Nobel prize? Paint a masterpiece? It is almost like those are somewhat tangible goals if I could only focus on something. It feels as if the purpose of every person on earth has to focus to a point and then explode before they die. Every person has their niche.
Pablo Picasso is a great poet, nobody knows this. He said that one day he is going to be known for being a poet and not a painter. Wishful thinking. It is impossible at this point. Like any renaissance man people will seek out only the things that are needed in that time period. In a period of great surrealism and art he was a painter. If poetry was the craze at the time than that's what people would want.
That's the great thing about being a child, you get to plant all these seeds of inspiration and possibility and then when you are an adult you have to pick the most profitable tree and kill the rest of them. The rest gets denigrated into little "hobbies." God I hate that word, it makes me think of old ladies and crackers.
This may be pessimistic but I am quite happy. I saw the apartment today and it was better than I hoped. I am so stoked for this, although the first coming months might be tough. Ramen noodles all the way!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
The Fear
I have gotten the Fear, it is a common anomaly of such subtle intricacy. The fear that every waking moment is only an unraveling of the threads of the fabric of space and time. The tapestry can only look so vivid when the fibers mesh together and compress into that vast 2 dimensional plane. I cannot be as beautiful being only a strand of string floating and congealing on the meniscus of the sea of space in the grand beaker thrown into the centrifuge to be evaluated and determine that in fact the secret to life was that we were never the only ones and that there are many secrets.
How can we unravel a mystery when the strings within our ball of yarn are only in fact many tiny strings composed of even smaller balls of yarn too small for our hands to reach. I still have the fear.
The greatest fear we have about our own paranoia is that it was in fact ______. the light slowly reveals the mass of fur and muscle and the shimmering pool of an opaque black lake that rests in the crater of the dormant volcanic peak that is the eye of the beast. It was never the fact that he is there now but it was the fact that we thought we were safe the whole time while the monsters inevitably sat and waited by our sides.
the fear disables me from living, the fear enables me to stay alive, in all I am left unfinished, unresolved, undone.
How can we unravel a mystery when the strings within our ball of yarn are only in fact many tiny strings composed of even smaller balls of yarn too small for our hands to reach. I still have the fear.
The greatest fear we have about our own paranoia is that it was in fact ______. the light slowly reveals the mass of fur and muscle and the shimmering pool of an opaque black lake that rests in the crater of the dormant volcanic peak that is the eye of the beast. It was never the fact that he is there now but it was the fact that we thought we were safe the whole time while the monsters inevitably sat and waited by our sides.
the fear disables me from living, the fear enables me to stay alive, in all I am left unfinished, unresolved, undone.
Friday, August 6, 2010
SEX!SEX!SEX!SEX!SEX!SEX!XES!XES!XES!XES!XES!
Those with children get the economy size funerals and go by undoubtedly popular, is there any way that we might forget how to make children or at least lose the will to go on? Or will we just; and then; until; or when; we; die; forget how to lie; see if: it were; up to me; so see; that when; we, go, on, we don't, go, on, but actually, destroy, the host,
in sweet sensuous waves we echo repeatedly in a cataclysm of pleasure and divine bliss spilling over and overflowing from our overjoyed phantasmal neural reverberation of flowing prana and waves of energy into a network of vigorous vivid neon capillaries of life and sweet resonance of the greatest melody it was then and only then that I realised that no, we cannot stop.
Our bacterial heritage still has a grip on our smallest molecule of D. N. A too far for the scrutiny of a lens of any magnitude it was here yes, here, that only the keenest of eyes could spot the colony of planets crying out for release, singing their sweet songs for only one melody to be heard by the greatest birth known to time where at one moment the child realizes, "yes! I have heard the song!"
What is to be made of this thought process? After all what action is to be taken? One could say deal with it, things die everyday. I find it funny that these are the ones that panic the most when something steals their breath away. I can't find any outlets anymore my power is dwindling, I haven't cleansed myself in ages, I have not rested since the moment that trip began. I cannot remember exactly where but it has been going for years if not decades, when will I die and wake back up in that crib where it began?
in sweet sensuous waves we echo repeatedly in a cataclysm of pleasure and divine bliss spilling over and overflowing from our overjoyed phantasmal neural reverberation of flowing prana and waves of energy into a network of vigorous vivid neon capillaries of life and sweet resonance of the greatest melody it was then and only then that I realised that no, we cannot stop.
Our bacterial heritage still has a grip on our smallest molecule of D. N. A too far for the scrutiny of a lens of any magnitude it was here yes, here, that only the keenest of eyes could spot the colony of planets crying out for release, singing their sweet songs for only one melody to be heard by the greatest birth known to time where at one moment the child realizes, "yes! I have heard the song!"
What is to be made of this thought process? After all what action is to be taken? One could say deal with it, things die everyday. I find it funny that these are the ones that panic the most when something steals their breath away. I can't find any outlets anymore my power is dwindling, I haven't cleansed myself in ages, I have not rested since the moment that trip began. I cannot remember exactly where but it has been going for years if not decades, when will I die and wake back up in that crib where it began?
Monday, August 2, 2010
coming to terms with what I have done
Guilt as ridden as a self proposed intersection of bad decisions laced with good intentions. At one point I thought it was natural, at one point I thought it was divine but at each and every nexus I found out it could be so wrong it felt like it outweighed the right.
Give unto me some sort of serenity that a rhyme could not save from being interjected by some sort of reason for it to be untrue. what can I tell you? That it in fact was not real, or at least it was very real. Probably as blunt and as real as it gets, so real it scares us into a deep hibernation of snow and fear.
You are bold enough to face that fear while I on the other hand cower in the palm of nature, so then what can I tell you? That it was a byproduct of anger?
our teeth clashing and squeezed fabric gnashing at the seams of my knuckles,
pulling onto something brings me around to so fond a memory of the greatest trauma of being clawed and ripped from the mother of all feminine beauty and the natural succession of seasons and perpetuation of the continuation of the moods and feelings of gaia.
Oh how the art speaks true to the original creator the one who found that 2 dimensional plane riddled with 3 dimensional characters. He who scratched the surface and broke the picture plane with one destructive indulgent but incredibly keen stroke of destruction widdling down the surface of the chalky residual tower leaving its fine film stretched and flowing in a frozen paste upon the lifeless rock. It is lifeless but it can move, it can't talk but it can hum and resonate, it cannot eat but it can consume and grow, it cannot feel but it can be scarred and ravaged, it cannot see but it can know the light of day, it communicates not through procreation but through regeneration through the residual waves of time. Give it time and the markings etched across it's face will one day sing of the same artistic expression of the many valleys and peaks of erosion.
But there is always that guilt that what I thought was beautiful creation and regeneration is in fact complete annihilation and destruction for another. This we cannot change, this we cannot control, there is only so much, so much you can do we can do anything in our box but leave, we can do anything outside the box but have control it has no whim no feel no light no real no trees no cars no sound but bars no flight no cries no lies no skies it has nothing outside of it. this cage of laws, of thermodynamics. You don't want to think about this because you think that one certain combination of good deeds will get you out, but I'll tell you purity is within the eyes of the beholder. An ego is all you have to becoming an individual, you can drop it all you can and it will come flying back up again, sky high for a sigh once again we wave goodbye to the end of the story of pertinent purpose within a meaning of a self ridden half begotten way to end all ways for the next episode on how to create an existence in 7 days.
Were our lives just all a countdown?
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
ignition.
next stop
eternity
What sounds appealing is what ends up being our greatest optimism as if meaning and purpose were a day spent shoe shopping or browsing the grass for the best tasting vegetation. Do you want to be judged? Than be judged! do you want to be god? than be god! do you want the rest of your existence to be an endless cycle of orgasms? Than you will be the eternally functioning self propelling masturbator. Endless energy, endless pleasure, endless dance, endless joy, tickling the greatest nerve in your body until your internal clock breaks and your cd skips and plays over and over again. Everyones ideal heaven is somewhere where they don't have to serve anybody, the American dream is obesity.
Wouldn't it be hell if everything you wanted to happen happened and you could never stop changing your mind?
Somebody decide for me, apparently I can't make any good decisions anymore.
Last words? FIRE!!!!
Give unto me some sort of serenity that a rhyme could not save from being interjected by some sort of reason for it to be untrue. what can I tell you? That it in fact was not real, or at least it was very real. Probably as blunt and as real as it gets, so real it scares us into a deep hibernation of snow and fear.
You are bold enough to face that fear while I on the other hand cower in the palm of nature, so then what can I tell you? That it was a byproduct of anger?
our teeth clashing and squeezed fabric gnashing at the seams of my knuckles,
pulling onto something brings me around to so fond a memory of the greatest trauma of being clawed and ripped from the mother of all feminine beauty and the natural succession of seasons and perpetuation of the continuation of the moods and feelings of gaia.
Oh how the art speaks true to the original creator the one who found that 2 dimensional plane riddled with 3 dimensional characters. He who scratched the surface and broke the picture plane with one destructive indulgent but incredibly keen stroke of destruction widdling down the surface of the chalky residual tower leaving its fine film stretched and flowing in a frozen paste upon the lifeless rock. It is lifeless but it can move, it can't talk but it can hum and resonate, it cannot eat but it can consume and grow, it cannot feel but it can be scarred and ravaged, it cannot see but it can know the light of day, it communicates not through procreation but through regeneration through the residual waves of time. Give it time and the markings etched across it's face will one day sing of the same artistic expression of the many valleys and peaks of erosion.
But there is always that guilt that what I thought was beautiful creation and regeneration is in fact complete annihilation and destruction for another. This we cannot change, this we cannot control, there is only so much, so much you can do we can do anything in our box but leave, we can do anything outside the box but have control it has no whim no feel no light no real no trees no cars no sound but bars no flight no cries no lies no skies it has nothing outside of it. this cage of laws, of thermodynamics. You don't want to think about this because you think that one certain combination of good deeds will get you out, but I'll tell you purity is within the eyes of the beholder. An ego is all you have to becoming an individual, you can drop it all you can and it will come flying back up again, sky high for a sigh once again we wave goodbye to the end of the story of pertinent purpose within a meaning of a self ridden half begotten way to end all ways for the next episode on how to create an existence in 7 days.
Were our lives just all a countdown?
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
ignition.
next stop
eternity
What sounds appealing is what ends up being our greatest optimism as if meaning and purpose were a day spent shoe shopping or browsing the grass for the best tasting vegetation. Do you want to be judged? Than be judged! do you want to be god? than be god! do you want the rest of your existence to be an endless cycle of orgasms? Than you will be the eternally functioning self propelling masturbator. Endless energy, endless pleasure, endless dance, endless joy, tickling the greatest nerve in your body until your internal clock breaks and your cd skips and plays over and over again. Everyones ideal heaven is somewhere where they don't have to serve anybody, the American dream is obesity.
Wouldn't it be hell if everything you wanted to happen happened and you could never stop changing your mind?
Somebody decide for me, apparently I can't make any good decisions anymore.
Last words? FIRE!!!!
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