here we are again doing stupid things again 2009.
remember yesterday three yesterday-hundred more.
what a crazy day with a giant break what a monthly wait
when you can tie never up in a knot or shoestrings and throw the ball out the window
when I can sit here where I sat, still, and look at frames unchanging
and i wonder what and i wonder what and i wonder-want what i've done.
whistle a goodbye tune to my yesterday as I walk down a hill
into what I don't really often know but that's the only way that I know to go

it will be different this time, and strangely so. i wonder if the pictures will be down.

Answer-question.

The smell of shampooed carpet squishing under my feet. What, the smell or the carpet?
The grey fedora on your head pushed firmly down. What, the fedora or the head?
Listen as I tell you something almost nothing. A missing hyphen?
I've always been fascinated by the 'over there, something moving to the right' but I've been utterly unable to recreate
this mystery
glimmer-
fate.
I walk faster than you know how. Who?
I trip on Sundays Tuesdays and most Mondays on a carpet of fate, on a pebble in life's way.
I didn't mean to write a sad story; it just came out.
and I forget how much fun it is, and I forget just what I am, when I put down words that don't make sense.
I drivel like a shooting guard. I take my lumps. I recount the numbered memories 2.3.9.prime.
I laugh loudest on the inside. I smile too. I cultivate blackheads in my nose garden rose garden.
I like to have agoodtimepeacequietfriendsspaceconnection.
Nothing stops nothing from coming except me.

the censor

get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]- get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]-
and let it out and let it out
get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]- get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]-
but this aint no primal shout this aint no primal shout
control it but don't edit control it but don't edit
get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]- get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]-
when you gotta get it just let flow out flow out
i'm not a blockage you got it in you
get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]- get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]-
get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]- get past the censor -[THE CENSOR]-

you said you liked my writing. the frisbee floating in water rings splashing sunlight up into your face. you liked to read it but you were in it, standing dark I saw you from the water. I was happy, it made me feel good, even if I thought nothing of it.
I was glad to have made you proud of me. a to-feeling from inside.

The crowd parted like a boulevard. Their black glove-fingers pointed at me. Arms straight as arrows closed behind me like a zipper.

Never Go Full Retard

after a full fillment of the pull it's important to take a few steps on your own. once the tugging has worn you away into creating it seems to stop and leave you all alone. It seems to cease when I've only just begun, but there's more and more and more and much much more to say. There's always words that are willing to come if I just let them flow. If I just open my mouth wide enough I can word vom out into existence the thoughts that permeate in nothingness. Too hard to follow? Once the race that you're running has been run there's still steps for you to take to get home. And once you're home there's no where you can go to be left alone, with just nothingness.
such is the life.
such is the life that I crave. Such is the life that I want, to never be full filled, to never be satisfied with slack. To never want just a little room to roam about in lazy-noncontemplation.
I once knew an alcoholic then I became one.
I once knew a user then I was one.
I once saw a life wasted then I lived one.
Pull me along dancing feet and laughing good times, the spirit of gravity has over taken me for too long. The spirit of gravity has weighed me down until I came to a place where I didn't even recognize my...
You know the rest.
Watch out because it seems like it's something that could affect the best of us.
Watch out.
Melancholy is a great way for me to tighten the rope. Melancholy is a great way to push myself forward because it's subtle, because it gnaws, because it's sweet. Melancholy, my favorite way to be. still.
Melancholy is the melody to my happy dancing feet, my light shoulders that shrug off even the greatest weight, my mind that does nothing but accept and choose again and again and infinitely once more. Because the opposite is not the way to be but the way to non being. The opposite is a leaving of this world for some other place where everything is forgiven.
my laughing feet.
my dancing feet.
my animal friends.
if there is a society you can have it. if there is a place of rest you can rest there. if there is a couch without thorns you can sit there. if there is a slave you can share it. if there is redemption you can redeem it. if there is no sorrow you can cry it. if there is something that you need you can have it. if you lack than you can enjoy the lack. if you laugh at me then you can have your laughter because though i dance the dance of the idiot I'm all the wiser. Though I may be the fool, I play the part knowingly. Though I may not be communicable, though I may not be understood, I understand myself.
I know the whys.
I make the choices.
I see the outcomes through.
I am the change,
inside of me,
and out of control of you.
and it's a good song to sing and it's a fun way to be and it's nothing other than:






Everybody I know seems to know me well
--but does anybody know I'm gonna move like hell
--but they're never gonna know cause I move like hell.

new blog same as the old blog

the desire-to the urge-to. some people would call it a well that fills up and overflows. but is this really the case? is there a finite amount of desire? is there a finite amount that once worn through, once swallowed-down is gone? or is desire more infinite than all the uniquely-identical snowflakes that have fallen since forever? perhaps it is the running that is finite. the running from the urge, the running from desire. perhaps my forgetting-actions can only carry me too far before their legs become nubs on the end of my pencil.
it is a new chapter without legs.
is the urge-to an ocean that spreads across reality, rocking it with waves.
is the desire-to a need that is never full filled, that can be placated with alcohol and typing.
how do you do it? how do you sit there and not feel it get caught up in the day to day in the today that you want to go away? do you not feel the desire-to, the urge-to, the pull of the cord that cannot be cut?
what is depression but a pulling against the cord that pulls through.
what is sadness but an attempt to fray the knots that tie-to.
what is melancholy but the realization that looking backwards only makes things smaller faster.
i feel the urge-to the desire-to: create, get out of here, move on, go go go go go go, and it pulls and pulls from above, and even from below.
stupid urge and ignoble desire, dumb drawing forth, deriding cause of little effect, annoying pain that turns the screw, feeble whispers that never make me do anything, retarded noise that speaks in backward-midget mind games, idiotic ideal of the never achievable, yellow cracked image painting of my future, nerf goad-prod, ineffective changer of nothing, did i say feeble, did i say emasculated, did i say daft and deranged, grumpy miser of thought-trains? did i say hello kitty never coming, did i say prodigal son, did i say misanthrope and rapscallion? drowsy pill eating mornings and caffeinated sleep contradiction in form and shape too many things to do to listen to you up and running and here i'm coming but i'm going nowhere down and under and over grown feelings of hate for the force that pushes me towards the same that i've tried to avoid. the eraser is gone and metal scrapes the page that i try to obliterate.
this is the reason
this is the rhyme
this is the fucking borderline that i walk between regret and acceptance
this is the wherefore art thou

this is my creative muse.