as far as bass goes...

i can't stop playing:
1. set the controls for the heart of the sun
2. let there be more light

i am stuck on repeat on a two song playlist.
i can't even remember any other songs, to be honest.


pink

forget about this

so far, precisely two hours have been spent opening and closing an old rundown multi-tool, contemplating the (near) future. two hours. and relics. one month. 30 days (28). 28. 28. 28. julia dream. why can't we. am i really dying? queen of all my dreams. am i dreaming? will this all work out? can i afford intellectually another job? can i afford financially without? careful with that axe, eugene. be careful. axe. axe. axe. is it all in vain?

consider horrible a -1 for poor management

in a moment of backtracking

nostalgia. is.
old multi-tool.
one busted handle plate.
rusted plyer teeth.
stiff action.
gunked interior casing.
loose knife hinge.
dull serrated edge.
one thousand camping trips. no. more.
thick smell of aging steel.
battered shine
one million uses
splinters removed.
wood shaven.
bark peeled.
edges cut.
fish filleted.
rope severed.
nails pulled.
wires split.
fingers pinched.
stakes grabbed.
pots moved.
fires built
matches struck
dutch ovens reed weaved names carved backpacking laurel highlands new mexico colorado conestoga heritage buck run tenacharison lynn run flood plains cabin outing jumonville allegheny retreats advances winter camp first aid axes hatchets saws blades outlived outused outrun outcasted
relived
entrancing smell of aging steel.

textbook return policy

whats it been
30 thirty XXX
28
maybe
29 more
wrong 26
but if the why am i doing this
whats the point
more important--priority!
the sense of nothing
is
nothing
to be arranged in full syllabic?
syllabic! right! then! eat! out
of time
nothing makes sense
if nothing makes
nothing makes
nothing makes
money change dice dice? dice?
i need a dream
a dream
stages 5. springfield. X. D. ninemm
possibly .45
if i post this will i be crazy?
crazy?
my whole life is
a dream. a dream. if i.
no. its for me. who needs? add enclosure link.

$315

unreal. rent is 275. bill payment yet to be arranged.

life as we'll have it

am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?
am i dreaming?

that phrase is permeating my life.
no luck yet.

bore bore bore

Bored out of my mind, I stared out into the empty library when right onto the circulation desk plopped a cape petrel and then a second. Mildly confused, I again looked out into the library and the speckled blue carpet began to move. It began to thrash into water and shelves of books melted into ships. The three oak tables had vanished and were replaced by a fleet of clippers, upon which I leaped and was swiftly greeted and briefed by my first mate. Breathing in lung-fulls of salty air, I gazed into the white sky and began shouting orders I never knew I knew. Cannons blasted as we fought off the bookshelf-ships but on the verge of victory, my supervisor pulled me down from the table and scolded me for my yelling and my conduct.

Archive is one of my favorite words

September of 2008 was a good month, I think. Sometimes I go back and look at what I did back in time and this time I went and read everything from September in my blog. It was a good month. I miss it. It also gave me an opportunity to find a new picture of Joni Violet because the old one had been taken down. Joni Violet is alive and well and I photobucketed her picture so she would never disappear again.

ARchivearchievarchivearchiaveArchivearchive

joe strummer once told me

Looking across the ocean, I witness explosions and gunfire and grenades and tanks and RPG fire and air raids and carpet bombing and napalm and concertina wire and all the while, pedestrians glided behind me leaving the spectacle unnoticed. Just once, I wish the show would come to us. Maybe it would give the you-know-whos some perspective. Is that terrible of me?

Or even more likely

Feeling that perhaps my life was a bit too backwards, I pushed myself through the mirror. I soon realized I had made a mistake, as I am not well adept at writing with my left hand.

telegram from my brain and my pocketwatch

Insufficient Funds.

I had a story to tell.
I forget it.
But I have been remembering my dreams.

so thats a plus, i guess...

the problem is...

i keep thinking in fragments
and now its translating into my life
my life
fragments
i keep thinking in fragments
and i cant stop
fragments
from
ami dreaming?

im not usually like this, i promise.
not in public at least.

i think.
(in fragments)

the point! the point! get to the point!
drawn out sentence.
drawn out drawn out drawn out

thirty days hath september
but whats it matter, ill never remember

alone alone alone
something's gone wrong and i cant point you out
something's gone wrong
wrong
i cant
point
wrong
fix it
i cant
spiraling out of control downwind upscale
the house on the hill
phone booth
something's gone wrong

sleep skips days
:im sorry about this

More Old Journal Entries

I think I already posted this one a while ago, but it bears repeating. Its one of my favorites.

Circulation

I went to the grocery store today. I couldn't buy much, I probably shouldn't have bought what I did, I hear fasting works, but I felt guilty looking at all their intricately marketed merchandise and walking out empty handed. I had to get out anyway. I walked to the beat of music that is good for any rainy day except that today wasn't rainy, it was actually quite sunny, but the music was good for rain. I didn't notice it until reflection, but I realize now that everyone that surrounded me was a zombie. No one smiled, no one squinted, no one opened their mouths to talk. Blank expressions veiled everyone's true emotions and stiff, invisible rails guided their movements throughout the city. An exception: the store clerk was actually quite nice. Perhaps its my imagination, perhaps its the rainy day music or even more likely, perhaps its true. I had to explain how to listen to a record today. That always brings joy to my heart. Head. Mind. Something. Ego. I disagree. Silence is overrated. Or even more likely, I don't remember experiencing true silence. Without music in my ears, there's music in my head and that is just as loud, is it not? Yes. Not always. Turn it up. Turn it up. When the music's over, turn out the lights. Turn out the lights. Turn up the lights. Turn it up. Up. I don't remember what song is on my iPod now. I remember the song in my head though. They aren't the same. I don't remember. I can't remember. Vitamin B6 aids memory.
Not one soul tried to eat me today. What does that say about me?

Go Green

Normal houses have normal house problems like a leaky roof or cellar, or drafts, or standard creaking and moaning. Mine is this tree. The truth is, I never saw it coming. It must have started when the tree began to grow too close to the house and embedded itself into the wall. From there, its branches continued to grow, creeping through the exterior walls over the years, tearing into the foundation. I didn't pay much mind to it until a crack in the wall exposed the monster for what it truly was. A parasite. My crack appeared on the east side of the house, opposite the tree. I left it be until it grew bigger and finally opened a hole, revealing a sturdy wooden arm clawing its way around the house. Suspicious, I decided to watch the tree closely. Sure enough, as the years progressed, I began to notice shifts in my daily life, directly resulting from my infestation. Rolling out of bed, for instance, became much easier. Climbing the stairs, however, became more laborious. Some of my walls began to bulge, creating unorthodox interior design limitations. For the most part, I didn't mind and in fact, relished the unique situation I had found myself in. Unfortunately, complacency didn't last. Over a short several months, I abandoned a few windows for inability to open them. More than a few branches now jutted from various walls and ceilings and floors, making every day maneuvering an arduous process. Autumn became a particularly frustrating season. Soon entire rooms were shut off from me by thick bars of lumber. Limited to only the kitchen, dining room, living room and guest bathroom, I was increasingly angered with my captor. I went out and purchased a machete and began to hack at the beast, temporarily freeing myself out of my four rooms and into a fifth and sixth. I stockpiled my liberated belongings and fell asleep on the couch. The next morning, I found my machete wedged between the floor and a newly sprouted limb and the front door barred by three thigh-wide tentacles. Scratching my head, I retreated to the kitchen, opened a can of beans and landed on the couch to watch some television.

la.dee.da

I once knew a man without a name. He was a horrid fellow, depressing. Without fail, every so often, he would drop by with the sole and explicit purpose of decreasing my self morale. Always let himself in too. Some days I would wake up and he would be staring at me. Talk about creepy. Other days I would be washing my face and I would look up and see him standing in the doorway. Eventually my adrenal glands got used to the annoyance and I no longer jumped at his presence. But without fail, the man would taunt me daily.
"No one knows your name," he would say, "nobody knows you at all."
I dismissed him regularly, telling him it was he that no one knew and he without a name. My defenses didn't phase him. He continued with his taunts which increasingly lost value and quickly diminished my patience.
Finally, I had had enough and made the decision to hit the man. It wasn't my primary decision in problem solving but I felt I had exhausted all other possibilities. With contact, my demon shattered and I drew back my lacerated hand. A bit stunned, I grabbed a broom and dustpan and gathered the shards.

Count Em Up, Drabble

Deciding to make a break for it, I leapt from my window. Instead of falling the thirteen stories to the ground before I could complete my courageous escape, however, I floated. No higher, no lower, my entire body sat in midair. Understandably confused, I decided to analyze the situation. So, cross legged, elbow on my knee and hand to my chin, I surveyed my surroundings and the possibilities that lay before me. After some time, I resolved that it did not seem to be the right moment to abscond and that I should make my way back inside my room.

in vain

We used to talk. I mean, really, talk. We could talk about anything, and at any time. Especially at night. Lately, however, its like I'm talking to a wall. I sit directly in front of you, leaning slightly forward, elbows to knees, while you stare straight ahead, making genuine attempts to keep gravity from letting your eyes fall upon mine. The most I can get from you are short answers to my questions, like an interview rather than conversation. A wall. No worries, I quit. There are three other walls in this room anyway.

A Story in One Quick Sentence

Lieutenant-Major told me I would be safe as I crossed enemy lines to deliver that parcel, but then, he had always had terribly shifty eyes.

An Approach

Sitting in an open field, what else could I do but contemplate the face of a stranger. He was, in fact, looking at me, which made me feel that he was contemplating my own face. His own face of a stranger. Though I wasn't a stranger, I knew perfectly well who I was, it was he who was the stranger. It is absurd to think that I were the stranger in our relationship when I had known myself for at least twenty years. His existence, for all I knew, had lasted mere seconds. How was I to know he had lived before I had decided to contemplate his beaming face? How dare he consider me a stranger! I could gather a petition with at least dozens of signatures verifying that I am, in fact, familiar! It was with great fervor that I decided to approach the stranger and reprimand him harshly for his brutal attack on my character. As I stood toe to toe with the man, however, I quickly realized I didn't know who I was or anybody that did.

six months

I've lived here for six months. 180 days, give or take. That's roughly 180 showers. I've always wondered why I had to step diagonally out of the shower to reach the bath mat so as not to get the entire floor wet. I only realized today that I've been exiting the wrong side of the shower.

A Night in the Pub

Tending a pub part-time in Manchester, I look forward to the calm nights, when only regulars drop in to see last week's football match on the high definition telly. This night however, as I polish glasses (which contrary to popular opinion is an act of boredom rather than necessity), a stranger walks in, conspicuously out of place. He approaches one of the regulars politely but when the man turns his attention to the stranger, he is greeted with a shot to the chest. Quite alarmed, I drop a glass and stumble back. Nobody else, however, even lifts their head. The stranger approaches the next table with a "Beg pardon", and when the man replies "Yes", he too receives a shot square in the chest. The process continues until I am left to warn the only remaining regular at the bar of the terror. I tell him there is a man shooting up the place but he only swigs his pint and grumbles "Bollocks." I watch the stranger tap the man on the shoulder, "Beg pardon." Looking up from his mug, the man gets a swift bang in the heart. Horrified, I watch as the stranger turns to me. "Beg pardon" he says, and I can only instinctively respond with "What can I do you for?"

Change in Plans

At the age of eleven, I consented to a trans-orbital lobotomy at the hands of my fifteen year old half brother. I had been suffering from disturbing night terrors and my brother, who had always wanted to be a brain surgeon, said he knew precisely how to help. I only saw him during holidays so around Christmas, after all the adults had gone out to a party, I retrieved an ice pick from the drawer and we set to work. The procedure seemed to go quite well and my terrors ceased immediately afterward. Years later the night terrors returned. I called up my half brother for advice but to my dismay, he had not chosen a career in brain surgery and instead had opened his own used car lot.

silence. OH! its a drabble :) i like when that happens

a man came up to the desk, dropping a small blue sheet of paper with indecipherable words scribbled on it. he stood squarely against the desk, drilling his hands into the wood as if no one would move him from his position. he asked clearly and explicitly for CD5396. i retrieved the album but upon returning to the desk, there was no man. i looked around to see if anyone had noticed the disappearance, but not a head turned. supervisors and students continued their work or reading or whatever they did. i returned the cd and continued about my day.

to give this a title would give it recognition

I turned on my desk lamp and the sight of the bulletin board on the wall in front of my desk surprised me. I didn't expect to see it. I just turned on the light. So I turned it off. Looking around, I see a computer screen outlined in pitch black on three sides. The fourth sits a partially illuminated keyboard with two reaching hands pounding keys endlessly. Looking around still lie faint, distant shapes of instruments and furniture and possibly even a floor. I don't trust the existence of any of these shapes, I've been fooled before. I like it better like this. Dark. Silent. I don't bother turning lights on anymore. It seems so foolish. They all need turned off again eventually. Sometimes I'm still afraid of the dark.

Sounds

Car passing.
Truck passing.
Stairs bending under stomping feet.
Door closing.
Lock clicking.
Toilet flushing.
Fingernails penetrating through hair to scalp.
Empty stomach.
Breeze.
Keys.
Page turning.
Phone vibrating.
Shallow breathing.
Distant cupboards.
Terribly loud thoughts bubbling over the surface of sanity.
Photons sailing from light bulb to cork and wood.
Bass on 0.
Warm air passing cool air on its way to the ceiling.
Brake pads.
Propeller driven airplane.
No. Helicopter. No. Airplane.
Yes, airplane.
Tires peeling from concrete, possibly 1000 revolutions per minute.
More thoughts. Important thoughts. Useless thoughts and irrelevant thoughts.
Interruptions and hunger.

The Ocean

Not enough people are afraid of the ocean.

526,924 people die in the water every year.
1,000,000,000 people visit a United States beach every year.

435,000 people die of tobacco use each year.

Only 29,000 people die each year at the hand of a firearm.
0 people die each year from marijuana use.

All I'm saying is, some of that drug war money could be used to keep the beach addicts away from those treacherous shores.

Raise your hand if you think propaganda has taken its toll on the values of the American people.

Winter

tomorrow i'll pay rent, with $3 to spare until january 30, cupboards bare. thank you work study for combining december and january's paycheck. clearly its useful.

This Post is for Me

We are at once.
We are at once.
Present tense.
Dedicated: "You were there."
I was there. You were there. We were there. We are here.
We are still here.
Expiration Date: Now
Expiration Date: Now
Volume 0:360:∞
Volume 0:360:∞
Why does it go to infinity?
Volume 0. Through Volume 360. Through infinity?
Each page?
360 pages per story. 360 degrees. Only. Revolutions. 8 pages per section. 90 words per page. 720 words per section. 2 full revolutions per section. 45 sections per story. 90 revolutions per story. 180 revolutions in the novel. Exactly one half of a revolution.

Presence. Presence. Presence. The Creep. The ever present presence. Timeless. Dangerous. More dangerous than them?

Digress. Subtitle! "The Democracy of Two, Set Out & Chronologically Arranged"

Everything comes together but nothing comes together. True spirit of the book.
I will never figure it out. I have allways figured it out.

More to be added? Subtracted.

It's sunny out. the meaning. there's always a

There's a car.
What?
A car.

No, impossible, there's no patrol tonight.

There's a car.
There's a car.
A man is getting out!
There's a car.

Impossible, there's no patrol tonight.

The door.
There's a car.

Pour me a drink. And stop all that shaking.

A drink?

Scotch. In one of those short, wide, crystal glasses with thick bottoms.

A drink?
He's knocking.

It's only the rain.
The rain. The rain. The rain. The rain.

sometimessometimseesomtiesmesmoemtsi

Sometimes I wonder what you mean when you say "you".
Sometimes I know it means me.
Sometimes I know it doesn't.
Sometimes is a broad range of maybes.
"Sometimes I sleep" could mean "I sleep 11 hours a day" or it could mean "I sleep 11 hours a week".
Sometimes it snows.
Sometimes it rains.
Sometimes other things happen...

sometimes i disguise the things i really mean

I think I wonder less things in gbg...i wonder why

I wonder what bugs feel like when they get picked up and shook around in someone's hand then relocated to an entirely different environment.

To Do List

1. Too much.
2. Finish 1.
3.
4. Sleep.