I was just talking to the girl on here, and i asked her if she thought we'd even see each other again. then she said she doesn't know. then i told her how it doesn't feel like she needs me and if we're only friends then there's no point to knowing each other. then she just said "k". and then i asked her if thats it, and she just said that she never wanted to date me and that she's sorry if she led me on. led me on meaning cuddling, kissing, and long conversations. so i told her I'd miss her and deleted her. and here we are, listening to The Smith's Asleep before i go to bed and hope to wake up with more of myself in tact than there is now.

this

body doesn't really work the way i want it to. its to systematic and restricted.

Guess I don't wanna talk either, boo

well I'm a nice guy,
so what the hell do you want to talk about?
i'm curious about the tread marks
diagonally running across bruised ribs
but I take it thats too personal?

your agonies as a woman in a
boorish and sick man's world
interest me, and i think they sadden you
so what the hell do you want to talk about?

the intricacies of stable relationships
are troublesome to ponder
and i suspect they bore you
so what the fuck do you want to talkabout?

your lord? your father?
your mother's early adulthood?
your stagnation? what what what?
what the hell do you want to talk about?

oh don't tell me,
that new some thing something on the something
lights you up like a burning christmas tree,
set yourself ablaze to surprise yourself.

DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS

by: W.B. Yeats

DOWN by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.

In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

And another...another

I will forever envy the males that female nature elect as a ladies man. he does not deserve you and he does not care, but for some reason you all believe maybe you'll be the one in a million to capture his interest for a lifetime. god what a horror it is to not hate women and need one.

Surrounded by people trying to convince me their favorite dull task can satisfy my desires.

Wanna curl into a ball and roll off the face of the earth.

The way you love aint special, its impractical.

I am bested by cowardice and folly

In accordance with Kafka's dismissal of happy books, party rock, rap, and punk should be done away with as well. does every party or good occasion need a fucking theme song? our rejoice should be reserved, and spent only when something truly great, noble, or helpful occurs. not when we coalesce on yet another friday or saturday night or any night and decide that life outside the room we are in subsides in importance as we drink and socialize about the life we want to forget (lest we be happy on the occasion enough to joke about anything and everything). we are wasting our lives on happiness, that much is certain.


You'll be even more of a mess if you dont take the advice of a warm heart now and then.

Like anyone rational would, when i found myself owning beliefs and characteristics that i do not need, i got rid of them. hence my loss of faith.

We aint half as romantic as whatever we learned about romance from.

Do the adult thing and run in and out of someone's life. i would too but its enough that i already resemble my father in appearance.

Lazily acting out our fantasies

purposelessly, i suppose

you have been blessed to
get bored
first.

it is easier to let go
than to be let go of.
we revel not in either,
but I know you're more excited
about what is to come than
me.

And another day

Hip hop is now filled with farce, boring as rappers im more impressed with my own farts.

mercy mercy me, aint as much integrity as there used to be.

What a sadness, to accept and teach to the younger that the golden years all exist only before your age sheds the suffix of 'teen'. there is a considerable height of happiness and pleasure to be achieved in every decade of our lives. there ...will always be a reason or a cause for cheer and it will always only be disappointing because we are not first anymore or because we are not as new as we once were. god, the fear of aging is so silly. we accept gravity and dream only slightly of flying from this despicable planet, we can even accept such irrational as that which our government purports, but the only commonality of every organism in existince puts such an unneceasary fear in us. i only want to cry for how frightened death makes people, not because i am losing my life. ive been losing my life since i was conceived. i am like a wave, in its properties. my life is one vibration, i am born and set into motion. i go through life reaching one crst and then start returning back to my lowest point, death. and then i am done.

Social networking has sped up the rate at which we have been be oming desensitized to each other at. all these faces' all these people, i wont evwn communicate with a millionth of them. and all these people i see in real life, i wont commun...icate with a billionth of them they are just there and there amd there and there and maybe i could love this girl or that girl or have a great philosophical debate with this guy or that guy but i dont feel like committing to one of these many people. maybe this is just my introversion at work again

Utility determined by one body part or another's ability to respond on cue.

Ah so we are conceened aith the wrong commonalities. so indie marginalize our agony and speak generally about a broken heart or the joys of an average life. punk seems to be obsessed with a good time because punk began as a liberation of re...straint, and now teenagers just want to party and not grow up and punk's become both the catalyst and the proof of this sentiment. and hip hop becomes testaments of poverty or aspirations for success, which were apart of its originsm but now the average rapper takes that self loathing for having to endure life as a miser and says he's got dreams of being big and rich and so forth. he says he, like a punk, doesnt really want to succumb to the stressors of american life so he brags about murders he's never done or bitches he's fucked or drugs hes sold. and if he bare not lyrics of those subjexts, he just wants a good time to be had and thus talks profusely about his good time; a rhetoric instructional guide to taking things easy and loving yourself said smoothly over thick beats.

Im in a long distance relationship with my soul.

What has ever been accomplished by looking only on the bright side? if we were to focus only on our triukphs we would have no idea of what to avoid or prepare for. optimism is a drug, the only undesired effect is being called naive' which i...snt even experienced often because not enough people embrace the darker side of life. from freud to kafka to jung to bukowski to 2pac, it has been said that we need to understand just what makes living difficult and better it instead of being cowards who rhink life's only worth living if it is enjoyed. the pain is worth experiencing and if you disagree you havent been in enough pain (and are terrorfied of having any) or you have never sought to understand your pain.

Will i never have silk smooth legs wrapped around my waist as i stare earnestly into eyes i never want to look away from?

My life, a prolonged injury.

Another day of thoughts

All the possibilities we never accomplish always seem better than anything we actually do. for this reason, we'll never be satisfied if we keep comparing what we have to what we don't.

These voice overs for dragonball z kai are fucking lame. gohan was cooler when a gitl did his voice.

The adoration for the cultures and practices of minorities in this country is disgusting. its not even about the novelty of a trend, its about being someone you're not. an idea equally alluring to the lot of those who have felt their life, thus far, have been too strictly examined. god forbid anyone just say i'm ok with being me and let those fools on tv overact their jubilation.

Jesus christ i'm awesome.

does time run faster in japan??? or maybe its slower. perhaps thats why they're so smart, their brain matter is greater and that portion of the world has a greater mass which causes time to slow down there. time meaning the speed at which a...ll particles mobe and interact.


that has to be the reason why these fucking dragonball z episodes were always short as fuck and around 20 minutes or so.

everyone gets to decide who they want to be. who are you to say what trends are right and wrong for them to follow?

I wasn't speakin ill of trends but the very definition of a trend implies a follower doesn't really find any identity in one. an identity would last longer than however long some aesthetic is cool.

There are sooooo many implications from just one commercial. as i have aged, i can see a lot easier now how these stupid segments of perfection have effected me and everyone else. all this hype over one product or another, this show or that... show. its outrageous. i cant believe somewhere some people are making these shits thinking ''well this is how all kids act, how their homes are, and this is what they both need and want so we're gonna sell to them.''

even worse, marketers and advertisers probably areny even thinking about that shit. they're selling a product which means beliefs and opinions must be swayed in favore of the seller.

My dearest, wherever you are, i want you more than my next breath.
My loveliest, whoever you are, i hope you can keep sane until i reach you.

Dear grandma, turn that motherfucking heater off.


Bruce Wayne : OMG..PEOPLE ARE DYING ALFRED!!! WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO???
Alfred: Endure

*nearly weeps in theater and then goes on to compose the complicity of my personal philosophy on these lines from the dark knight movie

Iiiiiii ammmmm the mannnnnn in the boxxxx
burrrieeeedddd in SHIT
wonnnnttt youuuuuu come and savee meeee
yeeEeEEEeeeaaAAAAAAAA /layne's unnecessary vibrato

Wallow all the day long, borrow all the sane sold

Rofl at this lyric in the dragonball z kai theme song, ''nothing ever dies we will rise again!'

We're raised to believe there is some formula for success and there is, but there are infinite variables and they arent all as easily manipulable as studying incessantly to get good grades.

Whatever age group you're in, you only know the ones that survive. if old, plenty have became homeless or committed suicide or ran to some other continent or state. if middle aged, plenty have become homeless or committed suicide or loss track of their career's or ran to some other continent. if you're young, plenty didn't even survive birth or they have become homeless or committed suicide or ran away from home.

Of course my love, whatever you want even if its not me.

We cant be the only intelligent species or organism in all the universes capable of love. i wonder how many hearts have been broken. how many houses have been broken into. how many parents still get nostalgic about the birth of their offspring. these sadnesses cannot be exclusive to us.

You are not admirable for your dreams, dreams are the commodity of our collective experience. all imagination is uniform. what face or place you wish to have your sorrow relinquished is the only variation between each. thus we hold onto what it is we wish to have and think its by far so much more important than a disregard of self, temporarily, for the betterment of everyone. human selfishness is most profuse when examining our desires. and we couldnt be more immoral than when we are only true to ourselves.

Good poetry is all about timing and placement. to not rush your point but not take too long to arrive at it. and placing words around each other that get along and compose a very coherent image or idea. both done right end up bruising the boredom of a reader. done perfectly its like what id imagine sex is. leading up to a breaking point you've been waiting for since you began the endeavor.


HOW'S IT GONNA BE MY ART IF YOU'RE DICTATING THE MEDIUM OF EXPRESSION?- jane from daria

ha, thats why punk and hip hop and pop are dead. all signed acts have bosses to please.

And up next to be raped: indie and freak folk. theyve been getting raped with all these solemn and serene fucking songs where singer sings mournfully but happily and perseveres and is not porttayed as the cunt singer is. music is sooooooo deadddd.

Its getting much easier for me to pretend I don't exist.

is it love if you can't leave them alone?

Because such a large part of you believes in holding on to this life, and thus you hold on to them as the alternative to suicide or completely changing who you are?

Or have i been in need of Prozac for these last few months?

Wasn't that the point of being ghetto in the first place; to prove that not being rich and being unhappy didnt have to go hahd in hand? not to fucking be fine being a jackass entertainer for a paycheck and rape your own culture, causing it to lose all integrity.

Eke through college, suffer and study with the light on and your heart off.

I wanna know nobody. I wanna take after me.

not a song not a song not a song

are you sick of being human yet
are you sick of being human yet
its not guaranteed
but i bet it happens soon.
you will never love the moon.
and you will never ever swoon.
that shit was made for movies,
wasn't meant for me or you.

are you broken yet?
has your spirit been broken yet?
it will be oh it will be
when you see that you're in debt
to a fossilized god
that doesn't take rain checks
or a promise to be better
when you can afford to be patient

are you shit in the head yet?
are you full of the dead yet?
because you'll be a soul soon
souls are dead people living on the moon
whitening the black sky
not for the sake of hope but to blind
cannot mend your eyes
cannot mend your eyes
better hope you don't get blind
better hope god gives you some more time

My friend: "YOu got some food in your mustache."

Me: "Not my problem."



My friend: don't kick me when I'm down.

Me: you're kicking yourself on the ground. you look like ian curtis trying to breakdance.

"I don’t ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous — not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance. That pure chance could be so generous and so kind.That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time. That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful. The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived. That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday. I don’t think I’ll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful."

—

Ann Druyan, wife of the late Carl Sagan

so i'm looking at a blog

and an emo band is her name.

and I'm listening to In Treatment on the tv behind me.

and I hear her name.

You may very well be one of a kind

Just don't expect anyone else to realize that.

Christmas is so magical

it made its own magic disappear.

The longer

you only listen to yourself, the more likely to fuck up you are, the more you will fuck up, the more you'll need advice to help you stop fucking up, the more you'll be likely to disobey advice because you feel someone is trying to stop you from listening to you.


or somewhere in there, you get a hold of some drugs and think life's grand for 4 seconds or so at a time. Then you're as good as gone.

To his beloved by Christopher Anodyne

Oh dear god, must I generalize?! Must I?!

Everything here is monochrome.
She left,
and took the color with her.
And the pigments
in the pavement
marking her impatient
pacing
are fading
much slower than I am.


the elusive cause for the gut in your gulliver

people
only chase
dreams.
their ideals,
and their
saviors.
you can look ahead,
to a future dimly
lit.
where fog has the
thickness of a cloud.
you can look behind you,
where clarity has became synonymous
with burden, and hope, loss.
You can look to your sides,
where all things becoming, become
undone or run headstrong into
the mist ahead.
Where you'd have to look
to grasp ahold of whatever peace
isn't fleeting or getting married (or
divorced; that which is broken refuses
repair if it is too profusely aware
that the
harmony it once knew
has been discontinued).

ah, but no one is chasing you.
from your side, from behind,
from ahead,
no one is coming.

Sans the poem


Christopher looks in the mirror.
He looks at his dick.
Christopher cleverly
refers to the object
euphemistically.
Christopher speaks
in himself, honestly,
hoping for the flesh hanging
there like the carcass of a
once free floating
balloon
to one day soon
be used for the loveliness of a woman.
Christopher mentions
something about hopelessness
and it being invalid,
but inevitable.
Christopher
shrinks life down to size
for love to exist.
Christopher considers
some woman.
Christopher considers all women.
Christopher writes a love letter in his
head.
Christopher wants to tell her
something.
Christopher says he weeps once
considering she won't even listen to him.
Christopher makes his pain far greater than it is.
And Christopher says so.

Awful

how people become something you never wanted to even imagine they could be.

Friday nights have been lonely

and you're screaming her name

but only on the inside. the strength doesn't exist to plea in any other way.

Getting old

encompasses the forlorn discomfort of remembering all the times you slipped and fell, into love or onto pavement, and wishing you had eaten more vegetables so the you know....you know....can be a bit further away.

I won't be no run away, 'cuz I won't run.

- Matt Berninger

THe sensation of freedom that travel brings? I can have it by going from Lisbon to Benfica, and have it more intensely than one who goes from Lisbon to CHina, because if the freedom isn’t in me, then I won’t have it no matter where I go. ‘Any road,’ said Carlyle, ‘this simple Entepfuhl road, will lead you to the end of the World.’ But the Entepfuhl road, if it is followed all the way to the end, returns to Entepfuhl; so that Entepfuhl, where we already were, is the same end of the world we set out to find.

Condillac begins his celebrated book with: ‘No matter how high we climb or how low we descend, we never escape our sensations.’ WE never disembark from ourselves. WE never attain another existence unless we other ourselves by actively, vividly imagining who we are. The true landscapes are those we ourselves create since, being their gods, we see them as they truly are, which is however we created them. None of the four corners of the world is the one that interests me that I can truly see; it’s the fifth corner that I travel in, and it belongs to me.

- Fernando Pessoa, the Book of Disquiet (of course). Though I agree incredibly with what he is saying, its excerpts like these that make me wonder just how terribly miserable he must have been as he wrote such a wisdom to be forever regarded as such.

“I know that running away seems like a good idea now but I promise you, you will take this feeling with you wherever you go.It will not leave you until you deal with it. And it won’t leave you even then, but it will lessen. And believe it or not, eventually you will be able to draw strength from this experience that you never imagined possible.” - Paul from HBO’s In Treatment.

Dostoevsky = boss

"Not all married women are happy," she snapped out in the rude abrupt tone she had used at first.
"Not all, of course, but anyway it is much better than the life here. Infinitely better. BEsides, with love one can live even without happiness. Even in sorrow life is sweet; life is sweet however one lives."

Freestyled a song. Recorded it. Shame ensued.

Freestyle like its 2010 and you just got dumped by Christopher Anodyne

Of all the preposterous assumptions of humanity over humanity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well-warmed, and well-fed.-Herman Melville

He sat up, put his arms about her neck, kissed her, drew back and looked at her, kissed her again, drew back again, and so on, several times. There were tears on her cheeks. She smiled forlornly as he rubbed them away with his forefingers.
‘You know what?’ he said with great earnestness. ‘I think we’re both afraid of the same thing. And for the same reason. We’ve never managed, either one of us, to get all the way into life. We’re hanging on to the outside for all we’re worth, convinced we’re going to fall off at the next bump. Isn’t that true?’
-Paul Bowles

"I loathe MTV. I think that thats systematically destroying music. Its a very sinister force, in music in a way. And I think that more and more the life of the musician is being put into the hands of video makers and video directors and so fort. Which is a frightening situation because they're a universally a horrible kind of people."

"I go through periods of trying to reacquaint myself with the world in a way. ANd it works a little while, but I just lose interest."


- Nick Cave

of course there is only

something wrong with me. she's the one human being god spared when handing out fuck-upability.

Yea yea yea

If I were God, I'd have hope too - I could view every good deed done. We humans don't get a balanced enough perception of things because we can't see enough to truly be aware of all the altruism and kindness available/in existence in the world.

A+

for her lack of effort.

A+ for the presentation being so boorish, insolent, and obvious.

Gareth Liddard of the Drones droppin' some knowledge

I’ve got like a 1 ½ octave range [[meeee tooooo]]

Without the bluster of the Drones behind it, that 1 ½ octave voice has to carry more of the weight on the solo album- so how would Liddiard review his Drones-less work? “I would say that the timings wonky and the vocals are out of tune,” Li...ddiard admits, “but [critics] won’t hone in on that – they’ll say something like ‘teenaged poetry’ or they’ll say ‘claustrophobically depressing’ or ‘self indulgent’… I’m sure they’ll think of shit I couldn’t think of… and I’ll be like whatever ‘fair enough’. It’s a pretty gnarly kinda record so you can’t blame anybody; no one has to like it I don’t care. I like it, that’s the reward for me"


Even a bad review can hold a certain reward for Liddiard, “Anyone that’s been around for a while, once you get over [bad reviews], they’re actually hilarious. When you’re young and you’re doing it, or younger, you get a bad review it hurts, but eventually you just realize it’s a big world, there’s a lot of other shit going on. My mum didn’t like what we did, my dad doesn’t really get it, but I don’t feel bad about that. If someone from Minnesota doesn’t like it – ‘whoopie shit’. It’s fun to read, it’s hilarious.

“If I hear something that’s completely un-harmonic and just doesn’t have any melodic structure I can enjoy I because I can go ‘oh I’ll use _that_’. Someone else will just hear a total mess,” Liddiard explains “You can take anything, wether it’s scales, approaches, ideas, attitudes, fuckin’ atmospheres it’s endless.”


I listen to a lot of Frank Sinatra, a lot of old jazz and you can put it all in. Thelonious Monk – that’s my idea of piano playing that’s how you do it. It’s just weird and kooky and it has punk intonation; there’s four-four and then there’...s living in the moment, of just doing it.”

“You just get shit from everywhere, it’s fun to do… I don’t know it’s weird,” he explains. “It’s gotta be authentic, and then second to authentic it’s gotta be weird coz weird makes shit interesting. My favourite Bob Dylan songs are the weird ones like Dear Landlord or Poor Boy – you’re just like ‘fuck what are you taking about’ they’re intriguing. I’m a fan of weird.”

I’ve had people talk to me like that. It’s weird. Some people are cool and they go ‘I don’t like it’ but they’re still warm and they’re nice and you can hang out and they’re fine. I don’t expect everyone to like it, cause that’d be impossible. Then there are some people that are weird they don’t have any social skills. And they come up and go ‘I don’t like it’ and you thing ‘oh, here we go’ they’re just retarded socially

“We run on deadlines, if you do make a perfect record it’s a fluke. You can’t plan a hit, that’s the whole thing, you’ve just gotta let go at some point. You’ve gotta make a deadline and the deadline’s gotta come and it’s gotta be enforced ...otherwise you just keep working on an album or a song forever. At some point you’ve gotta say ‘alright, next!’ next step – let’s record this song, or release the song, or tour this album whatever the next step is and be done with it. If you do make a masterpiece it’s not ‘Oh I did that’. People say that in hindsight – ‘Oh yeah, I did that deliberately’ – but they forget all these forces of fate which helped put things in place. We don’t plan for that. We just make shit we like, shit we want to hear.”

Sans the comprehensibility

then it is poetry, or called such.

human beings are harmonious only as listeners. as in all other roles, they are dissonant, off beat, improvising motherfuckers playing jazz, runnin their fingers and mouves all along their instruments refusing to even play in the same key.

If not love,

then what the fuck is worth suffering for?

I do not

know how everyone feels, but I feel as if I've felt just about as much as anyone I could meet can feel. And that is an awful lot more than I want to feel. Half the time it would seem that I am forcing myself to feel. I believe allowing would be a better word.

Dream Song 14

by John Berryman

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored
means you have no

Inner Resources.’ I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.

Her Kind

by Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

"I don't think that life is short. So I think you should stop saying that. 'Life is short, man.' No it's not! Life is excrusiatingly long. Let me rephrase that. The life you got left is excrusiatingly long. The life behind you, it's done. So yeah, life is short, but only when you turn around and look at it. But if you keep looking forward, you got a lot of yearsto think about. If you don't think life is long, if you life every day like life is short, you know what you become? A fuckin' asshole. You gotta live your life like someday soon you're gonna hit some miserable Tuesday night that's just gonna seem to go on for days and days and days. Waiting for either some phone call to come that doesn't come or some phone call to stop that won't stop. Because as it's laid out infront of you seems to go on forever. But look back to when you were 4 and it seems like last Sunday. So just keep looking forward and keep your good heart on you and keep doing the best you can do and love who you love the best you can love." -John Mayer

You've got to distinguish between the future and now. These moments aren't passing as fast as you think they are.

Getting over

someone is about surviving those moments when the loneliness intensifies and you can only consider going back to them. Desensitization. They lose their weight in time. You find it easier to think of them without feeling like you need them.

Words from a pal.

when i am done writing ... (and it's usually in my phone on the terrace of the building where i live) ... i know that i've said what i had to ... but it's an overwhelming avalanche of splinters that want to be out now ... and it takes a lot to just stand them ... yet i know that that's what it takes to make a warrior out of one ... i feel your presence ... and i don't feel afraid ... i just read what you'd said that day (i put it on my profile) ... and feel empowered again ...

. people ... unfortunately ... are more delusional than we'd like to believe ... (my knowledge is experiential) ... i have a term for it ... "resolution loss" ... if we say something, they automatically assume a more diluted version of it and add whatever ulterior motives they can to it (depending upon their ability to think and twist) ... and i refer to them as "twisters" ... they are defensive and make one defensive ...

. no one wants to do a disc de frag ... (i am assuming you know that process - lemme know if you don't) ... to make sense of life ... we have to actually go back to all of it ... and that's too much ... people believe in doing the minimum they need to do to get by ... they pretend they are looking to optimize ...

. but ... if reprimanded or admonished ... they actually experience righteous indignation ... the only way to bring about change is by inspiring it ... and the only way to inspire is by being consistent with ethics ... while evolving ... thereby ... inspiring through demonstrated excellence ... we have to be and live what we write ...

. plus, they don't have any patience ... and they are quick to write us off ... at the mere appearance of a mistake ... it is too much effort you see ... to evaluate every situation on merit and in an issue - based manner ... and no one wants to work hard ...

. paul said something amazing the other day ... in his characteristic caustic style ... he asked me if i thought the buddha was ambitious ... and that made me ponder ... and i realized ... that buddhism is one of those schools of thought that bogs the universe down ... (at least in the manner in which it is often quoted and projected in contemporary times) ... people would rather give up ... for fear of being hurt again ... than actually be proactive ... face whatever there is to face ... and try and live rather than subsist ... for instance ... if my soul mate is absconding and i can't be with someone else ... i'd rather become an activist for everything that i want transformed in him ... make the issues more important than the person ... but live my life ... with the knowledge that somewhere i transcended something ... than pretend he's not my soul mate ... hook up with someone mildly compatible ... and say this is life ... and then validate mildly compatible for the rest of my life ... i'd rather stand by my exquisite taste in love and "issues" ... pay the price for it ... and be happy that i did something which was truer to who i was ... and how i actually felt ...

. in short, unfortunately we live in a world of impatient cowards who are in denial ... and the only way to change anything is by inspiring it ... saying something to someone usually doesn't work ... that's why poetry is a precious tool ... and is still so under - utilized ... that we ... sensitive people ... can hope to cause at least a stir ... if not bring about global transformation ...

If

similar universes exists, with similar sequences of evolution, and similar social structures and the very same cathartically self-destructive libido, and nearly identical lifespans, an irritable mortality, and a similar search for love akin to our own, then how many men exist who simply wish for a woman to understand the humility of their desperation?

absence is abreast

Looking at people who don't notice me reminds me of time spent with you.
i bet I only cross your mind when you recollect on being bored.

Cross the country to see someone you described as toxic
then disregard me trying to convince you that you're not an idiot.

all fatherless men spend their upbringing learning to love
dysfunctional women, so in a sense I was raised to love you.

we epitomize the very unfairness that we detest.
a loathesome world is made up of many cruel moments just like this

if you cant stand the heat, burn the house down
ashes are like memories, they flake and disintegrate.

she don't believe in healing, either you're perfect or your dying.
with us all at war, there's no point mending wounds in a lions den.

I'm going to fold that blanket we laid in and lie beside it for the rest of my life.
YOu're going to cast your soul's reproach to sea, bit by bit for the rest of yours.


you've got the kind of scalp that 8 year olds cry about
long before you're of age, gray hairs'll sprout

and for the sake of the wind, you'll lose a hundred pounds.
let it carry you wherever it carries ashes of the dead.

and for the sake of the tide, you'll set out to sea in a raft
let it carry you til death as you validate your decision by reading Plath.

fairness is abreast with absence
passion is the discourse of the naive.
decay is the temperament of time
we are the minds that we have lost.

You are so

very difficult to get over, but when I look at someone else, I don't see you. Because you're not them. Just as I am not him. So it is my hope that time will make it easier to care for someone else, although it is still in me to hope you come back before then.

But as I wait:

I want to be Elliot Smith for the Halloween of my life.

Would you

even be if the love that failed later, was given up on before you were born? Unsurprisingly, you'd prefer just that.

The Departure

I ordered my horse to be brought from the stables. The servant did not understand my orders. So I went to the stables myself, saddled my horse, and mounted. In the distance I heard the sound of a trumpet, and I asked the servant what it meant. He knew nothing and had heard nothing. At the gate he stopped me and asked: "Where is the master going?" "I don't know," I said, "just out of here, just out of here. Out of here, nothing else, it's the only way I can reach my goal." "So you know your goal?" he asked. "Yes," I replied, "I've just told you. Out of here--that's my goal."

Though I drove half a tank off in one day for her to enjoy herself, though I made nothing of her asking me to hurry up as I drove just to see a movie she wanted to see, though couldn't find it in me to advise her to not visit her ex, though i even still told her i hope she finds what she's looking for (though I would miss her) when she went to see him suddenly after saying she wouldn't go to see him, though I wept as I drove home after spending half an hour or so letting her sulk in her silence beside me, though we rested in parks and I left one eye open just to watch her look up at the sky (away from me, of course), though tried unrelentingly to keep her from condeming herself for any decision of her own (including going to see her ex, which I blame for her newly discovered hope for an ideal self that is full of indifference and no need for love): she would still not say I am any different from he, who she described as someone trying to convince her - out of his own misery - to try to be with him. Yea, no altruist am i, I'm just like all the rest of them, love. Selfish when honest. Nothing more.

Storage for the stories

No one's gonna read all this shit, but if you do, know this: I'm keeping this shit here to later look upon. I was dropping some knowledge today and in months or years, I'm goonna look back on this and see what parts of me I'm missing.


Having a self-defined good time by taking shit too seriously.


the worst part about everything now becoming meaningless is we're too lazy to redefine them.


Women who enjoy being dominated sexually must be the most uptight amd inhibited. the forcefulness during sex must cause, without disruption, the releases of their inhibitions. i say this as i psychoanalyze sylvia plath after reading that she enjoyed bring dominated sexually. pretty great for someone with as little sexual experience as me.

EVERYBODY'S TALKING BOUT THEIR SHORT LIST

If not lost, who has gound us....ever?

A Friend: Nick C- you hit the nail on the head so to speak.. women afraid to really be in tune with themselves sexually, either conciously or sub, relinquish control of their bodies over to their partner. I am not sure how gratifying that can be...just my thoughts..

Oh god, what a tragedy truly experiencing life intrinsically is. forgo the sanity and be unfettered as the wind or be tame and dissonant within yourself.

Christopher Anodyne Thanls for peering in on my status of consciousness, nick o. im glad a wise one of your glorious kind sees what i meant there. gonna pat myself on the back for getting Nick O's magnificent approval. pat pat

Lynne Hayes I have been on both ends of that spectrum.. neither was satisfying mentally, spiritually or physically.. The middle ground where one is intuned and confident within thier true selves, is where true satisfaction lay.

I agree entirely.

The goooood timesss are killiinngg mdee

Need more sleep than coke or methamphetamines

I would post a modest mouse song on your page Nick O, but im in bed on my phone.

I had a thought walking up my stairs as my ankled writhed below the rest of my weary body: this must be what aging feels like. like this is a moment when the body becomes less of what it was and more of an agonizing vessel filled with wonde...rs and stupid jokes about getting old. the latter only being spoken in conversation with stupid little young idiots who dont even know how good they have shiy. goddamn the brightest of eyes, the shininiest of polished hair, the smoothe baby bottoms acting as faces, the undeniably cute. gah, goddamn the whole lot of them.

A Friend: Oh that's ok.. hit me up tomorrow..K? Rest.. think.. and rest some more..

Sounds like a plan to me. i will most certainly do just that.
Son. of. a. bitch.

A Friend: Nick.. one day lets do a private chat here about these things.. you have an exceptional eye into the world.. ok?

A friend: No, it's sums of bitches..

Lol we'll certainly have to. maybe it should be preceded by us taking prozac to prepare our minds for the blow the talk would take.

A friend: lol.. prozac and a fifth of something over 80 proof.. but hey, if it worked for Buk..

You know ive been thinking about all the beatings he took , the incessant drinking, and the smoking. and i just think that man was as close to jesus as we'll ever get, in terms of invulnerability and immunity to illness. like, if jesus didnt get kidnapped or whatever, he would have STILL been outlived by bukowski.

One day im gonna wake up next to someone i really care about and i'm just gonna be like '' lets be matried. not get married, just marry ourselves and say we're married.''

If not love, then what have i had? oh thats right, ive had these lame ass bed sheets.

The irony of frustration, dissatisfaction, and stress is that all the while you continue living and holding on, one may still find themselves saying it is too much or it is too difficult. i feel the greatest hope lies somewhere in that fact.



Youtube wouldn't publish my latest xtranormal cartoon video, so I sent it these kind words in response to its automated question, "How can we help make this better?" that was meant to console me after having denied the shit out of my video. "By publishing the fucking video. How else? What are you going to do, send me some money to pay my rent? Publish the video and keep youtube from becoming t...he banal load of retarded self-fulfilling entertainment it is."

in a society without sexism, the only thing a man does or should do that a woman doesn't is insert his own penis into his lady's vagina. and only a fool would want to do that all the time.

Another friend: don't kick me when I'm down.
Me: you're kicking yourself on the ground. you look like ian curtis trying to breakdance.


Getting rid of my TV because - I’m tired of being turned on against my will.



fucking hate this generation. let decadence swallow our values whole and turn us into isolated freak...s bewildered by our own reflection and the presence of others.

Small writers of dust.

fine, you'll have
his connoisseur
and united state of
affection.
and then
the tiny space
in your head that
recognizes my face
will be hollowed
like an empty grave.
i will take a solace
in knowing that
worms will eat the
respective space
inside my own skull
(still) enamored with your face
after I have passed.
Even if I should
live 50 more
years,
you will still be there.
occupying a few cells,
waiting to be devoured
by the best friends
i'll never meet.

they'll be worms.
kind consumers of the wasted.
small writers of dust.

say goodnight to every object that will be just as alive and still in the morning as it is now. say goodbye to a person out of earshot. say i miss you to an imaginary phone call. say i love you to an indifferent monument for a useless principle. say hello to the chill that lasts longer than anyone elses permanence in your life. say you'll be alright to yourself. say god might forgive but only because he has no obligation to care to the sunrising christian in you. say nevermind to it's hope. say a few words to the pillow, and pray to yourself that the worries of the morning to follow won't snatch you by the heart from the tranquility of sleep. say goodnight.

Say goodnight, this day was as lost as the thought of anyone, for only their memory has consumed duration.

When You Are Old

by Yeats, a boss for sure.

WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

“Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk- real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.”
— Jack Kerouac

All because we cannot be perfect, we're willing to give up on so many things. If history has told us anything, it is that perfection is such a grandiloquent concept, that it need not even be considered attainable for happiness to be gained.

O tempora! O mores!

by Bukowski

I get these girly magazines in the mail because
I'm writing short stories for them again
and here in these pages are these ladies
exposing their jewel boxes -
it looks more like a gynecologist's
journal -
everything boldly and clinically
exposed
beneath bland and bored physiognomies.
it's a turn-off of gigantic
proportions:
the secret is in the
imagination -
take that away and you have dead
meat.

a century back
a man could be driven mad
by a well-turned
ankle, and
why not?
one could imagine
that the rest
would be
magical
indeed!

now they shove it at us like a
McDonald's hamburger
on a platter.

there is hardly anything as beautiful as
a woman in a long dress

not even the sunrise
not even the geese flying south
in the long V formation
in the bright freshness
of early morning.

Everyone I've kissed has never needed me.

Love itself can be considered the cowardice of two. Why love in the first fucking place, or even seek to love if you think one sex should play the orchestrator of what we’re supposed to experience, develop, and culminate naturally in a fair and mutual manner?

My desperation begets honesty.

So I was freestyling at work and on the way home

and, excuse the self-tooting here, I thought some shit was pretty nice:

I don't purport to have all the answers, but I'm asking all the questions.


I'm a monogamist, not a misogynist, but I do hate women.
Not a humorous, but I am hilarious.

Then on the way home, I turned my Superuknown cd to "Like Suicide" and began spittin some raw shit, knamin?!

Don't wanna take off your bra miss, just want you to take it off then we commence in the same act done for centuries. See (at this point I figured out something) nobody questions this but we have a problem loving more than once.

What struck me during the latter session is how inauthentic we feel all intense experiences after an initial, blissful experience are. People have been fucking for ages, whats so special about your orgasm? The fact that you feel it, and you alone feel it is special. Who remembers the first time they tried their favorite food, or any food that induced a most pleasureful reaction? No fucking one. Not me at least. But I know I still love food, and I still want sex. And if I can still long for such things that are as natural as that, then why should I give up on love only because it hasn't worked out for me a few times?

You're so lovely

I've forgotten about her already. Nevermind she, its your eyes - your eyes - your eyes - your eyes.

I swear I just heard "[Her name] IS GONE" as if something on tv had said it, but the volume is considerably low and wouldn't emit a sound that audible.

FML.

You cannot both abhor and teach to accept.

You cannot teach a need for love, while helping the lonely accept insurmountable conditions.
You cannot tell the young to keep patient about fucking their youth away without making the fucked feel shameful.
You cannot advise an appreciation for education, unless you're willing to make the uneducated feel like idiots.
SO just what the fuck can be changed?

I suppose since I've laid with no one, I've gained a sufficient amount of expertise that will come in handy when I've laid down for good.

the elusive cause for the gut in your gulliver

people
only chase
dreams.
their ideals,
and their
saviors.
you can look ahead,
to a future dimly
lit.
where fog has the
thickness of a cloud.
you can look behind you,
where clarity has became synonymous
with burden, and hope, loss.
You can look to your sides,
where all things becoming, become
undone or run headstrong into
the mist ahead.
Where you'd have to look
to grasp ahold of whatever peace
isn't fleeting or getting married (or
divorced; that which is broken refuses
repair while the harmony it once knew
has been discontinued).

ah, but no one is chasing you.
from your side, from behind,
from ahead,
no one is coming.

You want to be something more, to make yourself impervious to change and inscrutable to yourself. Forgo reality, and just build your own ship to sail across continents a la photographic moments you swear are far greater in beauty than the stillness of a kiss. If I never understand woman, I will profusely deflect blame. I don't see any fault in an honest presentation of my will and intentions. ANd i do not see any fault in wanting love to actually fucking last. It would appear that the minority is always in harms way like they were standing at the epicenter of a quaking intersection. Everything comes crashing in, and crashing, and crashing. Fighting each other with subversion and indignation, but not conscious enough of the hopelessness that should be the very fuel in our lungs that makes a bed a place to rest, not live. No fucking clue what the future holds for any of my friends, or the women I've wanted to be with for a lifetime. And its frightening as fuck. Its terrible to know that I've never been the one making the decision to let go. A million false starts. No apologies sent my way because everyone else knows better. Because apologies only lengthen the misery, by some unknown fucking standard. I call bullshit. If any closure is to be had, it would be as the result of understanding that there is no further potential, or at least no significant amount, worth pursuing. And how the fuck can that point be reached if I'm always kicked away and shoved right back down into this sinkhole of deprivation? But still I must remain nice. If I'm not kind, then what the fuck is the point of living any longer? Its a bigger waste of life than murder to remain bitter and hostile in regards to everyone all the time. One must at least try saying, about someone new or old, this person is less likely to hurt me than whoever first scarred us. We are such fools. Such fucking idiots to make the natural process of aging more difficult than it is.

"You wanna know what ruins us, just take a look at how we love." - some shitty poem of mines.

"Its getting tougher to say the right things." - Unbroken.

“Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.”
—

Sylvia Plath

On weed

If given the right to do that shit, tons of hipsters, pretentious 'free thinkers', and uptight-gone-liberated motherfcukers are going to hop in the weed van and smoke to their idiocy's content. Don't fucking care, don't care, don't care. Weed or alcohol or sex or casual love, people in this country are woeful for very obvious reasons that no one wants to acknowledge. You do as you wish, I'm not doing shit.

Was it entirely paranoid to suspect that all those stoppers, thingamajigs, and substances devised to prevent conception were intended not to liberate womankind from the biological and social penalties imposed on her natural passions but, rather, at the insidious design of capitalistic puritans, were supposed to technologize sex, to dilute its dark juices, to contain its wilder fires, to censor its sweet nastiness, to scrub it clean (clean as a laboratory autoclave, clean as a hospital bed), to order it uniform, to render it safe; to eliminate the risk of uncontrollable feelings, illogical commitments, and deep involvements (substituting for those risks the less mysterious, tamer risks of infection, hemorrhage, cancer, and hormone imbalance); yes, to make sexual love so secure and same and sanitary, so slick and frolicsome, so casual that it is not a manifestation of love at all, but a near anonymous, near autonomous, hedonistic scratching of a bunny itch, an itch far removed from any direct relation to the feverish enigmas of Life and Death, and a scratching programmed so that it would in no way interfere with the real purpose of human beings in a capitalistic, puritanical society, which is to produce goods and consume them?

Things the patriotic and cheerful constituents of this country unite in the name of

Parades (typically celebrating a team's victory or homosexuality)
Voting


uhhhhhh

I need one person: a wife. Beyond that, humanity can go fuck itself.

“We are as forlorn as children lost in the woods. When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours. And if I were to cast myself down before you and weep and tell you, what more would you know about me than you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful? For that reason alone we human beings ought to stand before one another as reverently, as reflectively, as lovingly, as we would before the entrance to Hell”

Cry a little while, but not too long. a little while is good. too long is bad. you should never think of what is finished. Women always think of what is finished instead of what is beginning. It makes you sick.

Smart art: in America, the land of anti-intellectualism, it's perhaps inevitable that our art should devolve into a screech against the national celebration of the dumb.

I write like Charles Dickens

according to this site, which analyzed this:


God, is there nothing better to do than writhe? Or is this the only conceivable task, fit for a man who prefers a seat to a hug? Who of us can honestly say what it means to writhe, anyway? The word itself sounds too painful for familiarity to honestly reach out and coax the small formation of letters into unraveling. But if it is at all esoteric, I know the meaning. I know it well. And I have an unwarranted wisdom as the result of this understanding. Its awfully strange how much we learn against our will. And even stranger how much people change over the course of teaching us what we wished we never knew. Fine fine fine, it's all strange or pointless or refusing to contain itself, much like the word writhe has done throughout my lifetime.

Sometimes he spoke out loud, but it was not satisfying; it seemed rather to hold back the natural development of the ideas. They flowed out through his mouth, and he was never sure whether they had been resolved in the right words.

I don't read or enjoy art, I consume it. I absorb film after film after album after book after poem. I've learned so much from far more than intellectual conversation, perhaps that is an indication of how much I've had. I've considered the lives of everyone, from singer to actor to writer. I'm not gloating, but something about this feels abstract. To listen to Modest Mouse songs and feel like I've become more aware of what life is just as I do when listening to Bob Dylan. And then watching The Dark Knight and taking inspiration from dialogue (Bruce Wayne asks Alfred what he should do as people are dying, Alfred replies, "Endure") and also becoming hopeless about the state of the world when listening to Gareth Liddiard sing "You sure ain't mine now" because the woman in the song isn't merely a migrant or vagabond, she's someone searching for some truth in a world that has very little reality worth embracing. God, this just doesn't feel normal or healthy. Just how long can one sustain this kind of endless contemplation of everything?

THe main thing is to shun lies, all forms of lies, lies to yourself in particular. Keep a watch on your lies and study them every hour, every minute. Also shun disdain, both for others and for yourself; that which appears to you foul within yourself is cleansed by the very fact of your having noticed it in you. Also shun fear, although fear is only the consequence of any kind of lying. Never be daunted by your own lack of courage in the attainment of love, nor be over-daunted even by your bad actions in this regard. I regret I can say nothing more cheerful to you, for in comparison to fanciful love, active love is a cruel and frightening thing. Fanciful love thirsts for a quick deed, swiftly accomplished, and that everyone should gaze upon it. In such cases the point really is reached where people are even willing to give their lives just as long as the whole thing does not last an eternity but is swiftly achieved, as on the stage, and as long as everyone is watching and praising. Active love, on the other hand, involves work and self-mastery.

"Been in love as many times as I've been alive in years." - Slug

My recipe for peace as told by a pair of quotes from Paul Bowles' The Sheltering Sky

"You must be realistic, madame. If you stray outside that, you do harm to everyone."

"One always ends by getting use to anything."

Hate women? On the contrary – and I can’t see that my lyrics are in any way sexist – many of them are very deep love songs to women. “6 inch gold blade” was written, as it were, under the bedsprings of my unfaithful lover – whose head I can recall wanting to cleave apart with a large knife at the time – not that I’m the jealous type! But it doesn’t say I want to stick a 6” blade in the head of all women. A great many of my songs are about relationships that I’ve had, they’re very symbolic, very real. “Junkyard” is a love song, not in the Capital Radio sense but nevertheless it’s very real to me.
Nick Cave

IN terms of my generation,

We're living out our futures. Loneliness has became so certain, so overwhelmingly infallible and apart of life that we have convinced ourselves its a necessity of life. Now, in keeping with human beings trying to adapt to changing conditions, we are adapting to this new viewpoint. Getting comfortable with being alone.

heaven knows I'm divisible now

skin painted on
by a tyrant
and the heart of
a weeping willow
weren't we all meant to be
born by another set of strangers?

my own father's hands
rusty and scarce of
a woman's.
a working man's blues
handed to a son growing too soon
weren't we all meant to be
born by another set of strangers?

oh the concision of
a backwards step
how awful it is to watch
how unaware the walker is
weren't we all meant to be
born by another set of strangers?

of it I'm sure
i have no allure
not character
not a kind voice

still we are more than
just characters
singing along in a given voice

still we are further from reaping
the benefits
than we are from paralysis

Apart

of a dying breed of individuals ashamed and afraid of being lonely. Too many introverts these days, we're starting to believe there's nothing wrong because there's so many of us.

To expand on the last post: People only chase dreams, no one is pursuing me.

So then

This is what it feels like to be no one's ideal. TO be perfect to, more or less for, no one at all. To be good, but not good enough. Awful. I'd hoped I'd feel otherwise, or have felt more, by now.

The worst part about romance is that so much of it is conditioned. The statute of instincts and human intelligence naturally give way to more than enough reasons to love someone and enjoy a lifetime with them without all the fuckery that is bought and displayed whimsically in the name of love.

At one point someone from the audience yelled out jokingly, "Play something happy!" to which Nick glibly responded, "I don't do happy songs. I do angry and I do sad. That's what I do."

What to do, what to do

Hope for us.

you
there
standing around like
the figment of
some preteen's too-intensely
idealized
imagination.
Let it go,
let it all go.
THe only remains of it
exist between
the same ears
that recorded her every word.
Let it go.
The beating beasts beneath
our chests are an endangered
species.
So let it go.
We are all alike but we are not
the same.
A cesspool of excuses
is what we dig our bitter little hands
into for relief,
though nothing of aid can be said
when you prefer a grave to a hospital bed.
So let it go.
Because a bruise is no less a shield than a scab is.
Once injured you're not more likely to be
had
than those who inexperience
has given naivety.
So let it go.
Let it go.
It ends on its own, but only
if you believe it should.
Emotions have the lung capacity
of spaceships.
I know.
But let it go.
Its worth letting go.
They, he, she, everyone who has
Stolen pieces of the lifetime you belong in
is worth letting go of.
So let it go.
Affection is our only remaining importance in this
configured torture.
So give it to someone who needs it.
And let it go.
You are their holocausts,
their hollow causes,
their extremities of perseverance,
and their mistakes.
You are like them,
you are similar to all who have suffered,
but you are not them.
So let it go.
Who wonders for any other reason than
to wander from the present?
We all do.
So let it go.
Wander only from that which has left you.
Bind not to what will not even
look you in the eye to say thank you
or fuck you.
Let it go.
Give in to the notion
of a continuation,
undetermined, but inevitable,
if you
let it go.

Shit just got real fucking sexist in here

Women will never understand men. And men will never be able to draw the self-portrait women keep tucked away beneath their dreamy hope. I mostly blame the latter on the former. A man's bound to be honest because it is a man's world if for no other reason than because men are so prone to contributing damage to the world to preserve their own comfort, security, and pleasure. The most bitter of women understand this, and have probably felt it ruin a part of them. The most foolish of women are to blame for all the personality types of femininity; optimistic women and pessimistic women are all variants of the ideal happy woman. The majority of men just want something beautiful to look at that won't leave, and who better to stick around than a trophy wife who doesn't believe in widespread misery?

Who is more prone to leave than a woman who feels there's always something better where she isn't and running from what is will turn her 'what if's' into 'what perfectly is'?

Sexism has its roots buried within us and it will take decades and generations of unadulterated honesty to bring not only an end to sexism, but a beginning to peace. I don't think people in love with an appreciative and reciprocating opposite start wars or give up on all that is living.

I think sexism sheds an at times unbearable light on why we are entirely to blame for the pain we each feel.

This all of course predicates that love truly is the only counterproductive force capable of fighting our progression towards a misanthropic world of isolation and misery. It is also preceded by the assumption that love is valuable or is at least part of our purpose in remaining alive. For the disbelievers of this supposition, I ask what is empty about love? Is the very fact that we are fragile enough to deconstruct bones and tissue just by time's continuity not reason enough to hold on to someone and seek only to make their life fulfilling and enjoyable? Exactly what are we if alone? Isolation and loneliness can really suck the joy out of life and though it is preferable, by me even, to heartbreak or any other type of disappointment, it should not appear beguiling enough to treat people like shit. Especially people who have committed no harm to you.

I extrapolate from that to then present our truth: we are bound for pain, but we must soften each blow with love. Both women and men must be honest as shit. ANd we mustn't allow our mortality, and all the impossibly avoided aesthetic deterioration, mislead our efforts made towards happiness. The relationship of man to women, I believe, is one of the most prevalent determinants of what the future will hold.

Disappointment is something very peculiar to me. I've never been unsure about being disappointed. I've felt confused about being happy, depressed, and content, but never disappointed. I've always been certain that I've been let down and that it has felt like something tied an anchor to my mind.

What I find unique about it is that just prior to being disappointed, I may have the capacity to imagine what is about to happen, and some times I may be more sure of it than others. But once it occurs, I'm suddenly changed in a way. And then I feel like shit or whatever.

But the same change is achievable by doing more than you believe you can do. By disregarding your own limitations. Once you do so, you have grown exponentially in just a few moments or for however long it takes to overcome a fear of yours.

I'd like to think this gives me and anyone reading more hope than anything else. Hope itself is only validated once we have achieved something anyway.

Ken Mode - Likeliness is against you

Completely devoid of colour, she peers down upon us. Winds rise and fall; with human voices as leaves….chattering and falling, piling like corpses. Searching for answers to questions you can't even define. Observation proves to be both a gift and a curse. Filled with a sense of confusion, an empty feeling in the pit of your stomach. This void has no satisfaction, and it reminds me of this fact every night. They make me sick. And the pain of it refuses to cease. Nothing is ever done. Picking life apart before it can be lived. Each situation dissected and dismissed. Left cold and redundant, trapped within this self-propelled cycle; motivated by fear. And likeliness is against you.

Self expression is the new entertainment. - Arianna Huffington

Pride and cowardice versus humility and courage. A wounded helper or a wounded hurter. - Cornel West

With life being so imperfect, we expect love to compensate us, and for lovers to be precisely all that we want. That is our biggest failure

FUCK. YES.

Dear Jon Stewart, I love you dog.


Kindness as social protest. Thats my motto. I formalized it months ago, but tonight I am watching The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and he says:

The idea of two working households trying to raise children, when are those folks going to have time then to be activists or work within their communities? Isn't just leading a stable decent life in some ways a political statement?

Fuck, man. What a boss. Its such a fucking relief to know at the core of what he believes, there is that. Its so much more than just a general supposition about how to acquire peace or what should be done with our country. It also implies that he is correctly attributing blame for the decadence in american living on our so called leaders. Fuck it all. I won't give up. Heartbreak, job loss, ailing family and friends, nothing. I'm not giving up. Weep today, work tomorrow.

With life being so imperfect, we expect love to compensate us, and for lovers to be precisely all that we want. That is our biggest failure.

Love is an art

But only for the desperate. Hence, it is much like art for the Hendrix's, the Cohens, Jacob Bannon's, and all the other creatively obsessed of the world who seek fulfillment and catharsis through creative expression. Thus, without that love, with out the art, just what the fuck are we going to do with our free time? Probably build fuel to create art or expand our desire to be loved and have love.

This being my extrapolation from something I told a woman to soon be forgotten that people like us don't just move on or let go, we try to find someone new to cling on to and if they give us enough reasons to, we won't let go.

And

"It takes strength to be gentle and kind." - Morrissey

What has clicked as of tonight is the fact that love is subversive for one specific reason: because it takes strength to develop and keep. True peace is attained through a similar fashion: remaining diligent in effort to be integral and kind. Is that not what we lack? What war began with civility and empathy, or even the sacrifice of one deciding more or an alternative is not needed?

So fuck capitalism.


Also, I Know its Over is probably now my favorite break up song. Its inspiring in a way.

Fantasies. THe whole lot of us entrenched by the most real, least abundant parts of them.

I've spent a lot of time trying to be anything but lonely. A lot of time.

Ennui

Sylvia Plath

Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe,
designing futures where nothing will occur:
cross the gypsy’s palm and yawning she
will still predict no perils left to conquer.
Jeopardy is jejune now: naïve knight
finds ogres out-of-date and dragons unheard
of, while blasé princesses indict
tilts at terror as downright absurd.

The beast in Jamesian grove will never jump,
compelling hero’s dull career to crisis;
and when insouciant angels play God’s trump,
while bored arena crowds for once look eager,
hoping toward havoc, neither pleas nor prizes
shall coax from doom’s blank door lady or tiger.

THE REASON WHY THE CLOSET-MAN IS NEVER SAD

Russell Edson


This is the house of the closet-man. There are no rooms, just hallways and closets.
Things happen in rooms. He does not like things to happen. . . . Closets, you take things out of closets, you put things into closets, and nothing happens . . .

Why do you have such a strange house?

I am the closet-man, I am either going or coming, and I am never sad.

But why do you have such a strange house?

I am never sad . . .

if only life were short enough to ensure I'd never have to hear someone exaggerate how short it is again.

Neither me nor you

know enough about the future to be depressed about it just yet.

You are the density of my skull. If gravity pulled the other way, I'd float in memoriam of you.

if we knew what we wanted, we'd know when we've failed.

But because we're confused about what our necessities are, we leave things unsaid, we push away the wrong people, we chase our imagination and ideals we can't acquire, and worst of all we make it seem like we don't even know how to love and care for one another.

We lose hope saving ourselves for better times that never come, avoiding what is here and perfect only because it suffices.

You’ll never be understood by someone who tells you to look on the bright side.

My anti-capitalism rant

For capitalism to perpetuate itself and to remain as significant a force in all of our destinies, it must manufacture pleasantries and innovations that impress us. It must also one up the past. Commercials get racier, tv shows get more explicit in language, music also gets more explicit and racier. Cell phones have to become even more intelligent ‘smart’ phones, computers need to be capable of doing what was just moments ago considered impossible, televisions have to show you a better picture, video games have to be more realistic, graphic, and make the person playing the game feel as if they are in the game, not just playing it.

It is only so long before we’re alone in every way. Before we leave our homes only to make money or get food. We’ll interact so few times because everything we need can be delivered to our homes, or we have the toys the satiate ourselves. And we’ll be well enough alone because what we’ll have in our home -sex toys, massage chairs, modules that entertain us like TVs, online social networking sites- will ensure us chemical reactions that keep a frown saved for the next moment none of these devices turn on. Its fucking depressing. As introverted as I am, I fret the inevitable future we seem to be gravitating towards at the speed of leisure. The number of cynics will grow as people face regular odds (arguably increasing odds) of disappointment, heartbreak, physical threat, and so on.

Not to fucking mention the self-esteem and self-efficacy that’ll motivate this change. Children already envy pop stars and figures in our pop culture, and because of that they’ll never fathom a value in their own lives. You’re not as beautiful as Rhianna, lil girl, so why love yourself? You’re not the man Gerald Butler or whoever is on the cover of Sports illustrated is, so you’re merely a coward, young man.

Bullshit. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do, but I’ll figure out something to offset or slow down this progression, if only slightly. A hopeless fight, but a fight worth fighting none the less. It’ll take confidence I don’t have as of right now, but I’ll get there. And though this is a call for arms made on a fucking website, I’d be glad to not know I was going in alone. I suppose the most that can be done from this a a reblog, or some shit. I just hope the words resonate, we’re too important to lose each other.

We hold on to our wants for so long, and so strongly, that we forget they too deserve to be criticized. Nothing is worth holding on to that relentlessly, especially if it is a person who has not even proven to be equally enamored with you.

On moving on

Every relationship ends with the question, “can I and should I seek to have that with another person?” ‘That’ meaning whatever the relationship was like. If the answer is in any way a no, moving on is pretty much nawt going to happen. Eventually it may become a yes, at least for me it has. Godspeed to you if its still a no after months or years. Love and the pursuit of it is one of the few remaining joys. One of the last processes of unification that we need.And to give up on it means I give up on someone else who needs it as much as me. I’m not ready to give up on love or people. Not yet.

I came to the realization a while ago that I’m not worth living for, not alone at least. Thus I must seek to love someone and be kind to people. Kindness as social protest, thats how I see it. Its too many reasons to be a fucked up, insensitive person these days, and I won’t deny it’s a lot easier to do so. But you’ve handed over more of what little hope there is if thats all you’re willing to be in life. I say this not to scrutinize or condescend any cynics or misanthropes, I’ll be cursing humanity again one of these days. But these days I’m making an effort to hold on to the good in me, the faith that there is still altruism and love in people though it is exhibited very rarely. I’m hardly saying its rational, I’m saying its necessary.

Peace

Whether individual, communal, societal, or on any scale, is the product of determining how to feel. Deciding what you need and what you don’t need, deciding what to make of the past’s disappointments and shame, deciding if the worst that can happen is tolerable or not.

Otherwise we’re just animals with the wind for a puppeteer, chaotically woven into the earth’s soil before long. Also, we’ll always be subject to authoritative rule and instructions/discipline if we can’t even settle disturbances within.

“In a world that makes you feel alienated, capitalism gives you drugs to make you feel better.” - Spoonboy, David Combs

Religion and capitalism

Both are only given strength with the willful suspension of logic within followers. It is a pool of delusions that make both alluring. Capitalism promises prosperity and gold if you work hard and abide by the laws of business. Religion just tells you to restrain your nature for a lifetime and you’ll get into heaven. What a mess.

Life is an adjustment. It seems irrational to say so, because it would appear that life is a series of adjustments. But the truth is we never settle. I don’t, at least. I’m always having to fit back into a mold and then I find out there’s a hole, or crack in the shell I was seeking comfort in. Then I get yanked out of it by my responsibilities, or sudden tragedies and let downs. Then, in trying to understand those things that befall me, I realize I forgot about this entire half of me that I was building, and I work towards that. But nothing is ever completed. I am never finished. In a sense, I never am. And if I am, I’m not the me I want to be, I’m trying to become that me…and then the definition of self I have must be manufactured all over again to appease my family, or friends, or someone I falsely think I love aka someone I need, or just so that I can stay sane and continue living without giving up. Christ, the difficulty in life. What a grand subtlety.

Personal responsibility and peace

Are equally as idealistic as the other. If we were to live in peace, we’d have to take responsibility for our own actions and their effects. But as we are right now, no one really adopts the idea of peace as plausibly attainable in any manner. But no one has a problem saying we’re all responsible for our own actions, as if to say we’re individuals raised by ourselves, loving ourselves, living surrounded by nothing. Autonomy is such a fib. Entirely illusory in nature, it implies we can actually be in control of ourselves. We, however, perpetuate this idea that we are autonomous and should be punished for our own actions, and never really consider the fact that we’re all essentially effects of some long forgotten cause. We’ve got to ease up on pointing our fingers. Put them to better use and write a book or a love letter or something

Interviewer: Is this your own will or a necessity to ‘put your money where your mouth is’?
Ted Stevens: Mandatory because current events necessitate a response. I have no money, only a mouth.

Interviewer: Are you happy for Mayday to be seen as a continuation of Lullaby for the Working Class under another name?


Ted Stevens: Will I ever be happy?

This government will let millions die from their indecision on health care, poverty, war on drugs, regulating banks to ensure everyone can get a loan to have a house, declaring an indignant war on unemployment, then send our own citizens to go die as they try to kill hundreds of thousands of people we’ve never met, but let someone say that 9/11 or some other event was orchestrated or should be further investigated and all of a sudden its rational to just accept what we’ve been told, which is that it was merely a mishap or terrorist attack on our freedom.Yea, our ever-wonderful fucking freedom.

People like us don’t move on, dear. We find someone new to cling to, and we must if we’ve any desire to love and be loved at all.

Souls of Chaos

By Abraham Isaac Kook

The conventional pattern of living, based on propriety, on the requisites of good character and conformity to law—this corresponds to the way of the world of order. Every rebellion against this, whether inspired by levity or by the stirring of a higher spirit, reflects the world of chaos. But there is a vast difference in the particular expressions of the world of chaos, whether they incline to the right or to the left [positive or negative in motivation]. The great idealists seek an order so noble, so firm and pure, beyond what may be found in the world of reality, and thus they destroy what has been fashioned in conformity with the norms of the world. The best among them also know how to rebuild the world that has thus been destroyed, but those of a lesser stature, who have been touched only slightly by the inclination to idealism—they are only destroyers, and they are rooted in the realm of chaos, on its lowest level.

The souls inspired by the realm of chaos are greater than the souls whose affinity is with the established order. They are very great; they seek too much from existence, what is beyond their faculties to assimilate. They seeks a very great light. They cannot bear what is limited, whatever is confined within a prescribed measure. They descended from their divine abode in accordance with the nature of existence to generate new life; they soared on high like a flame and were thrust down. Their endless striving knows no bounds; they robe themselves in various forms, aspiring constantly to what is beyond the measure of the possible. They aspire and they fall, realizing that they are confined in rules, in limited conditions that forbid expansion toward the unlimited horizons, and they fall in sorrow, in despair, in anger, and anger leads to—wickedness, defiance, destruction and every other evil. Their unrest does not cease—they are represented by the impudent in our generation, wicked men who are dedicated to high principles, those who transgress conventional norms defiantly rather because of some lust. Their souls are of very high stature; they are illuminated by the light that shines from the realm of chaos. They chose destruction and they are engaged in destroying, the world is undermined by them, and they by it. But the essence of their aspiration is a dimension of holiness, that which in souls content with measured progress would yield the vigor of life.

The souls inspired by a destructive zeal reveal themselves especially at the end of days, before the great cataclysm that precedes the emergence of a new and more wondrous level of existence, when the old boundaries expand, just prior to the birth of a norm above the existing norms. In times of redemption insolence is on the increase. A fierce storm rages, more breaches appear, acts of insolence mount continually because they can find no satisfaction in the beneficence offered by the limited light. It does not satisfy all their yearnings, nor does it unravel for them the mystery of existence. They rebel against everything, including also the dimension of the good that could lead them to a great peace and help them rise to great heights. They rebel and they are indignant, they break and they discard; they seek their nourishment in alien pastures, embracing alien ideals and desecrating everything hollowed, but without finding peace.

These passionate souls reveal their strength so that no fence can hold them back; and the weaklings of the established order, who are guided by balance and propriety, are too terrified to tolerate them. Their mood is expressed in Isaiah 33:14: “Who among us can dwell with the devouring fire? Who among us can dwell with those who destroy the world?” But in truth there is no need to be terrified. Only sinners, those weak in spirit and hypocrites, are frightened and seized by terror. Truly heroic spirits know that this force is one of the phenomena needed for the perfection of the world, for strengthening the power of a nation, of man and of the world. Initially this force represents the realm of the chaotic, but in the end it will be taken from the wicked and turned over to the hands of the righteous who will show the truth about perfection and construction, in a great resoluteness, inspired by clear perception and a steady and undimmed sense of the practical.

These storms will bring fructifying rain, these dark clouds will pave the way for great light, as the prophet envisioned it: “And the eyes of the blind shall see out of obscurity and out of darkness” (Isaiah 29:18).

Our lives are spent trying to find

Something better. Some facets need a new face, some need only to be seen more for what they are.

Its amazing how many of our dreams come from what are mostly products of miseries that exist in a capitalistic society. Even if it is only to escape that society.

I have created a bucket list, a list of moments I seek to birth in my life time. And they are:

1: Fall in love with a woman.
2: Convince her that she doesn't need to be anywhere else other than with me. And in doing so, I'll shave my skin if she needs warmth. I'll live off tea and bread to afford any food she desires. I'll do anything, for the most part, as long as she stays, makes love to me from time to time, and doesn't fucking hide.

Pretty fucking

tired of the games people play to make their lives poetic, to make their lives more reminiscent of some film or book or song. For christ sakes, what do we have but each other in a capsizing boat of time?

I did not write this.

will you make me a world
where i can curl and unfurl
of my own accord

will you find me a park
with a see-saw that goes around

for i have lived in circles
sometimes spinning
sometimes off on a tangent

but whatever
i'm always back to square one

will you be there
waiting in the wings
when i land

will you keep me from crashing
will you keep me from smashing

fragments and tiny bits
jigsaw me
picture me

relent

come on now
make that dent

for cutting edge is cool
but razor sharp is cooler still

You were true to yourself, you were true to no one else

THe fuck is the point of understanding a woman if:

A: It doesn't guarantee she will stay
B: She doesn't understand herself
C: She will only consult herself in her decisions for fear of being manipulated by your asking her to stay?

It is tragic and dull trying to really care for people unwilling to step outside of themselves.

I ain't rappin for God
I ain't rappin for pity
I ain't rappin for profits
I ain't rappin for chicks
I ain't rappin for others
I ain't rappin for money
I ain't rappin for money

The truth is what we make it, not what you see.

Something someone sent me about something important to me.

so we sit and sip morning cups,
bravado keeping us safe from
no news that is good
news as countless
flames burn across
desert lands and infants wash up on freedom's
shores
before the lawns gets
trimmed and a neighbor your
kids played with hits the
headlines only to be
labeled "a nice guy"
you went to church with,
while his petite
wife sent
memos off reminding all
of the annual bake sale,
sure to raise not quite
enough to paint the barn
but more than too much,
as the Mercedes clearly shows you
three small faces deprived
and hand picked for effective
representation of how your
life
is perfectly fine
given the fact that you do nothing for those in need
and repulsive guilt is the
message intended
to open the escape way for your
soul if you
only send twenty three cents a day
multiplied by three hundred and sixty five days
which in exponential terms
becomes so many numbers (608,637,500.00 to be exact)
that a blinded mass
of self indulgent sinners
looks North as ninety six percent of
the till faces a
fate three small faces would gladly except,
for to be burned up as
quickly, would be the easy way out,
for they do not exist unless a humble man walks
them in to your living room
and force feeds them to you
before you remotely
remember that the big game
is on and you change...the channel

What keeps me from giving up on love or a settling addiction by another name.

The perfect can't go on if only one of two wants it to continue. I can't want what I can't have. Well, I can want it, but that would be counterproductive.

We only get live once, we only get old once, we only die once. Some part of me wants me to be thankful for that.

What my philosophy teacher said years ago:

"Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Yea right, better to have not loved than to have to deal with losing love." She was right.

Yea I'm gonna quote some girl on Mtv's True Life.

The episode was "I'm a compulsive shopper". THis is what she said:

From the very beginning fitting in is what has been very important to me. I get my images from tv and magazines and movies. So i always feel like im reinventing myself to be popular.

Boom, some fucking 20 year old rich girl just spoke volumes on this nation's consumer culture

A late night Moshpm, this is.

In First Person - Item#14

God, what a great song.

It occurred to me that my speech or my silence, indeed any action of mine, would be a mere futility. - Joseph Conrad

HOLY FUCKING SHIT

Greatest band ever. Yea, thats right, move over Beatles, Journey, and all you other dead or dying hipsters. This band is the shit, and now you all look like fucking amateurs tickling instruments with redundancy that runs ad nauseum.

I put all of their shit into one rar, you know, for the kids. So this includes their split with Titan, their demo, and another split with Storm the Bastille. It also includes their one and only full length, Lost Between Hands Held Tight.

In First Person - Discography

http://www.mediafire.com/?zu3p3149a1q3m6q

If you want to be a little cunt and not use my link because you're a cunt and downloaded one or another piece of their catalog somewhere else, you can head over to Elementary Revolt to download their shit individually. I just hope you can sleep at night knowing how big of a cunt you are.

http://elementaryrevolt.blogspot.com/2010/07/in-first-person-discography-2006-2009.html

Today's Moshpm brought on by speaking too fast and drawing falling stars into the background of an empty sky.



Enlightened by the storm that feeds the depression the play fell from our eyes build a confession laugh as the sky falls shadows within shadows you see it's not there remember the steep streets none were silent all were frayed I can't sleep in silence it's warm beneath the flames with my torn black sheet looking up to see the bottom too dark to see the gray flames in my hands my nightmares are in color build the towers to the skies I've died trying hide between the cinder blocks and loose gravel when did I become transparent fade in and out between the frequencies never asked to live forever hollow and unfair jump to see if you'll live the story has no ending it just finishes here released from reality and forced into dreams sleep well sleeper the liars wait for the morning then they'll come for you

Bukowski and Fugazi

This is a world where everybody's gotta do something. Y'know, somebody laid down this rule that everybody's gotta do something, they gotta be something. You know, a dentist, a glider pilot, a narc, a janitor, a preacher, all that. Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things that I don't wanna do. All the things that I don't wanna be. Places I don't wanna go, like India, like getting my teeth cleaned. Save the whale, all that, I don't understand that. - Henry from Barfly, an semi-autobiographical movie based on Charles Bukowski's time spent in Los Angeles, getting his wino on, like a boss.



Fugazi- Burning too


Anytime but now
Anywhere but here
Anyone but me
I've got to think about my own life
We are consumed by society
We are obsessed with variety
We are all filled with anxiety that this world would not survive
We gotta put it out the sky is burning
We gotta put it out the water's burning
We gotta put it out the earth is burning
Outrage but then they say...
Anytime but now
Anywhere but here
Anyone but me
I've got to think about my own life
The world is not our facility
We have a responsibility
To use our abilities to keep this place alive
Right here right now
Do it. Now. Do it.