| My mind in 2011 and the impact it made on the exterior world towards which it became more hostile... |
[02 Jan 2012|10:08pm] |
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mood |
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 contemplative |
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Every moral and metaphysical lesson I learned this past 365 days can be highlighted in the following scene:
May 21st, 2011: Having been thoroughly and unwaveringly convinced that this day, the proposed Judgement Day, would in fact be as such, it was with great reluctance that I went to play with Johnny Ill Band in New York. My mind, a philosophical battlefield for the roughly six months preceding, was deeply sickened and afraid as the already unnerving realities of New York City swallowed me. At six o'clock P.M. as the Eastern Standard Timezone was to be raptured, I found myself pissing in a bottle in the backseat of the car in the middle of Brooklyn. Two Puerto Rican men holding up a pair of brownbagged forties each, walked down the street leading a mocking countdown, laughing hysterically. I looked down to notice that I was missing the bottle and pissing all over my leg, feeling at once the raw and violent vitality of being human and furthermore, if only for an instant, being completely alright with it. Brahmanubhuti.
Though quotes and platitudes are usually insufficient at addressing anything real about the human experience (i.e. they're bullshit), these two quotes get at better what I cannot seem to put into writing:
"Do not check your soul's flight, do not grieve the better promptings within you, do not dull your spirit with half wishes and half thoughts. Ask yourself, and continue to ask until you find the answer. For one may have known a thing many times and acknowledged it, one may have willed a thing many times and attempted it; and yet it is only by the deep inward movements,only by the indescribable emotions of the hearts, that for the first time you are convinced that what you have known belongs to you and no power can take it from you; for only the truth that edifies is truth for you." -Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or II
"The life you ought to be living is the one you are living." -Joseph Campbell
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| Freedom isn't free... |
[05 Sep 2011|08:55pm] |
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mood |
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 exhausted |
] |
"Where's your Kid Rock man?"
"I don't have any..."
"Why not? You'd prolly do a helluva a lot better if ya did!"
"Probably not, this is Jazz Fest."
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| People are boring... |
[25 Aug 2011|05:54pm] |
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mood |
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thoughtful |
] |
Because I believe more people are guided by the "how loud it's being said > what's being said" standard than would care to admit, most people tend to conflate the alcohol-informed courage of sharing any colorful or obscene impulse regardless of it's varying (usually high) degree of insipidness or frivolity with "genius", two mutually exclusive phenomena, each of a wholly different animal altogether.
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| August, 2004... |
[13 Aug 2011|07:12pm] |
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mood |
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thoughtful |
] |
I tend to like less when I think more. I think I like drinking wine on humid nights, the sweet taste of condensation and the vinegar blood of fruit. I think I like riding my bike down the same streets, avoiding the same potholes or cracks and seeing the same people or mailboxes or burnt out streetlamps as if one were absent all would be. I think I like reading Bertrand Russell on the toilet, the brutish way the word "utilitarianism" or conversely the softness of the way the word "aphorism" look before I have fully awaken. I think I like using my hand to collect all the cat hair off my bed into as big a pile as I can make, forming a vile collection of fur, dander and gravels of litter, completely and disposing of them utterly. I think I like how coarse my veins and sinews feel after moving heavy boxes, like they too are lifting their own boxes within my arms' arms ad infinitum. I think I love the dramatic beauty of a shelf full of records, some of which smell brand new and others in various degrees degraded quality, existing in harmony as if each was necessary to this entire corpus. Then I think I like these things less and less. It's like learning to walk again, in reverse.
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| Bullshit... |
[03 May 2011|06:53pm] |
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mood |
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 blank |
] |
I rode past a golf course yesterday and was delighted, while observing the patience of the privileged towards such frivolity, to learn that life was really this stupid.
Mine was no better and no worse.
I burned every flag I seen and went home smiling.
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| Your mind is a conduit... |
[17 Apr 2011|12:40pm] |
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mood |
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 determined |
] |
I found myself in fear.
In the fermenting sap of time.
In the cheap crystal of light.
I saw myself lost and not coming back.
"Abandon fear."
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| For real... |
[08 Mar 2011|10:20pm] |
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mood |
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 aggravated |
] |
You know, I could really do without double LPs that have Sides 1 & 4 on one disc and 2 & 3 on the other.
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| This is what it's like... |
[08 Mar 2011|07:13pm] |
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mood |
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disappointed |
] |
Not to put too fine a point on it, but it's disheartening when you realize after your workplace nemesis has been fired, that you, in fact, wish he was still around because him being the figurative antithesis to you was the only thing that gave your eight hour work day any semblance of meaning.
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| I'm gonna skate, ANYHOW... |
[05 Mar 2011|09:03pm] |
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mood |
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 giggly |
] |
Two tired analogies/arguments well worth ignoring:
1.Reference to the Book of Genesis in defense of marihuana legalization.
2. Any political allusion to Adolph Hitler/Nazi Germany.
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| Saw a fire burning on, palace lawn... |
[10 Feb 2011|02:16pm] |
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mood |
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 busy |
] |
Mr. eryops puked his guts out up in the marsh. Thought about making history.
Dude took a blow torch to his dome screamed out the bay door for all the at-home functioning alcoholics to hear didn't even make the paper.
Isn't there something about forests and trees and quiet things?
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| Mixed emotions... |
[10 Feb 2011|02:06pm] |
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mood |
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 anxious |
] |
Catsup & cottage cheese... Soul & Madness!
The Reds and the Whites.
A battle the history books will gush over and glean through and gloss over.
Drive Red Wedges into White Troops!
Lift, together.
A stench of madness a matter of silence.
The reds and the whites.
A tired matter, kind of.
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| Words... |
[08 Feb 2011|06:36pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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hungry |
] |
Applying to graduate, the thought of which makes me sick.
Worked in an auto parts warehouse for eight and a half years now.
Gone to college for five and a half years.
Lived in this house for seven months.
Lived in the other two for almost three years.
Haven't played live in a year and one month.
It had been a month and a half before that.
Haven't finished a book in years.
It had been years before that.
Haven't played a record in a day.
It had been a day before that.
Haven't fucked for two days.
It had been a day before that (went over a year without which included all of 2009).
Haven't checked my oil in two weeks.
It had been a month before that.
Haven't paid the electric bill in two months.
It had been two months before that.
Haven't said a word for about two hours.
It had been about a minute before that.
Haven't jerked off since Friday.
It had been a day or two before that.
Haven't played guitar in five days.
It had been a day before that.
Haven't washed my hair in over a year.
It had been a year before that.
Haven't seen my mom in two weeks.
It had been a day or two before that.
Haven't lost my temper in days.
It had been a few weeks before that.
Haven't laced up my boots in nine hours.
It had been nine hours before that.
Haven't walked to the store in months.
It had been days before that.
It'd be nice to walk to the store.
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| I was reading my old entries... |
[21 Jan 2011|08:47pm] |
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mood |
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contemplative |
] |
My thoughts used to be more violent, or as I can reason, justifiably malevolent. I pissed on someone's car when I was 17 because he threatened to kick me and my friend's asses. I could still justify this today (and would if I was pressed) but it seems so empty now. You have to become pragmatic at some point, and me, I'm becoming some boring socialist. Look at my shoes... geez! Not a hole to be found. Paul Derochie, the dead white belly of a fish. Calloused soles can never be walked upon right though!
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| Nostalgia... |
[22 Dec 2010|11:03pm] |
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mood |
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sleepy |
] |
Christmas break 2008. Got buried. Trench warfare. Piss warm gloves climbed me out. The light was cold but I looked for it anyways. It got wierd but brighter when I was closed for the season. Went back under til the next year. Woke in a parking lot in Philadelphia. Got me buried in brotherly love, haha. Drunked up some gin and glued my head to a 7-Eleven and wept. Salt sidewalks and turban taxi cabs it all hovered one inch above the ground and waited for me to step in the wrong place, Yeungling shattered star. Germantown. That girl with that bong said we used hippie soap. She looked a test skeleton, a Roswell patient, she worked in a sex shop, isn't that immaculate? The bad burns and wrong turns. The things I've learned and the things I shouldn't have had to.
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| He's mad, cause he's pissed... |
[20 Dec 2010|07:22pm] |
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mood |
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anxious |
] |
One time in the mystical year of 2006 I was enrolled in a night class about American Culture. There was an older gentleman (term applied loosely) who generally had an eschewed view towards "American Culture" as he had probably come to see (although he never expressly stated so) that "American Culture" had been transformed into some clever arrangement of capitalist buzzwords and relevant slogans and candy-coated catch phrases all uniquely and internally fueled by some abstract motor of greed, selfishness and a general (but not externally apparent) malevolence towards humanity (and in many instances the discussions in class proved him right). One such instance this became clear was when the topic of green fuels was brought up (bear in mind that this was 2006 and such a term was a mere blip on the radar of social conscious) and one girl thought she'd sum up her (and presumably 85% of the class's) views by saying, "I have a fuel efficient car but-it-has-a-turbo-so-I-always-speed-soIdon'tactuallysaveofueleconomyheeheeheehee...." To which the older gentleman (term applied loosely) contested sourly, "WHAT A DILEMMA!!!"
Later, outside in the wet, breezy glow of sleepy November streetlights, I attempted, over a Winston, to make small talk with the gentleman (term applied loosely) remarking that I found his comment not only to be of the utmost pertinence but also to be richly humorous (paraphrased, of course). He frowned and walked to the other side of the courtyard.
I've been thinking about him a lot.
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| When I was down, I had to get up, just to get down... |
[27 Nov 2010|10:21am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 cold |
] |
Man, I don't really care for the Gories. Maybe because I associate them as being the godfather band to all the "girls-who-can't-really-play-drums-drummer" bands. Maybe I'm being a bad Facebook friend. Whatever the reason, it seems to go well in the dry pre-freeze sunlight, and it's depressing. Porn star Wikipedia page depressing.
If S/T = 11/08 and Willpower = 11/09
then Supernova = 11/10.
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| Times of grace... |
[20 Nov 2010|07:09pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 curious |
] |
Abruptly a woman entered my backyard pausing right under my window. Simultaneously sensing our mutual presence, our eyes locked and we shared one fragile, and awkward moment. Truth be told, a thousand cold needles of fear pierced my neck at that moment and she, with a distinct arrogance (or at least indifference) ignored my transfixed eyes, proceeding to pick up three empty Coors cans from my leaf choked yard. She left. I said not a word and moved not a muscle. Doing so would have seemed rude, in my yard. Life feels like that time after time. I wonder if she's thinking about me, maybe buying smoke brown paper smokes on my dime.
Just give us light. Just give us light.
Season of the ghouls.
Punching the dark (the trees and eyes).
We just want light.
Police helicopters are not suitable light.
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| Bullshit... |
[27 Oct 2010|06:19pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 thirsty |
] |
On evenings melting like fool's gold, no one can sing it as good as I think it as Neil Young can do. We're so selfish to realize that when we are at our lowest we are surrounded by everyone else who has been, will be or is as well. Maybe realizing that makes it worse. I guess in Eminem/Lebron James jack-off world, it doesn't even matter what you say, but how loud you say it.
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