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Monday, December 20th, 2004
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12:46 am - the cake recipe
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just for future reference.
preheat the oven to 350°F
put the following in a large saucepan:
• 1 Cup butter, that's two sticks or .5lbs
• 2-3 tbsp of cocoa powder, more for a richer flavor
• .75 Cup sugar, I'm tempted to add more
• 1 cup of strong coffee with milk. make sure it's strong
Bring all that to a boil and let cool.
The boiling brings out the alkalines in the chocolate, enhancing the flavor.
I suppose if you were to add something else in which the active chemicals might be activated by heat and prone to bonding to the milk fat you could... hint, hint.
After that's cold add:
• 5 egg yolks
• 1.5 Cups flour, be careful, too much will slaughter the chocolate flavor and you'll end up with chocolate pancake type thingies
• 2 tsp baking powder
Mix that nicely, make sure not to confuse the bubbles for flour clumps.
Also, taste it here and make any adjustments.
Then beat the 5 egg whites until stiff and carefully fold into the batter.
Immediately pour into two well buttered and floured 9" cake pans, keep in mind that these things may not even want to come out of the pans so if you have non-stick that's great, and toss them in the oven.
They should cook in 20-30 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean and not too oily.
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| Friday, November 12th, 2004
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12:18 pm - Onward Christian Soldiers...
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marching as to war
The Christians are really beginning to creep me out, and not in an interesting sort of way. I’m struck with an eerie feeling, the kind of paranoid frequency that conspiracy theorists and hardcore speed freaks are locked on to. Is there a robot army invading, or is it just an insidious alien virus? Brainwashed zealots with a thousand yard stare hunting down fresh bodies to infect and take over. I’m serious about this, there’s something going on here.
I was waiting out front of the Pep Boys, it was time for new brakes. A very necessary thing for a fast driver. The last thing I’d want is for the bastards to give out on me in the middle of a 110 mile per hour run onto the access road. A four way stop ahead, grinding hell on every pedal push, no deceleration, sparks flying off the wheels, and a minivan plastered with youth sport decals and a full cargo of snot nosed imps in my sights... there’d be bits of soccer uniform everywhere. I’m sure a news van would be sent out, but that’s not the kind of attention I’d like to get: CRAZED DRIVER OBLITERATES GOD FEARING FAMILY OF THIRTY.
Damn, a tangent, I’ll redirect. I’m waiting outside, spot a group of women -- they look like dedicated bus riders, only surrounded by The Jesus Fire. I try to light a cigarette, but the lighter’s dry, I know God did this to me -- it was working well enough a moment ago. They begin to head my way, this only adds insult to injury. I try to look busy, to find an exit, goddamnit! Where’s my ride?
I‘m about to make a run for the building when I notice the lead female is coming right for me. I’d hate to look rude, maybe they’ll pass right by, I try to become invisible. Hide behind the side view mirror.
She strides up flyer first, the “here, throw this away for me approach,” then begins muttering something about having been “addicted to crack cocaine,” then something with “The Lord Jesus as a savior,” followed by the hit for the donation. The crack cocaine line really explained a lot to me. I thought of informing her of my penchant for consuming various chemicals and substances, how much I enjoyed them, and that I had been told that this was alright by God himself. I opted instead to tell her that a didn’t have any cash on me. This was mostly true, $1900 in cent notes strapped to your left calf doesn’t count, it’s hidden... no one’s supposed to know about that... even The Good Lord.
Now that I think back on it... a really clever group of crack smokers would be well off to make a few flyers, then stumble around during the day proclaiming the evils of chemistry and asking for donations. That would be brilliant, but odds are Bishops Donny & Jackie Banks of the Victory Gospel Church simply discovered that former junkies are excellent at searching for petty cash. After all, they did this for a living.
I believe I mounted a good defense, did all I could to try and hold the line when faced with superior numbers and the power of Christ. “Nicht schützen!” After proving that I had no strategic value they fanned out and began their assault on the auto store. I was certainly hoping that Reynaldo from sales could fend off the addled hoard, and he did. The man sent them running, shouting behind them, “If you crack heads come back here again I’ll smash your fucking skulls with an air drill!”
I was impressed by Reynaldo’s brutality, and felt dually reassured about leaving my keys with this man. I want a monster like that in charge of my automotive repairs. Definitely shows that this man will get things done.
The flyer itself is absurd. “Victory Gospel Chapel -- and -- Victory Gospel Spiritual Growth Center For Men and Women” is spread across the top next to a graphic of a fish skewered by a cross, its dead eye staring out blankly. In the middle is a collage of Pills, Needles, Booze, broken shackles, and a smoking cigarette. I fail to see how one might put cigarette smoking and something like a vicious addiction to smack on the same level -- this does come from the same people that told you that dancing and fraternization well send you burning in hell. On the bottom is the essential biblical quotation, “Behold, I will do a new Thing! - Isaiah 43:19” I’m not familiar with Isaiah, but he appears to have been a magician... or a vicious narcissist.
Behold, I will write a new thing!
These people are really going to far. First they invade the White House and public schools in Mississippi, now they’re coming at me on the street. Do they honestly believe that anyone, especially someone living in this country, has not at some point heard of this Jesus fellow and his uncanny ability to save people and kill himself? What a crock, I mean, is it really all that spectacular that someone would let themselves be killed with the full knowledge that in a couple of days they’d be back in action, but this time with the ability to ride clouds into space? Not only did he come back, he went around showing people that God liked him so much more than them. Sounds like a fucking dickhead show off to me.
Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t get pregnant your first time, God got that Mary chick pregnant without even fucking her... I’ll give them that much, that’s either total bullshit or a certifiable goddamn miracle. All the same though, I’m not sure a god that doesn’t get off every once in a while is a good thing. Hell, I get bitchy when I miss an orgasm, imagine what God could do... could this explain everything from the Inquisition to the Bush monarchy?
Speaking of reformation and cocaine....
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| Tuesday, November 9th, 2004
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6:41 am - here
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Okay. I have had this headache since sunday. It is killing me. It's not dehydration, glucose, salts, injury, illness, tumor, chemical withdrawal, chemical overdose, an excuse, or some sinus thing. This is some specialized beast sent out every few months to remind me what hell would be like. On this type of headache I have tried pseudoephedrine HCl, guaifenesin, acetaminophen, ibuprofen, other aspirins, nicotine, caffiene, Dextromethorphan HBr, narcotics, meditation, folk remedies, voodoo shit, and the cold compress. Nothing works... it just goes away one day.
Maybe... there's one thing I haven't tried... any volunteers?
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| Sunday, November 7th, 2004
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6:33 am
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I drove until dawn trying to remember the last time I felt so lonely, lovesick.
I still can't think of a time it felt like this before, though it has come close. The irony is in the names, faces, experience, this god damn time of year. Oh god, how I miss it.
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| Sunday, October 24th, 2004
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6:53 am - La Maison de mon rêve
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“If every angel’s terrible, then why do you welcome them?”
I was trying to organize this feeling. What it was and why it made itself so glaringly present, why it happens and why it had to be me -- even though it was a good thing. The music played, the mind reeled, and the haze laid low over the lights, adding a depth and ambiance that seemed to fill in everything that was missing.
Trying to get it all down, I moved into the passing lane; still the music played. So gloriously ridiculous, blazing hot with a rich mixture, it was there. There was no order anywhere, and I was trying to figure it all out. Like I could put a name on it, classified and sorted, isolated and stored in a drawer... how ridiculous. I just kept on driving.
Beyond the fast food islands and the sprawl, there’s a place where it roams. On the dark asphalt with the hills and an orange needle riding high anything is possible. Trekking onward towards the unknown, discovering the roads, this is simplicity and perfection and a deep field of experience. The place where it all happened. The source.
And in the starfield scatter of unpredictability there is a constant. It doesn’t have to be addressed, it is, and that is all that matters. The one constant force. Like gravity, it only has to be there, never mind proving it. It’s acting on everything. Never mind the rest, the complex equations, the whys and hows and what ifs. It’s mine, mine forever, and with this I know one thing; as long as I have it, everything will be okay.
Everything will be just fine. The planet spins on its axis and the rain never falls just like you think it will. There are more yesterdays than tomorrows, and those that have come are all still there; the greatest moments living and playing together between the neurons forever. There’s nothing wrong with nostalgia, as long as it stays real and in the present. As long as it is always breathing in your eyes.
Laying on thoughts, sinking into them all around me like a down comforter. Wrapping me and holding me in a constant state, one of those moments that feel like they’ll last forever. I think of another one of those. Like floating. Just like breathing in the world. I’m taking it everywhere.
Dark days will come, the sky will split open and spill burning sulphur, space stations and astronauts. There will be glass in every carpet, a pebble in every shoe. Pay no mind to the acid rain and solar flares, the murder on the corners, there is beauty to be found. If you can find it, hold it in your hand, and then there is nothing else.
---
There is so much going on right now, I’ve been saving three seperate breakdowns for a while now, maybe I’ll have them some weekend... but what use would that be? It doesn’t matter. Neither do all the other views and positions, I choose to see and feel it however I want. Waiting for the other show to fall never did anyone any good, I’m still moving, moving all the time. And the fuel I burn are these words, “There’s so much more....”
current music: CocoRosie
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| Monday, October 18th, 2004
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4:34 am - No Disclaimers
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Catharsis and death rattles.
I never thought it would end this way. With a sucking chest wound and two bodies cooling in the corner. What was that I’d read about this type of thing? Somewhere, I’ve got a pack of cigarettes somewhere, I can use the cellophane to try and plug this hole. Jesus, that’s a disgusting sound, wet gurgling with every breath, and it hurts. What a fucking mess. Who’d of thought it’d be cigarettes I need to save this lung? Fucking bastards.
How did it end up like this you ask? Easy. I shot first and missed. Heh, that’s an easy way of looking at it right now; maybe the only way of looking at it right now. Maybe... I know, they can put this on the marker, “It was love that killed him.” That, acute psychosis, and a goddamn painful as hell bullet.
It seemed like such a good idea at the time, even though there wasn’t really much thinking. You know how it goes, you meet someone, hit it off, they become the world to you, and next thing you know they’re trying to kill you. What a hell of a way to break it off, “Dear John, It hurts me so much to say this, but I must. I’m nuts fucking insane and convinced you need to be killed, consider it over, it was a good run.”
I met her at the grocery store. I was picking out some eggs, she was scanning the yogurt, assessing me between scanning labels. I couldn’t help but notice, her looking dead sexy as hell, shifting the weight nicely from side to side as she dodged the stockers in the cereal aisle. This was the third encounter, and I decided to give it shot. Why not, the night was young.
As I approached there was a glint in her eye, was it the friend or foe squint or the time for action surge of excitement? It doesn’t matter now. I told her this, “You’re following me.” I’m sure that was a great line, she went along, we played spy. Arranged a rendezvous. Several hours later there was fumbling, brutal sex in front of a teevee.
I’ve got to get to phone. No way around it. It’s maybe twenty feet away, mounted on the kitchen wall. Might as well be in Papua New Guinea with a lung filled with blood and flecks of lead and bone. Fucking miles away.
She was a fan of history and film with a tremendous ass. The kind of woman any civilized male is looking for. Good sense of humor, great to talk to, well read, a libido large enough that portions could be sold off as surplus. I couldn’t help myself, I fell into her completely. Soon it was only her, all day, every day. No need to call or see anyone else, she was so easily everything.
Look, I’m leaving a trail... goddamit, I need that to live. I am not cleaning that shit up.
WIP. More TKTK. sure it's morbid, bear with it, catharsis takes time and we're dealing with something heavy metaphorical
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| Thursday, October 14th, 2004
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2:52 am - Becoming flat again
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I can’t find my cigarettes, and, of course, this is very disturbing.
I last had them in the car. I was driving in the rain, making slow circles around the town... and now I’m reminded, I took a drag, and I was hit with something. As I took a drag I had a thought, and before that thought floated all the way down through all the analysis I had that feeling again.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had that feeling, it was good to visit that place again.
A bit of anxiety, good anxiety, the kind you get when you’re sure that at a certain something good is going to be there. Ooh, I floated all around that feeling. It was gone before I had finished exhaling.
So, here I am now. Smoking the stale reserves, looking for that little packet, and waiting for that feeling again.
---
Trying to get back into the habit of laying down thought again. Weighing all the advice, conflicting voices, and trying to get that groove back again. Just got to find the place, and then it will all ride like on rails. The words will come and I’ll just fly. I’m getting there again, I’m so close to getting there again.
current music: Fela Kuti and CocoRosie
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| Tuesday, October 12th, 2004
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4:15 am - enough gas to get home?
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I'm really looking forward to that time, after I have everything squared away, when I can go back to spending all my time learning and interacting, creating and dissecting, experiencing totally everything around me.
When I don't have to struggle and appease, when I can simply be. Able to fuck things up. Able to fix them. I'm afraid of a pyrrhic victory though, will I give up too much in order to get it all back?
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| Saturday, October 9th, 2004
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2:46 am - The Earth spins ever closer to november
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I'm so happy to live in a country that...
well, let's just say that I'm happy to live in a country. The electric hum of impending one chance only decision making is thick in the air. With the elections closing in and all the garbled analysis and snap polls it's hard not to start assessing things on a higher level. It's a disease, politic, ebola pluribus.
It's amazing to think that, thanks to the electoral college, I'll be relying on people from Florida to decide who I'll have to blame for my problems over the next four years. It's a precious thing really, very existential and all the blur words. Florida's a hazardous place, just look at what it did to Hemingway.
To think that people who choose to live in a hurricane and mosquito infested peninsula that serves as a haven to pensioners, contra revolucionarios, and psycho killers, that sits just off the Bermuda Triangle, is deeply reassuring. That these folks chose to live there (!) seriously discredits their decision making abilities. I'm sure it's a beautiful place, inhabited with both vicious fauna and maybe a couple good people, but I cannot wrap the idea of trusting the populous en todo; for the governor's name is Jeb.
Oh well, what is one to do about Florida? Besides strategic nuclear weapons or a contained outbreak of anthrax, nothing really, so I suppose I'll drop this tangent and focus on the more pressing matters at hand.
Election day is near! Do you have your voter registration card? Can you find it? I think I last saw it in that drawer you toss all the important papers in. I hope you can find it, the american people need you, and an effective health care system. So please, find that card, tell your boss that you know you can get time off to vote -- it’s federal law, and vote for the Democratic candidate of your choice.
I’m serious, the Democratic candidate of your choice.
Coming down to it, is there any other option? We’ve already tried out the Bush thing and I don’t think that most of us are too enthused. On a Freudian level, it’s come to be in the last few years that pubic hair has gone out of style, that’s how deep this runs. That may be quite a stretch, perhaps influenced by my narrow field of vision, but I really think we’ve all had enough.
I ask anyone to give me four, well thought out, ways that they personally have been positively influenced by this administration. I’d like to see it, because I haven’t. Aside from the opportunity to be vorgewählt für the special security screening express lane at the airport, I draw a blank. I’m still terrified of the entire fucking planet, if not more so after March of last year; if you weren’t either you’re immaculately medicated or forget the thing with the Cubans and The Missiles and Crisis. I can’t afford much of anything, there’s $52 a barrel oil, shitty unemployment, I have a tummy ache, and I hear Satan himself is opening a chain of convenience stores nation wide.
These are not good times, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be. It just falls under callousness or ineptitude when so many millions go without healthcare on a minimum wage that has failed to match inflation -- technically speaking, the clerks at John Updike’s A&P were making more than the workers at Wally World are now. When the president portrays a Gomer Pyle starring as Will Kane in “High Noon” attitude to the populous, the VP a crooked corporate incarnation of Beavis, and a secretary of state that looks like he’s one convoluted one-man press conference away from permanently going the way of a disgruntled postal worker; these times are definitely not a Golden Era.
What else to do but to place a vote for change?
Even if you’re like me and can’t quite come to like the Challenger. I suppose it comes down to this, always vote for the smarter candidate. Intelligence is good, the ability to question is good, the ability to change one’s mind is good. Don’t let anyone else tell you different, odds are they have trouble operating a sandwich.
That’s it for now, the night is high and energy is low. Time to turn in and dream dreams of a bright next four years... with bush out of office and something having to with Christina Ricci finding me horribly, horribly fuckable.
Adieu
current music: The Fall
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| Tuesday, October 5th, 2004
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1:33 am - I'M AN ERUPTING STRATO VOLCANO!
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I have just now realised how cool volcanos are!
Volcanos are awesome!
...........................SSSSSS......SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS........SSSSSSSS.....................
.........................SMOKESMOKESMOKESMOKESMOKESMOKE.................................
........................ASHASHASHASH.......ASHASHASHASH.........................................
.........................SSSSSSS.................................................................................
..........................VVVV......................................................................................
........................OOOOO LAVA............................................................................
......................LLLLLLLLLLL LAVA.........................................................................
...................CCCCCCCCCCC LAVA......................................................................
................AAAAAAAAAAAAAA LAVA...................................................................
............NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN LAVA.................................................................
........OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LAVALAVA...LAVA...........................................
....!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!LAVALAVA TREEBURNING LAVA HOUSE LAVA..
..DIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRTDIRT
Volcanos RULE!
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| Monday, September 27th, 2004
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4:54 am - today
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Invisible days.
That's right. Kharmic balance obliterates the plastic scenery and monetary pulse. Thump-thump, you're running hot as you tempt me. Naked dancing around the fire, sing-song speaking of the total destruction with the heavy breathing in my ear. Damn right my Siren, set a course for the rocks and dazed as I happily sail into your crevice.
Ooh! Itching all over, no time and all the time for me... because north is up and the people are down. Slip-streaming, multi-lingual, miles high above all the little girl ghosts and homicidal tendencies. Stomping galatic across the plains and fields, totally unreachable and begging for a car wreck.
Laying paper to pen, the backroads approach is my angle of attack. Perfected and invented specifically for me, it has become modus operandi. No sneaking, just scheming.
God damn, glorious sunrise lifting up the blue, wash me over and take things down a notch, clear away the ill concieved with your scattering light. The brightest daylight ever, and I'm basking in it today.
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| Wednesday, September 22nd, 2004
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6:39 am
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Life is beautiful.
Be thankful for every minute, you've got to realise how glorious it is.
Laugh and love and be.
Say better them than me, whatever works best in the crueler moments. Time to live life with the volume turned down.
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| Friday, September 17th, 2004
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4:24 am
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Sheesh... I've been pretty angry lately.
Better take care of this.
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4:09 am
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That's it. One more bizarre incursion upon my peaceful world of silly desperation commonly known as hope and I will have to lay down a divine reckoning. One more run on sentence of disjointed verb/noun orgyistic mind fuck and the game's called.
This is it. I'm drawing the line. Let's all try and make some sense for a few moments, if you would please. I'm trying to get this all straight, and frankly, none of you are making any sense right now. It has to be you, it can't be me. No time for mental fatigue vapour lock breakdowns in this time frame.
Give me one more stressor and I'll lay you out.
Can't you see that all I want is a little simplicity? Sure there's a simplicity in this constant uproar and blitzing terror, but frankly, I'd rather eat, sleep, fuck, and be. Endless nights and days and all I'm asking for is a little certainty. Remember that? Certainty? When what could be relied on was apparent and who was there was actually there. Dancing around the inevitable conclusions, free to explore and fuck things up occasionally with no doubt that things would straighten themselves out eventually.
I tried the lark, and all I found was media culture spawned actualities laying over a potential personality. Wouldn't it be nice if you called back? Another story entirely....
I like to smoke cigarettes, sleep in, put things off, and dwell in a fantastic reality now and then. Is that so difficult to understand? Get off my fucking back already. Get your shit in line, in gear, and fully compatible with the program. I'm trying to make something for myself, and the constant phrenetic scream is really beginning to get on my nerves.
Point, counterpoint. One, two. Today, yesterday. Easy enough it could be a way of life. I am so fucking sick of you people right now. Kindly step aside and take a moment to collect, you're standing on my stomach and I would really appreciate a chance to breathe. Room to roam. Goddammit already.
Oh, please take your soft blanket of warmth and wrap me up. Let me fall into whatever ectoplasmic solar streams you emit. I'll be your vast collector array if you'll be my mission control. Now I'm not making any sense.
Sit there, try to decode, parse out any meaning you can. Pointless, but go for it. Just don't come to me asking for an explanation, this is mine and mine alone. My words, thoughts, and flaming fucking emotions, and I'll do with them whatever the hell I want.
Sick, sick, sick, of the game. This fucking game. Naked twister on a razor blade mat. Slice me open and see what you find inside. Perhaps there's something sweet, or maybe, the entire deal, the whole package is just fine the way it was. You know, there are things I used to like to do, things just for me.
Catharsis. I'm ready to let it all out now, though I figure after some fitful sleep I won't be so up to it tomorrow, so here it is. I'm not so happy right now, but deal with it, I'll be better in a little while. Moodiness becomes me, and to quote someone rather famous, "Buy the ticket, take the ride." Angry and caustic, oops, that's how I want to be this moment. Happy and care free the next.
So, never fear my courageous reader, odds are none of this directed at you. There. Finished. Bed time. Don't worry about it.
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| Sunday, August 29th, 2004
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7:37 am - oops, uh oh
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She's having one of those fits again. Raving about something that I couldn't help. Belching screaming mass. Oh god, not again. Trying to think of something, hoping I can talk her down again from this infinite split. Then suddenly her head begin to peel in half, pretty flesh and hair pulling away. There's a skeleton head with two big tits breathing fire.
Scrambling now, the smoke alarm is bleeping as the curtains go up in flames -- I've got to find the extinguisher. Finally found, I pull the pin, like an inverse grenade this is my only hope. Push down on lever, no response. Fuck. The thing hasn't been recharged in three years, and now she's got a knife.
Unscrew the top and dump out the acrid powder. Yellow dust in the air, I throw a handful at the skull as it comes charging at me. There's a sharp pain in the side of my head, then a warm flowing on the other. Are my sinuses draining?
No. She's driven it through my head, perfectly seperating the frontal lobe from the rest of the brain. Being relieved of all free will, the skeleton she pushes me down hard on the floor. This blade through my head really hurts, but nothing matters now as she spits another burst of flame onto me. Completely engulfed, it straddles me and pulls away the burning fibers covering me.
Somehow the machinery is working, she takes full advantage, begins fucking. Bone head and skeleton tooth breath close on my face wrapped in fire. Everything's fine, if not better as I begin to melt into the floor.
Becoming little particles now, I slip through the floor. Millions of me, completely aware as all the molecules in the hot tallow sludge that was once the singular me collect on the ceiling of the apartment below. Slowly beginning to form a droplet, stretching down, then streaking towards the floor. Free fall, forever.
Then I come to rest, in the dog's food bowl. Jingling tags and clicking claws rumble closer. Wet nose, licking, teeth and chewing. What a delicious treat.
-----
Please excuse that... actually, indulge me. Sometimes something strange has to come out. Vulgar and too bizarre to even catagorize myself, this was all brought about by something else that I would rather not discuss. Have a swell day.
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| Friday, August 27th, 2004
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11:42 pm - 2002's, where are you?
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Dissipating into the soundtrack.
Streams flowing of memories and names. People connected, tied together and then suddenly, as if there were a timer built in, blown away in thousands of directions. When the pictures and words are found, they come back and stand together in the rooms. Looking at you, they ask, "why?"
What happened to send us all apart? Everything seemed to be alright, each of us in our respective grooves, protocols and networks set. Maybe we all good a little greedy and a little complacent. Tried to take one step too many, overextending our reach and sending those days toppling like a massive game of twister...
We all certainly felt up enough of eachother.
Perhaps that contributed to the end of that era. Never to be again, I try to remember the names of the faces all bundled together in that particular order from my days of climax, and I struggle to rediscover.
"What ever happened to that girl?" Gone back away into the corner of the country, with the pines. Scattered debris from coast to coast, from here to Seattle, and every other corner. Cleaning the car or sifting through a drawer, pieces of paper and maybe a stray hair. So entirely esoteric yet easily recognizable. Map reading and summer sun, fast food hunter gatherer roaming, exploring the psyches and flagging landmines. Copilots abound in the memory's fields, rusting hulks, wooden markers, and smears on glass.
The simplicity of the great disorder. Nothing was planned and it all turned out that way. Flipped page. All is resolved, and the way that was done was by elimination. I miss so many, and the solid moments we all created together in the midst of that chaos.
Like mile markers, slipping by with so much time.
And just what is this time thing? I wonder where it all goes, but I have the answer. It's all still here; that's maybe why it hurts so much.
The smiles. Who laughed at what, and what we said in did. Trying to organize those times and make it glow a little while longer in Nostalgia. It really was years ago now... isn't it?
"Life is meant to drive us; spending the whole time trying to go our way." Those are the words from one of the records of the day. Oh, afternoon sunlight streaming into our little room. Oh god, the glow. Eyes are stinging, I used to be able to take it.
I think I need to sleep this off.
current music: Shins - When You Notice the Stripes
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| Saturday, August 21st, 2004
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3:47 am
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Diagnose this:
itchy feet and a burning brain.
metaphorically speaking, of course.
yellow and red letters in the mailbox, a scene change is well past due.
current music: Tortoise - Night Air
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| Friday, August 20th, 2004
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3:16 am - rotations
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So, another year has passed. The Earth has come full circle and the moon is just that little bit further away from us all. Here I am again. Moonless night and the humid air, clouds racing overhead, and I'm clacking away in an attempt to fend of the darkness for a little while longer.
Cyclic origins, ovulation, floating through the fallopian tubes, where we all come from. I’ve traveled from order to disorder and back again so many times, it’s been grand though. I want to thank everyone who played a role in this year’s adventures, these are things I’ll remember forever, and beyond.
Looking at it pragmatically now. It’s time for a new chapter, and I’m wondering who will help me write it. hanging in space for the moment, I think I can use this hiatus to try and document some of the things that I don’t want to forget, and others that I will wish I had. This will come, like all things, in time though.
New start, the theme of this year will be “Ruthless.”
I really mean it this time. No holds barred, I will get what I want, just watch and see. Creative output and hedonistic pleasures, advancement and house cleaning. All parts of the bigger puzzle, the one we work on our entire lives.
So just click along with the tunes, get back to making that splash. Was off to a good start there for a while and now it’s time to get back in the game. No longer a spectator sport, I will play along, and with that rule book that i’ve written.
I’ve got that sly grin on my face.
current music: Grandaddy - A.M. 180
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| Thursday, August 19th, 2004
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10:57 pm - tonight the black turned to light
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oh boy. Did I have a show for you tonight. Cruising eastward on the lonesome freeway. My cigarette smoke curling behind me like a carcinogenic vapor trail. Twirling off behind me towards the orange fingernail moon hanging by threads above the horizon. In the rearview mirror, with the yellow lights streaking away from me it looked like it was rising, but never the less still sinking. Falling upwards and away through so many optical illusions, impressions, and it's all because the rock keeps spinning.
And ahead the night sky was screaming with lightning, like the press pool for the planet. Yellow and white, blue flash. So far away and yet the sky haze was lit up. looking at it from the passing lane, signs and traffic held in time against this massive bursting backdrop. Anguish from the water droplets, above were the stars.
All this beauty, and all I could say was, "oh god." Copilot seat empty, no one to witness, how could I ever share it now?
This is all too much, but then maybe not enough. When it seemed like the lustre had worn off, there all this was. Perhaps it was just for me. I wish you could have seen it though... I really wish you could have seen it.
current music: Modest Mouse - Truckers Atlas
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| Tuesday, July 27th, 2004
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11:42 pm - Thump
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Oh yes.
I think I got it right this time. I know exactly what I need and now comes the time to track down the right person. Sexuality predatory. Burning need to grind into it, like gunshot popping off rounds. Oh fuck, the tension and the burning invincibility, and god knows what else. I'm sure you know what I mean.
People on one another breaking up into tiny little pieces and vaporizing into moist heat and strained breaths. I need that intensity, that screaming, pounding, biting mess that accelerates toward a certain destination. Finalization, completion, exhaustion, and vacuous affinity.
And then you walk away, and go about your business like nothing happened, but no. Scalding flashbacks, triggered by a smell on your skin, pressure on the right bruise or sensitive spot, a passing phrase. Oh god, you have to go back to it.
It is what it is all about, and tonight feels right... I'll just have to hold on though. Where the hell is she?
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In other news; payday is on Friday. About 100 hours over two weeks makes for a heavy weapon.
current mood: you know already, don't you?
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