Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Rambling, stammering... drunkenly bouncing from wall to wall along the hall.

taking our seat at life's grand display, just upon the river bank. Steal under our asses and smoke in our lungs. Disbarred from the whole. Some 200 miles apart, mumbling discredit, sighing, whispering self-deprecations.

Naked once were we, just here. Now with only leaves, no longer free. Dipping in the streams, naked lovely beautiful freedom! Translucent nostalgia, just beyond the shoreline. Where now just bare feet dangle. Twisting and moving, articulate in flight, dancing from here to there. Some newly discovered self-infatuation, my companion and I.
It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved.. It's better to have loved and lost than never... It's better to have loved and lost.... It's better to have loved... it's better to have loved at all.. It's better to have loved at all, lost or not.
I was reminded or for that, told not long ago that I take any conversation and make said conversation pretentious. I suppose, as I'm told, "if there is a way to make a pretentious (Ironic because, if it wasn't for spell check I would of spelled pretentious wrong twice. Can I be something I cannot spell? ahaha) statement, by damned I can find it." If that's by quoting a novel, author, paper, well just about a quote or idea from something I've seen or taken in. I suppose, I'm a nerd... saying I'm a nerd makes me want to quote John Green, so I will. "Saying 'I notice you're a nerd' is like saying, 'Hey, I notice that you'd rather be intelligent than be stupid, that you'd rather be thoughtful than be vapid, that you believe that there are things that matter more than the arrest record of Lindsay Lohan. Why is that?' In fact, it seems to me that most contemporary insults are pretty lame. Even 'lame' is kind of lame. Saying 'You're lame' is like saying 'You walk with a limp.' Yeah, whatever, so does 50 Cent, and he's done all right for himself." — John Green. I love this, makes me laugh, not saying by being pretentious, everyone else is stupid. umm... back to the diatribe.

Anyhow, I can't help but let the statement linger in my mind. Battling it over and over between pretentious or not, perhaps I am. I may as well at narcissistic while I'm at it, but on some chance... maybe I'm not. I really enjoy the things I quote and I love diving into things I don't understand.

I digress, I guess I could just battle between the two pushing up boulders like Sisyphus. Just as they fall back down, again and again. I don't know, it's a thought that won't pass just yet.

So it goes...

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

blackened cocaine

Oh, weary burdened sleeper, settled in despair... with all the beautiful and lofty. Lightening such hefty boots, to one day rise again. To rise again and again until one day, someday the chaos stands still. Still as an autumns day. a settling far deep in the soul. oh to will it so, to just be... to just be. To rise and rise again to just be, to just be.

Shambling after the mad ones, the dancers in the street seen mad!The unaccustomed tunes unheard amongst all. Maddened to live, crazy in disillusionment, interested in all things. Forever burning, raging, screaming and yelling with ooo-ing and aww-ing as a screeching halt is reached, brought upon by all the beautiful and lofty things!

With charcoaled cocaine set brain, sculptured portraits portrayed in vein - pumping diligently, raging onward. Blackened lungs, strained livers, frayed minds... grooving moving to their own tunes. Beats of dreams not yet dream-pt. Skin not yet set.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Sing, sing sing

Dictations, dictations, dictations...
I acquit, opposing the fifth
stay quiet I shan't!
sing little bluebird sing
as if winter never came
as if fields and meadows have sustained
jet through the blue sky
fly little bluebird fly
for it's all you can
amend, amend, amend...
for it's all we can
flying amongst the cage
even the bird is caged to the sky
sing little bluebird sing
it's all you can

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Who the hell can see forever?

How I wish I had a cigarette at times like this. My cup of coffee, records on and playing guitar while sitting on the floor. As lame and hipster, indie however anyone wants to see it. I just dig this setting and I feel so comfortable, so I'll stick with it. In reality I just wish to have the cigarette for all those Dylan documentaries and biographies I've read. Those pictures of him smoking, typing away and drinking coffee... also any other substance that may have been around. I just picture him with a piano, coffee (on the piano) ash tray next to it and an acoustic in the background amongst harmonicas. That harmonica holder around his neck that sits like face mask to hold in braces.

It's cold and bitter outside, the white makes my teeth and hands hurt. Every winter is the same no matter where, I just hate it and the decline in weather. It's even like everyone goes through a winter depression, not enough sun or something. Last year we were at the church playing music all the time, the place we hung out most the time. Taken such a drastic turn from then but yet, I feel we are all so much happier then we were then. Perhaps it's just because our perspectives have changed... for better or worse, I am not sure. Who really knows and who the hell can see forever?

I don't feel I've done anything wrong, even if I have... I am well now (or as well as I can be) and learned from it so it's all in the gray. For better or half-ass better, it's all the same. Or I'm just part of the apathetic, indifferent, sarcastic, ironic, and it's all in jest generation. Seems quite alright to me, I feel some sort of empathy in all of that though.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

hefty boots: sometimes they lighten up, but they fill in due time.

I sit here, to just let go. To lay at ease my mind, and catch up to the body that is already at peace... the body willing, the mind racing. Until epiphany (a moment of clarity, a drug that that takes its toll on the ole' heart) strikes, at the top of madness I rest. True insanity sets in, my vision peaks. Reality indeed in question for whom I see before me is dead.

The most brilliant of minds but alas intimidating all the same. I shan't, can't make contact... he bows and greets, looks piercing my soul. I do not dare meet eyes. I greet the legend, holding arrogance. I shall not make contact with eyes. I'll never kiss those boots!

Then in a voice of truth, like the gospel of Paul,
"Why must I intimidate you so?"
I deny, deny, deny!
"then look me in the eyes, boy."
I wish to go but no, I look up.
"Now, tell me, what was so hard?"
You're the great Dostoevsky, Hemingway spent his days in such a shadow you cast. So who the fuck am I?
"You, boy. Correction, I casted a shadow. Now I linger from grave to novel. Mere' thoughts, you cast the shadows, I am a figure. Write my lad and be joyous in the shadows you cast. In such times, you quote my writings... those beautiful and lofty things... so it goes. Embrace the fear with fervor and despair, even the joy."
My boots felt lighter... my soul lifted and we sat in silence, a level playing ground from then on. The rest is for me and me alone.


When I was a kid, I used to go play at the park with my friends. We'd play dragonball Z or Gundam wing... hot lava tag, make films like in the show 'home movies'. I had this pair of shoes, actually we all had a pair of shoes like this. It was like an endless pit of sand in these shoes. No matter how much we tried to get it out, there was another, what seemed to be, another pound of sand in there. I feel if I still had those shoes, they would feel far heavier. They would be heavy boots from all that sand, the abyss of sand within. No matter how much I released the sand from it's pit in my shoes, the abyss in my shoes, it would never lighten... but subtly grow heavier each time. Playing in sand or just through the daily life away from those games. Sometimes they lighten up (optimistically), but they fill up in due time.


I've lived like the Dreamer
and left that all behind
like the passn' birds before me
searchn' for warmth

Oh, these cold dark nights
are hard on my soul
oh, these cold dark nights
they sure pay a toll
oh, this cold dark abyss
quite the treacherous toll

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Oh, americas

A generation of burnouts, no longer stars
stabbed in the back by a rusty crucifix.
Deciphering through justice
our greatest minds falling prey to causality.

beating hearts of truth felt deep
I've seen friends go mad in contradictions wake.
self-deception seems fit, so fight we must -
aimless and faceless we fight amongst us.

Established as crazy, far gone
by the majority society sees fit.
street art leads the way for the rats pull astray
oh americas, where do you lay?

Why do you laugh so?
Chuckle at my contradictory behaviors
my slacking lazy bones
even this willy-nilly stature upheld

We crazy underground men
filled with laziness
stuck are we in conundrums wake.
how it is ever a spectators game

Oh americas, watch us burn
with limp minds and dull bodies
americas watch these flaming paradoxes
these smoldering ends.

Baffled onlookers gaze on..
generations befuddled travelers
unceasingly praying and constantly smoking
onward down the road


I just wish to be but after learning & "intellectual higher consciousness" can this ever happen? or am I just and underground* man? This is most likely untrue... just a fool am I, aimless in paradoxes. I am what I critique and nothing more.

Oh to will one thing! Just be, just to be...