Revolutionibus Chaotica E Ducare
I will write because i've nothing else to do at the moment... So I write, because I want to sleep. I want to go to sleep and not think or feel.
And so I will write.
I don't like links... not because, particularly, of anything to do with them, beyond the difficulty of creating them... i'm lazy... or creative. I think a lot, I tell myself... I work hard at times....... but links isn't moving boxes in a sweaty warehouse, it's a different sort of work. When the mind is too tired out from thinking about overthrowing the government, and trying to understand Marx's Kapital, and Lenin's 'What Is To Be Done?' from the point of view that he wrote it in 1905, before the Revolution... When the mind's too tired out, all it can do is read Sarah's poetry, wish that it had something to eat... and it can write... but the writing is skewed. in a moment this won't make sense... when will my mind wake up and go to sleep?
History can tell us nothing. Because nothing can tell us history. I wasnt there and i will never know... I can't trust anything. I read the newspapers to fuel my obsession with paranoia... Sometimes i wish i was schitzophrenic so that i could see what's really going on... Can one catch schitsophrenia, like one can catch a cold?.... I should get electroshock therapy... Distortion. makes everything good. guitars, voices... brains...
That guy in that book, he was cool... R.P. MacMurphey, from the One Flew Over the Canary's nest, or whatever it was called... Cuckoos nest i mean. He was the man, cus he pretended to be crazy and fooled all those motherfuckers in the hospital. And then they cut open his brain. sweet.
Man, you know what's really sweet? When you open a bag of chips and some of the chips are folded over so they're really crunchy. i think some people call them wish chips, but i just call them folded over chips, cus that's what they are, and i don't believe in wishing for things.
This is a cool picture
He's cool.
I think people should come back in time to warn us about stuff that's going to happen. that way bad stuff wont happen as much. But i think in the future, they're afraid of upsetting the balance of time with time machines and stuff. Because even the littlest thing that happens now can change stuff in the future. Like in that movie that's always on the french channel. Back to the Future or something. That guy has the awesomest cushy vest from the 80's.
Man, gooses are cool...... They go 'HOOONK ohooonk' but nobody knows what they're saying, except them... it's like a secret code, only that's how they talk all the time... Same as... those guys with the tappy things... the morse code guys during wars. and they sit there and tap. Like that guy in that Metallica video. That's so sweet, he wanted to die, but he couldn't, so tapped it in morse code. Sweet.
Man you know what would be so rockin? To start up a beat poetry house. And we could get a buncha dudes to go and read their poetry, and sarah could read her poetry, and then everybody would snap their fingers at the end. *snap snap snap* and everybody would be like 'it's so insightful' and cool stuff like that.
Check out this guy. He's really rockin it out there...
I think his link is half broken or something, so if he doesn't show up, ill tell you what he's doing. He's riding this horse, and he's stabbing a big snake with a spear. Cool huh?
I think this guy would be a 7 on the pissed off-o-meter.
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Why are they speaking english? This is Africa, not the fucking USA...
Why are they speaking english? This isn't Britain, it's India!
These people spoke a dead language, before they had Spanish shoved into their mouths...
You shouldn't be speaking english. Your mother didn't speak english. Your father isn't American. I would tell you to go home... But home is just the same...
What is the price you pay to bend down and fill their wallets? Too much, i reckon... Your daughter... Brother... Mother... Father... They're all gone and you're still here. Where do you belong?
I want to experience chaos. I want to know abandon. Rabble rouser.... Rend the hole out of the wall and eat it. Thoughts are coming and i don't know where they're coming from but i'm writing them down now. In a moment this wont make sense.......
I dont want to care about you, why do you want me to? I dont want to be tied down. I dont want you to hold me back. I'm not holding you back, you're holding yourself back. The way is clear, I'll step aside. Move foreward. I'll just linger here for a while... please
Some things are so comforting it hurts. And some things just bother me. the radio hurts. The radio is so bothering and disturbing and -unnatural- it hurts. The radio used to be innocent. And now it's their tool, just like the rest of the world...
I... want to see you again... Why can't we be together? I want you to come here and stay for a while. Because I'm here, and you're out there... Let's meet half way. It doesn't matter were we walk after that, as long as it's not separate paths...
I like discord. Like Chaustacovitch, only for real-- flesh and blood and mind and teeth and bone and nails and hair and concrete and automobile and airplane and comptuer and schooling and literature and Latin and America... Dissonance, that's the word I'm looking for.
Ever notice how you can make anything sound spanish if you just put 'o' on the end of it? Like pussy cat-- pussy cato. It sounds spanish now. Or german, just add 'Der' in front and 'Schleiffen' or 'Hausen' on then end. Like... Piano... Der Pionahausen. see?
If playing guitar is even half as fun as playing air guitar is, man, that's a good time.
I think the coolest thing would be going around with some buddies and filming eachother doing dumb things. I think the coolest dumb thing to film would be one guy standing on a tv, and then another guy rushes the tv with a sledgehammer and smashes it up. And the guy standing on the tv should maybe be on his head. And the tv has to be on so it explodes. And maybe someone could shoot fireworks at the sledgehammer guy, so he gets hurt too. otherwise the guy on the tv would feel singled out. And the guy filming it could punch himself in the face so it's fair, even though it wont get on film...
You know what's really neat? Those guys who ride the bus and they talk to you, even though you dont want to talk to them. That's so cool.
This fellow is definitely bustin out the tunes.
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Enchanments and invocation it words become that word is made from two words of the old sea, feather of the see is foam but you cannot use the old name in the old speech there are many more some have been lost some are known only to dragons the seas name is well and good but what we call the inmost sea also in the old speech can mean only the inmost sea if some seamaster were mad enough to make a calm over all the archipelago thus which gives us power sets the limits of that power.
Equilibrium is weakness. State power has nothing to do with equilibrium. Neither has the class struggle anything to do with balance. It's all about totalitarianism... All of it...
I would love to go to the sea with you. They talked about the sea, and the mountains. I would love to sit on the sand and look out at the horizon which dissappears along the waves, with you. Alone, it would be nice. But you would add beauty to the moment. Your presence, a stable-instability. Let's get away... please.
The boy walked into the room wearing his concert shirt, beyond his years. I jumped up and shook his hand, meeting the young fellow i had only heard about. His father, a comrade, of sorts...
I want to read more... I can't understand, but i want more...
Man the sweetest thing ever is when someone falls when they're going up the stairs. And they bang their shins and then they're swearing the whole way up... That's so funny...
If i slept as much as i wish i could, i'd be dead. or at least in a coma or something. Or maybe just sleeping a lot...
The sweetest thing would be to rob a bank for no reason. Go into the bank, and instead of taking the money, you could throw it out of the windows and stuff, and set it on fire... Or take it and give it to that guy who walks around downtown all the time. And give some to that lady with the one dred. Yah. And give some to Featherhat. He's the man.
You know what really sucks? It sucks when you're not sure if someone's dead or not... Cus then you feel stupid if you say something about them... and they're dead. man...that sucks...
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What do you think of when you hear the word 'Wall'? What images does it bring to your mind?
The exchange of ideas... Is twisted. The matrix through which we view the world is warped. We need something to iron out the creases. Unity... Comradery... Order, Discipline... Honesty...
Yeah, Gooses.
Man imagine if this guy was gonna beat you up. That would suck eh? Cus imagine if he punched you. you'd be toast, cus he's made of stone.
Too much stimuli... Television, music, lights, ambient noise, computer screen, clicking of the keys, ticking of my brain, ringing in my ears (it's always there)... can't concentrate on writing this gibberish. yah, concentrate. Unbeknownst to most, this requires some brainpower...
Man i hate forgetting things. I can't remember anything, hardly. I can only remember stupid shit. in five minutes, i won't remember writing this... nor will it make sense...
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Man i wonder why people get full... Like, why couldn't you just keep on eating? That would be cool. Cus sometimes food is so good, and you just wanna eat a lot of it, but then you get full... that sucks
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Man i think that people should just walk into the road when cars are coming, instead of waiting for the light. The cars will probably stop for you... and if not, they get your guts all over their car! suckers!
Man you know what's so fuckin lame? Alternative music. Cus it's not even fuckin alternative anymore! It used to be alternative when people listened to good music like Metallica and Zepellin and Rush and stuff... Now people only listen to alternative. And it sucks so bad.
I hate my co-workers... You know when you go somewhere, and theres a bunch of people? And there's a couple people who stand out, and ya hang with them, or notice them at least. And then there's the rest of the normal boring people who are the background. That's my co-workers... I've hung around only cool people for the longest time, that i've forgotten people this dull even exist...
Man i hate being mad. I never get mad, for real. I get pissed off about political stuff, and such. But i never actaully get mad, hardly ever. But man it sucks when i do...
Man you know what's so fuckin sweet? Celtic Metal.
I think there should be a really good band. Like a REALLY good band. Not just like another metal band, or another hardcore band, or another blues band. I'm talkin like fuckin bigtime rockin band. That would be really cool.
man when i die, i want there to be those big church bells, and they ring 12 times and there's mist around my coffin and stuff. And it's all dramatic and stuff. And black and white, that would be cool. And then maybe a wherewolf could jump out and eat people or something.
I think the coolest thing would be to have a typo on a huge billboard. Like it could say 'Big Swimming Pools!' or something. But for real it says 'Big Swimming Poos!' That would probably be good for business, cus everybody would go there looking for swimming poos. And then they get there, and they're like 'oh, well, i'm already here, i might as well buy a swimming pool.' They've probably been meaning to get one for a while anyways.
Man it's so dumb when yer eating a sandwich, and then something falls out the back of it and onto your lap. That's so ballstastic.
I think that people should sleep more often. Cus when people get tired, they get all pissed off. that's so lame. They should add sleeping pills to the water supply so that people just chill out a lot...
Fuk
Man you know who's so lame? Hawkman. I feel kinda sorry for him. All the other superheroes probably laugh at him. Like, spiderman, hes cool, cus he has the powers of a spider. And the Hulk is so strong. But Hawkman is... a man mixed with a Hawk.
"Hawkman's such a loser. A man mixed with a hawk? wtf?"
Man i really hope that god's not real. Cus man, if he is, i'm so dead... Christians talk about how god is so forgiving and stuff... but would you be forgiving to some dude who talks shit about you every day? I don't think so man... If i was god, i'd throw lightning at me. Or just drop a penny. Cus man, a penny will cause a hole in the ground if dropped from the CN tower. Imagine a penny dropped from heaven!... Man, if i was god, there'd be a drastic shortage of pennies in heaven, and a large amount of holes in the ground on earth....
Jim Morrisson is the official 'The Man.' He's so cool. He went on these acid trips and saw deserts and stuff. And then he wrote 'The End'... That songs so sweet. 'Ride the snake. Ride the snake to the lake. He's long. 7 miles. He's old, his skin is cold.' That's so fucked up its awesome.
Man i wanna go on a hippie bus trip. School bus. Take out the seats, put in couches. Paint it up hippie style... Drive accross N.A... Ken Kesey-school
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Fuck i cant think of anything to write. that sucks
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There is nothing more profound than absolute idiocy...
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If i was an eagle, i would hide in trees and then swoop down and peck people in the back of the head. and then i would go crazy-badass-eagle-style on you. so you'd better take cover. because the next tree you walk under could contain an eagle who will swoop down.
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You know what's so lame? Man-Bat. No, not batman. This is a new superhero. Man-Bat. He's like batman, only different, cus he's like a bat, only in human form, but his head is still a bat and he has bat wings and stuff... and he hates people or something because he used to be one and then got attacked by like a toxic bat or something... Man, that's so stupid... Man-Bat.... oh man...
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19, not yet 25th--> incredibly fine lines douse threads of noise and simplicity. chaos in terms of last night's music and suspected disease in the misspelled name of the homeland. butterflies are an excellent phonomenon on her screen but running fast to a fast drum beat really has no effect. dischorde, beauty, her, voice over the telephone, over the screamed "I love you!" They're not turtle shells, they're insects. You'll never know, violent light.
curiousity [ego] versus principal and morality. it's refusal.
She said she'd like to blame it on normalcy... heredity? society? nurture... i hate that word, nurture... sounds like an overprotective parent... or a pillow that looks really comfy but then it's actually lumpy and not comfy at all...
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It terms of the volume of your voice over the defective telephone lines, our love is not intensely doused. In relation to the gasps of breath taken in between deep ramblings, greatful for a chance to rest, you and i are not so distant. I just didn't want to lose you...
Deep gashes of a flag looking like the German monarchy, scrawled in a diminished exponentially fading script, thoughts of a title, thoughts of your proposals, decisive except for the possiblity of their disapproval...
Man i think a sweet name for a band would be RUKUBUSI. pronounced like roo-cube-oo-sye. I think to make the second u sound like the u in cube you'd need to put like those two little dots above it like they do in german...
"We will kill you."
Holy shit
it's all gone... In five minutes, this, too, will be gone... your requests are gone, im sorry. It's the five minute rule... But everything keeps dropping and only at innoportune times do i ever find it again. It's our lot in life, i suppose...
The deepest sleep in fraternity, liberty, bread, and land... bring us rifles, not roses. Bring us bread, and bring us rifles. Bayonnettes, cannons, knives... bring us rifles and bread. Let us fight for our roses.
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Pitch level in extremis, a bayonnette for my liberation... vindication
Man i want to be in a really fucking good band... the band is totally fucked, it's not going anywhere...
Passionate brutality rifling through footage of past speeches, the ruination of the predominant ideology, the disaster of oratory in the modern age...
The artist's struggle with Social Darwinism...
Misinterpretation of intent, of interpretation intended not for the untrained mind, meddling in the affairs of the overman
Monolithic visages in the future are few and greatness diminishing. memory doomed to monotony.
Love for the old ways... so out of fashion... i suppose that's where the desire comes from...
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heheheheheh
In accordance with the precepts of minimal opposition, nonexistant majority, illusionary pillars of support from the masses. Repeat appraisal, apparent defeat. Armistice of slaves to the heirarchy. Seated on a throne dictated by anarchic minutiae.
"The only way to destory the system is to destroy the system...."
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Sounds of the maidenlike fury, driving foreward, always in step. A jolt, forgotten dischorde, interruption bringing a dinnertime truce. For centuries of the shedding of light, the old men hobble toward a final halt, fearing only the path ahead, embracing nostaligiac reminiscings and recitations.
He confined himself to his room, where he sat all day watching old war documentaries, sometimes neglecting his duties of eat and sleep. Once I asked him what he was looking for in the endless films. And he replied, saying, "Myself, son... only myself...". Longing for some credit, some recognition that the world refused to give. Irreverant celebration of lost life, of broken lives. A blind eye turned, a bent mind ruined, a beatiful man, crumpled, sits in an old armchair, searching for himself.
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Sin unsound, flawed in fundamental base, pyre of innocence, blaze. Look for truth out there, beyond good and evil. No reality wilt thou find here. A journey toward transcendence.
Looking back upon the events of the future, nostalgiac detachment. We will be strangers, she and i... Then will the game begin anew...
Heartfelt lies, desire for cincerity, for verification of deceptive ciphers whispered on starlit nights.
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Huddled in the corner of a public bus, clutching at anything, anyone who will offer an escape, a compassionate hand... for a moment it occurred to me that i'd never see her again, and i sped toward the brightly lit sanctuary of familiarity. I walked faster tonight than i've ever done, teeth chattering, eyes darting from side to side, head turning to check behind me for the hidden enemy... she greeted me, a bit late, when i arrived.. concern (false?) showed in her face. brushing it aside, i gave myself up to the throbbing passion of the newcomers. And it was good.
Preparation. Brace youself for a world of truth. It hurts, honey, i know it hurts. But whatever does not kill you makes you stronger, honey. Just try not to think about it, honey... It'll all be over after the lull... lullabye... bye...
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Don't lose youself. Don't lose your identity. It's all we have.
We must not lose ourselves.
Swell, isn't it? The polemical material belted out on the street, arising her fears, fuelling his passion for destruction, compassion for hatred. We mounted, then, and sped along grey corridors, in close proximity to the way we felt that first day.. You'll never know, they shouted. You'll never know the hidden meanings behind the passive acceptance of company, economy. Let's get together for a glass of freedom. Let's get away.
We are losing ourselves
Rhythmic rhetoric, speeding exponentially toward collapse. A metaphor for our own world.
We are lost
I saw a brain today. It looked like this.
It had a fleshy encasing and a tentacle at the back. It was sitting on a tray, along with another brain but the second brain was cut in half.
He sat at his desk rigidly, would stay like that for hours, scrawling verse after tortured verse on anything he could find. He told me once in a fit of spastic panic that if he did not write, he would never be allowed to die... And so, hour upon distorted hour, he would pound his back of his head and claw at his face when the inspiration did not come easily. This went on for months, maybe a year. And then one day I awoke to find the deak empty, with not a trace of evidence that the Poet had ever occupied the spot, save for a small scrap of paper with two words written in his unique hand-- "Thank you." That was the last I ever saw of him. Sometimes I almost doubt that he existed at all, but I keep his note of departure close to my heart at all times. I will not forget the minds of the tormented.
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With purpose, ascend the transcendent steps to the hall of knowledge. He couldn't stop thinking about that gnarled lump of organic material on the threshhold of the chaotic academy. He flailed arms and shouted out loud his desire to escape, to cross the border into the realm of real learning... He couldn't stop thinking about that brain... That brain on the silver platter. It should be symbolic of something, he thought, a brain on a silver tray. His persistence was proof enough.
Silent. Fades in an out of days as flower through a sive... Running out... Time's running out, there's nothing left, there's nothing left to waste.. Dont hide any longer, it's passing, fleeting, and then... You're gone. And nothing left behind but an empty seat, an empty spot where you used to stand, by the telephone pole, and waiting for the bus to bring you home, so that it could start, all over again.
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And in turning the page, a question is raised-- Why? Don't go on, there's nothing out there. The truth is that it's nonexistant. The reality of the situation is that there's nothing here. We are lost. And in straying from the precepts put forth by the master, freedom acheived, identity lost... Is it worth it? Again, the mind drifts back into the old ways. And back to the brain on the silver platter...
Split...
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...in half
I saw my surroundings reflected in a puddle tonight, so real that i felt i could jump right in and fall toward the sky, flailing towards the grey, starless sky, the great grey infinite expanse of freedom...
I would have screamed "Let us die!! Let them be free!", but the opportunity never arose... They silenced our voices, that justice might be thwarted yet again.
Giving attention to idiocy only serves to justify it's existence.
Man i think if you were in a really boring band, one thing you could do to get people to like you would be to get a guy with two swords to stand at the side of the stage. And he could twirl the swords around while you play the music. That way people would be like 'oh man sweet there's a guy with swords' and then they would associate your music with cool sword twirling. But the sword guy has to spin the swords on beat otherwise musicians would look down upon you.
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Strange, the way in which a scattered message can make one's day...
Man Earl Grey tea kicks the ass of every other tea. Especially those loser fruit flavoured teas. Those are so lame... Earl Grey comes in a picks em up and throws em accross the room. That's how good it is.
It's so cool when there's a song, and then the guitars just feed and then cut out, and then the vocalist just screams out one word like "DEEESSSTRRRUUUCCCTIIIOONNNN!!!". And during the second half of the scream the drummer goes "ch ch ch ch" on the hi hat and then it goes into a breakdown. And the guitars do that slidy thing on the intro to the breakdown. yeah.
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What is to be done?
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Don't let it get to you, you're only making it harder on yourself. Drink up. Yes it hurts, it's all part of the process... Process... process... process... beat it into us, inject us with your method, your mind, your thoughts, your rules, your morality, your pathetic futile lives...
Are you so drunk on your tiny amount of power over us that you are blinded to the fact that you are nothing? When the time is right we will squish you under our revolutionary boot, and justice will have been served.
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Influenced by the accellerated lonliness of adventure, I am inclined to detail the exploits in my mind, that my musings might lend substance to the vague images forming through the delerious haze of sedated illness.... My boots tread the gravel shoulder of a road neglected by the common traveller. The ditch serves as a refuge from the biting winds whipping my face with lose gravel. Look up, at night, and see nothing above but the stars and moon, reassuring me that the planet still turns and that the journey will continue... And onward, to a frostbitten tundra, these same boots trudge, weary but driven by lust for freedom. A blast of fresh air blows toward me and I unbutton my heavy jacket and let the full force of nature take me. Afterward, crouching in the shelter of a boulder jutting out from the bare field, I lift my calloused hands to the sky and thank the nonexistant gods for the raw power which surges through the veins of the planet... And onward, to a barren and rolling desert, sandals leaving faint tracks in the majestic and ever-changing hills of burnt sand. The water that graces my parched lips seems more precious than mounds of gold piled high in the tombs of kings... And onward... To the cliffs which see two oceans meet, congregate, passionately embrace, eternally. The skyline burns as the lovers fall asleep in eachother's arms, raising winds which i feel from my distant point of departure... But for now, these worn boots dangle over the edge of the end of the world... And I find myself at peace.
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How, at the end of the struggle, is victory fruitless? "And how do I feel, on a black winter's day?" Little joy, the feel of your touch, the smile, the spoils of the cold battle waged through heat, subconciously, through the claws that stretch accross the sky. And tonight, these two will meet, and embrace. And an understanding passes between the two; disbelief... And yet this is reality, the battle is over. "For virtue cannot so innoculate our old stock, yet we shall relish of it." Do you ever tire? Thank you for everything you've done.
When will the culmination of the journey's discovery be clear? When will the secrets sown by the past be reaped? You hold the wheel in your frostbitten hands, a lesson learned from those who travelled these roads once, long ago... And it is up to you what you will come away with, from this path we tread. I have found a temporary truce. What will you take home?
Accquaintence diminishes, old friends are gone. Life will be different, then. The need to drown the self in the guise of a fool will be gone. The close will be drawn closer, the far will be pushed further, and those stuck in the middle... They can tread either path. When you return, we'll be strangers again, it's the way of things. Life is too short, time proceeds apace, and some things worth waiting for are impossible. It's more than impatience... It's survival of the fittest. And I'm having trouble fitting in...
It's difficult to focus on these words. The writing is blurred together, and the music pulses rhythmically, distracing the right side of the brain. A clock somewhere inside of me, all too often silenced, tells me that they're speeding up... But then, everything's been speeding up lately. The passage of time crawls, slows to a halt, in some places. And in others, I cannot but wish for time to be suspended, that the moment might forever be preserved, but the moments pass in the blink of a cliche, and night does fall upon deaf ears.
When will the sun rise, and this melancholy lift? To be afraid of ones own feelings is a sad state of being. I must douse the noise which fuels the polar oppsite.
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It is done, and the creeping sludge of despised balance is seeping away into the cracks in the mind, there to sleep until a future occasion when it will awake to encompass the full scope of the opposing spectrum, once again. "It's not so much a mystery, it's practically on display. It's just that this mystery is taking your place."
In a futile attempt to rearrange symbolic phrases and fragments, futility pounces, slowly, giving rise to the epiphany that there's very little out there that has meaning to it. Like an existentialist monologue, the vast majority of the world.
Don't look for meaning where there is none. Some things aren't meant to be analysed.
Did you ever notice that staplers look like alligators? And they bite things. well, not really bite things, so to speak. But they 'bite' peices of paper together so that they stay that way. Much in the same way that an alligator 'bites' his prey to kill it and keep it in his stomache.
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There is something rotten in the state of an administration that oppresses those it is supposed to educate. Conditioning is not the same as learning. How is it that two students cannot take an hour and fifteen minutes to themselves to unwind and spend a few moments with eachother? We cannot take time to ourselves without being made to feel like criminals. Their excuse is that "It is not your time."... And there it is... Our time is not our own... Our lives are not our own to live...
Genius is wasted, turned to shame. Free thought is set aside, for finely engineered citizens think only of themselves, not of the greater picture.
There is something strange to me in the fact that half our lives are spent in preparation for something we dont really want to do at all-- work for pittance until we are too decrepit to fulfill a useful role. And by then, life has passed us by.
I once heard a statistic that if the full yeild of the workers production were to return to the hands of the proletariat, we would need only work perhaps 2 hours a day, 3 days a week. And yet because we continue to play into the hands of the rulers, pretending all the while that we are free...
Dont take it anymore. Dont let them take away your rights. Stand up to them. Raise your fist. Propel it in their direction if necessary. Authority counts on there being no resistance to solidify it's power. If we give a shove, the whole structure will crumble. "Here lies a toppled god, his fall was not a small one. We did but build his pedastal, a narrow and a tall one."
'Keeping order' is only a term used by the self-interested elite meaning 'to oppress the masses.'
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I sat in a tree tonight and looked out across the water at the familiar industrial landscape... It was just after the metaphor for she and I, the iceberg with only one stone. When you return, you'll be a different person... "and [I] am stuck in the red."
Regardless... I watched hopes and resolve float away, literally on thin ice... I climbed into grandfather's arms, finding a branch not coated in snow. "The skyline was beautiful on fire, all twisted metal stretching upwards." It seemed as if the sky itself really was burning. The gray haze of cloud forming a backdrop lit up all orange and yellow and red, fading, growing, fading, brilliant, fading, fading... I pulled off my hood and hat, letting my ears take in all the sounds around me. It was funny that i noticed them only then, two ducks in the water nearby, for they made not a sound. I addressed them in a british accent, "'Allo ducks!" No reply, no acknowledgement whatsoever. One dove under the surface of the water. "The water is cold. Why dive you into it's murky depths, when ice forms upon the surface?" This time, as if in response to my query, two loud quacks, and they ascended into the air, wings flapping in a frenzy. "Where to, ducks, where to?... Where to, ducks?" They flapped toward the industrial hell, no place for two ducks. And then, as an afterthought, "Take me with you."
A while in contemplation, culminating in departure. I bid farewell to the tree "Thank you, grandfather. I shall return." And then to slush toward vacant home, stopping only to trace out a juvenile love message in the snow with a finger. It felt foolish, but all i wanted was to be with her. I wanted that more tonight than ever before... Stopping for a pleasant chat with Jackie, and then finally, regrettably, home.
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You know what fucking sucks ass? When you think someone's really cool, really different, really above the rest of the crowd... And then you discover that they're just like everyone else... So base, so *basic*!
It makes no sense to me how someone can be so fucking intelligent and yet have no qualms about fucking themselves up to no end... And i say fucking a lot... Fuck you. I'll say whatever i want, and i mean it.
Today I discovered the joy of thinking of mammals and reptiles, and then imagining them with beaks... Think about it... It's hilarious beyond comprehension... Tears stream down my cheeks as I think about how ridiculous a monkey with a beak is... oh man...
I hate and love at the same time. The same object that disgusts me right now is the only thing i can think about at times... It's like the goat's brain on the silver platter...
Everything is futile. There's no point to anything. Why bother?? Forget about it. It's all gone to hell.
Stand up for yourself fucker. You're the smartest kid I know, dont let other people push you around, dont let them dictate what you want to do...
Searching for a new way of looking at the world, to get me out of this rut. Maybe I'll crawl back into the water and sleep with the old crowd, participate in the despised low society...
I'm on a quest to discover the basic human goodness that I'm convinced must exist somewhere out there... It's gotta succeed, or the haze will never depart...
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We must fall to our lowest base. There is no 'rise above.' Transcendence was a pretty dream, but now it's back to the drawing board, back to the drinking board. True humanity lies at the bottom, not the top. Settle to the bottom of the pool, comrades... Let it all go on up top...
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It's seeing things only in black and white... Getting a running start and still failing to reach the top. There shouldn't be any grey area, no frozen sand. If I'm either with them or against them, well, i guess i'm with them, and against *them*. It's the justification of blowing yourself up for the greater good. It's condemning visible hypocracy, when i'm the greatest hypocrite i know. She doesn't want there to be any secrets between us. And i don't even know what a secret is, anymore. Would that we could split asunder our skulls that our brains could slither from their bleeding cages and make love to one another, become one. Would that all humanity could join together in such a way. Minds mingling, thought becoming reality. Ideas becoming physical material. The very air we breathe, saturated with the whimsical musings of those around us. The dillusional madmen on the street begging for change no longer, but inhaling the being of those who walk on by...
Things have changed so much since that night on the hill. There's still sand in my hair, and pebbles in my shoes. You know they put up a fence to keep us from our sandyhill? I will keep your notes in a bag, or a box, or a drawer, that i may read them in your absence and be comforted, a little.
There's chopsticks hanging out of my mouth. I don't care if that last sentence was gramarrically incorrect. Or that i just spelt gramarically wrong. And maybe i just did again. I dont care.
She was so set on the bag that contained everything we might need. Like batman's utility belt or felix the cat's magic bag of tricks. Lindsay wont like me writing this on here.
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"Apes are the cannons in the forest!/ Aapes are the cannons in the jungle!/ Apes are the cannons on this earth!/ Apes are the cannons on this planet!"
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It's not necessary to get it right... Sometimes there is no right answer to a question... But there's very rarely a wrong one. "One day it'll hit you/looking down from on high/it's all a dillusion, a fraud/a boldfaced lie." It doesn't matter where you go or where you end up... It's all a game...
You can't accept that it's one big fucking joke... It's hard to accept one's own mortality, one's own futility... And maybe I wont accept it...
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What if there really is a god, and he just forgot about us for 2000 years?... And then, one day, he's going to find Planet Earth, accidentally shoved behind the sofa, or covered with some paperwork on a crowded desk... And he's going to look down at us, and be disgusted with what's happened since he's been gone. "Can't turn my back for 2 hours without the fools bringing themselves to destruction." And with that he'll toss us in the garbage can, and go trim his bonzai tree, and then maybe do some yoga, and then call up the buddha and chat for a bit, and then maybe he'll go down the pub and chill with Vishnu and Muhammed... Or maybe im dillusional because it feels like i just swallowed a knife and it's puncturing my insides...
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outside is bright / these halls are dark / in the middle of the night / these halls are dark / visions of visible breath / outside is light / reminiscant of shadows, burning death / outside is light / beyond the keys / beyond the night / there's a beautiful, sinking breeze / beyond the night / beyond the night / "drop out of sight" / beyond the night / our numbers are few / don't give up the fight
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He'll be back in one minute. She's taking a while. I'm waiting for bedtime so i can destroy my eardrums even more. I'll try to find a way to get back to 'then'... "She said, 'You cant repeat the past.' What do you mean you can't? Of course you can!"
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We will fall asleep as the sun rises, and wake in the dead of night. Vacant streets and a moonlit sky will be our only companions. The owl, our master, the night-crawler, rat, mouse, our guides...
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Today i went to the office and told them im not coming back next semester. They un-signed me up for my courses. So now it's finalized, and i cant go back. Im afraid of taking the big step into the bigger world, but i cant stay here any longer. Everybody's trying to impress upon me their insistance that 'you need to have a plan and a goal' and all this shit... i dont "do" plans. I don't "do" goals...
"As I wind down the pines, it's the lines on your face, playing on your face. Without thinking so much as abandoning thoughts, and thinking's abandoning thought. I crossed open country, over water, meadows, stream, lakes and wires and roots in weeds, to a nest in the hole of this dead tree. To play without stopping or pause. Not for silence. Not for applause. Without thinking so much as abondoning thoughts. And thinking's abandoning thought."
"All in all, you were all just bricks in the wall."
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I cant write yet... i need some time to reflect.
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Angels swarm like insects and sip up the tears left by no one in particular. Lick, slurp, it's a massacre. Ants crawl in the dust kicked up by your proverbial boot, unaware that their guardian angel is out to lunch. You're a riot, a plague of locusts. The locust doesn't know it's a pest. The spider doesn't know why you're afraid. The moth caught in the lampshade beats its wings against opaque walls.
I once found a lightbulb with a fly dead inside... How did he get in there? It should be a metaphor for something...
You're the factory worker who purposely leaves out a screw from that joint because they wouldn't give him a fair wage. You're the guy working the midnight shift at McDonalds who spits in every burger because he's a vegetarian. You're the kid who wont think of a female doing something for this paragraph because his girlfriend just dumped him.
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I climbed a city made of hills
Home and hearth and flesh and bone
Hewn from the face of sand and stone
The cyclist curses, immobalized
They wouldn't lower the coffin into the grave,
not even after the quintesential
"amazing grace"
Icicles hung from roofs,
threatening to bring them down,
all the while confident that they were
the only true measure of *down*
in this uneven terrain.
Gravity pulls you sideways, here.
When i die i hope they never find my body.
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"A Belated Newyear's Farewell"
I carved our names in the snow
Now those days have passed
Now you're a no-show
Our lives entwined there
Penned with care in isolated euphoria
I traced our names in the snow
But those days have passed
New snows have come
New tears have fallen
You hurt me more than these words can say
But these days will pass
New snows will come.
Our footprints will be covered over.
You told the lie that only time could tell
I called the bluff.
New snows will fall
And cover over these tears you call
A Farewell
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
It's a marriage of the polar opposite, usually
reserved for fighting words...
The purists will hate us for our breakthroughs
In the end, comrade will fight comrade,
and we'll all die on our own knives.
And if angels fall on their knives
for us....
Then i guess we're all going to hell.
Feel our heartbeats,
Dance to the rhythm,
On our own pinheads.
Leap for joy.
You'll be skewered in the end.
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Oh the beautiful Aryan man
Raised voice fist mind
Banner inscribed
Flesh exulted
Hail master race
Live master race
Race against master
Struggle -- Dark -- Passion -- Compassion
Oh those beautiful Aryan men
Take what you will.
Shes the party crasher
She breaks it up
She'll do her best to remain alien
Never knew anything but
"So close, and yet worlds away"
And I mean nothing.
And she is nothing
Anymore.
Those who are strong should rise up and take power. Those who are fit in body and mind and resolve should rule over those pitiful creatures who are barely fit to be called human. Lets go back to Darwin. He was the man.
I'll sit here and watch this screen. Nothing moves but the cursor as i type these words. And I'll wander, and my brain will stop and my fingers will stop. And then nothing will move. My brain triggers a holocaust of movement. This world cleansed of action.
I found a book today at work lying on the ground called "Wanderlust". That might as well be my biography... Except it was probably some stupid romance novel... and that most certainly has no relevance to my life at all. Romance is such a waste of time.
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last night i dreamed... a very beautiful, vivid series of dreams... i can remember... a busy airport... and an elevator, and being framed for stealing money..?
And rushing along this city, many years ago, when the bustling rancor of modernity had not yet completely crushed it's soul...
And... i remember walking along the outside of a long, low building.. the ground was dry and gravelly. To one side, the wall, to the other... water? a feild?
I... had come into a... dream world.. an alternate reality, i felt.. a completely new universe, far away. I felt... free. completely free. And then, i rounded a corner... and. encountered a girl.. She was.. flawed. And beautiful. Short, unevenly cropped hair, and large peircing eyes, orange or green maybe? i seem to remember knowing that she was not human, but a mix of human and... some celstial or hellish being (teifling?). She was sporradic, unpredictable, wild, untamed, uncivilized... and.. i loved her..
She took my hand and brought me past the building i had walked by... and there was a cliff.. and there was a sea of black and blue and green and purple and all manners of light and shimmering.. it is the most beautiful site i can ever recall seeing, in dreams or waking................
We walked out, onto a dock, overlooking the sea of colours.... i could hear cheering and music.. there were people below, in the sea of colours, flailing, jumping, singing... their faces were all upturned, to this girl. And they revered her, it seemed.. They loved her, this music was for her... I seem to remember falling into that abyss of people, and there was a band up on a slightly raised platform playing music, and i rocked along with the people, danced and sung and screamed and flailed and broke and beat and fell for the girl.. and then.... i awoke... not into reality, but into the reality in my dreams. it was painful, for i knew i had been thrown back, out of my beautiful fantasy world, and i knew not if i would ever be able to return. But i soon did return, walking out of the kitchen door, and finding i had stepped through the wall of the building i had walked along... and i knew that i had stepped into the same time as before... only a few minutes beforehand. I rounded the corner, and i saw my love with two men.. i wa eating something.. candy i think. and one of the men knocked the candy out of my hand. I think i was reading, as well... a newspaper or book.. and they knocked that out of my hands as well. and i was frightened, but i stood up and i defended my right to knowledge and pleasure.... and the boys left me alone with my girl... and she knew me not, had never met me.. and i pleaded with her to remember me... i told her how we had been friends, lovers, and about the concert, about the rounding of the corner, and the sea of colours and shimmering peoples... and she believed me as if there has never been a purer truth..... She knew that she had lived the life i spoke of, that she was to follow the path which i described... we clasped hands and talked and i loved her more in that moment than ever before... and... time repeated itself... we walked, hand in hand, to the sea of colours... to the flailing masses in adoration of her flawed perfection, of her chaotic beauty........ and i fell once more into the cathardic game, once more into the euphoric fray..
And waking was more painful, this time, for i knew i would never return to that land, never again would i look upon the face of that beautiful girl, never again would i stand above that sea of colours, never again would i feel so loved, so alive................
I think.... that i may have caught a thread of a place long since past, or a place far far away... i may have fallen into a land deep inside and beyond conciousness... it was all too vivid to be complete fiction of the mind... and yet, i was not able to grasp it, not able to hold on to her hand, not able to ride atop the sea of colours... I wish that i might return to that place...
I wonder... somewhere, is someone waiting for me, just around the corner of the wall of the low building, waiting for me to round the corner? I will come if i can........
***The dead walk tonight***
email me and unleash your inner madnesses... kevin_romain@hotmail.com
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