Coachella is this weekend. Nobody reads this since I deleted mySpace. I realize that. I never post anything significant, anyway.
My book is coming along just fine, if you're wondering... I'm afraid of it, so I haven't been writing much lately. The whole giant idea scares me. The whole Giant scares me. Coming down from the hillside when in reality it is us.
I'm awake beacuse I fell asleep and couldn't wake up. And now I'm awake. I'm apologizing. And this is for you, isn't it. Believe in me. Pray for me. Keep me safe. Right? Because we all know that pain is somehow tied to insolence.
The Problem of evil: maybe evil is some sort of good? That definitely be an explanation for why there's suffering without seeming justification. I no longer think we are pre-destined. Free will is the only rational, previously justified reason for the existence of both God and evil. Tandem sort of thing. But maybe evil is just a masking of good? And all great mythology, all great stories, require some sort of weight and counter-weight to teeter the totter of atheist theism. Three years later, Billy Pilgrim would die, wouldn't you know. Episodic. Virulent. Dying tonight to brush my teeth and crawl away and die. Don't be afraid of Him.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Sunday, April 08, 2007
The boat you know she's still rockin' it... yehh
Easter is about the whole resurrection of Christ thing. But this is more about the Good Friday Actions I think. The whole crucifixion thing. What was the big deal? How can such a grand metaphysical thing as sin and the whole vague idea of morality be transmuted into such an act as a typical Roman punishment. Peter's crucifixion hurt more because he was hung upside down.
So maybe it's not the physical pain that Christ experienced--that was pretty normal--but rather the mental strife that he experienced. Knowing that he could, at any moment, step off that cross and give the finger to the whole idea of being the savior. Defecting from his own teachings. But instead, he suffered through the decision of his own doing through the 4 hours. Choosing crucifixing, committing suicide in the name of a cause when you know you could tell the whole idea to go hell is probably way more tortuous than what the criminals around him were experiencing.
And the idea is further carried by the fact that the worst sins are those that are mental. Lust and the like. Because it's destroying yourself. And your body is a temple defiled by the beggars.
Another thought, a little more psychadelic, is that our sins are time travellers. That, once committed, they are slashed upon Christ's back during those four hours. And those hours are his unending hell. You know God can do anything so this could also be a possibility.
But anyway, that's what Good Friday's about. The Easter Bunny is the fucking man.
So maybe it's not the physical pain that Christ experienced--that was pretty normal--but rather the mental strife that he experienced. Knowing that he could, at any moment, step off that cross and give the finger to the whole idea of being the savior. Defecting from his own teachings. But instead, he suffered through the decision of his own doing through the 4 hours. Choosing crucifixing, committing suicide in the name of a cause when you know you could tell the whole idea to go hell is probably way more tortuous than what the criminals around him were experiencing.
And the idea is further carried by the fact that the worst sins are those that are mental. Lust and the like. Because it's destroying yourself. And your body is a temple defiled by the beggars.
Another thought, a little more psychadelic, is that our sins are time travellers. That, once committed, they are slashed upon Christ's back during those four hours. And those hours are his unending hell. You know God can do anything so this could also be a possibility.
But anyway, that's what Good Friday's about. The Easter Bunny is the fucking man.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
If you think that a kiss is all in the lips, well, you've got it all wrong.
I'm finally getting around to formulating this...
So lately there've been two commercials I've seen that're pissing me off: 1) The Carl's Jr. commercial where the guy's with his girlfriend checking out one of the waitresses who's all trying to pseudo-seduce him and shit. And he's watching and smiling. And when his girlfriend hits him or whatever, he just goes, "What?" Funny that this is also the All-Tel douche bag (the dyed hair made me think he was homosexual.) and the 2)nd is the Hotel Aquarius commercial that has a scene of a similar thing happening. Wife\girlfriend playing the slots, older man (mid-40's) checking out a younger woman (20's). Wife hits husband, husband goes innocent, the same "What?" face.
Well, I'll tell you what: YOU'RE DISRESPECTING YOUR WOMAN. You don't deserve a woman if you're gonna be a degrading cunt who sits there, next to her, and stares at other women. The girl is NICE enough to be with you, even if though you're some perv-cunt-asshole who takes either his girlfriend to either a Hot Wings place for a date, or to fucking LAUGHLIN, NV (where the people are the same age as the temperature: 99+). That's not romantic. That's just stupid. And you have no right to be, oh, y'know, checking out other women. Do that on your own time. Or when you're single, especially. But not in front of another girl. Especially one who's willing to put up with your shit.
"Women think these Will Smiths or Leonardo Dicapricocks are gonna come waltzing off the screen and into their lives, take them to some place romantic like the Olive Garden, or a Pizzeria Uno, then take them home and make love to them with a condom on without fingering their asshole. Well, wake up. These men don't have the time. I do." ---Dave Attell, "Skanks for the Memories"
So lately there've been two commercials I've seen that're pissing me off: 1) The Carl's Jr. commercial where the guy's with his girlfriend checking out one of the waitresses who's all trying to pseudo-seduce him and shit. And he's watching and smiling. And when his girlfriend hits him or whatever, he just goes, "What?" Funny that this is also the All-Tel douche bag (the dyed hair made me think he was homosexual.) and the 2)nd is the Hotel Aquarius commercial that has a scene of a similar thing happening. Wife\girlfriend playing the slots, older man (mid-40's) checking out a younger woman (20's). Wife hits husband, husband goes innocent, the same "What?" face.
Well, I'll tell you what: YOU'RE DISRESPECTING YOUR WOMAN. You don't deserve a woman if you're gonna be a degrading cunt who sits there, next to her, and stares at other women. The girl is NICE enough to be with you, even if though you're some perv-cunt-asshole who takes either his girlfriend to either a Hot Wings place for a date, or to fucking LAUGHLIN, NV (where the people are the same age as the temperature: 99+). That's not romantic. That's just stupid. And you have no right to be, oh, y'know, checking out other women. Do that on your own time. Or when you're single, especially. But not in front of another girl. Especially one who's willing to put up with your shit.
"Women think these Will Smiths or Leonardo Dicapricocks are gonna come waltzing off the screen and into their lives, take them to some place romantic like the Olive Garden, or a Pizzeria Uno, then take them home and make love to them with a condom on without fingering their asshole. Well, wake up. These men don't have the time. I do." ---Dave Attell, "Skanks for the Memories"
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Sit Down. Stand up. Ring the Bells.
I don't know how to start this review, so I'll say this: BOY CULTURE is a typical romance movie in most senses... except that it involves man on man. Currently playing only in Hollywood and New York, this is one of those unrated gay films that really makes you scratch your head about what makes it SO terrible that the rating was released. There's no male nudity, no female nudity, and only a few shots of men getting their kicks.
Anyway, this is a movie about "X," an escort who has 12 clients, whom he calls disciples, making him Jesus, as if his ass were on a crusade to give these men a good fucking (from the shots we see of these clients, I guess he does.). And it's definitely not sex. There's no sex in this movie, it seems. It's all fucking. They refer to it as so, and it's promiscuous enough to warrant the term "fucking" as opposed to "sex." "X" has two roomates, Joey, and Andrew, the former being a young 18-year-old slut who has tons of tricks and does drugs and all those times of things; and the latter, Andrew, is the central character of the story aside from "X." They've all been roomates for a year, and there's been sexual tension between "X" and Andrew and Joey for that whole year. From the posters, it could be assumed that there's some sort of crazy man on man on man ménage à trois, of which there is none. Joey is the baby, and Andrew and "X" are the dads to his promiscuity.
All of this is narrated by "X," who tells of all of this very cynically, almost tiredly, as if not really caring. Passively telling of the mutual masturbation (just kidding), and all the parallel stories including one trick named Gregory who tells of his love of 50 years with a man named Reynaldo who just recently passed away. Funny how the story of Reynaldo and Gregory parallels so well wtih the story of "X" and Andrew. "X" even was in love and fucked his cousin, "call him John," when he was 12. Nothing ultra-nasty there either, by the way. Etcetera. It's all very convoluted and trite. The dialogue is stinted and it all seems like a typical love story.
Except it's two men and a bunch of other men who pass in and out of the open door\asshole. And that's where I think the MPAA had a problem with this movie: it's homosexual and women are never portrayed as being pleasured. If nothing else, this is the greatest showing of the MPAA's homophobia. This is a prototypical R-rated romance melodrama. It's not SHORTBUS, it's not DEEP THROAT. Nothing. It's just BOY CULTURE, a movie about men in love. And what's so wrong with that? Oh, right, the woman is not involved.
I grimaced less at the male kissing and the male touching and feeling than I did at the thought that all of this in the movie would be permissable if it were a man and a woman or a woman and a woman or, I don't know, released by a major studio. It is everything that Kirby Dick recognized about the homophobia in the industry incarnate. Living proof that this movie could be widely distributed, and probably liked by a good many people. But it is shunned because it has a soundtrack consisting of mostly house music, and a good ton of man-on-man kissing and lusting.
Anyway, this is a movie about "X," an escort who has 12 clients, whom he calls disciples, making him Jesus, as if his ass were on a crusade to give these men a good fucking (from the shots we see of these clients, I guess he does.). And it's definitely not sex. There's no sex in this movie, it seems. It's all fucking. They refer to it as so, and it's promiscuous enough to warrant the term "fucking" as opposed to "sex." "X" has two roomates, Joey, and Andrew, the former being a young 18-year-old slut who has tons of tricks and does drugs and all those times of things; and the latter, Andrew, is the central character of the story aside from "X." They've all been roomates for a year, and there's been sexual tension between "X" and Andrew and Joey for that whole year. From the posters, it could be assumed that there's some sort of crazy man on man on man ménage à trois, of which there is none. Joey is the baby, and Andrew and "X" are the dads to his promiscuity.
All of this is narrated by "X," who tells of all of this very cynically, almost tiredly, as if not really caring. Passively telling of the mutual masturbation (just kidding), and all the parallel stories including one trick named Gregory who tells of his love of 50 years with a man named Reynaldo who just recently passed away. Funny how the story of Reynaldo and Gregory parallels so well wtih the story of "X" and Andrew. "X" even was in love and fucked his cousin, "call him John," when he was 12. Nothing ultra-nasty there either, by the way. Etcetera. It's all very convoluted and trite. The dialogue is stinted and it all seems like a typical love story.
Except it's two men and a bunch of other men who pass in and out of the open door\asshole. And that's where I think the MPAA had a problem with this movie: it's homosexual and women are never portrayed as being pleasured. If nothing else, this is the greatest showing of the MPAA's homophobia. This is a prototypical R-rated romance melodrama. It's not SHORTBUS, it's not DEEP THROAT. Nothing. It's just BOY CULTURE, a movie about men in love. And what's so wrong with that? Oh, right, the woman is not involved.
I grimaced less at the male kissing and the male touching and feeling than I did at the thought that all of this in the movie would be permissable if it were a man and a woman or a woman and a woman or, I don't know, released by a major studio. It is everything that Kirby Dick recognized about the homophobia in the industry incarnate. Living proof that this movie could be widely distributed, and probably liked by a good many people. But it is shunned because it has a soundtrack consisting of mostly house music, and a good ton of man-on-man kissing and lusting.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
I'm not... difficult to please.
Thanks a lot, assholes, for showing me how far being funny will get you. High School was a crapshoot and college is even worse. I have no friends and I'm rather lonely, paling in my shyness, moonlighting with my loneliness. I can't seem to find the group to surround myself with. Acquaitances that think I'm funny. Maybe that's why I stuck around in band: because I needed to group atmosphere. Social whore, that's what I am. And I've got nothing to whore around or pimp.
I don't know any of you anymore. I've tried and I don't. You've all gone the way of the dodo to me, it seems. I've tried and I've tried but you're all just too cool anymore to even want to respond to my options about hanging out with me. Except Danielle Cobb, you've been pretty cool, but I've just been busy.
So fuck you.
I don't know any of you anymore. I've tried and I don't. You've all gone the way of the dodo to me, it seems. I've tried and I've tried but you're all just too cool anymore to even want to respond to my options about hanging out with me. Except Danielle Cobb, you've been pretty cool, but I've just been busy.
So fuck you.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Chk Chk Chk
It's Thursday. I've fallen into a do-this-every-Thursday pattern it seems. Just nothing to write about.
Waiting for Godot.
I have to write a new story.
Compass turns to coal.
Gyar. Not GWAR. Dodgers have gone on a hot-losing-stream. Hypenated-sentences-are-badass-.
Fuck.
Waiting for Godot.
I have to write a new story.
Compass turns to coal.
Gyar. Not GWAR. Dodgers have gone on a hot-losing-stream. Hypenated-sentences-are-badass-.
Fuck.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
It shakes your pretty little Clavicle
There's so much violence, so much pain, so much hate, that it's easy for one to be apathetic. John Lennon got annoying come the 70's. I just watched the US vs. John Lennon and he just got annoying, I thought. I don't know, I'm not a big fan of him. I'm a passivist, I think. Let it happen, the universe tends to unfold as it should--yea, that is from Harold and Kumar go to White Castle, but so what. I believe in fate. If it's meant to happen, it will happen.
I don't want to adhere to religions that kill for the sake of being right. So I am an Anarchristian. A Christian Anarchist. Of your own accord. Peaceful. Love love love love love. Though love is sometimes conflicting. Because to love someone, there is a point and place for chastising. It's not all roses. There's obvious shit-storms and virulent come agains. Come on to me and tell me your name sweet sister!
I believe in God. I believe in you. I believe in we. And love will conquer all.
It's a scary thought that Doomsday Theology has met Doomsday weaponry. True, fateful, apocalypse is capable now in the mushroom clouds. So relax and let it happen.
When my mom was in Israel, some of the soldiers and Jews were telling about how, in three weeks, they are going to bomb the Muslim Temple Mount because they're sick of it. Sick of God's wild Children of Islam, descended from Ishmael, both blessed and crazy, but blessed and of the Father nonetheless.
I just cry for harmony in a dissodant world. "You have a decent ear for notes, but you can't yet appreciate harmony." Beware. I think that the "apocalypse" is upon us, but the apocalypse is truly metaphorical.
But all human life is cyclical, so we are probably coming upon a proverbial starting over, just as when Rome was destroyed and deflated into a city in Italy. The children of Isaac and the children of Ishmael will destroy each other and deflate each other until there's nothing left but leukemia and fall out. And adaptation and evolution (yes, I said evolution) will run its course.
"Raise your fist and march around, just don't take what you need."
I don't want to adhere to religions that kill for the sake of being right. So I am an Anarchristian. A Christian Anarchist. Of your own accord. Peaceful. Love love love love love. Though love is sometimes conflicting. Because to love someone, there is a point and place for chastising. It's not all roses. There's obvious shit-storms and virulent come agains. Come on to me and tell me your name sweet sister!
I believe in God. I believe in you. I believe in we. And love will conquer all.
It's a scary thought that Doomsday Theology has met Doomsday weaponry. True, fateful, apocalypse is capable now in the mushroom clouds. So relax and let it happen.
When my mom was in Israel, some of the soldiers and Jews were telling about how, in three weeks, they are going to bomb the Muslim Temple Mount because they're sick of it. Sick of God's wild Children of Islam, descended from Ishmael, both blessed and crazy, but blessed and of the Father nonetheless.
I just cry for harmony in a dissodant world. "You have a decent ear for notes, but you can't yet appreciate harmony." Beware. I think that the "apocalypse" is upon us, but the apocalypse is truly metaphorical.
But all human life is cyclical, so we are probably coming upon a proverbial starting over, just as when Rome was destroyed and deflated into a city in Italy. The children of Isaac and the children of Ishmael will destroy each other and deflate each other until there's nothing left but leukemia and fall out. And adaptation and evolution (yes, I said evolution) will run its course.
"Raise your fist and march around, just don't take what you need."
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Tie me up tie me down!!!!
It was a summer camp and I fell in love with her. Her who lived miles and
miles and miles away from me. Her whom I had no chance with. Her. And I so
hopeless, and a godless Socialite. This was during the Downfall. I can guarantee
you that.
Away from music, our laughter made music. We flirted as far as I know. And I
fell in love with her. Great, unadulterated Her.
We would sit and play cards and talk and hang out and be together, and my
mind raced with Visions of Johanna keeping me up past the dawn. Her. She would
tell me about the boys in her life and I would ascertain a sort of repressed
jealousy. Never possible. I know for sure. But it was praised within my soul to
know of a growing girl who could satisfy my soul’s lust for a pastor’s wife.
Waiting for the pastor’s wife to be mine.
I could drive, I don’t care about distance. I had remembered what another
girl had told me about distance earlier that year. That we would be together
despite it. And I realized that there’s reassurance despite miles and miles. She
and I fell out but Her and I still talk, somewhat, and subdued by years of not
seeing each other. Years of separation, my heart is filled with longing for her,
or someone like her. Small and quaint and brown eyed and smiling and lost within
her God. Hailing the stars to come down to her and tell her things that were
unknown otherwise save but a little honesty.
A little trite honesty and ¡Viva Suzuki!
Oh but Oh how Her highlighted my week with visions of love, visions of hope.
She gave me hope that there’s someone, at least someone, out there that isn’t
fucked up the ass with religion and stupid. You can be fucked up the ass with
religion and grounded. Not lifted on the cock of propriety, but held grounded by
reality. It’s give and take, not rape.
And deep saxophone tones cried low low low and down down down come away with
me I need you TS! I need you to be mine! I am alone and nothing without you
withoutyou with you I am whole! Take me away from here and I will be yours!! I
know that that’s what you need and what I am going to give you! HER!
Won’t you wait for me? No, because I know nothing of how I think of you.
“I love you, Danny.”
Inimitable, unknowable, ineffable her. And that’s how it always will be. Too
many miles and I know all this shit. Cock-rodded women about me abound.
Cock-rodded religion.
And so I sank. Deep down and down and down and down and down and down and
down anddownanddown and down and down and down spiraling down and down and no
way out and up and up and down and down and down and spiraling with all these
vile sins racing so fast down and down this vacuum I thought everything were to
fall at the same rate feather and bowling ball down and down and down air to
hold sin is falling faster than me towards hell and inimitable sin and
repression down and down and down and things sit in this well of my soul where
nothing is allowed to be told save on pulp and paper and trees that are dead
trestles sadness transmutated and known unknown and cock-rodded cuckolded and
the sitting next to the soda bin where they rip us off and tell me my name in my
journal and remember me before I burn us down with gasoline and down and down
and down and decrescendo and ritardando and down down down down down down down
down down hearing the pounding hearing the pounding you let me know I was alive
but where are you now I know where you are and I cannot come unto you her. just
to say I love you would have been enough and I know it wouldn’t be for you so I
will leave you alone…!…
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Old South Order, New Northern Horizon
I had this thought when I was pulling my T-Shirt out of my sweatshirt: What if I've turned into myself today because I was tired of being the sacred me of yesterday? I got tired of people telling me how perfect I was, how I never cursed, never did anything bad. I got tired of that shit.
And maybe I needed change. When what is working is tired, it is no longer working. It is laboring. I wanted to work, I didn't want to labor through my days any more. I wanted to be me. Not that me is unchristian, but that me is not me. I was pushing against the vulgarity, but, more than that, I was pushing against reality. There is a difference between being of this world and being naive. I have to know so as to change the knowing. And the things I do not know about are the things that I don't need to know about yet. I will find them, and they will find me. And I will change them. And I will change you.
And maybe I needed change. When what is working is tired, it is no longer working. It is laboring. I wanted to work, I didn't want to labor through my days any more. I wanted to be me. Not that me is unchristian, but that me is not me. I was pushing against the vulgarity, but, more than that, I was pushing against reality. There is a difference between being of this world and being naive. I have to know so as to change the knowing. And the things I do not know about are the things that I don't need to know about yet. I will find them, and they will find me. And I will change them. And I will change you.
This has no title.
A gnawing, groaning, pain, etching towards nirvana.
All the good ones are taken up the tree and sodomized. Molested. Destroyed. By me and above me, below you. Come away with me.
Divine.
Alone. Trite and complacent. Trying to be, at least. Trite not tripe.
Thimbles were thumbnails' crowns.
Fear is the great drive towards stagnancy. Fear will get you nothing.
All the good ones are taken up the tree and sodomized. Molested. Destroyed. By me and above me, below you. Come away with me.
Divine.
Alone. Trite and complacent. Trying to be, at least. Trite not tripe.
Thimbles were thumbnails' crowns.
Fear is the great drive towards stagnancy. Fear will get you nothing.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Wake up, Little Sparrow
Faith is the highest passion in the eternal realm of the soul. It is the greatest act man can show. Faith in God is the highest passion of man.
But below that, in the mortal realm of our soul, is something that often comes before it, something that often messes up our eternal realm--and that is love. Love is the highest passion of our mortal realm. It is the most strange act, having a man and a woman come together to be one while being two. Love is a contradictory action that is so important to us, that we won't eat, won't sleep, won't walk, won't do, when it's on the line or around us with impending doom. And it is tied directly into the mortal realm, like a mobius strip. Because love comes from faith in beings of God of man in faith of love. Love, ultimately, makes or destroys faith. It is the foundation for faith, it is the foundation for life. It is so foundational that it can ruin both in one fell swoop. That's amazing.
One thing that won't get you love, though, is dropping your pants in an airport. That will get you arrested for terrorism and\or indecent exposure. But I digress.
We must do everything in love, knowing how foundational it is to our soul and our being and our existence. We must begin and end with love so that we know what it is to be free, what satisfaction is, what greatness is, who God is. Because God is love and God is our destroyer. And God is our God.
But below that, in the mortal realm of our soul, is something that often comes before it, something that often messes up our eternal realm--and that is love. Love is the highest passion of our mortal realm. It is the most strange act, having a man and a woman come together to be one while being two. Love is a contradictory action that is so important to us, that we won't eat, won't sleep, won't walk, won't do, when it's on the line or around us with impending doom. And it is tied directly into the mortal realm, like a mobius strip. Because love comes from faith in beings of God of man in faith of love. Love, ultimately, makes or destroys faith. It is the foundation for faith, it is the foundation for life. It is so foundational that it can ruin both in one fell swoop. That's amazing.
One thing that won't get you love, though, is dropping your pants in an airport. That will get you arrested for terrorism and\or indecent exposure. But I digress.
We must do everything in love, knowing how foundational it is to our soul and our being and our existence. We must begin and end with love so that we know what it is to be free, what satisfaction is, what greatness is, who God is. Because God is love and God is our destroyer. And God is our God.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Ash on the Window
"Disappointment is the great flag of the soul that is raised, thickly and heavily, with great remorse, to let you know you've tried."
-Cassavetes.
Yes, it's a deep feeling, full of regret and remorse, but, at the same time, it is unavoidable, like smoke from a fire, like frost on the windshield. And the things that are unavoidable strengthen doubts into the feelings of the stars. Cygnus and Gemini and Taurus. They, the great celestial animals that fly with my soul unto tomorrow and all my woes. All my voluntary unemployment, and the scratching feeling at the back of my throat that's telling me I will never be happy, that I will always be me. No matter how medicated I am. No worry save all the ones that are the must.
Broken down by the bleach I will drink to make my insides white again. In purity and in love.
-Cassavetes.
Yes, it's a deep feeling, full of regret and remorse, but, at the same time, it is unavoidable, like smoke from a fire, like frost on the windshield. And the things that are unavoidable strengthen doubts into the feelings of the stars. Cygnus and Gemini and Taurus. They, the great celestial animals that fly with my soul unto tomorrow and all my woes. All my voluntary unemployment, and the scratching feeling at the back of my throat that's telling me I will never be happy, that I will always be me. No matter how medicated I am. No worry save all the ones that are the must.
Broken down by the bleach I will drink to make my insides white again. In purity and in love.
Sunset & La Cienega,1972. Immovable Movers.
Surely you must be welcomed sweetly to the overture. But welcome to the Loathing, all the hatred of self, if only to better oneself. That is pure. I believe in some kind of purity. And the betterment of man through doubt and its syndicate actions driven into light by the preceding darkness.
And the line is thin. Between self-loathing and self-hate. Self-loathing is healthy while self-hate is what leads to Death, that great immutable action muted. Enduring.
If only to better oneself. I and the Father are one!
And the line is thin. Between self-loathing and self-hate. Self-loathing is healthy while self-hate is what leads to Death, that great immutable action muted. Enduring.
If only to better oneself. I and the Father are one!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
She was into S&M and Bible Study
Women.
Let's think about this one. I don't know anymore about them. I'm too much of a dickslap to be handled by any of them, and I'm too wrapped up in my own fear of hurting someone else to even take the first step towards a relationship. I no longer care about myself, it's the sheer implication that I'm so scared that what I am will not be something that any woman will like, will dig, will go for.
High School broke me. I was who I was not. And suddenly, I am. And I am shy as fuck. I am nervous as shit--"shakin' like a dog shittin' razor blades." It's how I seem to be, that far down. But beyond? Yea, we're all the same. We all suffer the same fate, the same reality, the same anti-reality. We are our own antithesis.
I am the Lion down the yellow brick. Down and down and down.
But enough about me.
Women.
They're God's chosen companion. They're our chosen companion. They are the first-mate and the guide and the reason why we reach port. Without a companion, without a guide, all men are lost at sea. Women are of men, but men are not without women. How strange is that? That we only flourish via the secondary, making it the first. ¿Verdad? I don't know. I think it makes sense. I have so much respect for women and all the tiring work they've borne. They are support, yet they are often the lead covertly. This is why we've never had a single president. Men need direction. And women lead and lead and lead.
Down and down and down.
Beginning again, but only over and over. Tell me the truth, I am angry. Tell me the truth, I am full to the brim with the Sadness.
I'm afraid of God. I am lost at sea.
"Caught him napping and picked him off at first!"
Let's think about this one. I don't know anymore about them. I'm too much of a dickslap to be handled by any of them, and I'm too wrapped up in my own fear of hurting someone else to even take the first step towards a relationship. I no longer care about myself, it's the sheer implication that I'm so scared that what I am will not be something that any woman will like, will dig, will go for.
High School broke me. I was who I was not. And suddenly, I am. And I am shy as fuck. I am nervous as shit--"shakin' like a dog shittin' razor blades." It's how I seem to be, that far down. But beyond? Yea, we're all the same. We all suffer the same fate, the same reality, the same anti-reality. We are our own antithesis.
I am the Lion down the yellow brick. Down and down and down.
But enough about me.
Women.
They're God's chosen companion. They're our chosen companion. They are the first-mate and the guide and the reason why we reach port. Without a companion, without a guide, all men are lost at sea. Women are of men, but men are not without women. How strange is that? That we only flourish via the secondary, making it the first. ¿Verdad? I don't know. I think it makes sense. I have so much respect for women and all the tiring work they've borne. They are support, yet they are often the lead covertly. This is why we've never had a single president. Men need direction. And women lead and lead and lead.
Down and down and down.
Beginning again, but only over and over. Tell me the truth, I am angry. Tell me the truth, I am full to the brim with the Sadness.
I'm afraid of God. I am lost at sea.
"Caught him napping and picked him off at first!"
Friday, February 16, 2007
I think music is amazing. Emotion, storytelling, and inherent connections between man. They're the great spawn of greater friendships. Both Jasmine and JP were friendships spawned by our love of one band (Jasmine being mewithoutYou, JP being the Mars Volta). When there's nothing to talk about, you can talk about music and its patterns and its words and its legitimacy.
That's why there's no musical canon, because all of it is great to someone. Even Killswitch Engage, just not to me.
But once you've got that first spark, that first connection, you can go much further than without it. And, for me, music has been that first big spark many times. Find your music, find your people.
Be your own enemy.
Believe in God.
Other things that are almost as uniting: Books, TV shows, Movies, Fashion, Language, vernacular. God. Faith.
Do not conform. Let them conform to you.
That's why there's no musical canon, because all of it is great to someone. Even Killswitch Engage, just not to me.
But once you've got that first spark, that first connection, you can go much further than without it. And, for me, music has been that first big spark many times. Find your music, find your people.
Be your own enemy.
Believe in God.
Other things that are almost as uniting: Books, TV shows, Movies, Fashion, Language, vernacular. God. Faith.
Do not conform. Let them conform to you.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Passive Aggression on Limited Ed. Clear Vinyl.
I have this feeling right now, in the pit of my stomach, that everything is my fault. Everything down and down beyond and into the river below and between us. All those days at Best Buy that we "didn't hit budget" were my fault. All the lost socks and the headaches and the messes and AIDS epidemic and the wars and the hate. It all feels like it's my fault.
And I don't understand why. It's as if this feeling is there for no good reason save per chance selfishness?
Let's start on what I want, and things that I can have if I so choose to get off my ass:
1) A girlfriend. I want to be in a relationship. But I don't know how to start one. I don't know how to be a boyfriend. I'm a dick. And dicks don't get boyfriends, they get hairy palms.
I think that's what this guilt stems from: loneliness. I am lonely, I am blue...and unwell. Such petty remarks in the length of the Father!
Of the infinity.
And I don't understand why. It's as if this feeling is there for no good reason save per chance selfishness?
Let's start on what I want, and things that I can have if I so choose to get off my ass:
1) A girlfriend. I want to be in a relationship. But I don't know how to start one. I don't know how to be a boyfriend. I'm a dick. And dicks don't get boyfriends, they get hairy palms.
I think that's what this guilt stems from: loneliness. I am lonely, I am blue...and unwell. Such petty remarks in the length of the Father!
Of the infinity.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Uncle Mountain
So let's split hairs. Black, in American Politics, apparently means "descended from Slaves." Therefore, Barack Obama is not black. He's born from a Kenyan immigrant and "The Swiss Miss Girl." He's a mulatto and no one wants to say it.
But isn't that splitting hairs? He even said himself that if he hails a cab, they're not going to look and say, "A person who's half-black and half-white, but not technically black because of political stigma--no, they see a black man." Okay, so he didn't that exactly, he said something else less convoluted, but whatever. It's amazing that they have to find something about this guy to make sure he doesn't get the support of black voters in 2008, or Whitey.
Barack Obama in 2008. The First BLACK PRESIDENT.
I think it's going to be hard for him to straddle the line of being black and being an Uncle Tom.
He's black.
But isn't that splitting hairs? He even said himself that if he hails a cab, they're not going to look and say, "A person who's half-black and half-white, but not technically black because of political stigma--no, they see a black man." Okay, so he didn't that exactly, he said something else less convoluted, but whatever. It's amazing that they have to find something about this guy to make sure he doesn't get the support of black voters in 2008, or Whitey.
Barack Obama in 2008. The First BLACK PRESIDENT.
I think it's going to be hard for him to straddle the line of being black and being an Uncle Tom.
He's black.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
I can't let you go.
I am in a sad and terrible mood for some reason. It's probably because I'm tired, kind of sick, and really need to go to bed. But I digress.
Characters coming along well, I think. I've discovered their cognizance, I guess you could say. A lot of S&SL is non-cognizant. I am trying to make it as lucid as possible... But the understood is often more misunderstood.
Kleptomaniacal and masochistic front for war. Viva Zapata!
I have two friends and one is moving away. Do you know how much that scares me?
Characters coming along well, I think. I've discovered their cognizance, I guess you could say. A lot of S&SL is non-cognizant. I am trying to make it as lucid as possible... But the understood is often more misunderstood.
Kleptomaniacal and masochistic front for war. Viva Zapata!
I have two friends and one is moving away. Do you know how much that scares me?
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Alabama, Arkansas
Democrats and Republicans are sellouts. They've sold their soul to corporations. And nothing is safe.
Censorship is rampant these days. Between ClearChannel's early list of banned songs after 9/11 as well as the MPAA censoring artists (see This Film is not yet Rated) and the FCC destroying any artistic credo with their fines and their bullshit. Let the PARENTS decide.
Anti-Political Machines. Let the people decide. Nothing's gonna change with a ballot pull save the rhetoric.
Too angry to put more into words.
Censorship is rampant these days. Between ClearChannel's early list of banned songs after 9/11 as well as the MPAA censoring artists (see This Film is not yet Rated) and the FCC destroying any artistic credo with their fines and their bullshit. Let the PARENTS decide.
Anti-Political Machines. Let the people decide. Nothing's gonna change with a ballot pull save the rhetoric.
Too angry to put more into words.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Everything changed on a New Year's Day.
We as a nation are trillions of dollars in debt because weaponry costs more than peace and diplomacy. We spend more money on weapons than food. And that's maddening. We are no longer the isolationist nation we used to pride ourselves on being (but, really, were we ever?), thrusting ourselves like knives or penises into foreign affairs. I wish we spread more diplomacy that bombs.
It's because countries have the same mentality and animal instinct that all humans have. To be bigger, to be better. That great, competitive drive. In the words of Trevor Hoffman, "It's a lot cooler to strike out someone with an overpowering fastball than a changeup." Changeups are food drops and helping the starving millions both here and abroad. Here, too, we have the starving people, despite our great supermarkets. And we are interested in helping out terrorism? What is terrorism but a great relative term now given to "those goddam A-rabs?"
If there are to be numerous weapons, I at least want honesty in exchange. Why are we in Iraq? Is it because the Middle East has 2\3rds of the oil reserves?
Drop food not bombs. Ole cliche and I'm serious.
--
On a lighter note, I got tickets to Coachella. Be jealous.
It's because countries have the same mentality and animal instinct that all humans have. To be bigger, to be better. That great, competitive drive. In the words of Trevor Hoffman, "It's a lot cooler to strike out someone with an overpowering fastball than a changeup." Changeups are food drops and helping the starving millions both here and abroad. Here, too, we have the starving people, despite our great supermarkets. And we are interested in helping out terrorism? What is terrorism but a great relative term now given to "those goddam A-rabs?"
If there are to be numerous weapons, I at least want honesty in exchange. Why are we in Iraq? Is it because the Middle East has 2\3rds of the oil reserves?
Drop food not bombs. Ole cliche and I'm serious.
--
On a lighter note, I got tickets to Coachella. Be jealous.
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