Jesus Christ.....
Blasphemy...oh my blasphemy....
I was told that I have a seat reserved in Hell. Hell awaits the bulb of searching that I've entertained it with during this little lifetime. Cory, you're barely alive. Jesus Christ. I hope the devil is a gracious host. I hope he appreciates the lengths I went through to meet his demands. All the condenscion and the blind eyes I diverted to those in need. On my knees I told God that I would be my brothers keeper...as He asks in the Good Book...but God Damn Him...He's got me barely alive. Maybe there is no Hell. Maybe Hell resides with us on Earth...like a sour neighbor. One who doesn't mow his lawn and drives your property value down, which only we Americans find annoying.
I could have two cars and a broken moon in front of my lawn in another country where I scratched and clawed through life and God wouldn't be quite the prick that He is to those who are perfected through the privileged life...Heaven through the eye of the needle type shit. But that's the American way right? I have the means and the finding to be my own God. I don't need God, because I get my own wishes brought to me by the stars I shoot down with my "anti-aircraft guns" of fortitude. If I'm foolish enough to believe that, then cut me down...which I'm not...truly not. Adam was only a spectator. He did exactly what I would've done. He trusted the most beautiful creature in the world. Her curves led him to the fall. I guess she wanted to know shit, right? It's funny...the Bible explains, in detail, the inherent nature of women. This may sound sexist, but I don't give a shit...they want to know everything...at least those I've been involved with. And that's not just to say those who were romantic with me. Every one of them. They are the most curious creatures in existence. Their very nature is to analyze. Their very nature is to have a bead on that which they are enthralled with. Once they have every detail mapped out, they are hardened with moving on to something else that they can immerse themselves in.
God Damn their fish-like ways. Shine something flashy in front of their eyes and they bite like a tiger shark off the coast of California. Don't blame me for my parallels Mark Twain...you did it too. Your complete inability to figure out the opposite sex is exactly what has plagued all those with a penis between their legs. The phallus is your greatest blessing and simultaneously your greatest curse. Don't make exceptions to me...for you know EXACTLY what I speak of.
Eve.
It's not only the spin cycle that their minds are on. It's the ruling of emotion that rules their days. For fucks sake...HOW CAN EMOTION RULE THAT MUCH??? It's all-encompassing with them.
I am totally intrigued by their ways. And if you're a girl reading this...then YES I've been intrigued by you. Swallowed like a whirlpool in the sea. I'm intrigued by you. More so than anything else this world has to offer. Even every fiber in the muscles in my abdomen tense when my mind examines your every move. I'm totally fucking intrigued. Like a scientist studying your every move, I want to know what makes you tick. I want to know your biological patterns, and the peaks and valleys that you oh so comfortably find yourself in, when I'm trying to find level ground to place my feet.
God put you on this Earth to drive us crazy.
I wonder about God's intentions.
God bless celibacy. I understand. By the way, I trust Your every omnipotent move...even if I don't trust it.
I think on some level You might be able to relate. I mean, for what it's worth, even You couldn't control those who were closest to You.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Hyper-Sensitive Trigger Finger
Father says to son, "You've got to take your time. You've got to learn patience. You kids nowdays...especially you boys...you think everything is going to happen for you all the time, and when it doesn't you get derailed. That's the problem with your generation. You always try to be Superman, but you forget that even he was Clark Kent the majority of the time."
Son says to father, "But Clark Kent didn't have to prove anything to himself. He knew he was Superman. He didn't harbour doubt."
Father says to son, "Welcome to manhood son."
Eddie Rickenbacker flew for years over Europe engaging the Red Baron's "Flying Circus," ripping bullets through the air. Both knew of each other, both respected each other, and both wanted to bring to the other their final breath. Although Rickenbacker never found the crimson wings in his sights enough to deal a fatal blow, it was the thought of bringing down a foe of equal or greater power that kept Rickenbacker in the air and caused him to be the most decorated Allied pilot in the first World War, and one of the most famous fighter-pilots in aviation history. He was intensely devoted to ridding the skies of this seemingly unconquerable foe, but his purposeful (and respectful) indignation for von Richtofen, even in the absence of his ability to track him down and end his reign, led him to be the face of the US Army Air Force for the coming generations. It's what some might call a fateful reward for "patience and devotion to the ride."
But where were the seeds of doubt? They were surely riding high in the skies as a co-pilot. The Air Force almost sent Rickenbacker to the bloody trenches of Europe to serve as a bullet-sponge amongst the infantrymen because of his perceived lack of "aviation expertise," but he continued to familiarize himself with the mechanics of not only the aerial weapons of war employed by the Allies, but of flight itself. He learned the physics and nature of flight, with an almost preternatural willingness to become flight himself.
Nobody sweeps your room for you. Nobody draws water from the well for you. Nobody breaks the stallion in your absence. If you want to ride, you have to bleed your own blood through the dirt.
The same dynamic can be found in Pat Garret's incessant stalk of William H. Bonney through Lincoln County. Or George Patton's unquenchable desire to not only destroy Erwin Rommel, but do so in a fashion that wrote eminence in the history books. He wanted to crush Rommel like a dried-out clay jar and let the sand sift through his fingers. For it was in Rommel that Patton found his scripted destiny. Rommel was the greatest, and to become the greatest, you have to surpass greatness.
Of all these circumstances, there is a common denominator...respect. Even a year after Bonney's death, Pat Garret released a pointed, if not overtly exaggerated biography called The Authentic Life of Billy, the Kid. Respect and patience. Patton would've fought Rommel in ten different lifetimes if given the chance.
Far removed from the destruction of an individual, lies the point to whatever the fuck this is that I'm writing. The point lies in the accumulation of the victory over something impossible and the attainment of what was once thought unattainable. The target in sight beckons your move. It stands in the distance for a fleeting second giving you an opportunity at fulfillment.
I don't think it takes an unhinged, maniacal schizophrenic sense of tunnel vision that so many historical figures possessed to attain such goals, but I think it takes a certain amount of commitment..or a fire, if you will.
I've asked myself why do such thoughts cross my mind so frequently in recent days, and I have no answer for it. I can suppose that maybe it's a part of feeling my footing in this world through the aging process, or maybe it's the search for something greater and more fulfilling than the prescribed living that I fight tooth and nail to avoid. I don't know what it is, and even the fact that I write out my sentiments (mostly privately), and the desire that prompts me to do so, are unknown to me at this point. What is important, or to me at least, is that these thoughts are crossing the mind. That they are finding their way to the surface and being arranged in a somewhat coherent manner...even if it only makes some sort of sense to myself.
Sometimes I think I'm going crazy.
So what was it?
I swear my intentions are good. So why do I have to wait?
Son says to father, "But Clark Kent didn't have to prove anything to himself. He knew he was Superman. He didn't harbour doubt."
Father says to son, "Welcome to manhood son."
Eddie Rickenbacker flew for years over Europe engaging the Red Baron's "Flying Circus," ripping bullets through the air. Both knew of each other, both respected each other, and both wanted to bring to the other their final breath. Although Rickenbacker never found the crimson wings in his sights enough to deal a fatal blow, it was the thought of bringing down a foe of equal or greater power that kept Rickenbacker in the air and caused him to be the most decorated Allied pilot in the first World War, and one of the most famous fighter-pilots in aviation history. He was intensely devoted to ridding the skies of this seemingly unconquerable foe, but his purposeful (and respectful) indignation for von Richtofen, even in the absence of his ability to track him down and end his reign, led him to be the face of the US Army Air Force for the coming generations. It's what some might call a fateful reward for "patience and devotion to the ride."
But where were the seeds of doubt? They were surely riding high in the skies as a co-pilot. The Air Force almost sent Rickenbacker to the bloody trenches of Europe to serve as a bullet-sponge amongst the infantrymen because of his perceived lack of "aviation expertise," but he continued to familiarize himself with the mechanics of not only the aerial weapons of war employed by the Allies, but of flight itself. He learned the physics and nature of flight, with an almost preternatural willingness to become flight himself.
Nobody sweeps your room for you. Nobody draws water from the well for you. Nobody breaks the stallion in your absence. If you want to ride, you have to bleed your own blood through the dirt.
The same dynamic can be found in Pat Garret's incessant stalk of William H. Bonney through Lincoln County. Or George Patton's unquenchable desire to not only destroy Erwin Rommel, but do so in a fashion that wrote eminence in the history books. He wanted to crush Rommel like a dried-out clay jar and let the sand sift through his fingers. For it was in Rommel that Patton found his scripted destiny. Rommel was the greatest, and to become the greatest, you have to surpass greatness.
Of all these circumstances, there is a common denominator...respect. Even a year after Bonney's death, Pat Garret released a pointed, if not overtly exaggerated biography called The Authentic Life of Billy, the Kid. Respect and patience. Patton would've fought Rommel in ten different lifetimes if given the chance.
Far removed from the destruction of an individual, lies the point to whatever the fuck this is that I'm writing. The point lies in the accumulation of the victory over something impossible and the attainment of what was once thought unattainable. The target in sight beckons your move. It stands in the distance for a fleeting second giving you an opportunity at fulfillment.
I don't think it takes an unhinged, maniacal schizophrenic sense of tunnel vision that so many historical figures possessed to attain such goals, but I think it takes a certain amount of commitment..or a fire, if you will.
I've asked myself why do such thoughts cross my mind so frequently in recent days, and I have no answer for it. I can suppose that maybe it's a part of feeling my footing in this world through the aging process, or maybe it's the search for something greater and more fulfilling than the prescribed living that I fight tooth and nail to avoid. I don't know what it is, and even the fact that I write out my sentiments (mostly privately), and the desire that prompts me to do so, are unknown to me at this point. What is important, or to me at least, is that these thoughts are crossing the mind. That they are finding their way to the surface and being arranged in a somewhat coherent manner...even if it only makes some sort of sense to myself.
Sometimes I think I'm going crazy.
So what was it?
I swear my intentions are good. So why do I have to wait?
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Here's To...
Here's to the words.
Don't stop talking now.
Here's to the warm days.
May they envelop us in their entirety.
Here's to the girl.
The girl who is the Edie Sedgwick to my Bob Dylan.
Here's to overestimation of circumstances.
May they forever be overlooked.
Here's to the futility of depression.
For high waves follow close behind.
Here's to the inebriated archangels, drunk on salvation.
When the hell-hounds pursue, they descend to drive them away and shepherd us home.
Here's to the armistice.
It's been a long time coming.
Here's to the venture capitalists.
Funding the crusades of their unworthy sons and daughters.
Here's to the transparent alibi.
Easier to read than a neon sign.
Here's to the incessant need for our wants.
Oh, how each continues to evolve.
Here's to those we've lost.
And their headstones which send us to shivers.
Here's to the unhinged love of our youth.
It can never be bottled and contained for future consumption despite our best efforts.
Here's to the laughter of a person.
It can bring strength to a thousand men.
Here's to the physical attraction factor.
Misleading us daily.
Here's to flashlights.
Rejoice for their innate ability to always look to the future.
Don't stop talking now.
Here's to the warm days.
May they envelop us in their entirety.
Here's to the girl.
The girl who is the Edie Sedgwick to my Bob Dylan.
Here's to overestimation of circumstances.
May they forever be overlooked.
Here's to the futility of depression.
For high waves follow close behind.
Here's to the inebriated archangels, drunk on salvation.
When the hell-hounds pursue, they descend to drive them away and shepherd us home.
Here's to the armistice.
It's been a long time coming.
Here's to the venture capitalists.
Funding the crusades of their unworthy sons and daughters.
Here's to the transparent alibi.
Easier to read than a neon sign.
Here's to the incessant need for our wants.
Oh, how each continues to evolve.
Here's to those we've lost.
And their headstones which send us to shivers.
Here's to the unhinged love of our youth.
It can never be bottled and contained for future consumption despite our best efforts.
Here's to the laughter of a person.
It can bring strength to a thousand men.
Here's to the physical attraction factor.
Misleading us daily.
Here's to flashlights.
Rejoice for their innate ability to always look to the future.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
There's a hole in the bucket, Dear Eliza, a hole
Like a freshly opened wound, it pours out all my warm ambitions. I want to pour myself over the world.
It's been recently brought to my attention that I, strangely enough, simultaneously appeal to the light and dark side of people. An unlikely blessing and a curse. But you cower like a defenseless puppy in my long, dark shadow. It's unjustified, because I am intensely devoted to my ideals. I desire to leave things better than I found them. No matter how much it hurts, or strains my senses. No matter the insurmountable climb and fall. Better in some way.
I hate it when people confuse having a wild heart with a damaging inability to be content. They are not one in the same and it's a turn-off. Through attainment they are exponentially different. And through appreciation they stand alone...one on it's own legs, and the other on it's shaky insecurities.
A Costa Rican moon hangs low, suspended like a blade, ready to drop and sever the ties of a pyschological crisis, bound and weighted down in the depths. I've seen what they've seen, I've heard the poetic words. The words are like music. Angel dialect, a chorus of praise beset on those willing to hear. Those willing to sing with the words are those who run free and their hearts are wild.
It's been recently brought to my attention that I, strangely enough, simultaneously appeal to the light and dark side of people. An unlikely blessing and a curse. But you cower like a defenseless puppy in my long, dark shadow. It's unjustified, because I am intensely devoted to my ideals. I desire to leave things better than I found them. No matter how much it hurts, or strains my senses. No matter the insurmountable climb and fall. Better in some way.
I hate it when people confuse having a wild heart with a damaging inability to be content. They are not one in the same and it's a turn-off. Through attainment they are exponentially different. And through appreciation they stand alone...one on it's own legs, and the other on it's shaky insecurities.
A Costa Rican moon hangs low, suspended like a blade, ready to drop and sever the ties of a pyschological crisis, bound and weighted down in the depths. I've seen what they've seen, I've heard the poetic words. The words are like music. Angel dialect, a chorus of praise beset on those willing to hear. Those willing to sing with the words are those who run free and their hearts are wild.
Monday, February 19, 2007
A Strange Threshold
New walls and faces, streets and signs, voices and numbers, girls and dogs walking down the street, fax numbers and business cards, bosses and colleagues, keys and bills, stores and restaurants, bars and churches. I lie awake and embrace "change anxiety." I stare at the ceiling fan and wonder if the people I once met in an old city will remember me. I miss them in this moment of a few sentimental seconds. If they'll think about my time with them. If I'll see them again. If it matters. I won't sleep well tonight, but I will soon enough. I am vexed by ambivalence this evening.
New perspectives are nice. If there were a bride I'd carry her across this threshold for good luck.
It's strange. Right now in this very instance, everything is strange. Everything. Nothing is familiar. Everything is strange.
I like it. I like where I'll be at the end of this week.
You used to say, live and let live. You know you did, you know you did, you know you did...
New perspectives are nice. If there were a bride I'd carry her across this threshold for good luck.
It's strange. Right now in this very instance, everything is strange. Everything. Nothing is familiar. Everything is strange.
I like it. I like where I'll be at the end of this week.
You used to say, live and let live. You know you did, you know you did, you know you did...
Friday, February 09, 2007
On the Precipice of Change
Job offers are comical. Especially when there's doubt, but there's always doubt. I already like the rolling hills and the rivers even though it's cold as hell here right now. That's quite alright...in two weeks I'll be settled in a place much, much warmer. Too much thought has been given to not returning from Costa Rica. I have already blueprinted a legitimate plan in my head of how I would situate my life back in the States should I choose to go all Darwin and hop the hypothetical Beagle for an indefinite expedition. It's actually quite scary and perfectly exciting. I could make the colones.
I'm promising myself a few things. I hope to hold myself to these promises. While I furlough a few ideals long enough to have a plan established, I'm keeping them warm on the backburner. Everybody needs a plan. And a speech. You never know when you'll need a speech. I'm surrounded by hipsters...which is great...they're a funny breed...but I like it...because nobody will look at me strange when I go all weird. I liked saying good-bye to the Neon City. It was strange, but appropriate. This town is stunningly affable. I think we are going to get along very well. I see it being a long and passionate matinee love-affair. I assign nothing to expectations.
I like staring uncertainty in the face to see who blinks first. It's unsettling. It's terrific. And it's maddening. I'm happy.
I'm promising myself a few things. I hope to hold myself to these promises. While I furlough a few ideals long enough to have a plan established, I'm keeping them warm on the backburner. Everybody needs a plan. And a speech. You never know when you'll need a speech. I'm surrounded by hipsters...which is great...they're a funny breed...but I like it...because nobody will look at me strange when I go all weird. I liked saying good-bye to the Neon City. It was strange, but appropriate. This town is stunningly affable. I think we are going to get along very well. I see it being a long and passionate matinee love-affair. I assign nothing to expectations.
I like staring uncertainty in the face to see who blinks first. It's unsettling. It's terrific. And it's maddening. I'm happy.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Hard Charging Fool
When the drug hits the vein the strut becomes more pronounced…a gliding walk that is aided by the breeze floating through downtown. They can see the reflection in the silver spoon that was previously shined by their tongues. “I’ll show you the world tonight babe. We can see it. We all can see it.” Who says that?
I like the reflection of the beaded water after a summer rain with the neon sign showing through each drop and the prism of color cast into the night air. We all look at our reflections, admiring the selected threads, in the tinted glass with the electro-funk music emanating out into the line, beating with the rhythm of our hearts. The bass brings you to life. Everybody pays cover here. Some wallets are heavier than others, but apparently tonight we’re going to see the world.
I observe a messy Kleenex with spires of blood...”wait...this is one of my favorite songs...”
“...and it’s hard to believe the mess you’re creating. With your triggers and trash heaps, hidden and waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey.”
There’s no power of refrain on the lips of the children tonight. It is hard to believe. I don’t seem to care, no one does. The only thing on my lips is Bulleit Bourbon and it tastes mighty fine this evening. It’s a nice compliment to the Vicadin I visited with earlier. They slow-dance together in my belly, and their vibes send a sense of calm throughout my bloodstream and into my limbs. Stop my anxiety and the restlessness that is ever-apparent in a moment of sobriety.
Swaggering over are the bad boys and the bad girls. Swing-rope diving into whatever river of decadence was chosen somewhere in the neighborhood of 6:30pm to 8:30pm, when Sprint, Cingular, and Verizon digitally carried plans from one hipster’s ear to the next. Some perfected gesture of hand-shake is given and topical conversation is exchanged. A girl looks at me. Then looks at my friend. Then looks at me again. The look. I know that look. She’s a blonde though. I like brunettes. Whatever. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. I’m sure she’s bored. Or I’m sure she’s boring. They always are.
Next song comes on. I don’t much like this one but for the mood it’s about par.
“...life is just a lonely highway. I’m out here on the open road. I’m old enough to see behind me, but young enough to feel my soul. I don’t wanna lose you baby, and I don’t wanna be alone. Don’t wanna live my days without you, but for now I’ve got to be without ya...I’ve got a pocket full of money, and a pocket full of keys that have no bounds. But then I think of lovin'...”
Geez...play something else.
Fuck it. “What’s your name? Oh yeah? Is your last name Sarandon? It would be much cooler if it were. YOU would be much cooler if it were. What are you drinking?”
What lies outside these walls is none of our concern. We’re twisted. We’re suspended. I think to bring up the important matters that I wanted to share with my friends, but hell...would it matter? No. I can’t stop staring at the girl in the sundress in the corner. Maybe she has some answers, or would like to hear those that I can offer. Maybe she’s not crazier than a boiled barn owl. She probably is though. They always start out normal. Much to my disappointment...well, it ends up quite different. It seems my friends have retreated to the bathroom…yet again. I’ll have a cigarette.
‘Absinthe Party at the Fly Honey Warehouse?????’ I fucking love this song...who the hell played this fucking obscurity? I’m buying that kid a drink.
“...heeeeeeeeyyyy, let’s cross the sea and get some culture. Red wiiiiiiiiiiine with every meal, and absinthe after dinner. We look good side by side...walking back to the hotel. We’ve got to get something to eat and to drink yeah. We’ll find a place to stay that’s not far off the main way...we’ve got to plan our day...Rodin at the Orsay...and find a way to cram it all in before we drink hard again...let’s get a bottle and drink alone tonight.”
“Yo, have you heard that new Arcade Fire album?” “It’s pretty fucking cool. Where’d you guys go? Oh right.” Our vision as a collective is getting more rotten. Not just visual vision. Pathological vision is getting worse. In fact, if we were in an open field in Europe during the war with a Browning .30-ault-6, we’d be sawed down. We can’t see past our own noses right now. Could we ever though? I’m not sure that we could. Then it hits me. BAM!! Fucking psychosomatic distress. The brain shifts into high gear, and starts hurling violent vibrations down my spine. A pretty fucking large existential crisis starts churning behind my eyes. It always does at this point. Oh shit...we’re the middle children of history (sound familiar?). We’re likely unfortunate parallels to The Sun Also Rises. If Pete Townshend were here, I’d kill him. *Shit I had to get drunk just to write whatever this is* Smile though, don’t let them know what is going...wait, wait, wait, go have a cigarette.
That “Young Folks” song is still a fucking jam. It’s bringing me back to normalcy. Youth and young love. We stare at each other. Boys at girls, girls at boys, boys at boys, girls at girls, with hypothetical fingers crossed hoping that we intersect tonight with someone who carries with them the bucket of butterflies that our stomachs are so ready to ingest. Make me want you. We’ll flash that ever present sequence of events in our drunk, blurry heads thinking “insert YOU into such and such vision I’ve had of the perfect so and so.”
“...no one will surprise me unless you do...”
“So have you done any traveling? That’s awesome. Yeah, I’m actually going to blah in blah. I’m going with two of my blahs. It should be a blahtty, fucking blah. I KNOW!! Life’s too short to sit around and not see the blah. I think it’s so awesome that you’ve blah. So what do you do? That sounds blah. How’d you get into blah? I have a blah who blahs...small blah.”
What????
Another cigarette. Someone has a camera. This is the interestingly unique time when we do things that wouldn’t normally cross a mind of sobriety. Because who loves it better than to look over these digital images the next morning and say things like, “MAN, shit got crazy last night. You remember this girl? Wait *clicking through* remember this one? Remember what she TOLD ME? HAHAHA!! I KNOW!! Fuck man...what was her name? She told you that too??? What a crazy bitch!!! Myspace worthy? This girl was awesome...remember her? Who talked to her most of the night? I thought she was pretty cool...I talked to her for awhile. And who’s THIS dude. He just stumbled over and started throwing up gang signs in our pics?!?! What a douche. HAHAHA!!!”
We lose one of our party to a fight. They’re too busy sorting it out with the significant other. After a 45 minute text message skirmish, they have conceded and lost the battle, BUT hopefully they’ll win the war. I close out their tab for them. “Good luck with that. Hey be careful...holla at me tomorrow.”
Wow, fucking clink the beers, it’s that car commercial song...
“...see me driving down the street. I’m bored with looking good. I’ve got both hands off the wheel. The cops are coming. I’m listening to the music with no fear. You can hear it too if you’re sincere...cause I’m a...”
*Screaming* “You know this is Iggy Pop right???” “Yeah he does vocals for this song.”
In youth, there are moments that we strive for. With youthful integrity we hold onto ideals and dreams with a death grip. The sad part is that many of us have to watch them die before our eyes. The thing that is our ultimate hope is that we can hold onto those ideals and dreams with our youthfulness and somehow collide with maturity enough to see them to fruition. But mostly we watch them die. We are the kings and queens of modern society. Our cares are minute, comparatively. Only to be born in another nation. Our mothers would mean more.
Bad boy lines up and boots the game winning field goal sending me home. Fucker always wins doesn’t he? I blink and you’re gone.
Not this time. I’m convinced...slow and steady wins the race.
I love my friend’s stories. He’s a lot like me. Too much like me. Because he is me.
I like the reflection of the beaded water after a summer rain with the neon sign showing through each drop and the prism of color cast into the night air. We all look at our reflections, admiring the selected threads, in the tinted glass with the electro-funk music emanating out into the line, beating with the rhythm of our hearts. The bass brings you to life. Everybody pays cover here. Some wallets are heavier than others, but apparently tonight we’re going to see the world.
I observe a messy Kleenex with spires of blood...”wait...this is one of my favorite songs...”
“...and it’s hard to believe the mess you’re creating. With your triggers and trash heaps, hidden and waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey, waiting for their prey.”
There’s no power of refrain on the lips of the children tonight. It is hard to believe. I don’t seem to care, no one does. The only thing on my lips is Bulleit Bourbon and it tastes mighty fine this evening. It’s a nice compliment to the Vicadin I visited with earlier. They slow-dance together in my belly, and their vibes send a sense of calm throughout my bloodstream and into my limbs. Stop my anxiety and the restlessness that is ever-apparent in a moment of sobriety.
Swaggering over are the bad boys and the bad girls. Swing-rope diving into whatever river of decadence was chosen somewhere in the neighborhood of 6:30pm to 8:30pm, when Sprint, Cingular, and Verizon digitally carried plans from one hipster’s ear to the next. Some perfected gesture of hand-shake is given and topical conversation is exchanged. A girl looks at me. Then looks at my friend. Then looks at me again. The look. I know that look. She’s a blonde though. I like brunettes. Whatever. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. I’m sure she’s bored. Or I’m sure she’s boring. They always are.
Next song comes on. I don’t much like this one but for the mood it’s about par.
“...life is just a lonely highway. I’m out here on the open road. I’m old enough to see behind me, but young enough to feel my soul. I don’t wanna lose you baby, and I don’t wanna be alone. Don’t wanna live my days without you, but for now I’ve got to be without ya...I’ve got a pocket full of money, and a pocket full of keys that have no bounds. But then I think of lovin'...”
Geez...play something else.
Fuck it. “What’s your name? Oh yeah? Is your last name Sarandon? It would be much cooler if it were. YOU would be much cooler if it were. What are you drinking?”
What lies outside these walls is none of our concern. We’re twisted. We’re suspended. I think to bring up the important matters that I wanted to share with my friends, but hell...would it matter? No. I can’t stop staring at the girl in the sundress in the corner. Maybe she has some answers, or would like to hear those that I can offer. Maybe she’s not crazier than a boiled barn owl. She probably is though. They always start out normal. Much to my disappointment...well, it ends up quite different. It seems my friends have retreated to the bathroom…yet again. I’ll have a cigarette.
‘Absinthe Party at the Fly Honey Warehouse?????’ I fucking love this song...who the hell played this fucking obscurity? I’m buying that kid a drink.
“...heeeeeeeeyyyy, let’s cross the sea and get some culture. Red wiiiiiiiiiiine with every meal, and absinthe after dinner. We look good side by side...walking back to the hotel. We’ve got to get something to eat and to drink yeah. We’ll find a place to stay that’s not far off the main way...we’ve got to plan our day...Rodin at the Orsay...and find a way to cram it all in before we drink hard again...let’s get a bottle and drink alone tonight.”
“Yo, have you heard that new Arcade Fire album?” “It’s pretty fucking cool. Where’d you guys go? Oh right.” Our vision as a collective is getting more rotten. Not just visual vision. Pathological vision is getting worse. In fact, if we were in an open field in Europe during the war with a Browning .30-ault-6, we’d be sawed down. We can’t see past our own noses right now. Could we ever though? I’m not sure that we could. Then it hits me. BAM!! Fucking psychosomatic distress. The brain shifts into high gear, and starts hurling violent vibrations down my spine. A pretty fucking large existential crisis starts churning behind my eyes. It always does at this point. Oh shit...we’re the middle children of history (sound familiar?). We’re likely unfortunate parallels to The Sun Also Rises. If Pete Townshend were here, I’d kill him. *Shit I had to get drunk just to write whatever this is* Smile though, don’t let them know what is going...wait, wait, wait, go have a cigarette.
That “Young Folks” song is still a fucking jam. It’s bringing me back to normalcy. Youth and young love. We stare at each other. Boys at girls, girls at boys, boys at boys, girls at girls, with hypothetical fingers crossed hoping that we intersect tonight with someone who carries with them the bucket of butterflies that our stomachs are so ready to ingest. Make me want you. We’ll flash that ever present sequence of events in our drunk, blurry heads thinking “insert YOU into such and such vision I’ve had of the perfect so and so.”
“...no one will surprise me unless you do...”
“So have you done any traveling? That’s awesome. Yeah, I’m actually going to blah in blah. I’m going with two of my blahs. It should be a blahtty, fucking blah. I KNOW!! Life’s too short to sit around and not see the blah. I think it’s so awesome that you’ve blah. So what do you do? That sounds blah. How’d you get into blah? I have a blah who blahs...small blah.”
What????
Another cigarette. Someone has a camera. This is the interestingly unique time when we do things that wouldn’t normally cross a mind of sobriety. Because who loves it better than to look over these digital images the next morning and say things like, “MAN, shit got crazy last night. You remember this girl? Wait *clicking through* remember this one? Remember what she TOLD ME? HAHAHA!! I KNOW!! Fuck man...what was her name? She told you that too??? What a crazy bitch!!! Myspace worthy? This girl was awesome...remember her? Who talked to her most of the night? I thought she was pretty cool...I talked to her for awhile. And who’s THIS dude. He just stumbled over and started throwing up gang signs in our pics?!?! What a douche. HAHAHA!!!”
We lose one of our party to a fight. They’re too busy sorting it out with the significant other. After a 45 minute text message skirmish, they have conceded and lost the battle, BUT hopefully they’ll win the war. I close out their tab for them. “Good luck with that. Hey be careful...holla at me tomorrow.”
Wow, fucking clink the beers, it’s that car commercial song...
“...see me driving down the street. I’m bored with looking good. I’ve got both hands off the wheel. The cops are coming. I’m listening to the music with no fear. You can hear it too if you’re sincere...cause I’m a...”
*Screaming* “You know this is Iggy Pop right???” “Yeah he does vocals for this song.”
In youth, there are moments that we strive for. With youthful integrity we hold onto ideals and dreams with a death grip. The sad part is that many of us have to watch them die before our eyes. The thing that is our ultimate hope is that we can hold onto those ideals and dreams with our youthfulness and somehow collide with maturity enough to see them to fruition. But mostly we watch them die. We are the kings and queens of modern society. Our cares are minute, comparatively. Only to be born in another nation. Our mothers would mean more.
Bad boy lines up and boots the game winning field goal sending me home. Fucker always wins doesn’t he? I blink and you’re gone.
Not this time. I’m convinced...slow and steady wins the race.
I love my friend’s stories. He’s a lot like me. Too much like me. Because he is me.
Friday, January 26, 2007
In Defense of Minimalism
If providence is our most powerful ally, then minimalism is it's weapon of choice.
I've come to realize through an incendiary thought process that what I'm really looking for more of is 'less,' and as recently as right now, I still believe that while I want more of things, I want less of the things that bring us less.
I've always told myself that you should never get overtly attached to something that you can't fit through your front door in a housefire. My main point in this philosophy is the specific inclusion of only the people you care about in this life, and the specific exclusion of those things that get in the way, and obstruct our paths of safety and fluidity. Easier said, "people can walk through doors better than your foolish wants and needs, and ultimately are infinitely more important." I think minimalism takes care of this philosophy.
Too often, I am completely amazed by how insipid people can be. Taking in, consuming, and returning only a fraction of the energy or worldly effort it took to acquire whatever it was they desired to acquire. This lustful ownership over things, be they ideals, material belongings, people, financial entities, or whatever...it bores me.
Some might say, "well where do you stand?" "Are you so swamped in abnegation that you don't believe that we have to claim ownership over anything?" Actually...nobody I know would say that to me, but I'm finding the holes in my own argument, and for each of them I have a rebuttal. Of course we all claim ownership over the things our heart desires. I have friends who desire any and all the world can throw their way from a material standpoint. I'm dumbfounded by it, but it's natural human existence. I have friends who take on a more ethereal approach to their ownership who not only publicly state, but privately live their lives to make the world max out it's potential and be something worthwhile. I defer to the latter of course and my preference for self-awareness is usually found in my friends of the latter. I often find myself loving my friends of the former, but end up patting them on the heads in an almost patronizing way and saying to myself, "it's okay...you can't help it...you don't know any better." Asshole-ish? Maybe. But maybe not.
Maybe some people just are more self-aware. They see the efficiencies and inefficiencies of life. Unfortunately for them, they also are privy to the catatonic despair that can creep through your synapses when you see the world from a different angle. It can become disconsolate. A feeling of hopelessness can find a fertile breeding ground in a mind of this type. People whom I've noticed, and in my opinion don't have a certain matter of self-awareness, aren't as easily victimized by the 'hopeless factor.' Their limits are met by the meeting of their desires, and at times, they become sedentary and fortify their 'position of acquisition.' This is especially true when you contemplate how easy life is when you accept things only superficially and don't utilize inquiry, completely devoid of any functional intellect. But living life that way is not really living, is it?
When you have something that satisfies you, be it worthwhile or not, your sights go no further than that object leaving you in it's grasp. Of course, this is all subjective. All of this is my opinion and the whole argument is based on what I (or anybody) would deem worthwhile or not, but my point here is to at least bring light to the dynamic. So where does that leave the seeker who is never satisfied and always looking for the next best thing? Trapped. It leaves them trapped.
Trapped to the pursuit. Which in effect, is the actual object which keeps them from fluidity. You see, we all have the things we desire in life, whether it's a new car, a successful career, a fabulous lover, a rolodex of memories, world travel, financial security, happiness, contentment, and on and on. The thing is though...nothing is guaranteed. None of these desires can be met, and all of these desires can be met. That's the beauty. Nothing is guaranteed. But my reason for supporting minimalism is in this point: Being attached to things you have no control over or to the pursuit of things that have control over you is going to make you a prisoner. Having fluidity to claim ownership over only the most basic and important necessities in life is going to give you a better chance at fulfilling these desires...and with self-awareness, you might just find that there's an acceptance out there that you couldn't have imagined.
I've come to realize through an incendiary thought process that what I'm really looking for more of is 'less,' and as recently as right now, I still believe that while I want more of things, I want less of the things that bring us less.
I've always told myself that you should never get overtly attached to something that you can't fit through your front door in a housefire. My main point in this philosophy is the specific inclusion of only the people you care about in this life, and the specific exclusion of those things that get in the way, and obstruct our paths of safety and fluidity. Easier said, "people can walk through doors better than your foolish wants and needs, and ultimately are infinitely more important." I think minimalism takes care of this philosophy.
Too often, I am completely amazed by how insipid people can be. Taking in, consuming, and returning only a fraction of the energy or worldly effort it took to acquire whatever it was they desired to acquire. This lustful ownership over things, be they ideals, material belongings, people, financial entities, or whatever...it bores me.
Some might say, "well where do you stand?" "Are you so swamped in abnegation that you don't believe that we have to claim ownership over anything?" Actually...nobody I know would say that to me, but I'm finding the holes in my own argument, and for each of them I have a rebuttal. Of course we all claim ownership over the things our heart desires. I have friends who desire any and all the world can throw their way from a material standpoint. I'm dumbfounded by it, but it's natural human existence. I have friends who take on a more ethereal approach to their ownership who not only publicly state, but privately live their lives to make the world max out it's potential and be something worthwhile. I defer to the latter of course and my preference for self-awareness is usually found in my friends of the latter. I often find myself loving my friends of the former, but end up patting them on the heads in an almost patronizing way and saying to myself, "it's okay...you can't help it...you don't know any better." Asshole-ish? Maybe. But maybe not.
Maybe some people just are more self-aware. They see the efficiencies and inefficiencies of life. Unfortunately for them, they also are privy to the catatonic despair that can creep through your synapses when you see the world from a different angle. It can become disconsolate. A feeling of hopelessness can find a fertile breeding ground in a mind of this type. People whom I've noticed, and in my opinion don't have a certain matter of self-awareness, aren't as easily victimized by the 'hopeless factor.' Their limits are met by the meeting of their desires, and at times, they become sedentary and fortify their 'position of acquisition.' This is especially true when you contemplate how easy life is when you accept things only superficially and don't utilize inquiry, completely devoid of any functional intellect. But living life that way is not really living, is it?
When you have something that satisfies you, be it worthwhile or not, your sights go no further than that object leaving you in it's grasp. Of course, this is all subjective. All of this is my opinion and the whole argument is based on what I (or anybody) would deem worthwhile or not, but my point here is to at least bring light to the dynamic. So where does that leave the seeker who is never satisfied and always looking for the next best thing? Trapped. It leaves them trapped.
Trapped to the pursuit. Which in effect, is the actual object which keeps them from fluidity. You see, we all have the things we desire in life, whether it's a new car, a successful career, a fabulous lover, a rolodex of memories, world travel, financial security, happiness, contentment, and on and on. The thing is though...nothing is guaranteed. None of these desires can be met, and all of these desires can be met. That's the beauty. Nothing is guaranteed. But my reason for supporting minimalism is in this point: Being attached to things you have no control over or to the pursuit of things that have control over you is going to make you a prisoner. Having fluidity to claim ownership over only the most basic and important necessities in life is going to give you a better chance at fulfilling these desires...and with self-awareness, you might just find that there's an acceptance out there that you couldn't have imagined.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Down and Distance
"Give me your hand," she said. "Your love-line and your life-line don't intersect." "You know what that means don't you?" No. "It means you better stop hedging your bets. That's what it means."
A swift-talking blue-blooded despot of modern society. Who takes them seriously, anyways? At some point we all do. But it's an illusion. You better stop taking things seriously if you want to be taken seriously. It gives an illusion of arrogant transcendence. I'll walk the line, whether it be my love-line, or my life-line, I might walk both of them at the same time. But maybe I'll run. Or maybe I'll pass.
Hey look at that?!?! What a lovely picture of people fulfilling their dreams! Good for them!
"At some point, you're going to have to come through in the clutch son. It won't be all the time. In fact, you'll fall flat on your face time and again, but there will be a time when you need it the most. I'm confident that you will. Are you? Because that's all that matters."
You rack up stats every day. Set records every day. Small wins and losses. All in the strategy of X's and O's; probable maneuvers; tactical excercises; accidental defeats, and improbable victories. It's all compiled and listed on the back of your card, with your picture on the front, in a striking pose. Hopefully the numbers will get you consideration for 'the Hall.' Your face (or likeness thereof), displayed proudly on the wall, beside the "Late Greats," in the Hall of Fame. Your accomplishments bested by no one.
Try to go out on top. At one point, Pete Townshend strongly believed that he wanted to go out on top. I heard him screaming about it on my radio this morning. He wanted to die before he got old. Before he burned out. I wonder if he still feels that way? I wonder if I will. I wonder who will.
When it's third and goal, and you can see your destination, and you can feel that feeling in your chest cavity, and you have the chance to impose your will on the obstacle before you, and you can earn nicknames like "Mr. October," or "The Natural"...what do you do?
You don't think. You let instinct take control, and you trust it with all you have.
Get up Mr. Tittle....
It's time for you to catch lightning in a bottle.
A swift-talking blue-blooded despot of modern society. Who takes them seriously, anyways? At some point we all do. But it's an illusion. You better stop taking things seriously if you want to be taken seriously. It gives an illusion of arrogant transcendence. I'll walk the line, whether it be my love-line, or my life-line, I might walk both of them at the same time. But maybe I'll run. Or maybe I'll pass.
Hey look at that?!?! What a lovely picture of people fulfilling their dreams! Good for them!
"At some point, you're going to have to come through in the clutch son. It won't be all the time. In fact, you'll fall flat on your face time and again, but there will be a time when you need it the most. I'm confident that you will. Are you? Because that's all that matters."
You rack up stats every day. Set records every day. Small wins and losses. All in the strategy of X's and O's; probable maneuvers; tactical excercises; accidental defeats, and improbable victories. It's all compiled and listed on the back of your card, with your picture on the front, in a striking pose. Hopefully the numbers will get you consideration for 'the Hall.' Your face (or likeness thereof), displayed proudly on the wall, beside the "Late Greats," in the Hall of Fame. Your accomplishments bested by no one.
Try to go out on top. At one point, Pete Townshend strongly believed that he wanted to go out on top. I heard him screaming about it on my radio this morning. He wanted to die before he got old. Before he burned out. I wonder if he still feels that way? I wonder if I will. I wonder who will.
When it's third and goal, and you can see your destination, and you can feel that feeling in your chest cavity, and you have the chance to impose your will on the obstacle before you, and you can earn nicknames like "Mr. October," or "The Natural"...what do you do?
You don't think. You let instinct take control, and you trust it with all you have.
Get up Mr. Tittle....
It's time for you to catch lightning in a bottle.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
I Cannot Save You
From the orgies and the blow. From the inebriated "heartfelt" conversations that you have with drunk boys during the pre-dawn hours; thinking they are listening to (much less comprehending) the "real" you, when all they're really waiting for is for you to shut your mouth so they can fuck you...not understand you. From the rotating turnstile of boy, after boy, after boy, after boy who always end up letting you down in some way or another in due time; even when your eager little heart told you otherwise from the beginning. From that lonely feeling that nobody in this world truly understands you, or will accept you if they knew you, or the fact that you feel you can't give love. From the ego-centric fog that flows through the people in your surroundings, blinding them to the rest of the world and even themselves. From the self-righteous-psuedo-intellectualism doused in an overly-spoiled adherence to life during the height of their days. From the esteem-killing cycle of relationships that last only three or four months when they all turn out to be shit anyways. Much to your chagrin, the next one in line always ends up the same. Maybe if you took some time for yourself and figured out who you really are and what you really want...things might take on a different perspective. Maybe if you didn't have a consant love interest on your plate at all times...but I can't save you from your synapses. From that little roller coaster you find yourself on, reacting to the ups like they were the best, and the downs like they were the worst, not meaning what you say, and saying what you mean. From those little human idiosyncrasies that net the blame for inconsiderate selfishness. From the poisonous way you see yourself. From your hypocrisies and blinding damnation of someone else when you see their's. From the evil side of you that derails you at times and chokes the life from you. From the way you treated me and the accountability that comes with it when you're confronted by me. From your cleverly disguised lies; which you tell straight through your teeth in much the same way a rifle would shoot ice-cold bullets into the chest of another. From the hurt that your own lies cause you. From the walls you build up to keep people from them. From the people who are sour with you and have nefarious fun at your expense without you being the wiser. From your failures. From your past. From your guilt. From your inability to put it behind you and let go. From your condescension towards those you consider less capable and adaptive than you. From your elitism. From your sanctimonious bullshit. From your attention-grabbing. From the people who have hurt you over and over. I cannot save you from my anger towards you, and I cannot save you from truly knowing deep in your heart, that you felt loved at least once in your life, and that haunting little sting that resides there.
See, the problem with you is that you let the things that hurt you define you. You identify with it and you let it become your identity.
Are you mad that I'm mad? You shouldn't be. This should all be comfortably expected. I have a multitude of reasons; each of them you should already be well aware of. None of them, less substantial than the last. Is this gonna motivate you to prove me wrong? I hope so. Is it going to send you into a downward spiral of anger and resentment? Who knows. Does this validate your reasons to brush me aside? I have a pretty good guess. I'm sure you're too cool to let this bother you. Too apathetic towards these words to let them irritate you. Too collected to let it ruin your day. But the simple fact of the matter is, I've been too nice to you. I'm putting many things behind me in this time, the least of which is you.
I cannot save you from yourself. And I will not try.
You don't know everything, angry little girl.
See, the problem with you is that you let the things that hurt you define you. You identify with it and you let it become your identity.
Are you mad that I'm mad? You shouldn't be. This should all be comfortably expected. I have a multitude of reasons; each of them you should already be well aware of. None of them, less substantial than the last. Is this gonna motivate you to prove me wrong? I hope so. Is it going to send you into a downward spiral of anger and resentment? Who knows. Does this validate your reasons to brush me aside? I have a pretty good guess. I'm sure you're too cool to let this bother you. Too apathetic towards these words to let them irritate you. Too collected to let it ruin your day. But the simple fact of the matter is, I've been too nice to you. I'm putting many things behind me in this time, the least of which is you.
I cannot save you from yourself. And I will not try.
You don't know everything, angry little girl.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
I Need a New Muse
My old one is busted. I think I've squeezed every last drop from that rag. I'm glad that my surroundings are about to change. I'm tired of this town and the ghosts who reside here. They've worn out their welcome with me. The neon buildings with their monolith presence and the times I've gone in and out of them rub through straight to the nerve now. It gives me a headache and it's worn me out. I'm tired of lying to myself, but most of all believing them. This road leads to nowhere which is why I'm making a sharp detour to the south. Brand new chance in a brand new town. I've got my pick axe, my pail, and my polishing cloth. I'm gonna pan the rivers for a new muse. I'm going to burrow in the sides of the mountains for a jewel that shines a little brighter and is more geometrically sound. I'll see where that gets me, if anywhere. I've said this all before...
C-Word
My boss is a "C-word." I don't use that word often. I reserve it for a select few. It's like the silver bullet of cuss words. Particularly effective if you've been cussing at werewolves, or perhaps Dracula. But yeah, my boss...she's a C-word. Not the one who's repeatedly told me that she wants to have sex with me...she's cool. It's the other one. I'm pretty sure she has a dong, and fornicates her husband's anus with it.
If one were to tell me that after I had departed that she caught and lost a raging bout with gonorrhea of the face, I think my reaction would be somewhat on par with this:
"Good."
*fist-pump following shortly thereafter*
If one were to tell me that after I had departed that she caught and lost a raging bout with gonorrhea of the face, I think my reaction would be somewhat on par with this:
"Good."
*fist-pump following shortly thereafter*
Monday, December 04, 2006
Hemingway = Genius
This is my favorite short-story from Hemingway.
Itsa good....
Hills Like White Elephants
By Ernest Hemingway
The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the station there was the warm shadow of the building and a curtain, made of strings of bamboo beads, hung across the open door into the bar, to keep out flies. The American and the girl with him sat at a table in the shade, outside the building. It was very hot and the express from Barcelona would come in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction for two minutes and went to Madrid.
'What should we drink?' the girl asked. She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.
'It's pretty hot,' the man said.
'Let's drink beer.'
'Dos cervezas,' the man said into the curtain.
'Big ones?' a woman asked from the doorway.
'Yes. Two big ones.'
The woman brought two glasses of beer and two felt pads. She put the felt pads and the beer glass on the table and looked at the man and the girl. The girl was looking off at the line of hills. They were white in the sun and the country was brown and dry.
'They look like white elephants,' she said.
'I've never seen one,' the man drank his beer.
'No, you wouldn't have.'
'I might have,' the man said. 'Just because you say I wouldn't have doesn't prove anything.'
The girl looked at the bead curtain. 'They've painted something on it,' she said. 'What does it say?'
'Anis del Toro. It's a drink.'
'Could we try it?'
The man called 'Listen' through the curtain. The woman came out from the bar.
'Four reales.' 'We want two Anis del Toro.'
'With water?'
'Do you want it with water?'
'I don't know,' the girl said. 'Is it good with water?'
'It's all right.'
'You want them with water?' asked the woman.
'Yes, with water.'
'It tastes like liquorice,' the girl said and put the glass down.
'That's the way with everything.'
'Yes,' said the girl. 'Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all the things you've waited so long for, like absinthe.'
'Oh, cut it out.'
'You started it,' the girl said. 'I was being amused. I was having a fine time.'
'Well, let's try and have a fine time.'
'All right. I was trying. I said the mountains looked like white elephants. Wasn't that bright?'
'That was bright.'
'I wanted to try this new drink. That's all we do, isn't it - look at things and try new drinks?'
'I guess so.'
The girl looked across at the hills.
'They're lovely hills,' she said. 'They don't really look like white elephants. I just meant the colouring of their skin through the trees.'
'Should we have another drink?'
'All right.'
The warm wind blew the bead curtain against the table.
'The beer's nice and cool,' the man said.
'It's lovely,' the girl said.
'It's really an awfully simple operation, Jig,' the man said. 'It's not really an operation at all.'
The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on.
'I know you wouldn't mind it, Jig. It's really not anything. It's just to let the air in.'
The girl did not say anything.
'I'll go with you and I'll stay with you all the time. They just let the air in and then it's all perfectly natural.'
'Then what will we do afterwards?'
'We'll be fine afterwards. Just like we were before.'
'What makes you think so?'
'That's the only thing that bothers us. It's the only thing that's made us unhappy.'
The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out and took hold of two of the strings of beads.
'And you think then we'll be all right and be happy.'
'I know we will. Yon don't have to be afraid. I've known lots of people that have done it.'
'So have I,' said the girl. 'And afterwards they were all so happy.'
'Well,' the man said, 'if you don't want to you don't have to. I wouldn't have you do it if you didn't want to. But I know it's perfectly simple.'
'And you really want to?'
'I think it's the best thing to do. But I don't want you to do it if you don't really want to.'
'And if I do it you'll be happy and things will be like they were and you'll love me?'
'I love you now. You know I love you.'
'I know. But if I do it, then it will be nice again if I say things are like white elephants, and you'll like it?'
'I'll love it. I love it now but I just can't think about it. You know how I get when I worry.'
'If I do it you won't ever worry?'
'I won't worry about that because it's perfectly simple.'
'Then I'll do it. Because I don't care about me.'
'What do you mean?'
'I don't care about me.'
'Well, I care about you.'
'Oh, yes. But I don't care about me. And I'll do it and then everything will be fine.'
'I don't want you to do it if you feel that way.'
The girl stood up and walked to the end of the station. Across, on the other side, were fields of grain and trees along the banks of the Ebro. Far away, beyond the river, were mountains. The shadow of a cloud moved across the field of grain and she saw the river through the trees.
'And we could have all this,' she said. 'And we could have everything and every day we make it more impossible.'
'What did you say?'
'I said we could have everything.'
'No, we can't.'
'We can have the whole world.'
'No, we can't.'
'We can go everywhere.'
'No, we can't. It isn't ours any more.'
'It's ours.'
'No, it isn't. And once they take it away, you never get it back.'
'But they haven't taken it away.'
'We'll wait and see.'
'Come on back in the shade,' he said. 'You mustn't feel that way.'
'I don't feel any way,' the girl said. 'I just know things.'
'I don't want you to do anything that you don't want to do -'
'Nor that isn't good for me,' she said. 'I know. Could we have another beer?'
'All right. But you've got to realize - '
'I realize,' the girl said. 'Can't we maybe stop talking?'
They sat down at the table and the girl looked across at the hills on the dry side of the valley and the man looked at her and at the table.
'You've got to realize,' he said, ' that I don't want you to do it if you don't want to. I'm perfectly willing to go through with it if it means anything to you.'
'Doesn't it mean anything to you? We could get along.'
'Of course it does. But I don't want anybody but you. I don't want anyone else. And I know it's perfectly simple.'
'Yes, you know it's perfectly simple.'
'It's all right for you to say that, but I do know it.'
'Would you do something for me now?'
'I'd do anything for you.'
'Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?'
He did not say anything but looked at the bags against the wall of the station. There were labels on them from all the hotels where they had spent nights.
'But I don't want you to,' he said, 'I don't care anything about it.'
'I'll scream,' the girl said.
The woman came out through the curtains with two glasses of beer and put them down on the damp felt pads. 'The train comes in five minutes,' she said.
'What did she say?' asked the girl.
'That the train is coming in five minutes.'
The girl smiled brightly at the woman, to thank her.
'I'd better take the bags over to the other side of the station,' the man said. She smiled at him.
'All right. Then come back and we'll finish the beer.'
He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the station to the other tracks. He looked up the tracks but could not see the train. Coming back, he walked through the bar-room, where people waiting for the train were drinking. He drank an Anis at the bar and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably for the train. He went out through the bead curtain. She was sitting at the table and smiled at him.
'Do you feel better?' he asked.
'I feel fine,' she said. 'There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine.'
Itsa good....
Hills Like White Elephants
By Ernest Hemingway
The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the station there was the warm shadow of the building and a curtain, made of strings of bamboo beads, hung across the open door into the bar, to keep out flies. The American and the girl with him sat at a table in the shade, outside the building. It was very hot and the express from Barcelona would come in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction for two minutes and went to Madrid.
'What should we drink?' the girl asked. She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.
'It's pretty hot,' the man said.
'Let's drink beer.'
'Dos cervezas,' the man said into the curtain.
'Big ones?' a woman asked from the doorway.
'Yes. Two big ones.'
The woman brought two glasses of beer and two felt pads. She put the felt pads and the beer glass on the table and looked at the man and the girl. The girl was looking off at the line of hills. They were white in the sun and the country was brown and dry.
'They look like white elephants,' she said.
'I've never seen one,' the man drank his beer.
'No, you wouldn't have.'
'I might have,' the man said. 'Just because you say I wouldn't have doesn't prove anything.'
The girl looked at the bead curtain. 'They've painted something on it,' she said. 'What does it say?'
'Anis del Toro. It's a drink.'
'Could we try it?'
The man called 'Listen' through the curtain. The woman came out from the bar.
'Four reales.' 'We want two Anis del Toro.'
'With water?'
'Do you want it with water?'
'I don't know,' the girl said. 'Is it good with water?'
'It's all right.'
'You want them with water?' asked the woman.
'Yes, with water.'
'It tastes like liquorice,' the girl said and put the glass down.
'That's the way with everything.'
'Yes,' said the girl. 'Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all the things you've waited so long for, like absinthe.'
'Oh, cut it out.'
'You started it,' the girl said. 'I was being amused. I was having a fine time.'
'Well, let's try and have a fine time.'
'All right. I was trying. I said the mountains looked like white elephants. Wasn't that bright?'
'That was bright.'
'I wanted to try this new drink. That's all we do, isn't it - look at things and try new drinks?'
'I guess so.'
The girl looked across at the hills.
'They're lovely hills,' she said. 'They don't really look like white elephants. I just meant the colouring of their skin through the trees.'
'Should we have another drink?'
'All right.'
The warm wind blew the bead curtain against the table.
'The beer's nice and cool,' the man said.
'It's lovely,' the girl said.
'It's really an awfully simple operation, Jig,' the man said. 'It's not really an operation at all.'
The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on.
'I know you wouldn't mind it, Jig. It's really not anything. It's just to let the air in.'
The girl did not say anything.
'I'll go with you and I'll stay with you all the time. They just let the air in and then it's all perfectly natural.'
'Then what will we do afterwards?'
'We'll be fine afterwards. Just like we were before.'
'What makes you think so?'
'That's the only thing that bothers us. It's the only thing that's made us unhappy.'
The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out and took hold of two of the strings of beads.
'And you think then we'll be all right and be happy.'
'I know we will. Yon don't have to be afraid. I've known lots of people that have done it.'
'So have I,' said the girl. 'And afterwards they were all so happy.'
'Well,' the man said, 'if you don't want to you don't have to. I wouldn't have you do it if you didn't want to. But I know it's perfectly simple.'
'And you really want to?'
'I think it's the best thing to do. But I don't want you to do it if you don't really want to.'
'And if I do it you'll be happy and things will be like they were and you'll love me?'
'I love you now. You know I love you.'
'I know. But if I do it, then it will be nice again if I say things are like white elephants, and you'll like it?'
'I'll love it. I love it now but I just can't think about it. You know how I get when I worry.'
'If I do it you won't ever worry?'
'I won't worry about that because it's perfectly simple.'
'Then I'll do it. Because I don't care about me.'
'What do you mean?'
'I don't care about me.'
'Well, I care about you.'
'Oh, yes. But I don't care about me. And I'll do it and then everything will be fine.'
'I don't want you to do it if you feel that way.'
The girl stood up and walked to the end of the station. Across, on the other side, were fields of grain and trees along the banks of the Ebro. Far away, beyond the river, were mountains. The shadow of a cloud moved across the field of grain and she saw the river through the trees.
'And we could have all this,' she said. 'And we could have everything and every day we make it more impossible.'
'What did you say?'
'I said we could have everything.'
'No, we can't.'
'We can have the whole world.'
'No, we can't.'
'We can go everywhere.'
'No, we can't. It isn't ours any more.'
'It's ours.'
'No, it isn't. And once they take it away, you never get it back.'
'But they haven't taken it away.'
'We'll wait and see.'
'Come on back in the shade,' he said. 'You mustn't feel that way.'
'I don't feel any way,' the girl said. 'I just know things.'
'I don't want you to do anything that you don't want to do -'
'Nor that isn't good for me,' she said. 'I know. Could we have another beer?'
'All right. But you've got to realize - '
'I realize,' the girl said. 'Can't we maybe stop talking?'
They sat down at the table and the girl looked across at the hills on the dry side of the valley and the man looked at her and at the table.
'You've got to realize,' he said, ' that I don't want you to do it if you don't want to. I'm perfectly willing to go through with it if it means anything to you.'
'Doesn't it mean anything to you? We could get along.'
'Of course it does. But I don't want anybody but you. I don't want anyone else. And I know it's perfectly simple.'
'Yes, you know it's perfectly simple.'
'It's all right for you to say that, but I do know it.'
'Would you do something for me now?'
'I'd do anything for you.'
'Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?'
He did not say anything but looked at the bags against the wall of the station. There were labels on them from all the hotels where they had spent nights.
'But I don't want you to,' he said, 'I don't care anything about it.'
'I'll scream,' the girl said.
The woman came out through the curtains with two glasses of beer and put them down on the damp felt pads. 'The train comes in five minutes,' she said.
'What did she say?' asked the girl.
'That the train is coming in five minutes.'
The girl smiled brightly at the woman, to thank her.
'I'd better take the bags over to the other side of the station,' the man said. She smiled at him.
'All right. Then come back and we'll finish the beer.'
He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the station to the other tracks. He looked up the tracks but could not see the train. Coming back, he walked through the bar-room, where people waiting for the train were drinking. He drank an Anis at the bar and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably for the train. He went out through the bead curtain. She was sitting at the table and smiled at him.
'Do you feel better?' he asked.
'I feel fine,' she said. 'There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine.'
I Have A Bleeding Heart...and you're fucking addicted to it
I'm gonna use it. I'm not gonna address it. I'm an antioxidant farm with the amount of chemicals producing love in my heart and the wine mixed in. I stare at that goddamned picture way too much. Sometimes I want to make you cry. But mostly just laugh. You should watch yourself cry in the mirror. I think everybody should do that once in their lives. It's haunting. I just wanna laugh.
I'm laughing at myself right now.
I'm laughing at myself right now.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Our Secrets are the Same
And they're like two nylon ropes unraveling at the ends. We use a lighter to singe the ends to keep them from being frayed. Each little strand is one big secret. The rope gets wrapped around your neck, and vision gets blurry with a shortness of breath. Our secrets choke us, and restrict us. To tie them in knots is a great defense to keep people from straightening them out...figuring them out. That can't happen. When it's coiled up it's easier to carry, because I hate it when I trip on the loose end. Maybe my rope is longer, but maybe not.
An uncorked bottle of wine existed 1 hour ago, but it has since disappeared. As well as these menthol cigarettes mysteriously left here overnight. Just observations. Cognitive dissonance is masked hilarity.
But yeah, they're the same.
An uncorked bottle of wine existed 1 hour ago, but it has since disappeared. As well as these menthol cigarettes mysteriously left here overnight. Just observations. Cognitive dissonance is masked hilarity.
But yeah, they're the same.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
I'm there like a polar bear
I'm officially going to Costa Rica in early 2007. I'm not sure I'll come back. I give it 50/50 at this point. Moving sucks.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
General Disdain With Sweeping Reform
Let me preface this with a few points here.
1) I'm not going to cite certain instances, or factual numbers gathered by the media, because for any point that I give you a number, you can come back with another number or figure to totally negate what I'm saying. We can go back and forth in that arena for days, and I don't have neither the patience nor the desire to get into a pissing contest of political knowledge. I don't care what you know, and you don't care what I know.
2) I'm also not taking sides. From a guy who could be the poster boy of political inaction and deserves to be berated for his lack of participation in our most basic of democratic rights, I'm aware of my apathy....and with it my choice to divert allegiance to either of the sorry excuses for political parties that we have at our disposal. So lay off of me. I'm self-aware of my laziness and indifference. Plus, nobody likes a finger pointer. More on that in a moment.
It's the political season and it's a time when names like Nancy Pelosi, Rick Perry, Barak Obama, and various sundry political figurines come into our collective consciousness. To be honest, I don't care much for any and all of the names. It's time for the posturing, the flexing of goals attained in previous terms, the freak-sideshows like Kinky Friedman (following in the blundering footsteps of Ventura, and Schwarzeneggar), the (and I cringe when I hear this) loud bellowing of "sweeping reform," and the general lies and casting of judgement that comes with this oh so exciting time.
Now, I appreciate it when people get passionate about whatever moral virtue they stand behind, or whatever whistleblowing figurehead shouts out wrongdoing of his supposed enemies in the political arena giving a passionate and well-informed argument for why he is in fact right (and most likely, in his opinion smarter and more intellectual), but I've got a problem with the fact that we can't seem to see the forest from the trees.
Let me sum this up really quick so you's know where I stand:
1) I agree with state's rights. What's good for Maine, is not good for Arizona. What's good for California, is not good for Connecticut...so on and so forth.
2) The less the federal government governs, the better. Now before you blow a gasket, hear me out. I don't mean that the government gets a free pass and all of societies advancements are left on the shoulders of it's citizens. What I'm saying is, to meet all of our interests, you can't make generalized decisions. What ends up happening in the course of pleasing everyone is that you segregate everyone. It's a retroactive outcome. The less the federal government is telling you what to do, the more freedom you have to do what you want to do. How you make your money, how you live your life, who you live your life with, who or what you worship. A government that has the decency to respect the American people by staying out of their lives. I don't want to use the "C" word (ends with "-ism") here, but we all know about it. It's a wonderful idea. There's only one problem with it though. It doesn't work.
We hear about sweeping political reform every time these elections come around. Right now we're hearing about how the Democrats are hoping to "turn the tide," and " seize the House and Senate."
The problem with it though, is that there isn't any sweeping reform. Just short of wars, natural disasters, and Acts of God we don't see any noticeable change....and that's change out of necessity. Maybe our perspective is limited until we can look back under the critical eye of history, but your measured in the times you live, sorta like "environment determines your reality" type shit. When was the last time we had major advancement (note I didn't say "change"...we've had that...in the other direction) in our political environment? Are we so past the learning curve that we've overdrawn the "idea bank" in this lovely governed nation of ours?
My problem with the two-party system could be a lengthy discussion that will not take place in this mish-mash of paragraphs about American politcal inadequacies. I'm only making observations, but I'll sum it up really quick-like. The two-party system is so entrenched in our government that I don't expect I will ever see a legitimate threat to it in my lifetime. As good as it is to be king, it's better to share the crown with your queen than to relinquish it altogether. They will fight tooth and nail to remain in power, and what's even more twisted is that they will fight tooth and nail to protect the other. Sure, they talk and tell of differing ideals and social systems and how they affect the nation...how their differing ideas will benefit the voting public, making it your "right" to choose; how they work via "bi-partisan" committees to solve the pressing social issues as a team, like some kind of boy-scout troupe. Fuck that. Every single one of them is a trained liar and deceiver of honest, unique, hard-working Americans. Now, now...I'm sure they all started because somewhere in their youthful heart they thought they could "make a difference," but after the mind-numbing bureacracy, and the life-polishing money was heaved into their pockets, I think those ideals became a little less sharp and that ache in the belly to make the world a better place resides somewhere in the back of a Mercedes C-Class.
This all sounds completely cynnical, and I can see how my little thesis here could be critiqued from every angle. I'm very well-aware of all of this. Like I said, you could pull numbers that show just how many starving tree-ridden kittens were pulled from trees by our government and how much money was generated, blahhty, blahhty, blahhhty, friggen blah.
The fact of the matter is...in a generalized way, I don't think our government is living up to it's potential...much less it's expectations. I think the two-party system has something to do with this. I say make a change, before we're forced to change it for you. The possiblities in that scenario are quite unnerving.
1) I'm not going to cite certain instances, or factual numbers gathered by the media, because for any point that I give you a number, you can come back with another number or figure to totally negate what I'm saying. We can go back and forth in that arena for days, and I don't have neither the patience nor the desire to get into a pissing contest of political knowledge. I don't care what you know, and you don't care what I know.
2) I'm also not taking sides. From a guy who could be the poster boy of political inaction and deserves to be berated for his lack of participation in our most basic of democratic rights, I'm aware of my apathy....and with it my choice to divert allegiance to either of the sorry excuses for political parties that we have at our disposal. So lay off of me. I'm self-aware of my laziness and indifference. Plus, nobody likes a finger pointer. More on that in a moment.
It's the political season and it's a time when names like Nancy Pelosi, Rick Perry, Barak Obama, and various sundry political figurines come into our collective consciousness. To be honest, I don't care much for any and all of the names. It's time for the posturing, the flexing of goals attained in previous terms, the freak-sideshows like Kinky Friedman (following in the blundering footsteps of Ventura, and Schwarzeneggar), the (and I cringe when I hear this) loud bellowing of "sweeping reform," and the general lies and casting of judgement that comes with this oh so exciting time.
Now, I appreciate it when people get passionate about whatever moral virtue they stand behind, or whatever whistleblowing figurehead shouts out wrongdoing of his supposed enemies in the political arena giving a passionate and well-informed argument for why he is in fact right (and most likely, in his opinion smarter and more intellectual), but I've got a problem with the fact that we can't seem to see the forest from the trees.
Let me sum this up really quick so you's know where I stand:
1) I agree with state's rights. What's good for Maine, is not good for Arizona. What's good for California, is not good for Connecticut...so on and so forth.
2) The less the federal government governs, the better. Now before you blow a gasket, hear me out. I don't mean that the government gets a free pass and all of societies advancements are left on the shoulders of it's citizens. What I'm saying is, to meet all of our interests, you can't make generalized decisions. What ends up happening in the course of pleasing everyone is that you segregate everyone. It's a retroactive outcome. The less the federal government is telling you what to do, the more freedom you have to do what you want to do. How you make your money, how you live your life, who you live your life with, who or what you worship. A government that has the decency to respect the American people by staying out of their lives. I don't want to use the "C" word (ends with "-ism") here, but we all know about it. It's a wonderful idea. There's only one problem with it though. It doesn't work.
We hear about sweeping political reform every time these elections come around. Right now we're hearing about how the Democrats are hoping to "turn the tide," and " seize the House and Senate."
The problem with it though, is that there isn't any sweeping reform. Just short of wars, natural disasters, and Acts of God we don't see any noticeable change....and that's change out of necessity. Maybe our perspective is limited until we can look back under the critical eye of history, but your measured in the times you live, sorta like "environment determines your reality" type shit. When was the last time we had major advancement (note I didn't say "change"...we've had that...in the other direction) in our political environment? Are we so past the learning curve that we've overdrawn the "idea bank" in this lovely governed nation of ours?
My problem with the two-party system could be a lengthy discussion that will not take place in this mish-mash of paragraphs about American politcal inadequacies. I'm only making observations, but I'll sum it up really quick-like. The two-party system is so entrenched in our government that I don't expect I will ever see a legitimate threat to it in my lifetime. As good as it is to be king, it's better to share the crown with your queen than to relinquish it altogether. They will fight tooth and nail to remain in power, and what's even more twisted is that they will fight tooth and nail to protect the other. Sure, they talk and tell of differing ideals and social systems and how they affect the nation...how their differing ideas will benefit the voting public, making it your "right" to choose; how they work via "bi-partisan" committees to solve the pressing social issues as a team, like some kind of boy-scout troupe. Fuck that. Every single one of them is a trained liar and deceiver of honest, unique, hard-working Americans. Now, now...I'm sure they all started because somewhere in their youthful heart they thought they could "make a difference," but after the mind-numbing bureacracy, and the life-polishing money was heaved into their pockets, I think those ideals became a little less sharp and that ache in the belly to make the world a better place resides somewhere in the back of a Mercedes C-Class.
This all sounds completely cynnical, and I can see how my little thesis here could be critiqued from every angle. I'm very well-aware of all of this. Like I said, you could pull numbers that show just how many starving tree-ridden kittens were pulled from trees by our government and how much money was generated, blahhty, blahhty, blahhhty, friggen blah.
The fact of the matter is...in a generalized way, I don't think our government is living up to it's potential...much less it's expectations. I think the two-party system has something to do with this. I say make a change, before we're forced to change it for you. The possiblities in that scenario are quite unnerving.
Monday, November 06, 2006
I Caught the Travel Bug
...and I have a passport.
Oh, and my cousin is doing quantitative research on racoons.
That is all.
Let's drink.
Oh, and my cousin is doing quantitative research on racoons.
That is all.
Let's drink.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
"Broken Records of Misplaced Desire"
Eventually every dog ceases to chase his tail. My only hope is that one day I’m fortunate enough to do the same. Lovely…
I remember a little black book. I remember being referenced in this book. Singularly, this little black book gave me valuable insight that I am still trying to process to this very day. The words in it made me question who I was and how I was viewed by those around me. Questioning the sanity of those involved doesn't even begin to do the processing of information justice. That book led to so many different destinations, but they were all deceiving paths. You see, the only real destination it led me to was a place I could never find, nor ever will. I'm seeing now that its fortunate that I'm being prohibited passage to that true destination. The written word can be a powerful tool. There's no facial expressions to hide behind, or vocal variations to throw you off. There's no patterned mode of delivery that audible language can help smuggle in. It's there in front of you...how you were meant to read it...how you are perceived...how you are treated...where you stand.
Call a man a coward if you want to crush him. Call him a coward even if you're not sure he is one or not. Validity be damned. What are the measures you measure him against to bring that conclusion? Perhaps it's your own valiant heroism? Perhaps.
Even though I no longer read the words in the book, there are still words that are strikingly familiar. Some that are audible and some that are written. Round and round we go. We'll meet at the ball, dance this dance, pour our drinks on each others heads, leave in a screaming fit of passion, throwing rage to the wind, and meet in a few months to do it all over again. In some circles I suppose this is considered pleasant, or God forbid...even normal.
Well, I've been writing a few words myself. Deprogramming is what I call this little process of mine. My words might be mistaken as sloven...to be perfectly honest. But they're mine. You see, I love words. I love the way they express your emotions and sometimes your actions. But I choose mine wisely. I realize the formidable consequences words can have. While they look like and sound like little symbols and syllables, they actually carry quite a heavy significance. Tossing them around like some kite being tossed in the winds of March is sometimes unwise. I'm fortunate enough to have a filter in my head that taps the brakes when there are certain words running the gamut in there, waiting to get out. A little red light comes on as they forcefully rear-end each other, stand up and look around and say things like, "maybe we shouldn't head outta here like this...all frantic-like...someone could mistake us for what he really means. Let's rearrange and try this again...slower."
I've learned a valuable lesson from this type of stricture, because well...when you don't have that filter and you say things that may not necessarily be what you mean...well, you have to find more and more and more and more and more and more words to disinfect the words that came out smothered in subterfuge. Eventually, you don't even know what you meant.
The little black book taught me that.
I remember a little black book. I remember being referenced in this book. Singularly, this little black book gave me valuable insight that I am still trying to process to this very day. The words in it made me question who I was and how I was viewed by those around me. Questioning the sanity of those involved doesn't even begin to do the processing of information justice. That book led to so many different destinations, but they were all deceiving paths. You see, the only real destination it led me to was a place I could never find, nor ever will. I'm seeing now that its fortunate that I'm being prohibited passage to that true destination. The written word can be a powerful tool. There's no facial expressions to hide behind, or vocal variations to throw you off. There's no patterned mode of delivery that audible language can help smuggle in. It's there in front of you...how you were meant to read it...how you are perceived...how you are treated...where you stand.
Call a man a coward if you want to crush him. Call him a coward even if you're not sure he is one or not. Validity be damned. What are the measures you measure him against to bring that conclusion? Perhaps it's your own valiant heroism? Perhaps.
Even though I no longer read the words in the book, there are still words that are strikingly familiar. Some that are audible and some that are written. Round and round we go. We'll meet at the ball, dance this dance, pour our drinks on each others heads, leave in a screaming fit of passion, throwing rage to the wind, and meet in a few months to do it all over again. In some circles I suppose this is considered pleasant, or God forbid...even normal.
Well, I've been writing a few words myself. Deprogramming is what I call this little process of mine. My words might be mistaken as sloven...to be perfectly honest. But they're mine. You see, I love words. I love the way they express your emotions and sometimes your actions. But I choose mine wisely. I realize the formidable consequences words can have. While they look like and sound like little symbols and syllables, they actually carry quite a heavy significance. Tossing them around like some kite being tossed in the winds of March is sometimes unwise. I'm fortunate enough to have a filter in my head that taps the brakes when there are certain words running the gamut in there, waiting to get out. A little red light comes on as they forcefully rear-end each other, stand up and look around and say things like, "maybe we shouldn't head outta here like this...all frantic-like...someone could mistake us for what he really means. Let's rearrange and try this again...slower."
I've learned a valuable lesson from this type of stricture, because well...when you don't have that filter and you say things that may not necessarily be what you mean...well, you have to find more and more and more and more and more and more words to disinfect the words that came out smothered in subterfuge. Eventually, you don't even know what you meant.
The little black book taught me that.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Inspired
A heavy foot on the accelerator gives you tunnel vision. When there is nothing left around you, is when you find your purpose. Once you figure that out, everything else becomes more dull. The contrast in your line of sight lies with your purpose. Everything else takes a back seat. It's the hardest thing in the world to find purpose, and even if you're lucky enough to find it, you try to talk yourself out of it over and over again. Is it really this? It can't be....right? Who knows? That's the way I see it. Justification doesn't come easy. Especially for a restless soul. With whatever pains I have to endure to get to that end, I'm willing to sign up. With purpose comes validity. With validity comes silence. Things make sense. In the way they're supposed to make sense.
Put the houses in a row, on the streets we used to know. The street leads to wherever you want it to. For a boy with unconventional ambition, that's a pretty sight...albeit scary. Without revealing too much, I'm waiting for Austin. Patiently.
Put the houses in a row, on the streets we used to know. The street leads to wherever you want it to. For a boy with unconventional ambition, that's a pretty sight...albeit scary. Without revealing too much, I'm waiting for Austin. Patiently.
Slayed by random acts of kindness...
It's sometimes amazing to me how life shows you how good it can actually be. When all practicality is taken from motivation, it leaves you wondering, "how am I this fortunate?" When you open a mailbox and the surprise of your day rests inside, it's a good feeling. When you're in the position to help someone in need, and not only recognize that opportunity, but follow through with it...well, that's a good feeling too. You always hear folks speak of how there are still good people and how, generally, there is still good left in this world. We sometimes find ourselves questioning that notion. But times such as these shine a floodlight on that observation. Even when the the bricks in the walls seem to be losing their mortar and falling from every which angle, it's the simplest things that remind you of why every breath is a blessing. Why every moment holds it's own weight in the infinite moments of our lives.
"To do something that matters." That's the best quote I've heard in months. I feel that's been a guiding light in my life. To do something that matters. What does that mean? It means something different to every person, but when you do something that matters, you know it. When something is done for you that matters, you know it. Without hesitation, you know it. The equation is different for every person, but the feeling is the same. Do something that matters. These matters are the matters of the world. They are the rise and fall of the sun every day. They are the rain that sprouts the seeds. They are fortitude burning in your belly. They are the climax of the novel. They are the one-liner in the movie. They are the tide that smooths the sand. They are the thaw of the cold winter snow. They are the lips of lovers. They are the presence of God. They are what we are, and with out them, nothing matters.
I am blessed with so many people in my life who are doing things that matter. I try daily to be one of them. Those relationships are the most valuable possession I own.
"To do something that matters." That's the best quote I've heard in months. I feel that's been a guiding light in my life. To do something that matters. What does that mean? It means something different to every person, but when you do something that matters, you know it. When something is done for you that matters, you know it. Without hesitation, you know it. The equation is different for every person, but the feeling is the same. Do something that matters. These matters are the matters of the world. They are the rise and fall of the sun every day. They are the rain that sprouts the seeds. They are fortitude burning in your belly. They are the climax of the novel. They are the one-liner in the movie. They are the tide that smooths the sand. They are the thaw of the cold winter snow. They are the lips of lovers. They are the presence of God. They are what we are, and with out them, nothing matters.
I am blessed with so many people in my life who are doing things that matter. I try daily to be one of them. Those relationships are the most valuable possession I own.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Sometimes it causes me to tremble...
The world is waking up around me and all I can think of is the dreams. When you bleed blue, it's hard to explain your ideals. She bandages my wounds when she lays next to me and asks me why my mind is so heavy. There's no way for her to understand. Even when I don't understand. She asks if she can carry some of the load, but she can't. The thought is there though. I suppose that's enough.
Swinging a revolver around makes people nervous. It makes it tough to approach somebody. Especially when it's in a foreign land, out of your comfort zone...on a date with uneasiness. Everything is welcomed on American soil. Nothing is ever ill-conceived...at least not in the arena of self-fulfillment. Even in the hotels you feel at home. I see her eyes squint through the smoke at the party, while she tries to make it known that she's not looking at me. She knows that I know, and I know what she knows. It's a fun little game. Maybe.
It seems to be a "boomerang effect" thought. You throw it away, out of sight, but the tricky bastard always seems to find it's way home. Like an albatross with an internal compass. I wonder if you can lose yourself in the mass. In New York, masses of people. In Montana, mass of sky. In Arizona, mass of sand dunes. Colorado, mountains. Florida, ocean. California, assholes. Texas, ignorance. So on and so forth.
Why is as simple and stupid as it is complicated and impossible. Wasted hours in some high-rise office building, banging away on a keyboard. The Spanish Conquistador never came close to this. The Decembrist never came close to this. Their wars were fought outside of their minds. Oh how fortunate.
Swinging a revolver around makes people nervous. It makes it tough to approach somebody. Especially when it's in a foreign land, out of your comfort zone...on a date with uneasiness. Everything is welcomed on American soil. Nothing is ever ill-conceived...at least not in the arena of self-fulfillment. Even in the hotels you feel at home. I see her eyes squint through the smoke at the party, while she tries to make it known that she's not looking at me. She knows that I know, and I know what she knows. It's a fun little game. Maybe.
It seems to be a "boomerang effect" thought. You throw it away, out of sight, but the tricky bastard always seems to find it's way home. Like an albatross with an internal compass. I wonder if you can lose yourself in the mass. In New York, masses of people. In Montana, mass of sky. In Arizona, mass of sand dunes. Colorado, mountains. Florida, ocean. California, assholes. Texas, ignorance. So on and so forth.
Why is as simple and stupid as it is complicated and impossible. Wasted hours in some high-rise office building, banging away on a keyboard. The Spanish Conquistador never came close to this. The Decembrist never came close to this. Their wars were fought outside of their minds. Oh how fortunate.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
I Think MySpace is Fucking Stupid
You know, I've been thinking. I wonder to myself, (pre-2003) how people ages 20-32, communicated with each other, being that MySpace/Text Messaging/Emailing/etc., etc. have become so ingrained in our social networks. The funny thing is, MySpace isn't really about other people. It's about you. It's in the friggen' name. MY - Space. "Look at me, I'm unique, my life is full of excitment. I have a higher existence and consequently my experiences are far suprerior to your's...and here's pictorial proof of every one of those points." Space. It's all vanity-induced. The mass-gathering of "friends," the pictures, the poses, the digital vomit that comes off our cameras from every weekend, or drunken party we attend. Shit, I'm guilty of it too. I always post pictures of my latest trip, or stupid weekend excursion for the world to see. Yet, I understand the irony of self-promotion. Nobody cares....nobody but me for mine, and nobody but you for yours. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I hate it. Much like my hatred for American television. I have gone far beyond seeing past what TV does to a person. Makes you mindless, dumbfounded, staggering drones. Blathering on about who fucks who on Desperate Housewives, or who has the most "talent" in some ridiculous phone-in-popularity-contest-reality-show. What does it really matter? Same with MySpace...what the fuck does it really matter? All it does is make us egocentric, internally-driven robots only concerned with further perpetuating our "online persona" (the most important of all...I mean, for God's sake...who wants to find out who the real person is behind that profile pic...definitely not me), and giving us a faux reality of who a person really is. When the reality couldn't be any further from what's posted on the bulletin board. We all shit in toilets and wipe our asses the same. We all eat too much or too little, we all cry when we're weak, we're all jealous of something or somebody, we all want more money, we all undercut people, love people, have times of happiness and sadness, puke when we've drank too much, smell bad when we don't shower, use credit cards too much, think of weird shit in our weird little brains, and all the other things that make us connected on so many levels.
You see one of the problems I see with MySpace is actually a splintered effect of a much larger underlying problem with society in general. We all HAVE to be unique. Uniqueness is a fucking commodity nowdays, and the weirder you are the better. The more independent from status quo living, or what we deem to be status quo living, the better. But what the fuck is the status quo anymore? We're hit over the head every day, from every which angle, from every form and type of medium with an extreme overload of information. It's too much information to process. We get all scatter-brained. So we force things out and force ourselves up to be louder than the noise. To be noticed. Before we know it, we're balancing ourselves on our own pedestal screaming, "LOOK AT ME! I'M A PAINTER/MUSICIAN/SURFER/BALL PLAYER/SEX KITTEN/COMEDIAN/RICH GUY/ACTRESS/BULLSHIT AFTER BULLSHIT. PLEASE LOOK AT ME!!!! PLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSSEEEEEE!!!!!"
You see, back in the old days. Like say the pre-internet/9-11 days....we got to know somebody with our own senses. We touched them, we listened to them, we saw them (in person), we heard about their weekends, their trips, their stories, and if we were lucky enough, we even gained some insight on their inner monologue, instead of reading it on some stupid blog or bulletin. Yes, I realize the irony at play here. But, after the contact with that person, if they were a piece of shit, we knew they were a piece of shit. If they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married, then you knew they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married. But we did it with a trial by fire.
When I move to Austin, a city chock full of "I don't really give a shit" attitude, I think (know wait, I know) I'm going to bury my MySpace profile six-feet in the ground. Then, if I want someone to know about me or what I do, or have done, or will do...well, I'll fucking call them and have dinner. I might even ask them about themselves.
And I'll try to be as humble as possible.
You see one of the problems I see with MySpace is actually a splintered effect of a much larger underlying problem with society in general. We all HAVE to be unique. Uniqueness is a fucking commodity nowdays, and the weirder you are the better. The more independent from status quo living, or what we deem to be status quo living, the better. But what the fuck is the status quo anymore? We're hit over the head every day, from every which angle, from every form and type of medium with an extreme overload of information. It's too much information to process. We get all scatter-brained. So we force things out and force ourselves up to be louder than the noise. To be noticed. Before we know it, we're balancing ourselves on our own pedestal screaming, "LOOK AT ME! I'M A PAINTER/MUSICIAN/SURFER/BALL PLAYER/SEX KITTEN/COMEDIAN/RICH GUY/ACTRESS/BULLSHIT AFTER BULLSHIT. PLEASE LOOK AT ME!!!! PLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSSEEEEEE!!!!!"
You see, back in the old days. Like say the pre-internet/9-11 days....we got to know somebody with our own senses. We touched them, we listened to them, we saw them (in person), we heard about their weekends, their trips, their stories, and if we were lucky enough, we even gained some insight on their inner monologue, instead of reading it on some stupid blog or bulletin. Yes, I realize the irony at play here. But, after the contact with that person, if they were a piece of shit, we knew they were a piece of shit. If they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married, then you knew they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married. But we did it with a trial by fire.
When I move to Austin, a city chock full of "I don't really give a shit" attitude, I think (know wait, I know) I'm going to bury my MySpace profile six-feet in the ground. Then, if I want someone to know about me or what I do, or have done, or will do...well, I'll fucking call them and have dinner. I might even ask them about themselves.
And I'll try to be as humble as possible.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Obviously
Growing up A) male, and B) American, I am inherently drawn to sports. Not like your super-freaky-weird-guy-sportscenter-whore-irrelevant-sports-trivia-man who can reel off the 1997 September batting average of Chuck Knoblock at the drop of a hat like some over-obsessed psychotic when nobody gives a rats-ass (neither will this information ever help said guy get laid), but I do enjoy competition, and the sport of college football ranks the highest on this list. Since I don't watch tv...ever...I only catch the games when I'm with my friends. I don't give a shit about the Super Bowl, the NBA as a whole, college basketball only in March, Major League Baseball plays too many games, and the teams with the most money are the teams who ALWAYS win (shocker), hockey is irrelevant, and I'm not European, or a girl, so soccer isn't ever on my radar.
But there is one sporting event which will never cease to hold my attention. It has ever since I was a child and it will to the final minutes on my death bed. It raises emotions on the full spectrum from raging hatred to pure elation. The Texas Tech / Texas A&M football game consistently ranks as one of the Top Five most prominent days of any given year for me. My hate runs deep...real deep for the maroon and white. And my love runs even deeper for the Scarlet and Black.
LONG LIVE THE MATADOR!!
But there is one sporting event which will never cease to hold my attention. It has ever since I was a child and it will to the final minutes on my death bed. It raises emotions on the full spectrum from raging hatred to pure elation. The Texas Tech / Texas A&M football game consistently ranks as one of the Top Five most prominent days of any given year for me. My hate runs deep...real deep for the maroon and white. And my love runs even deeper for the Scarlet and Black.
LONG LIVE THE MATADOR!!
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Balls
The last, oh I don't know, 400 posts I've made have been slightly spaced-out, emotive, twisting psycho-babble and I want to put something inane up here. Not that anybody reads this shit anyways. I could blather on and on about how I like to rape puppies and nobody would be the wiser, but for my own sake, I guess I'd like a change of pace every now and then...if not just to be a little more lighthearted. Good Lord, this has turned into my online diary....
I'm growing a goatee...I wanna see if it works. I started it on Monday. I've been getting crazy looks at work, so I'm going to ride it out till the end of the week and see if I can make it happen. I can tell that everybody wants to say something about its presence, but they just won't. It's like they're too afraid to tell me, "Ummmm...Cory....you have a squirrel growing on your face. Thought you should know." Plus, I like to make people wonder about me. I can tell the people at work still don't really know what to make of me. There's a few that know me fairly well, but most of them tread lightly around me, wondering what's gonna come out of my mouth or what I might possibly do. I mean, I've come to work after a few weekends with a bandage over my forehead, a bloody nose, a jacked up hand, and they still think my hair is a bit too progressive. They get all uneasy like a wild animal before a thunderstorm when I'm around. I don't think they want to make any sudden movements for fear of what I would do.
I've never had a goatee, and I'm wondering if it makes me look, in any way, like a roadhouse badass. In my mirror at home, it bends that way. If I get just ONE compliment....it stays.
*As I write this there are two guys behind me talking about how they know each other. One of them just came back to work for WBAP...apparently he worked here before and has made a recent triumphant return. His "joke" just now went like this:
Guy 1: Hey you! You back on board with us?
Guy 2: Yeah, I couldn't keep away from this place.
Guy 1: How long ago was it that you were here? Like two years ago? Do you remember me?
Guy 2: Yeah, you look real familiar. I actually left four years ago, got lost in the mess up north and now here I am. *wait for it, wait for it* I HAD MORE HAIR BACK THEN THOUGH!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
*Uproarious (inexplicable) laughter from approximately 6 to 7 people in the area...I mean rowdy laughter*
My God, I have to get the eff outta here.
I'm growing a goatee...I wanna see if it works. I started it on Monday. I've been getting crazy looks at work, so I'm going to ride it out till the end of the week and see if I can make it happen. I can tell that everybody wants to say something about its presence, but they just won't. It's like they're too afraid to tell me, "Ummmm...Cory....you have a squirrel growing on your face. Thought you should know." Plus, I like to make people wonder about me. I can tell the people at work still don't really know what to make of me. There's a few that know me fairly well, but most of them tread lightly around me, wondering what's gonna come out of my mouth or what I might possibly do. I mean, I've come to work after a few weekends with a bandage over my forehead, a bloody nose, a jacked up hand, and they still think my hair is a bit too progressive. They get all uneasy like a wild animal before a thunderstorm when I'm around. I don't think they want to make any sudden movements for fear of what I would do.
I've never had a goatee, and I'm wondering if it makes me look, in any way, like a roadhouse badass. In my mirror at home, it bends that way. If I get just ONE compliment....it stays.
*As I write this there are two guys behind me talking about how they know each other. One of them just came back to work for WBAP...apparently he worked here before and has made a recent triumphant return. His "joke" just now went like this:
Guy 1: Hey you! You back on board with us?
Guy 2: Yeah, I couldn't keep away from this place.
Guy 1: How long ago was it that you were here? Like two years ago? Do you remember me?
Guy 2: Yeah, you look real familiar. I actually left four years ago, got lost in the mess up north and now here I am. *wait for it, wait for it* I HAD MORE HAIR BACK THEN THOUGH!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
*Uproarious (inexplicable) laughter from approximately 6 to 7 people in the area...I mean rowdy laughter*
My God, I have to get the eff outta here.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Pull the Wheels Out From Under You
Maybe the next time I see you, you'll be a little more cordial. I mean, you haven't the slightest clue as to the power I hold over you. I hold your future in my hands my friend. With only the slightest move, I can run the cold steel blade across your throat so fast, you'd be left floundering as to where the six-inch gash in your windpipe came from...clutching onto your neck while it rolls out in between your fingers onto your chest. How could you have overlooked it...how you didn't see it coming...you will only know that it hurts with relentless pain, and no bucket can carry what's spilled.
Truth be told though, I can see how blinded you are. You take things for granted. You take her for granted. Every cold shoulder tossed her way, every wandering eye she catches you on, every night of lusting, and every minute of disdain for her presence pushes her farther away. But you know all of this. You're in total control. I know a million just like you. You've got it all figured out. Pulling all the strings, the world is your marionette. Your total invincibility is an oversight man, if not a complete illusion. You have no clue. You're totally oblivious. I see all of this. Your condescension, and your cockiness...I almost want to do it for shits and giggles. Just to be amused. It's amusing to me to watch you watching yourself high atop your pedestal. A pedestal that I have the axe to bring down. It's a high just knowing that I hold that power over you...someone so deserving of wreckage. What's more fun, is that you have no idea that I hold the axe. It lays idle for now.
But somewhere along the way that ball comes rolling into my court. At some point my friend, I'm going to pick it up and play with it. I haven't yet. I've decided against crossing the line. I've decided my fortunes lay better allied with restraint and conscience...for now. You see, I've done a bit of molding as of late. Years ago, this would only be a formality and you'd already be laid to waste. Staggering around disoriented, and wondering how the wheels were pulled out and more importantly, why. The thing is, I've been on the receiving end of this before...where I thought I was invincible...but forcefully found out, contrary to my belief, that I wasn't. I don't think you've ever been taught this lesson. That's what makes it so tempting. Well, that and your swaggering conceit. The bigger they are the harder they fall...the more spectacular the wreckage. In some ways, it would feel like payback to the egoistic piece of shit who dealt me the same hand. I imagine him and you being cut of the same cloth.
Opportunity after opportunity has presented itself for me to pull the rip-cord on you. But because of ME, you still have your sanity. MY restraint is keeping your house in order. How long is my patience? How far does my conscience stretch? How solid are my values? How evil am I? For your sake, you should hope they are all ironclad. It only takes one slip. It only takes one night. It only takes one more rattling of my morals. It only takes one more opportunity of timing. It only takes one more of your indiscreet mis-steps and you might be facing the world alone. I could poison you.
Good news for you is...I'm not wicked fucked-up.
Truth be told though, I can see how blinded you are. You take things for granted. You take her for granted. Every cold shoulder tossed her way, every wandering eye she catches you on, every night of lusting, and every minute of disdain for her presence pushes her farther away. But you know all of this. You're in total control. I know a million just like you. You've got it all figured out. Pulling all the strings, the world is your marionette. Your total invincibility is an oversight man, if not a complete illusion. You have no clue. You're totally oblivious. I see all of this. Your condescension, and your cockiness...I almost want to do it for shits and giggles. Just to be amused. It's amusing to me to watch you watching yourself high atop your pedestal. A pedestal that I have the axe to bring down. It's a high just knowing that I hold that power over you...someone so deserving of wreckage. What's more fun, is that you have no idea that I hold the axe. It lays idle for now.
But somewhere along the way that ball comes rolling into my court. At some point my friend, I'm going to pick it up and play with it. I haven't yet. I've decided against crossing the line. I've decided my fortunes lay better allied with restraint and conscience...for now. You see, I've done a bit of molding as of late. Years ago, this would only be a formality and you'd already be laid to waste. Staggering around disoriented, and wondering how the wheels were pulled out and more importantly, why. The thing is, I've been on the receiving end of this before...where I thought I was invincible...but forcefully found out, contrary to my belief, that I wasn't. I don't think you've ever been taught this lesson. That's what makes it so tempting. Well, that and your swaggering conceit. The bigger they are the harder they fall...the more spectacular the wreckage. In some ways, it would feel like payback to the egoistic piece of shit who dealt me the same hand. I imagine him and you being cut of the same cloth.
Opportunity after opportunity has presented itself for me to pull the rip-cord on you. But because of ME, you still have your sanity. MY restraint is keeping your house in order. How long is my patience? How far does my conscience stretch? How solid are my values? How evil am I? For your sake, you should hope they are all ironclad. It only takes one slip. It only takes one night. It only takes one more rattling of my morals. It only takes one more opportunity of timing. It only takes one more of your indiscreet mis-steps and you might be facing the world alone. I could poison you.
Good news for you is...I'm not wicked fucked-up.
Friday, September 22, 2006
A Slow Rising Crescendo
Hot air will pass over the grooves in the reed. Following the grooves of potential splinters, it passes over flying lightly into the open chamber of the barrel of the instrument to which it is assigned a note...assigned a destiny and a purpose. Each pad of the instrument closes, sectioning off a certain percentage of the air passing through to deliver, in a shrink-wrapped package, a note upon the ears of the world. At first it's forced...we're forced, to go in directions we weren't made to follow. But with each closing hole, and each blocked direction, we find a new passage that leads to freedom and into the vast open to be shared with the infinite abundance of audible destinations. Lewis and Clark experienced a variable of this type of freedom and seclusion. The mighty Colorado forced them in directions that weren't necessarily on the map, but ultimately led them to the freedom they had the passion to follow...whether it was planned or not.
We follow the direction and the flow of the tide. Swim against it and you drown like a virgin amongst today's hip scene, but swim with it, and you have the opportunity to take the turns and abrupt stops that are required upon yourself. We rise and fall, rise and fall into oblivion and upwards like the phoenix rising out of ash. Reborn into something abundant and fruitful where we fall upon the infinite abundance of audible and mental destinations. Who hears us we can only hope for, but we can't control. If you have a song, sing it to those who want to hear it. If you have a picture, draw it for those who want to see it. If you have a story write it for those who want to read it. If you have a crime commit it against those who deserve it, and if you have love deliver it to those who have never truly felt it or know it's consuming power. Don't be surprised if you're turned away, but don't let your message fall on deaf ears. Just because you're turned away at one corner, doesn't mean that the childhood of wasted opportunity wants to waste yours.
Rise above the decaying monotony that surrounds you. Be a light that shines. Be the note that is delivered at the apex of the solo. Be the color that draws all attentions to the decipherable message within the picture. Be the moral of the story. Like a rocket climbing the stratosphere, we jettison our solid rocket boosters to climb into the clear blue cold of silence that holds only purity...the type of purity that looks back on the world and sees what is left. The madness, the mess. Move awkward in your gravity deprived environment and see your reflection in the face of the sun. Because in your orbit, you hold the highest note...higher than a piccolo with fingers at the end of a high "C"...and your mercurial rise shall be the justification for us all, but more importantly, for yourself.
We follow the direction and the flow of the tide. Swim against it and you drown like a virgin amongst today's hip scene, but swim with it, and you have the opportunity to take the turns and abrupt stops that are required upon yourself. We rise and fall, rise and fall into oblivion and upwards like the phoenix rising out of ash. Reborn into something abundant and fruitful where we fall upon the infinite abundance of audible and mental destinations. Who hears us we can only hope for, but we can't control. If you have a song, sing it to those who want to hear it. If you have a picture, draw it for those who want to see it. If you have a story write it for those who want to read it. If you have a crime commit it against those who deserve it, and if you have love deliver it to those who have never truly felt it or know it's consuming power. Don't be surprised if you're turned away, but don't let your message fall on deaf ears. Just because you're turned away at one corner, doesn't mean that the childhood of wasted opportunity wants to waste yours.
Rise above the decaying monotony that surrounds you. Be a light that shines. Be the note that is delivered at the apex of the solo. Be the color that draws all attentions to the decipherable message within the picture. Be the moral of the story. Like a rocket climbing the stratosphere, we jettison our solid rocket boosters to climb into the clear blue cold of silence that holds only purity...the type of purity that looks back on the world and sees what is left. The madness, the mess. Move awkward in your gravity deprived environment and see your reflection in the face of the sun. Because in your orbit, you hold the highest note...higher than a piccolo with fingers at the end of a high "C"...and your mercurial rise shall be the justification for us all, but more importantly, for yourself.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Allowance for a funeral.
Wrote this awhile back, but never posted it...or finished it for that matter. I'm incredibly bored at work, and I thought I might get drunk within the next few evenings and finish this incoherent rambling. It made sense at the time. I just need to get back to that state of mind, and continue the pointless ramble.
Only through the lens of the classic American, would this look like the manifesto of a guy who spent the evening in a mediocre bar watching the fight and forking over his money on 3 dollar beers, and I must admit....for the point of prefacing this overt psycho-analytical expedition....I have had a few drinks. Plus, when the muse sets the hook, it's best to be relaxed and allow yourself to be reeled in.
The human condition and all it's intricacies hit me like a brick wall this evening. Not that it doesn't on a regular basis, cause if you know me, you know that my mind races at Chuck Yeager, barrier breaking, speed. But the point is, it hit with brute force tonight. Enough to prompt me to seek refuge within the rational minds of those who are in touch with that thing we call "reality," or some semblence of it.
We are all ruled by our instinctual habits and the unfortunate condition of savagery. This is not a constant vigil in my thought process because cynnicism runs rampant as it is, and I don't want to be one to contribute to the overpopulation of cynnical people in the world, but it is easy to fall prey to. The perspectives and complete flow of the world are all jumbled into a river of constant motion that carries us to the end of our days. Sometimes we travel through calm waters, and sometimes we are a prisoner to the rapids. Either way, we are in constant motion and those around us are as well. We learn lessons from this inertia and continue to be formed in the way the rocks on the riverbed are formed by the constant motion of the water.
Windows of opportunity are fleeting and sparse. When they come, they most often never come with moments of notification of their presence and they definitely don't allow themselves a range of motion. We only have the choice to take part or pass. My best friend is taking a job in Pittsburgh this month and will be gone by the week's end. He only asks, "What are the keys to success?" There are no keys to success. It's as trivial a question as, "Why does God allow the things He allows?" For this question there is no answer. There are no guarantees. Success is not measured. In the borders of this world, there are certain streams of logic which tell us the formula of success, but in the grand scheme of things, there is no clear-cut definition. Success in life is determined by the boundaries we set for ourselves....which can be difficult at best. We are always striving for more, we are always striving for perfection. But perfection was lost under a certain tree in the middle of Eden. We are inherently "fallen." This disappoints me. To no end. The complete and utter inability to reach perfection has my mind rattling. God and His understanding of perfection are limited only to omnipotent beings. We will never know perfection in the true sense of the word. Even archangels in the kingdom are steps below true perfection. We allow ourselves to be ruled by the instinctual behavior we are given. But as my friend who is gifted and wise says, "We are given the choice to defy those impulses." Which is true. When our mind or bodies tell us that a certain decision is worth pursuing, our souls tell us different. What we choose to adhere to is the beauty. We are given the free will.
The girl with which my heart has so long been attached to is currently on a beach on the East Coast with another guy. She's in the beginning of her 'world travels' and on the threshold of finding the things that her heart desires, and on the verge of discovering the mysteries that this life holds, in all it's boundless virtuosity....evil, beauty...and complexity alike. She's trying to find her razor's edge experience...delving into the internal as well as experiencing the physical world. The diversity of consciousness is being truly soaked into the neon blue of her iris...bronzing the self for which she will become...for better or worse. Not sure how to feel about all this. Not sure I should care. Not sure I'm sober enough to.
Some are given a life of privilege. Some are not. Those who are not, are by no means at a disadvantage though. For zen comes in every shape, fashion and form. And it dissipates as quickly for each person. Like a Globetrotter spinning the great Earthen ball on his finger, we are all witness to the rush that is this world. It just so happens that in the spin, we are witness to just about every ebb and flow that can be experienced. Some would say that the accuteness of that experience is hindered by your perspective and method of experiencing, but I think that every human has the same experience...maybe just in different facets. I'm not so myopic that I can't see that trust-fund kids have the amenities that elude 'commoners' who won't see and feel the things that fortunate sons possess. But I think that within our own province we have the same experiences to different degrees. Like I said, for some it has more meaning, and for others, it is passed off as an occurence of considerably less notation. But we all have it.
It's fortitude that sees us to the end of the race. It's the will to fight that adheres to the pursuance of our dreams. It's fear of failure that keeps us from it.
I've imagined my funeral. Most people have. I think at times that "The Weight" by The Band would be a fitting musical end to my story. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I should go to bed. I'm too tired to think. Shit.
Only through the lens of the classic American, would this look like the manifesto of a guy who spent the evening in a mediocre bar watching the fight and forking over his money on 3 dollar beers, and I must admit....for the point of prefacing this overt psycho-analytical expedition....I have had a few drinks. Plus, when the muse sets the hook, it's best to be relaxed and allow yourself to be reeled in.
The human condition and all it's intricacies hit me like a brick wall this evening. Not that it doesn't on a regular basis, cause if you know me, you know that my mind races at Chuck Yeager, barrier breaking, speed. But the point is, it hit with brute force tonight. Enough to prompt me to seek refuge within the rational minds of those who are in touch with that thing we call "reality," or some semblence of it.
We are all ruled by our instinctual habits and the unfortunate condition of savagery. This is not a constant vigil in my thought process because cynnicism runs rampant as it is, and I don't want to be one to contribute to the overpopulation of cynnical people in the world, but it is easy to fall prey to. The perspectives and complete flow of the world are all jumbled into a river of constant motion that carries us to the end of our days. Sometimes we travel through calm waters, and sometimes we are a prisoner to the rapids. Either way, we are in constant motion and those around us are as well. We learn lessons from this inertia and continue to be formed in the way the rocks on the riverbed are formed by the constant motion of the water.
Windows of opportunity are fleeting and sparse. When they come, they most often never come with moments of notification of their presence and they definitely don't allow themselves a range of motion. We only have the choice to take part or pass. My best friend is taking a job in Pittsburgh this month and will be gone by the week's end. He only asks, "What are the keys to success?" There are no keys to success. It's as trivial a question as, "Why does God allow the things He allows?" For this question there is no answer. There are no guarantees. Success is not measured. In the borders of this world, there are certain streams of logic which tell us the formula of success, but in the grand scheme of things, there is no clear-cut definition. Success in life is determined by the boundaries we set for ourselves....which can be difficult at best. We are always striving for more, we are always striving for perfection. But perfection was lost under a certain tree in the middle of Eden. We are inherently "fallen." This disappoints me. To no end. The complete and utter inability to reach perfection has my mind rattling. God and His understanding of perfection are limited only to omnipotent beings. We will never know perfection in the true sense of the word. Even archangels in the kingdom are steps below true perfection. We allow ourselves to be ruled by the instinctual behavior we are given. But as my friend who is gifted and wise says, "We are given the choice to defy those impulses." Which is true. When our mind or bodies tell us that a certain decision is worth pursuing, our souls tell us different. What we choose to adhere to is the beauty. We are given the free will.
The girl with which my heart has so long been attached to is currently on a beach on the East Coast with another guy. She's in the beginning of her 'world travels' and on the threshold of finding the things that her heart desires, and on the verge of discovering the mysteries that this life holds, in all it's boundless virtuosity....evil, beauty...and complexity alike. She's trying to find her razor's edge experience...delving into the internal as well as experiencing the physical world. The diversity of consciousness is being truly soaked into the neon blue of her iris...bronzing the self for which she will become...for better or worse. Not sure how to feel about all this. Not sure I should care. Not sure I'm sober enough to.
Some are given a life of privilege. Some are not. Those who are not, are by no means at a disadvantage though. For zen comes in every shape, fashion and form. And it dissipates as quickly for each person. Like a Globetrotter spinning the great Earthen ball on his finger, we are all witness to the rush that is this world. It just so happens that in the spin, we are witness to just about every ebb and flow that can be experienced. Some would say that the accuteness of that experience is hindered by your perspective and method of experiencing, but I think that every human has the same experience...maybe just in different facets. I'm not so myopic that I can't see that trust-fund kids have the amenities that elude 'commoners' who won't see and feel the things that fortunate sons possess. But I think that within our own province we have the same experiences to different degrees. Like I said, for some it has more meaning, and for others, it is passed off as an occurence of considerably less notation. But we all have it.
It's fortitude that sees us to the end of the race. It's the will to fight that adheres to the pursuance of our dreams. It's fear of failure that keeps us from it.
I've imagined my funeral. Most people have. I think at times that "The Weight" by The Band would be a fitting musical end to my story. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I should go to bed. I'm too tired to think. Shit.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Something is boiling inside of me...always has.
I wanted movement and not a calm course of existence. I wanted excitement and danger and the chance to sacrifice myself for my love. I felt in myself a superabundance of energy which found no outlet in our quiet life.
~ Leo Tolstoy
~ Leo Tolstoy
Monday, July 10, 2006
A means to a certain end, I suppose.
Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Tho' her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.
~ Emerson
As a self of purer clay,
Tho' her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.
~ Emerson
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Come to send, not condescend. Who are we, who we are.
Cory needs work.
Cory has goals.
Cory has a very restless soul.
Cory has goals.
Cory has a very restless soul.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Airports tell us these things.
The perfect analogy for everything...it was the microcosm that shed light on every thing that we were. I dropped her off at the airport expecting to never see her again. As she showed her boarding pass to the FAA agent, they let her through security and into the gate where she waited for her flight number to be called. To secure flight passengers, they've put up a 3-inch-thick plate glass window...there's no more running through the terminal to save your lover like in the movies. I followed the numbers to where her gate was on my side of the airport. I thought I would watch her take off as it would be the last time to see her leave my part of the world. When I reached the gate, I rounded the corner and saw her sitting with her back turned to me. I watched her wait quietly in the terminal staring out of the window, with her mind spinning on the exact same things that were spinning in mine. What went on that weekend. Where we go from here. More importantly why we'll never come back to this place. A child ran past her and dropped his toy on the ground at her feet. She bent down to pick it up and handed it to him and offered enough words to draw a smile across his face and send him on his way...what they were, I never heard. As she turned to watch him run away she caught my eye and her face lit. She walked over to the window where I was standing. She mouthed several words that were inaudible through the dividing window. I mouthed the three words I'd said over and over and over. There was a mechanically revolving door four feet away. I walked up to it with the intentions of one last embrace before she left and we had to face the impending self-introspection that was awaiting us both on her return. As I tried to walk through, a siren went off. I was thrown back by the door and an airline employee made her way to me, very indignant about what had just occurred. She pushed a series of buttons on a keypad along the wall and scolded me for my inability to comprehend signs that obviously explained to me that this was a one-way only passage. Obviosuly embarassed, I stepped back up to the window where she was laughing at the sequence of events that had just taken place. One more parting shot was thrown my way by the airline attendant who was more than annoyed that I took her from her important duties of crossword puzzles as she guarded the rotating door like a sentinal, but I didn't hear it, my eyes were fixated on what was in front of me on the other side. I put my hand up on the glass, expecting to have the same gesture offered to me from the the opposite side. With a smile on my face I looked her in the eyes and saw the hesitation. I mouthed the words again, but there was still nothing in her eyes that imparted to me that her hand would match mine on the glass. She smiled and mouthed goodbye. I took my hand off the glass and fastened my stance as my heart fell like an anvil down an elevator shaft. Just then her number was called, and she waved, walked to get her bag and waved again. I watched her hand her ticket to the flight attendant and she turned and paused for a split second to see if I was still watching. Then like it came, it went. Always able to see each other...always able to see where we wanted to get...but there was always an invisible barrier or alarm present when we were too close to getting there...never allowing passage. So we left it alone.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
I will kill this off...even if it kills me.
I'm choking the life from it...it dies a slow death. I want it to hurt. I want it to hurt like it hurts me. Then I want it to burn white-hot until it's luminous and purified. I want it bottled-up and put on the shelf, with an expiration date that's post-dated put on the top. I want it displayed like an oddity in chloroform from some traveling freak-show. The people will offer ooh's and ahh's, then pass by as it has been forgotten in a moment. I want to be caught in that moment...and in the next moment, I want to remember nothing about it, forever.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Hey Alice! Whatchoo find in there???
On the other side, Alice...
What made you walk through the looking glass? What was your little analogous white rabbit that caught your attention and pulled your steps through the mirror? Was your white rabbit a treasure, or a fortune...perhaps an otherworld insight, maybe a lover, or an epiphany...or was it nothing more than an adventure that you were seeking as an escape from the mundane, the monotony, or the stark reality of your life. What did you find in there...as mirrors typically do, they reflect our supposed reality. Was everything the opposite inside? Did gravity pull you up? Was love numb instead of excessively acute? Was the sky green and the grass blue? Did you breathe in carbon dioxide and breathe out oxygen? Or was it a new reality that you couldn't have imagined? Did you know that your imagination was an intrinsic part of your reality, and that we can't EVER escape that reality?
With childlike enthusiasm, you took it all in. Hearing and deciphering...learning and casting judgement...being exposed and hiding your weakness...feeling extreme exhilaration and lowly sorrow...at times, life was very large...at others, life was very small...feeling completely in control, and conversely dealing with the fear when you had none...could you not see the parallels between Wonderland and your reality. They are all there my girl...one must look with a trained eye to see though...
There are questions with no answers on our journey. Did you find the perplexity in the Mad Hatters riddle? Did your head spin with uncertainty and catatonic despair? Or did your head seemingly fall off, like the Cheshire Cat?
"Why IS a raven like a writing desk?"
Who knows...who ever will?
I have questions as well...albeit in a stark reality...or one that is only in my perspective, reflecting from my mirror. The time is coming close to an end in radio land...new doorknobs are being unlocked and preparing for accessiblity. Is it still in the cards for me to remain in the Neon City, or do I move to the Hill Country? Do I stay in state, or leave? So many questions, so many floating answers, so many realities to sift through. Austin, Dallas, America...salesman, teacher, banker, writer, student...who knows...who ever will?
We all want to hold onto innocence. Is that the moral to the story? We'd like it to be...but it isn't. The moral to the story is that in the face of reality, we must come to the acceptance that it is impossible to hold onto innocence...it is impossible to remain childlike in our processes, but it is important to acknowledge that our reality IS what we make of it, and we must remember the illusion that imagination is separate from reality...they are one in the same.
Why did you search so long, Alice? You knew all the time what you wanted, what you were searching for...you knew all the rules to the game...and you knew all the finish lines to the race. There are details and questions with no answers that are underlined within the race, but the ultimate answer is something you carried in close proximity. You met the most interesting creatures along your way...what did they teach you?
Could it be that they taught you what you already knew?
What made you walk through the looking glass? What was your little analogous white rabbit that caught your attention and pulled your steps through the mirror? Was your white rabbit a treasure, or a fortune...perhaps an otherworld insight, maybe a lover, or an epiphany...or was it nothing more than an adventure that you were seeking as an escape from the mundane, the monotony, or the stark reality of your life. What did you find in there...as mirrors typically do, they reflect our supposed reality. Was everything the opposite inside? Did gravity pull you up? Was love numb instead of excessively acute? Was the sky green and the grass blue? Did you breathe in carbon dioxide and breathe out oxygen? Or was it a new reality that you couldn't have imagined? Did you know that your imagination was an intrinsic part of your reality, and that we can't EVER escape that reality?
With childlike enthusiasm, you took it all in. Hearing and deciphering...learning and casting judgement...being exposed and hiding your weakness...feeling extreme exhilaration and lowly sorrow...at times, life was very large...at others, life was very small...feeling completely in control, and conversely dealing with the fear when you had none...could you not see the parallels between Wonderland and your reality. They are all there my girl...one must look with a trained eye to see though...
There are questions with no answers on our journey. Did you find the perplexity in the Mad Hatters riddle? Did your head spin with uncertainty and catatonic despair? Or did your head seemingly fall off, like the Cheshire Cat?
"Why IS a raven like a writing desk?"
Who knows...who ever will?
I have questions as well...albeit in a stark reality...or one that is only in my perspective, reflecting from my mirror. The time is coming close to an end in radio land...new doorknobs are being unlocked and preparing for accessiblity. Is it still in the cards for me to remain in the Neon City, or do I move to the Hill Country? Do I stay in state, or leave? So many questions, so many floating answers, so many realities to sift through. Austin, Dallas, America...salesman, teacher, banker, writer, student...who knows...who ever will?
We all want to hold onto innocence. Is that the moral to the story? We'd like it to be...but it isn't. The moral to the story is that in the face of reality, we must come to the acceptance that it is impossible to hold onto innocence...it is impossible to remain childlike in our processes, but it is important to acknowledge that our reality IS what we make of it, and we must remember the illusion that imagination is separate from reality...they are one in the same.
Why did you search so long, Alice? You knew all the time what you wanted, what you were searching for...you knew all the rules to the game...and you knew all the finish lines to the race. There are details and questions with no answers that are underlined within the race, but the ultimate answer is something you carried in close proximity. You met the most interesting creatures along your way...what did they teach you?
Could it be that they taught you what you already knew?
Monday, May 15, 2006
Friday, May 05, 2006
Swimming out of your God Damn wake.
Grab and pull.
Suck down a breath.
Close my eyes.
Delete the evidence.
Shut down my brain.
Let motor skills rule the day.
The Maidens of Hollywood.
Modern girl materialism.
Fucking emotion tracks you down.
Bloodhounds of cynnicism.
Riccochet of criticism.
Tearing up the pillow.
Fun was never this fun.
Glaring behind the window.
Words written in phrases.
Going through the expected phases.
Well-oiled machine.
Steaming untouched.
Ground-breaking insight.
They drown in the lust.
All of us are calm.
All of us are clear.
There ain't no point.
Cough up the truth.
Step over the rules.
Fate was absurdity.
All of it choice.
Ruined all the factors.
Definitely ruined my voice.
Rage toward the day.
The day that I swim...
Suck down a breath.
Close my eyes.
Delete the evidence.
Shut down my brain.
Let motor skills rule the day.
The Maidens of Hollywood.
Modern girl materialism.
Fucking emotion tracks you down.
Bloodhounds of cynnicism.
Riccochet of criticism.
Tearing up the pillow.
Fun was never this fun.
Glaring behind the window.
Words written in phrases.
Going through the expected phases.
Well-oiled machine.
Steaming untouched.
Ground-breaking insight.
They drown in the lust.
All of us are calm.
All of us are clear.
There ain't no point.
Cough up the truth.
Step over the rules.
Fate was absurdity.
All of it choice.
Ruined all the factors.
Definitely ruined my voice.
Rage toward the day.
The day that I swim...
Friday, April 28, 2006
I Just Want To
I just want to feel your touch. I just want my head to fall over my heels. I just want to feel your face in the palm of my hand. I just want to reach over the vastness of the bed and feel your hip next to mine. I just want to be able to recognize your scent anywhere. I just want to wake up and see you looking at me. I just want you to be my muse when I'm playing the guitar. I just want you to occupy a majority of the pie chart of my brain's logic. I just want you to smile at me when I smile at you. I just want to feel your breath over mine when we're way too close. I just want to listen to the same music as you. I just want you to be who you are around me. I just want to feel comfortable around you. I just want to be able to get shit-fucking-wasted around you and have nobody in their right mind care. I just want to be alone with you. I just want to get bored with you. I just want to feel your hands over my head. I just want to get lost in lust with you. I just want my heart to beat the same rythym as yours. I just want to be able to hold you when you're dismantling. I just want to make you sweat when you're so close to me. I just want to watch movies with you. I just want to talk about God with you. I just want to be able to understand your motives. I just want to have trust with you. I just want to plan the future with you. I just want to be your right-hand-man. I just want your dependence upon me. I just want to be able to live up to your expectations of me. I just want to go to foreign places with you. I just want to ferment in the afterglow with you. I just want to feel your smooth skin. I just want to occupy myself with you. I just want to have you know me better than anyone ever has. I just want to make you laugh. I just want you to laugh at me. I just want to put myself in awkward positions for you. I just want to put you in different positions. I just want you to meet my family. I just want you to be a part of it. I just want to relish in the fact that you're mine. I just want other guys to want you and not have a chance because I'm the only exclusivity. I just want my friends to leave you alone, because you're untouchable. I just want to let you know that I need my space every now and then. I just want to give you your space every now and then. I just want to have coffee with you on a cold morning. I just want to write stories and poems for you. I just want you to like them. I just want to compliment you in every way possible. I just want to have my skin tingle at the sight of your face. I just want to taste you. I just want to hold your little hand. I just want to dance with you on a moonlit night with the truck radio playing. I just want you to believe in yourself. I just want you to be secure in who you are. I just want to let go of my past and I want you to do the same. I just want to hear your scripted life. I just want to be a part of it. I just want to undress you slowly. I just want to be the only thing you think about. I just want to be your source of happiness. I just want to know you're out there. I haven't met you yet.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Wake UP You Dumb Shit!!
It's time to wake up. Long from the slumber of longing, long ago. Man, clear your eyes...stop being so nearsighted...stop being so idealistic. Reality paints a very different picture than that you see when you're sleepwalking, or even the picture that you WANT to see. It might change quite a bit if you looked with your mind instead of your heart. You've been sleepwalking too long. Longer than you should. I don't understand how I can't see what's two inches from my face. Maybe I need glasses to see better. Or maybe I just need to reach out and feel it in front of me. I feel it about once every month or so. I recoil in pain every time I do feel it. That's why I need to wake up. There's so much more to look forward to. So many more things with SO much more MEANING and SIGNIFICANCE. Do you enjoy that feeling? Do you foolishly trust that it's going to get you somewhere? Do you trust anything at all? I don't have an ounce of blame to pass to anyone else. I let myself in the door...almost like I'm blindly steering myself in that direction, even when I know what the outcome is going to be. I allow myself to be disappointed. I'm going to see what I can do about changing this...I'm fucking smarter than this.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
I Just Want This Day to End
From the moment I woke up today, after jumping ship on the shitty dream I had, my mood has spiraled tremendously. I just want this day to stop being, so that I can close my eyes, forget about it, and move on to the next. I just want there to be better days like I've had, but different from those days in that they're filled with an "unexperienced better." I hate depression...it rings in my ears. I don't want to be in anybody's way. I want everyone to be content. I don't want to trouble anybody...I guess this stems from my dream...it was utterly shitty. Everything's got my head spinning, and I don't know why. This is terribly introspective and open, but I'm feeling pretty fucking low today. I don't think I should even care, but for some reason I think I might. I'm not sure what I'm even sad about...that seems to be the case lately. Actually, I had been feeling pretty good about everything until today. There's always momentum swings and they seem to be getting less severe, but they hit like a fucking sack of bricks when it comes down on me. My concentration is splintered and I'm reeling because of it...today anyways.
It'll pass and tomorrow will be better. It sure as hell can't get any worse.
It'll pass and tomorrow will be better. It sure as hell can't get any worse.
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