if the world will eat me alive,
may i have the decency
to devour it whole.
we enter the planet as orgasms,
so may i leave it on a climax.
Arcade Fire, Greek Theatre, Berkeley, CA 10/3/10
15 years ago
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
w/ dignity
every night from age 12 to infinity,
he would pray to someone (he
wasn't too sure who) and ask
"please, let me die with dignity".
maybe he had days that moved transcendentally
and maybe he had days that
would suck the marrow out of his joy
but the request was posed consistently.
and sometimes he would sleep in his bed
or sleep in a stranger's bed though one
time he woke up in an elevator and even
when he awoke he prayed he wasn't dead (not yet)
though oftentimes he was okay and sometimes
he was afraid he wasn't but if you asked
anyone around him they'd beg to differ but
what do they know about him aside from his asides.
and whenever he thought about you he thought about
more than you he thought about more than death
he thought about the way the world should work
he stopped thinking about himself and his doubt.
and whenever he saw you he thought about how
he wished he knew how to make sure you could
feel the way he feels when he was around you, the
way everyone should feel between before, then, and now.
now his prayer's the same but his definition of dignity
has changed (for better or worse) and the idea
of waking up weightless might be naive but
the idea of dignity is a boy who feels relieved.
there will be days when he will be too busy to have thunk
because he needs to make money and because he
is scared if he stops moving he will die and if he stops
thinking he will be worse than death, he will wake up sunk.
"and if you do not see how beautiful, wise, confident and strong
you really are then shame on you because it's not hard
to do things before you die for someone that makes you feel
the way you make him feel" is what he said before he prayed (hard and long).
there is no nothing -- no thing -- noting that there is everything (everyday)
inside (that nothing), that emptiness, that space between now and later
(that he hopes he savors) and now and then (that he only now comprehends)
so he will lie down tonight, knowing everyday he's not okay (and that observation
makes him okay) and that he's dying every day (though he's dying in his own stupid ideal way)
he would pray to someone (he
wasn't too sure who) and ask
"please, let me die with dignity".
maybe he had days that moved transcendentally
and maybe he had days that
would suck the marrow out of his joy
but the request was posed consistently.
and sometimes he would sleep in his bed
or sleep in a stranger's bed though one
time he woke up in an elevator and even
when he awoke he prayed he wasn't dead (not yet)
though oftentimes he was okay and sometimes
he was afraid he wasn't but if you asked
anyone around him they'd beg to differ but
what do they know about him aside from his asides.
and whenever he thought about you he thought about
more than you he thought about more than death
he thought about the way the world should work
he stopped thinking about himself and his doubt.
and whenever he saw you he thought about how
he wished he knew how to make sure you could
feel the way he feels when he was around you, the
way everyone should feel between before, then, and now.
now his prayer's the same but his definition of dignity
has changed (for better or worse) and the idea
of waking up weightless might be naive but
the idea of dignity is a boy who feels relieved.
there will be days when he will be too busy to have thunk
because he needs to make money and because he
is scared if he stops moving he will die and if he stops
thinking he will be worse than death, he will wake up sunk.
"and if you do not see how beautiful, wise, confident and strong
you really are then shame on you because it's not hard
to do things before you die for someone that makes you feel
the way you make him feel" is what he said before he prayed (hard and long).
there is no nothing -- no thing -- noting that there is everything (everyday)
inside (that nothing), that emptiness, that space between now and later
(that he hopes he savors) and now and then (that he only now comprehends)
so he will lie down tonight, knowing everyday he's not okay (and that observation
makes him okay) and that he's dying every day (though he's dying in his own stupid ideal way)
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
more misawa via herb
The most vivid scene of the night was Saito, 43, who had to be talked out of announcing his retirement that day, getting on his hands and knees to a large framed photo of Misawa, crying and being apologetic. It was actually at that point when fans realized that Misawa died directly related to the move, as opposed to the possibility it was a heart attack suffered in the heat of battle.
There have been an endless number of high profile pro wrestler deaths over the past 25 years. There were the drug deaths, the accidents in and out of the ring, and even a high profile murder. Many were the result of the lifestyle of being a high profile pro wrestling star and falling to the easy temptations. Some, like Eddy Guerrero, may have been, as Dusty Rhodes said right after his death, that he died trying to be a main eventer, essentially steroids and Growth Hormone to try and overcompensate for his small stature that was the only thing holding him from that status. Misawa was the first to die not from trying to be a champion, nor from the lifestyle of the spoils from that success, but because of being the champion.
moarrrrr quotes
“Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on.”-Henry Rollins
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
.
“You read something which you thought only happened to you, and you discover that it happened 100 years ago to Dostoyevsky. This is a very great liberation for the suffering, struggling person, who always thinks that he is alone. This is why art is important. Art would not be important if life were not important, and life is important.”-James Baldwin
“If you’re losing your soul and you know it, then you’ve still got a soul left to lose” -Charles Bukowski
“If you’re losing your soul and you know it, then you’ve still got a soul left to lose” -Charles Bukowski
Monday, June 15, 2009
Happy anniversary, Dubliners
Today is the 95th anniversary of the original publishing of Dubliners. The publishers were concerned of the contents of his short stories and this was his response:
“It is not my fault that the odour of ashpits and old weeds and offal hangs round my stories. I seriously believe that you will retard the course of civilization in Ireland by preventing the Irish people from having one good look at themselves in my nicely polished looking-glass.”
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
FRANK
Frank just got promoted at his job. He is my neighbor, probably the best neighbor I ever had. When he moved in, my last neighbors were Archie and Marianne. They were originally the best neighbors I ever had, so you figure the bar was set idiotically high when Frank moved in.
When I get new neighbors my only hope is that they're not too loud and mindful and when you run through enough neighborhoods to actually accumulate a favorite neighbors list then you kind of realize that simple wish is not that simple.
Archie and Marianne knew when to ask the right questions, to invite me at the right time, to insist when they should, to concede when they should. They apologized in advance vis-a-vis when to expect noise if guests are over. They were present but never overbearing nor bored.
Frank is actually the opposite: really intrusive, oft-times belligerent, says the wrong thing at the wrong time. I've woken up to enough people having sex very loudly to last me a lifetime and Frank is responsible for about 99% of them (the other 1% involved "Love To Love Ya" by Timabaland and Magoo on repeat and man I will kill on command if that song ever comes on again).
Frank would walk in and, because my name is Noah, call me "The Biblical Nigga" (he's not black). He would say incomprehensible dickfaced things to any girl I was seeing at any time (One time he walked up to Jody and said that if he squinted his eyes then she'd have the most symmetrical breasts he'd ever seen through a blouse and it's a shame her breasts are probably similar in symmetry to his testicles). He knocked on my door at 4am one night to tell me that Badlands was on.
Frank would also call me "The Biblical Nigga" when I was always looking like a downer. He said that dickfaced thing to her when, unbeknownst to me, she came onto his co-worker at one of his parties. He knew my favorite movie is Badlands.
So he got this promotion and is moving in with his girlfriend of the month, Allison. He dated Allison after meeting her at a Cuddling party. A cuddling party is a party where people organize a party where strangers introduce themselve to the other person and just cuddle each other. He was very into the idea of feeling like a 13 year-old, "afraid of the power of my boner" (his words).
They hung out, didn't cuddle at all but got each other's numbers. And now he's got this promotion and he's dating her and now they're living together and Allison even calls me "The Biblical Nigga".
It's not that I'm not happy for him and that he's like 45 years-old and twice divorced and honestly our greatest moments involved two lonely people being lonely together and so I'm happy for him. He got this promotion and he bought me a Swiss army knife. I asked him why he said "You're an eagle scout now, bitch."
And I guess I am. I too have gotten a promotion in a job I hate in a city I despise in a planet gone bonkers. I'm not jealous he's settled down, or worried that I'll never see him again. Because that's not true, I just won't see him as much as I used to and most of those times I was too busy seething to even render any moments as sentimental. I think I'll miss the uncertainty the most.
His goodbye party starts in five minutes and I'm looking at myself through the reflection of my window. An unfamiliar eye would see me looking at the city lights, but tonight my vanity wins: a portrait of me (transparent) in front of a city (concrete) and wondering if my next neighbor has a vagina and very nice thighs.
One minute later, I'm eating a weed rice krispy treat. Two minutes later, I call Brenda to tell her that I'm going to the party early and to call me when she's on her way so I can wait for her at my place. Three minutes later, I start looking for a new job. Thirty minutes later, Brenda knocks on the door. One hour later I'm looking at Frank like he's a ghost, inert, separated from me and how we're all separated from everybody and how much a miracle it is to connect with anybody anywhere at all in this world. Well, my next neighbor has been issued a challenge.
When I get new neighbors my only hope is that they're not too loud and mindful and when you run through enough neighborhoods to actually accumulate a favorite neighbors list then you kind of realize that simple wish is not that simple.
Archie and Marianne knew when to ask the right questions, to invite me at the right time, to insist when they should, to concede when they should. They apologized in advance vis-a-vis when to expect noise if guests are over. They were present but never overbearing nor bored.
Frank is actually the opposite: really intrusive, oft-times belligerent, says the wrong thing at the wrong time. I've woken up to enough people having sex very loudly to last me a lifetime and Frank is responsible for about 99% of them (the other 1% involved "Love To Love Ya" by Timabaland and Magoo on repeat and man I will kill on command if that song ever comes on again).
Frank would walk in and, because my name is Noah, call me "The Biblical Nigga" (he's not black). He would say incomprehensible dickfaced things to any girl I was seeing at any time (One time he walked up to Jody and said that if he squinted his eyes then she'd have the most symmetrical breasts he'd ever seen through a blouse and it's a shame her breasts are probably similar in symmetry to his testicles). He knocked on my door at 4am one night to tell me that Badlands was on.
Frank would also call me "The Biblical Nigga" when I was always looking like a downer. He said that dickfaced thing to her when, unbeknownst to me, she came onto his co-worker at one of his parties. He knew my favorite movie is Badlands.
So he got this promotion and is moving in with his girlfriend of the month, Allison. He dated Allison after meeting her at a Cuddling party. A cuddling party is a party where people organize a party where strangers introduce themselve to the other person and just cuddle each other. He was very into the idea of feeling like a 13 year-old, "afraid of the power of my boner" (his words).
They hung out, didn't cuddle at all but got each other's numbers. And now he's got this promotion and he's dating her and now they're living together and Allison even calls me "The Biblical Nigga".
It's not that I'm not happy for him and that he's like 45 years-old and twice divorced and honestly our greatest moments involved two lonely people being lonely together and so I'm happy for him. He got this promotion and he bought me a Swiss army knife. I asked him why he said "You're an eagle scout now, bitch."
And I guess I am. I too have gotten a promotion in a job I hate in a city I despise in a planet gone bonkers. I'm not jealous he's settled down, or worried that I'll never see him again. Because that's not true, I just won't see him as much as I used to and most of those times I was too busy seething to even render any moments as sentimental. I think I'll miss the uncertainty the most.
His goodbye party starts in five minutes and I'm looking at myself through the reflection of my window. An unfamiliar eye would see me looking at the city lights, but tonight my vanity wins: a portrait of me (transparent) in front of a city (concrete) and wondering if my next neighbor has a vagina and very nice thighs.
One minute later, I'm eating a weed rice krispy treat. Two minutes later, I call Brenda to tell her that I'm going to the party early and to call me when she's on her way so I can wait for her at my place. Three minutes later, I start looking for a new job. Thirty minutes later, Brenda knocks on the door. One hour later I'm looking at Frank like he's a ghost, inert, separated from me and how we're all separated from everybody and how much a miracle it is to connect with anybody anywhere at all in this world. Well, my next neighbor has been issued a challenge.
THE ADVENTURES OF HONEY B. FLY
So I was kind of like at this party right, like having a little sizz-nye-ip of those margaritas and like damn near tore a hole into the carpet with how I danced motherfucker did I dance. I remember like hanging out with Freda and we were talking about the difference between the red skin potatoes and the russett potatoes (the red skin isnt for mashing, the russetts are) and all of a sudden Billy walks up to me.
He says "what the deal, Honey."
"Unwinding from a long day, Billy."
"That's cool," Billy interrupts. Using enough energy to muster up a "that's cool" in the same way a bellhop wishes you to have a good day. He was at least 6'1 and was the host, all on the hobnobbing tip saying what's up and how are you's like a fucking game show. Like "Ask how everyone's doing 800 times and win a fucking Mazda" and I didn't like how he stepped up to me, because I knew he only talked when he wants something.
"Is it cool if you can get some ice," Billy asked, assuming I'd say yes.
Cause you see Billy knows that I have the power of teleportation. I can close my eyes and go from here to there to wherever and ever. To like eating Mexican food at the Mission or go to Kentucky and get some Old Pappy Winkle's Family Reserve 23 years aged. If someone holds onto me while I teleport they go too, so I've been super helpful with the community, taking kids out of burning buildings and whatnot so sometimes it's weird that I'm known for this one thing and it's like hey look its that person that does this one thing. I mean it's awesome you know, and all that type of unwanted attention is worth it to be blessed with such a power.
But the one thing I hate motherfuckers doing is like being so dense in not knowing that it's obvious we wouldn't talk if you didn't know I can teleport.
So I said yes, of course Billy. On one condition if you go with me to the store. Billy was very gung ho and we took a shot of Jack before I closed my eyes and teleported to the store. My rollerblades are orange and purple and people wonder why I wear them but then they've never seen me have to fling forward when I teleport from point A to point B. It's part of the landing part of this power.
So I roll into front of the market because it's cocky to slide into the actual store and be like "No harm, my fellow citizens of Somewhere Where I Live it is just Honey B. Fly teleporting to get some ice."
Billy was sort of upset that didn't happen and it was very obvious, him asking if we could teleport one more time into the store. He let me into the store first and started his way into the ice chest area. He grabbed 2 bags of ice and put it in a cart, one on top of the other.
I decided since I was here I'd get some batteries for my universal remote so I headed in that direction of the store. When we met up in the front, he was reading Us Weekly talking about the Flintstones having a rocky relationship right now. I put my batteries into the supermarket converyor belt and he added his ice. He looked into his pockets and there was no wallet. He apologized and asked if he could borrow money for the ice. I looked right at him and rolled my eyes. Andre 3000 is in the background, blaring in the speakers. He was asking for all the Beyonces and Lucy Liu's to get on the floor.
I looked at him and I said "Alright."
So I paid for him, an obvious calculated move he had planned. Who doesn't bring their wallet with them to buy ice? Assholes do, that's who.
The register guy gave me a receipt and told me to have a good day. Of note, the guy telling me to have a good day was far more sincere than Billy saying anything. So Yeah, I'm grabbing the bags and I give it to him.
"Thanks a lot, Honey," He said.
"No problem," I responded. "Now get your ass your own ride you stupid ass vampire."
And so I closed my eyes and went back to my room. That'll teach Billy.
He says "what the deal, Honey."
"Unwinding from a long day, Billy."
"That's cool," Billy interrupts. Using enough energy to muster up a "that's cool" in the same way a bellhop wishes you to have a good day. He was at least 6'1 and was the host, all on the hobnobbing tip saying what's up and how are you's like a fucking game show. Like "Ask how everyone's doing 800 times and win a fucking Mazda" and I didn't like how he stepped up to me, because I knew he only talked when he wants something.
"Is it cool if you can get some ice," Billy asked, assuming I'd say yes.
Cause you see Billy knows that I have the power of teleportation. I can close my eyes and go from here to there to wherever and ever. To like eating Mexican food at the Mission or go to Kentucky and get some Old Pappy Winkle's Family Reserve 23 years aged. If someone holds onto me while I teleport they go too, so I've been super helpful with the community, taking kids out of burning buildings and whatnot so sometimes it's weird that I'm known for this one thing and it's like hey look its that person that does this one thing. I mean it's awesome you know, and all that type of unwanted attention is worth it to be blessed with such a power.
But the one thing I hate motherfuckers doing is like being so dense in not knowing that it's obvious we wouldn't talk if you didn't know I can teleport.
So I said yes, of course Billy. On one condition if you go with me to the store. Billy was very gung ho and we took a shot of Jack before I closed my eyes and teleported to the store. My rollerblades are orange and purple and people wonder why I wear them but then they've never seen me have to fling forward when I teleport from point A to point B. It's part of the landing part of this power.
So I roll into front of the market because it's cocky to slide into the actual store and be like "No harm, my fellow citizens of Somewhere Where I Live it is just Honey B. Fly teleporting to get some ice."
Billy was sort of upset that didn't happen and it was very obvious, him asking if we could teleport one more time into the store. He let me into the store first and started his way into the ice chest area. He grabbed 2 bags of ice and put it in a cart, one on top of the other.
I decided since I was here I'd get some batteries for my universal remote so I headed in that direction of the store. When we met up in the front, he was reading Us Weekly talking about the Flintstones having a rocky relationship right now. I put my batteries into the supermarket converyor belt and he added his ice. He looked into his pockets and there was no wallet. He apologized and asked if he could borrow money for the ice. I looked right at him and rolled my eyes. Andre 3000 is in the background, blaring in the speakers. He was asking for all the Beyonces and Lucy Liu's to get on the floor.
I looked at him and I said "Alright."
So I paid for him, an obvious calculated move he had planned. Who doesn't bring their wallet with them to buy ice? Assholes do, that's who.
The register guy gave me a receipt and told me to have a good day. Of note, the guy telling me to have a good day was far more sincere than Billy saying anything. So Yeah, I'm grabbing the bags and I give it to him.
"Thanks a lot, Honey," He said.
"No problem," I responded. "Now get your ass your own ride you stupid ass vampire."
And so I closed my eyes and went back to my room. That'll teach Billy.
Monday, June 01, 2009
in hopes of killing this
writer's block for my novel i will be writing a short story every day for the month of june.
dapat ginawa ko noon pa, february pa, 2008 pa. nagdecide wala ng dates sa story (i.e. march 2006) kasi kailangan ko magawang timeless at universal. nagwa-whittle ko ng titles para sa personal journey ni clark pero self conscious pa ako, takot kung sobrang pretentious ng whole idea of creator,createe,roles of humans, etc kasi wala kong masters degree para sa philosophy pero sabi ng dad ko pilosipo pa rin ako. maynila miss kita, especially the long walks.
can i be homesick for multiple homes, one that i am staying in, one that i have stayed in and am going to plus the intangible homes that have once rested comfortable between me and the world? it is so possible it's like looking at an empty row of toilet stalls when all i need to do is just pee.
first story will be up by the end of the day, if it doesnt then i'll do two stories in one day. i just need to write and learn and work on patients and patience ya feels?
I talked to my therapist and he says if possible for me to stay here as long as possible. This has definitely thrown a kink into the plans but I guess I have to take his suggestion to heart so we'll see we'll cross our fingers and we will fly.
dapat ginawa ko noon pa, february pa, 2008 pa. nagdecide wala ng dates sa story (i.e. march 2006) kasi kailangan ko magawang timeless at universal. nagwa-whittle ko ng titles para sa personal journey ni clark pero self conscious pa ako, takot kung sobrang pretentious ng whole idea of creator,createe,roles of humans, etc kasi wala kong masters degree para sa philosophy pero sabi ng dad ko pilosipo pa rin ako. maynila miss kita, especially the long walks.
can i be homesick for multiple homes, one that i am staying in, one that i have stayed in and am going to plus the intangible homes that have once rested comfortable between me and the world? it is so possible it's like looking at an empty row of toilet stalls when all i need to do is just pee.
first story will be up by the end of the day, if it doesnt then i'll do two stories in one day. i just need to write and learn and work on patients and patience ya feels?
I talked to my therapist and he says if possible for me to stay here as long as possible. This has definitely thrown a kink into the plans but I guess I have to take his suggestion to heart so we'll see we'll cross our fingers and we will fly.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
Neither Here Nor There
The charm of air-guitar is the irrational-yet-logical transitions one can accomplish. From rhythm guitar, then to the bassline, then a drum fill, then back to rhythm guitar to lead-in drums to the chorus where you are lead singer back to the bridge with the bass until you hit the lead guitar doing a solo. It is a private moment that involves more heart than picking someone up at a bar but less balls. It is the thrill of someone waiting for 6pm to ticktock its way into the past.
I spent my lunch break feeding ducks, but I soon realized they were all Pavlovian and circling me like wagons to a wild-west villain when they saw me as the owner of free shit. I briskly left the scene and found shelter underneath a tree. Watching the ducks from afar, viewing families and cliques and the daily routine of domesticated serenity made me feel like the enemy, their enabler. I will return tommorrow with a new plan of attack: come when they're not so fucking hungry.
Tonight is Bluegrass night at Mission Pizza, the locale of one of the most existential crises of my life and probably the determining factor of how and why I took that flight to the Philippines. I will repay my thanks with a curious ear and a tall glass of Boddington's. For now, my heart sweats like a candle, from a fragile flame that can be easily vanquished with no blame, no rhyme, no reason, no depression, no heaven; just the way I like it.
"Doing dirt on sex, it is the crime of our times, because what we need is tenderness towards the body, towards sex, we need tenderhearted fucking."
-D.H. Lawrence
-Kenneth Koch
"He walked out of a party one night because somebody used the word 'creampuff,' it seemed maliciously, in his hearing. The man was a refugee Hungarian pastry cook talking shop, but there was your Mucho: thin-skinned."
-Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Monday, May 04, 2009
hell of to fruition
[x] continue forward progress on novel
[x] compile and edit previous short stories and poems
[x] save up money to self-publish
[x] purchase domain name and host server
[x] finish dental projects
[x] keep up/pace with dental plan trajectory
[x] diminish anxiety of seeing patients
[ ] accept proposition to spoon
[x] keep self composed
[x] dream with feet on the ground
---------------------------------------------------
Because he is a genius and I am a poser, here is a stolen premise for I am a hideous man.
Q:
A: Even a real good book is like half a year. For me at least, it's either anecdotal or fleeting. Like when taking a walk in a park and the kid in front of me kicks a rock back to other rocks, like there is no necessity to sit him down and ask him why did what he did. There is no meaning and there is no necessary analyzation or deconstruction and sometimes I get lost in thinking to dive deeper is to find meaning but right now I feel like the beauty of something so innocuous is its innocuousness.
Q:
A: Yeah, I'm sure that's the case.
Q:
A: Once upon a time.
Q:
A: Well, you know. I remember thinking to myself that the rhythm section in "Careless Whisper" had to have been one of the most underrated and most, like, fucking amazing things like I wish someone can build a monument to that. But unless I'm really not caught up in myself, like when I'm drunk or something, I can't muster up the courage to say something so stupid. And then I kind of let it pass. But if someone else had thoughts along those lines and their actions where parallel to mine I wouldn't treat it as a dumb little inane moment. It would be admirable to me, I would wish someone would erect a monument for something that personal. That's why I can't hate people.
Q:
A: Yes, what about her?
Q:
A: Oh yeah, I hear she works at Macy's or something. It's weird how someone who made a significant impact on my life a decade ago can be so moot and unimportant to my present... but at the same time the reverberations have been felt. It's like time kind of heals all wounds, but more importantly it creates these little battle scars that makes you feel accomplished, no matter how many flashbacks you get.
[x] compile and edit previous short stories and poems
[x] save up money to self-publish
[x] purchase domain name and host server
[x] finish dental projects
[x] keep up/pace with dental plan trajectory
[x] diminish anxiety of seeing patients
[ ] accept proposition to spoon
[x] keep self composed
[x] dream with feet on the ground
---------------------------------------------------
Because he is a genius and I am a poser, here is a stolen premise for I am a hideous man.
Q:
A: Even a real good book is like half a year. For me at least, it's either anecdotal or fleeting. Like when taking a walk in a park and the kid in front of me kicks a rock back to other rocks, like there is no necessity to sit him down and ask him why did what he did. There is no meaning and there is no necessary analyzation or deconstruction and sometimes I get lost in thinking to dive deeper is to find meaning but right now I feel like the beauty of something so innocuous is its innocuousness.
Q:
A: Yeah, I'm sure that's the case.
Q:
A: Once upon a time.
Q:
A: Well, you know. I remember thinking to myself that the rhythm section in "Careless Whisper" had to have been one of the most underrated and most, like, fucking amazing things like I wish someone can build a monument to that. But unless I'm really not caught up in myself, like when I'm drunk or something, I can't muster up the courage to say something so stupid. And then I kind of let it pass. But if someone else had thoughts along those lines and their actions where parallel to mine I wouldn't treat it as a dumb little inane moment. It would be admirable to me, I would wish someone would erect a monument for something that personal. That's why I can't hate people.
Q:
A: Yes, what about her?
Q:
A: Oh yeah, I hear she works at Macy's or something. It's weird how someone who made a significant impact on my life a decade ago can be so moot and unimportant to my present... but at the same time the reverberations have been felt. It's like time kind of heals all wounds, but more importantly it creates these little battle scars that makes you feel accomplished, no matter how many flashbacks you get.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
in defense of being a f_cking idiot.
You don't have to look around to know that things are happening. We were never little children and we will always be little children. I never in my wildest dreams thought that reality could surpass my wildest dreams. Now, the likelihood of attaining such unrestrained joy can stare me right in the face and all I can do is dream.My lack of a killer instinct is highly equalized by my ability to not exist. My ego is a slut who's afraid of being a slut. My ego is the Madonna/Whore complex. I feel like maybe one day I will be on a porch, drinking lemonade and smiling for no reason in particular. This is my hope and when it comes I will look at the person beside me and we will freely admit that, hey, that moment in time that we shared a long long time ago was when we knew everything was going to be alright.
You know how people say "I love you" to other people before they leave? The reasoning usually because you like to remind them that you love them just in case, as in "just in case" you never see each other again or "just in case he/she was unaware". That is very rational, those are pretty good reasons. Sometimes, saying "I love you" is said so much it is said out of habit and the best times "I love you" can pop in is when you mean it and you want them to know right then and there, and those are usually never said as the last words.
I love you.
I walked across the street to buy lunch and saw nothing but us, tiny little complicated beings, and the sky above. If you are willing to let us keep at it, no matter how stupid and selfish and isolated we are, I promise that there is a reason for this bullshit and one day we might be bored out of our minds just enough to let it sink in.
Monday, January 05, 2009
happy new years
i have about 3 meta essays about the state of everything regarding me (very self aggrandizing but hopefully earnest) that i'll eventually post, as well as the ch. 7 which i cant confidently post but for now...
the best song of 2008 and possibly the decade? A song so perfect that I've been trying to find the right words to use when doing my annual year-end song frenzy. i've only been able to conjure up a few words:
"As disco instrumentals go, Aeroplane concocted one of the awesomest grooves. But with Kathy Diamond's longing effortless vocals; every bassline, every synthline and every high-hat has meaning far beyond just a component of one of the most fucking facemelting songs of the year, but adds a gravitas of vulnerability that puts this song over the top."
How gay was that?
anyways, here's the link:
Aeroplane - Whispers (f. Kathy Diamond)
p.s. long time no see
Sunday, December 14, 2008
you
I like things when I like you,
go ahead; laugh and slap
my shoulder and do all
of those actions that confirm
that I like things
when I hear you in them.
Others have made
my heart skip a beat or
caused self-conscious analyzation
developing a strategic heart warfare,
all those things predicated
upon a caveman's thirst.
A few I look forward to speaking to,
sharing moments like trading cards.
A handful I wouldn't mind
seeing again, frivolously typing their names
on search engines and social profile sites.
But it is with you, alone,
when I am me when
we are together and it is
you when I dream of what
the world can be if it wanted to.
It is you, however farfetched it seems,
that makes me enjoy my peripheral vision
a little more when I spin the globe
and point my finger,
hoping to stop at the future.
You are not born from fairytales,
nor are the singular hope that I assume most
hopeless romantics like to foist upon
the objects of their affection.
My hopes were planted on a plot
of land and grew. Now it has whittled
down into not wanting to die.
But it is you that keeps it grounded
in its base, and it is you who makes me like
waking up when I'm willing to wave the white flag.
We might not be meant to be, nor do
I feel fate catapulted us into our direction.
We are more than the sum of dreams
and intangible chemistry, more than
harmless pedestals that allow us to see others
from heights they have not yet earned.
I offer no heart-shaped cards, no declarative
statements, no 3-day rules, no calculated
acts for you to want me. I dream of things like
clocks saying "wait a minute" and offer no
such resolutions to that quandary. I can only
hope to see you again, with or without kids and
spouses, because you in my bed is not my
intended purpose or goal. You in
the air that I breathe is more than enough.
go ahead; laugh and slap
my shoulder and do all
of those actions that confirm
that I like things
when I hear you in them.
Others have made
my heart skip a beat or
caused self-conscious analyzation
developing a strategic heart warfare,
all those things predicated
upon a caveman's thirst.
A few I look forward to speaking to,
sharing moments like trading cards.
A handful I wouldn't mind
seeing again, frivolously typing their names
on search engines and social profile sites.
But it is with you, alone,
when I am me when
we are together and it is
you when I dream of what
the world can be if it wanted to.
It is you, however farfetched it seems,
that makes me enjoy my peripheral vision
a little more when I spin the globe
and point my finger,
hoping to stop at the future.
You are not born from fairytales,
nor are the singular hope that I assume most
hopeless romantics like to foist upon
the objects of their affection.
My hopes were planted on a plot
of land and grew. Now it has whittled
down into not wanting to die.
But it is you that keeps it grounded
in its base, and it is you who makes me like
waking up when I'm willing to wave the white flag.
We might not be meant to be, nor do
I feel fate catapulted us into our direction.
We are more than the sum of dreams
and intangible chemistry, more than
harmless pedestals that allow us to see others
from heights they have not yet earned.
I offer no heart-shaped cards, no declarative
statements, no 3-day rules, no calculated
acts for you to want me. I dream of things like
clocks saying "wait a minute" and offer no
such resolutions to that quandary. I can only
hope to see you again, with or without kids and
spouses, because you in my bed is not my
intended purpose or goal. You in
the air that I breathe is more than enough.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Sunday, November 09, 2008
I know time even knows
I know time even knows
there's no time for depression.
Things to do,
plenty of things to do.
Creation was only six days,
only 142 hours; there was no
time to ponder its relevance
when you're refining the proper
shape and form
of a leopard's paw print.
That is reserved for the sabbath
in which you reflect on
a hard week's work.
Shake off the shakes,
ignore tumult or rather
face it head on. There is
no time for depression,
which undermines a
sense of accomplishment.
There so much to do,
so little time. Walk in
powerful strides like
confident brush strokes.
Leave a mark, instill
urgency, we're not getting
any younger. There is no time
for philosophy (unless you're
getting paid).
Initiative is a turn-on as
much as skin and hair,
a magnificent ingredient
to sex appeal.
Tick
tock. tickTock stop writing
Look at the flowers and people
joking or being serious, driving
motorcycles, going from here to there,
reacting to stimuli,
all too busy to stop.
Look at the drunkards and beggars,
taking breaks means losing their
livelihood, losing their buzz.
Look around, walk, jog,
powerwalk, love, wake up.
This is a ghost town,
busy people moving
and growing
and afraid if they slow down
then they will realize
that they're ghosts.
there's no time for depression.
Things to do,
plenty of things to do.
Creation was only six days,
only 142 hours; there was no
time to ponder its relevance
when you're refining the proper
shape and form
of a leopard's paw print.
That is reserved for the sabbath
in which you reflect on
a hard week's work.
Shake off the shakes,
ignore tumult or rather
face it head on. There is
no time for depression,
which undermines a
sense of accomplishment.
There so much to do,
so little time. Walk in
powerful strides like
confident brush strokes.
Leave a mark, instill
urgency, we're not getting
any younger. There is no time
for philosophy (unless you're
getting paid).
Initiative is a turn-on as
much as skin and hair,
a magnificent ingredient
to sex appeal.
Tick
tock. tickTock stop writing
Look at the flowers and people
joking or being serious, driving
motorcycles, going from here to there,
reacting to stimuli,
all too busy to stop.
Look at the drunkards and beggars,
taking breaks means losing their
livelihood, losing their buzz.
Look around, walk, jog,
powerwalk, love, wake up.
This is a ghost town,
busy people moving
and growing
and afraid if they slow down
then they will realize
that they're ghosts.
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