last night
Last night, while I was just starting to converse with the dream world, I was suddenly awakened by a sharp scratching on my chest. (more…)
October 31, 2007
October 30, 2007
A decent story
justine with paper hands
There once was a girl named Justine and a boy named Joseph. They lived in a town named after the second day in the calendar week. They were young, impressionable and somewhat foolish. They used to joke that because of the name of their town, every day was a new week, or maybe even just the same day repeating endlessly. They had fantasies of independence from the constraints of this joke.
Often they went for walks down a certain street at a certain time, hand in hand. The street was hidden away from all the other streets, you had to follow a trail through the woods, you had to cross a stream and walk through a large field to arrive at it. Always though, the journey seemed worth it to those two. (more…)
An indecent story
in a lonely place
I felt like it couldn’t end without a proper beginning.
Well, at the very least I can say it’s been interesting watching this inane semantic reality of ours fizzle out. Personal regrets? Many. I couldn’t look past the piss this world was printed on. The banality of days that are endlessly regurgitated by the sun and the moon, promising something new that never comes. I wanted to love (I assume), perhaps too little too late, but you’ve inspired me in the midst of this grim situation. You look so peaceful, inherently aesthetic… the crimson perfectly complimenting your eyes. I should have told you how I felt when you could still hear me, when you could still comprehend the words… attach meaning to them. Now that I’m here, at the very bottom, I realize how much time and how much effort was wasted. I will never see how much I could have done. Hindsight is 20/20. (more…)
October 29, 2007
Egress
The key stings the lock.
Over-stepping my bounds. Assuming too much. Lying to myself; completely out of touch. I need to fade away, I need to disappear. I’ve been reaching for years; still nowhere near.
There is reality in pain… a sadness in nature, a mystery that frightens me. I want the notes to hit themselves in perfect unison, open up a whole aural world, aesthetic and complete. I want the paint to spread and cover all the negative space on its own accord, I demand a perfect composition within the bounds of the frame it reports to.
Can the hand that strokes the keys on the calculator be the same hand that strokes the brush across the canvas? Can the hand that sends text messages over a cell-phone be the same hand that pens a novel? Do we even control our hands? Have they been hypnotized to complete an absurd and superfluous set of motions on cold, sterile and impersonal merchandise? (more…)
October 26, 2007
before fire, before the atom bomb, before disaster, before the days of god
One quick snort and the pharmaceutical worm burrows deeper into my heart. White flashes and that sour, acidic slick slinks down my throat, coating it in a numb egress. Soon you’ll forget some of your worries, or, (and this is most preferable, most ideal) soon you’ll forget yourself for a while. You’ll drift off into an idiosyncratic and self-imposed mental limbo… all floating and wonder… all numb and beautiful in that disintegrating and self-destructive way. Nihilism and solipsism perfected, raised to the level of an art form. A disregard for better judgment and an effortlessly honed contempt for healthy and prolonged life. Good god, what fools, the ones who actually want, who actually desire to drag all this humiliation, discomfort and pain out. It deserves a mercy killing. Put it all out of its misery… cut the power and let the batteries drain… an evolution of our formerly mentioned egress in the form of biological execution. But slow motion… small amounts, it’s all so much more enjoyable for the flesh in the “meantime” that way. So much more cathartic. Voiding your bowels and nothing but grey matter pushed out in spurts. The diarrheic acuity equivalent to mad, fevered genius – a wounded frenzy.
another log in the fire
Please excuse this overwhelming urge to paint personal worlds of ego and compulsion. Sick and obsessive, sticky and forever. Strung up like christmas lights around the necks of every innocent little girl. Shadows that are deeper than the real thing, and darkening all the time.
Another log in the fire, another time.
A unique and independent decision made by committee… and now, suddenly, outside the rain is really coming down. It rests on your neck and your lips, drinking you up completely, absorbing the parts of you you’ve tried to hide. Alcoholic flush, desire and want. And now, suddenly, I’m confused. Heavy and sweating; flesh keeping time. Songs will spill from my head for days… engage our organs like the bow across the string. Finish the book by the author with the phony name.
I had a dream that you dreamt I died. Same images all the time; burning flesh – falling sky – silhouettes of empty high rise. Nicotine stains swing triple time, everyone is everything all the time.
In the end you have nothing, in the end there is nothing, in the end you have nothing, in the end, in the end. In the end there is nothing to believe. You can breathe, you can fuck, you can choke, you can cum. Flesh is meat, bones are trees.
Pure death cackle, light streaming through a church window.
Two eyes above a bridge; a fierce glow, lamplight oil stains – damp mouthfuls, sewage and wine. A constant drip-feed, a perfect design.
Burnt paper, metal, string.
I’ve built a heart you’ll never see.
October 25, 2007
a Surrealist manifesto
A Required Apathy?
Prologue:
This is a manifesto, make no mistake about it. A candid declaration of my own internal holocaust; intellectual, spiritual, social, and artistic. I have no delusions of grandeur (I will not allow my ego to carry me off into the vice of fanaticism) I do not wish to unjustly inflate the importance of the following document. These are simply my thoughts, some of my thoughts.
I will not apologize for the way I think, feel, or speak, because when I have to do that I have played right into the hands of those I most despise.
This country has run amok and is DEAD as we used to know it, we have ALL lost. We have allowed ourselves to be fooled and controlled while our lives and the world is bought and sold. Our ‘dollar bill’ is the only one true god, the only one true master which we must fear and believe in. Capitalism is our one true religion, our one true fate.
Disjointed, fragmented – overtly stream of consciousness. It might help if you think of every thing that’s written as a rhythm… one that reaches an extremely deep-rooted, fevered pitch… I assure you… This is not a pretension, this is not a web of lies I use to feel there’s a place where I belong. This is a simple and rational look at the facts:
