oh vegas, you sparkling strip of lights and highrise facades. fanatical thought zooms by as we rushed the night and tomorrow through to your town. I wrote you a note and left it for no one to find as none look around anymore for anything less than wavering bills held down by the tips of ideas. Here's what I wrote in a spurt of seated whims at the desk of the penthouse:
No place. Everywhere, confused to be somewhere. Playing nowhere to know where the gamse are played. Second place. Third place. Placing none. No names to be anyplace. Being everyplace. Placing where everywhere becomes noplace for those everyplace pacing nowhere. Where are we?
Supernaturaldelight! spanning days for what felt like years in the dream box. Curved victorian fads and pinstripped walls bleeding in frames of flowing flowers. What happened to the hallway?
adieu till next time you desert space
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Dig deeper
The other night I was downstairs and the TV was on, the news on one of the network channels. I was under the assumption 'news' should be of some interesting topic and perhaps a bit informative, 'a bit' being the lowered expectations of today's media in any form. A story comes on about this kid, really, he was maybe 13 or 14, who was speaking to the Los Angeles city council about getting the ranking officials to sign up for his club...get this, the 'no cussing club'. This is bizarre on a multitude of layers. First of all, this child has no clue what it really means to curse, which brings me to the next point, 'cussing' isn't really even a word. Just because it's become a word in recent times doesn't mean shit to me really when his club is based on the use of words. Next, this dim wit goes on to explain why he started the club and his little ditty goes something like this: "my friends who never use to 'cuss' started 'cussing' and I just want them to be who they use to be and not 'cuss." What new sort of ritalin have they subjected our youth to? Are you for reals?? He wants his friends to be who they use to be? Well first lesson in life kiddo, we're all changing, constantly, that's what being in the third and fourth dimensions does to our human forms and minds. Get use to it quick or keep up the ritalin prescription. What I find to be interesting about all of this is the bare bone semantics this club is focusing on. Words are nothing but air, vibrations and halatosis...oh, and you need at least one sense to even know they exist. I wonder if the club members simply concentrate on actually uttering a curse word or do some of them *gasp* internalize the lesson of not sending out bad vibes and hatred towards others and come to realize that something actually comes before the cursing in their being? The intent behind the curse word comes far before the actual use of the word itself. Simply training to keep yourself in check before sputtering out the curse word only reaches towards band-aiding at best. Get to the root of the problem: the fucked up passive surface dwelling we numbly accept as lessons in our society are doing nothing aside from perpetuating the idea that holding up a facade will get you through life, and start fixing things from the heart of it all, have a little heart, be a real being for once: yourself. Practice a little self-awareness and get rid of those archaic values that are pretty much dust by now. Did I mention this club has spread across the US and a number of other countries? Words mean nothing yet they cling to them like wrists on a crucifix.
What's next? the no bitching club? or is that paradoxical?...good.
What's next? the no bitching club? or is that paradoxical?...good.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
a quick thought
koce,
flipped the days around, a whirlwind of twirls and insights.
the edge faced again, paying for the visit in so many ways,
dying to figure a way out of this sequence of orbits.
reset, give consent to yourself that's so familiar in fleeting
glances. glints arousing the lunar magnetism i'll share with the
distances and throw them into the current. fucking static atmosphere
blindly perpetuated by so many. motion will cure it all. I will indulge.
flipped the days around, a whirlwind of twirls and insights.
the edge faced again, paying for the visit in so many ways,
dying to figure a way out of this sequence of orbits.
reset, give consent to yourself that's so familiar in fleeting
glances. glints arousing the lunar magnetism i'll share with the
distances and throw them into the current. fucking static atmosphere
blindly perpetuated by so many. motion will cure it all. I will indulge.
some old blogs
April 17, 2007 - Tuesday
shivers
the old ghost of a stolen silhouette lingers in the light. Lost in each thought, guided by the shadow's delight in a televised masacre. Not only do the macabre sensations fill the frontal lobe of thoughts but they reside deeper inside and hinder any movement. It may very well be the final bout in deviation, loosing sensations of how to be alive, how to devise a new direction to lead positivity in the darkness of redundancy. Alas, the weight of a lofty phantasy comes tumbling down on the fading scalp. The calendar lies and age is only how you feel all throughout your insides. Disintegrating. Dust in the wind's mouth. Sunshine washed away by the rains. The frigidity of the air is only compelled by the lack of heat in the shower head: slowly coming to terms with the lost energy. Found the lost sensibility in dreams but they never transfer over to the sense of being a waking being. Stuck between the unknown and numbers disappearing, giving into the waning ticks of today. Carpe diem is a lie to invoke hope yet all we find are shards of glass dancing at our feet. The tetanus of life, infectious sense of trying to become 'somebody'. Unable to move, frozen in the midst of spring, the growing skeleton silently whispers to me: tomorrow we can be together.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
following boy's day
After loosing any sense of health, wealth, and well-being, I've arrived at a new epoch in this continuous rage which some of us refer to as being. Time has really found no new sense, each moment or each day all come to mean the same thing, unless you play the game of memory and recollection. But what is all that aside from the acts of a pack-rat? The boy has died. Does this mean new habits are in order? Changes must be made in the ranks? Yes and no...and this seems to point towards the answer to the underlying question. Maintenence of balance is essential. Some may wonder (including myself), do you feel or define when life reaches out towards one extreme? I'd say it's much more of a feeling...and that's all I can rely on. Words are shiny objects. Some use them to stab, others to intice (themselves and others). Most use them for reflection of self, basking in the limelight you've created yourself. Creating the self: must be undone.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
"let go!!"
most visible ability so easily overlooked while im woven into this reality, I can only be what I allow myself to be. No subjectin to the collection of notions passed around like propaganda's the new love potion. Fabricated walls I often bump against, governing more than just the suface-thought content, but I tell myself I'll invent the unthought of remedy, realizing the smiles that bound and bound to layers, building me up to face this adversity. The only one to blame can be your own absorbtion of situation's essence, complex solidity is really atomic particles cris-crossed so dense you think you can't manuver through it; fuck it, facts are hardly solid unless they're viewed to be. is it half of duality thats the anchor to my departure? gotta let go of man and embrace nature, crumbling self-constructed structures.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
falling debris
eric the mastermind, orchestrator of such a trip, seven feet tall and deceitful with his wit. Glasses thick as bulletproof glass, shields to the soul so as one can't read his hollowtip demeanor. So Joshua has Trees in the desert, how lovely, lets take a nice ride over east to the fridigity of meteor showers. Dotted lines build the darkness to sight, an all together different mode of perception in ancient transition. Interesting enough to hear foot steps patter at your back when theres nothing but sky there, dimensional membrane penetration. Turn around to see the ground speckled with comets. Lets see what we can't see. The debris begin to ensnare universal connectivity, green sphere cut by slant planes in cube shapes, transmitting my composition of immediate emotion to sound-brain waves, no packets neccessary for pirates fall in short distance. The tear in the night only forces demise. Snap shot impossible. Fear and Loathing amongst the sand. Keep on driving, whats behind us is left there for a reason, keep driving. Minutes to days, no allowance for sleep, gotta keep up with reservation guidelines. Drawn back to the mastermind, he comes out to check on us, a whole-hearted wave seals the escape.
shivers
the old ghost of a stolen silhouette lingers in the light. Lost in each thought, guided by the shadow's delight in a televised masacre. Not only do the macabre sensations fill the frontal lobe of thoughts but they reside deeper inside and hinder any movement. It may very well be the final bout in deviation, loosing sensations of how to be alive, how to devise a new direction to lead positivity in the darkness of redundancy. Alas, the weight of a lofty phantasy comes tumbling down on the fading scalp. The calendar lies and age is only how you feel all throughout your insides. Disintegrating. Dust in the wind's mouth. Sunshine washed away by the rains. The frigidity of the air is only compelled by the lack of heat in the shower head: slowly coming to terms with the lost energy. Found the lost sensibility in dreams but they never transfer over to the sense of being a waking being. Stuck between the unknown and numbers disappearing, giving into the waning ticks of today. Carpe diem is a lie to invoke hope yet all we find are shards of glass dancing at our feet. The tetanus of life, infectious sense of trying to become 'somebody'. Unable to move, frozen in the midst of spring, the growing skeleton silently whispers to me: tomorrow we can be together.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
following boy's day
After loosing any sense of health, wealth, and well-being, I've arrived at a new epoch in this continuous rage which some of us refer to as being. Time has really found no new sense, each moment or each day all come to mean the same thing, unless you play the game of memory and recollection. But what is all that aside from the acts of a pack-rat? The boy has died. Does this mean new habits are in order? Changes must be made in the ranks? Yes and no...and this seems to point towards the answer to the underlying question. Maintenence of balance is essential. Some may wonder (including myself), do you feel or define when life reaches out towards one extreme? I'd say it's much more of a feeling...and that's all I can rely on. Words are shiny objects. Some use them to stab, others to intice (themselves and others). Most use them for reflection of self, basking in the limelight you've created yourself. Creating the self: must be undone.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
"let go!!"
most visible ability so easily overlooked while im woven into this reality, I can only be what I allow myself to be. No subjectin to the collection of notions passed around like propaganda's the new love potion. Fabricated walls I often bump against, governing more than just the suface-thought content, but I tell myself I'll invent the unthought of remedy, realizing the smiles that bound and bound to layers, building me up to face this adversity. The only one to blame can be your own absorbtion of situation's essence, complex solidity is really atomic particles cris-crossed so dense you think you can't manuver through it; fuck it, facts are hardly solid unless they're viewed to be. is it half of duality thats the anchor to my departure? gotta let go of man and embrace nature, crumbling self-constructed structures.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
falling debris
eric the mastermind, orchestrator of such a trip, seven feet tall and deceitful with his wit. Glasses thick as bulletproof glass, shields to the soul so as one can't read his hollowtip demeanor. So Joshua has Trees in the desert, how lovely, lets take a nice ride over east to the fridigity of meteor showers. Dotted lines build the darkness to sight, an all together different mode of perception in ancient transition. Interesting enough to hear foot steps patter at your back when theres nothing but sky there, dimensional membrane penetration. Turn around to see the ground speckled with comets. Lets see what we can't see. The debris begin to ensnare universal connectivity, green sphere cut by slant planes in cube shapes, transmitting my composition of immediate emotion to sound-brain waves, no packets neccessary for pirates fall in short distance. The tear in the night only forces demise. Snap shot impossible. Fear and Loathing amongst the sand. Keep on driving, whats behind us is left there for a reason, keep driving. Minutes to days, no allowance for sleep, gotta keep up with reservation guidelines. Drawn back to the mastermind, he comes out to check on us, a whole-hearted wave seals the escape.
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