27 Jun 2012

friends crumble together

i still think i should steal for a living

i won't be a master thief, i won't be an apprentice, i won't even be on the fucking journey - i'll be a rogue, and it'll all be for the two ends of the mind-altering spectrum, crack, and heroin, in that order - i'll craft a reason for why the world deserves it, more or less, how i tried to make an honest living, how i'm simply not up to the task, i'm a defective product, this is all there is to do, there's no one minding the store, no point in holding back...


that being typed, as i'm wont to type things, on blogger, so i'll sleep a little better having written something, i'm not going to be cracking open some wine, any wine, to see if i can get back into it again, i know there's nothing to be getting back into, well, it's so spaghettified on the other side of the event horizon, it's logic defying to even think about going back there - what's forward? i don't know, i don't think i can live in the future either - the moment, well, the moment's sore, and it's a little weighted down by me projecting, like i do, but it's also one of those things where the infrastructure is holding out, in late june, again, maybe it's so much a trend now that i haven't developed a proper weariness to the apocalypse is nigh drone...


but MY apocalypse is nigh, i don't know when, but my face is hinting that it's coming - i just can't imagine how i can't be dragging my apocalypse into everybody's world, i guess it's not as shared as i think - and i'm not autistic, maybe i'm on the spectrum, but grant me a little bit of empathy and i will do what i can to meet you halfway - or maybe not, maybe today isn't one of those halfway days

22 Jun 2012

Live bloggin

I'm doing something to murder time... Thinking about times past when I would write in slow moments during my working stiff shifts, back when the party seemed to be able to go on indefinitely... And there was even stability besides !

Can I just get some honest work for money? I didn't think it would be this difficult... Why doesn't it get easier ? Yes I learn more... I learn to fear more, don't I? How strange that I ate dinner right here, on the ravenhead tour.... And talked with Lyndon about sending away tracks to be mastered . I'll love the servers, she said. I should have said something comforting like oh no, they're plastic, you're flora... I dunno. Instead of getting defensive. I could tell she was in pain at the prospect of the servers. But, what can ya do? History is boring... What is this, just references now?

He's 17 minutes late.... WOW... 17 minutes of me clenching in the restaurant... You'd think it'd be easier by now. You'd think I'd be stealing coffee now. Yes, I should steal for a living, that'll settle by stomach ... Resolve issues. Marthafucking  interviews... "meeting" euphemism... Reinvention horizon or has the imagination ratio run below the graph line of no return?

Thank you god if I got it. I can manage a modicum of modesty like Modesto and get by, mayhap

Tyrone Bibbins Esquire

Please find attached from the endless regions of space in the middle of this godless endeavor a token signal of super-ether. Or leave it to beaver. Either-or, it's up to you. I'm down with whatever.

Suicidal Ideation Is The Ideal We Are Striving For, by which I mean, me, and the crew that committee-wrote the unibomber manifesto. Or to curl the burl in a more friendly way, retirement, and not in the bladerunner sense. More in the Victorian sense... newly wed and nearly dead. Oh, it's nothing but poorly reflected reference in an ancient gleam of silver. Or sciency entropy, all thermodynamic. Seriously, I cannot do this opera seria anymore, it's become so terribly Germanic to me, where have all the tarantellas gone? To bizarro-world Napoli, I imagine.

Suit up, show up, or suit up and lounge about and go back to bed in said suit, how about that? Do a taxi driver routine in front of a mirror. Everything in its right place, every comma and apostrophe impeccably placed, timed to the tenth of a second, there's still things that can be placed with precision for purpose in the cold vacuum of space. It's not exactly absolute zero, and there's energy in a vacuum, and there's cosmic rays, and little tendrils of big bang consequence spreading out like the fingers of a limp wrist. Lazy plankton riffing on rhymes, no aspirations to pascal's reason, but even he paid homage to spiky shocks from the left ventricle.

Ah, words are fun, there's still something to be squozen out of that. It's like the deepest drill currently in this plundered crust, still sticky with a little tar, it's just that the tip of the drill with all its noisy diamond machinations, it drowns out the whole noise of why we came this far, so, say, psychedelic tar, faaaaar out man, mind manifesting, it's not a simple u-turn, i have fond memories of things that used to seem important. But now they can be fodder for metal riffs, cause there's joy in a pounding rhythm section, escapism, pathetic and righteous.


11 Jun 2012

Stadium Jail

remember mind expansion? it's good to have a revolution every 2nd generation or so, so said a guy with clout, even today, so say i, gripping handrails of bridges so dry, moistening tinderwood with sweaty handsss, annnnn... cut off, etherize in the figurative sense, saw, operative, vaguely anesthetized, thinking back to times of playing music in bands, strange raisonettes, gray stubble, shambles dreams, still? like, still?

think whatever y'all wants, things can be arranged one way or t'other, connotation can be ceded to colloquial concerns - ask me about my discount specials - i could seek out new life and new civilizations - i could spelunk new caves, adapt to newer and blacker shades of darkness, yeah - just close your eyes, any of you who be implicated, it's a mere phosphene, and i know that can form beautiful patterns behind your eyes, and sometimes quite hideous at other times, but it's just me being a busy energizer bunny, still with enough money to be somewhere else, but thinking, maybe the wound's got to be cauterized first, at least a cursory perfunctory cauterization before surgery, before i split - it's not so crazy i still have a little bit of money, what was the report last time? what did the receipt say, when i said about what i have in the bank, the blood bank, it's so circulatory, and iodine is not exactly an analgesic - are impulses unambiguously wrong all the time? they did get me into this, maybe they can get me out of it - they used to have pulses in them, but impulses made them strong

at least there's a little more absurdity this time around the spin, a little more inertia towards escape velocity, a little bit of removal from the first time tragedy second time farce - not really, just words, but comforting to spin them into spain'll, the next two towns'll over - you'd almost think i had sucrets somewhere, it's almost as if that's the case'll

you should see me on k, i'm serious about hilarity, then, belying all seriousness to begin with - well, there's a certain sweet spot in that vicinity anyway - amazing how attitudes can be flipped so quick in the wee hours of the night, a snowball that started with mouse-clicking...

Just to prove I can, heh, change case manually, like the old timey folks used to do, with their wooden cranks of case-changing mahogany machinery.

impulses could get me across two or three state bounds, and that might be worth it - nay, will be worth it, once it's minted, and banked

yeah, things are charged, in this high stakes game of magnanimous charades, and although i'm involved in an ungentlemanly disagreement with a lady, i do wish everyone well, and no hard feelings, and this isn't a fair use of fair game, it ain't no use at all, nor abuse, it's simply writing thoughts that are put into a web box that i prettied up nicely for myself and a quiet hiss of distant overpass traffic - it'll be better

guilt was never a good motivator, and i will stop rebelling against non-comformity by conforming, and rather rebel, as instructed, and answer to thine own self in a certain farcical way that falls short of the pithy ideal, and grab my only friend in the world now that drugs and smut are gone, still gone, always gone, eternally empty from here on out, and find a guilt-free rush in moving digital data around in such a way as to give me a pleasantly vapourous purpose in life, such it may be, yeah, this may be living, something like it, i'll call it

there's no volumes that need be written about all the things i may or may not be responsible for, all the things implied and implode and heads a 'sploded, and 'splosions hurting in theory... cause it's immaterial, it seems like it ought not to be immaterial, it should be ground we can stand on, in fact, are standing on if memory serves, but it doesn't serve like you think it does, not both masters anyway, and it isn't ground, or it ain't ground, and it can just be overlooked and shrugged off, or sloughed off the smoking pantlegs of the spaceman with the cleansed computer - oh, it's cleansed, it's got that new spaceship smell, and it will probably retain that luster for a while

well, the intent is getting buried, which is as it should be, i'd think - it would be good if i forgot what i meant, if i did - i doubt that will happen though - but it's getting confusing which is good, a lot of metaphors, and decay, and marcato strings in a flurry - and that's okay - shaky, but okay - it can shake and drag the lake, and shake, there hasn't been enough of that, shakes build character, the kind of character that survives for sixty-four sammy davis junior years

i dunno what else to say about all this fucked up ridiculousness, what can i add to that definitive statement???          maybe it's good there's nothing much else to say except to pull out hair, and gnash teeth, and rehash overblown arguments and justifications - cause that means, forget saying things, and feeling so much strain that saying this or that is never quite enough, time to just do stuff, like what was gonna happen anyway, and feel oh so horrible, but at least move toward something else, whatever it may be, the unknown, you know? i feel like i already know, to a nauseating degree, how the same old shit in this vicinity is gonna go - lapsing into madness of the kind that is mad in the way i first learned to use the word, as in, fuck this makes me mad,  insult and injury that i perceive i'm receiving - surely the product of my soft neurotic mind, blighted, and in need of a rest from this supposedly real shit, no, i need some illusion to live, perhaps, or at least, i want more things on my terms - more my-term type things, which i have an entrepreneurial scheme to engender - yeah, that's about the size of it, really - a plastercast

hey, i might even put up a front, and say everything's fine when it isn't! imagine... there's no talking... about things - just asides - a sequence of asides, like a meandering tone row in a particularly stoic section of sorabji's opus clavicalemballisticum - many noted historians have noted that many notable historical figures have bottled up more over less - cause it's about time for that spoke in the wheel to come back, at least the front spoke, if not the rut that wheel was in at the time - but there can still be a front for a new theatre - grease paint - i can contrive a story and stick with it, but only if asked, it's not like i'm trying to share anything, or care, or show n tell, or give him or her the scoop on anything - there's no story, just some tabloid headlines, you're supposed to see through it to a 404 error - oh god, give me 1 sammy year, get me outa here, soap choked hope, music 91! there will be no debriefing, no counseling session, no volleys of phone calls to friends and loved ones and nodes in the support network - i love you network, but i'm too entangled, i just gotta brush myself off for a second, and retune my good ol buddy, my gitar

1 Jun 2012

Daynights

Greatest hits. 800 hobo names. Bonechill. Stock-market. Things could fall if taken too seriously. Let us all let the heavy lids sink.

steak matrix...

... It's rare to find a tendon this tasty in the steak matrix. We had to go all the way to the wallfloor of the space colony. Captain Kidd came along of course. How could he not? He morphed into himself early on, and we made rotini from nebulae. Yeah, I kid you not.

The steak matrix was said to limit freedom, but I felt that in doing so, it made what remaining freedom there was that much richer. Kidd said there's no such thing as a free lunch or automatic correction, but I'll be damned if I didn't feel as if I beat the devil that day in the wallfloor dungeon, even as I lay behind iron bars, building my character to monstrous proportions like some sedentary Heracles on sabbatical.

There's debris still floating out there you know, quarkhorse and sucrets and equations and starlight piercing steady, more steady than what you see as the "lesser lights", that are nonetheless quite bright, I'll give yuh that. And damned if I don't still feel like I'm paying 0% compound interest on that loan the devil granted me. It's not grace and it's not disgrace, it's a slomo shipwreck so we got plenty of time to bail, can even enjoy the view before we hit the rowboat and paddle against ocean currents with a goat. The steak matrix will allow this, iron rebar reinforces the businesslackumen furnishings that could boost productivity in a thousand needy offices. The steak matrix will be here for a while. Form, function, health, wealth, cancer,,, information in formation, domino stopper, arterial plug.

My reaction to all this is that, yah! Uh! Duh! Ohmygod... La la la laah, I can't hear you, IV drips sure are interesting, Benjamin Franklin sure was smart, i wish there were more things left to invent but I'll take a free ride on the wheel and coast til I hit the inlet, bloom schlackalaka, it'll all come out in the wash, my music is sarcastic you just didn't hear that, and my writing isn't aaaalways sarcastic, it just echoes from plugin abuse, superinflated currency for freakonomicists, and if the hotdogs don't kill you than the botulism will. Jerry Garcia got a lot of drugs done and that wasn't nothing in the scheme of things. All people ever focus on is the music, there's so much more! There's cancer and death and samurai warriors and a wardrobe that leads to narnia. There's Christmas cake and Christmas cheer and engine oil and pseudo ephedrine and hydromorphone and Latin mass and won't you sing along? Will you not? You know the words, you own them, I metabolize the mortgage, my mightiest mitochondria sees this smugly on a cellular level from his backyard, surveying his goober domain, cause he'a a male mitochondria and thus given to flights of farandolaeic foolishness, like he's "solving the worlds' problems", the whole bloody solar system's, when really he's just rubbing up against a membrane and creating enough friction with proteins on pistons to allow a macrocosmic life to span the chasm from this second to the next. Decay doesn't read as something so terribly nasty in a mitosis yard, it's a drama, and a denouement. And the broth has been spoiled twenty times over already, it's got a few more spoils left in it. It's simply sweet and then sour, in ten high thirty international flavours. That's how it remains in the steak matrix for the foreseeable future.

Placating Imps

of Pavlov's slow mutant variety. Synesthesia was push-button easy in a dream, and the fretboard was an open book with a deep index, so easy to cross reference. Creative names for courthouse corner offices. We could have a league of our own here on the Celtic generic sportsfield. Too bad about the goldfish memory, but it isn't that bad, worry is worse, absence could make a beautiful woodcut, even against the grain. Cats, sex, nazis, and Mr. Happy... BRING IT, said the void. Scrotum shaved with a razor sharp to the nanoscale and not compromised. There's always a craft to man and ship and when it's ship ing you can rake in an obscene hourly wage for a working stiff. Yeah, the more money you have, the harder it is to keep track of, but try

Gurgle. Glurgle. This is my life now. It'll go good with gray stubble. Maybe eventually with national geographics, my "cadillac hour". There're whole flakes of fragments flying by, I'm gonna buy them wholesale, sell them to the highest bidder, the one with the top scores in the blood said one owns, or is perhaps on loan from God (MA), a wholly-owned subsidiary of Natura Covalent Bonds and PolyAtomic Ion Conglomerate.