There are things that happen, and they make a mark upon yourself. I like to press this mark against the paper and see what is left behind. Unfortunately the deepest marks cut, and blood will stain the paper.
This is obviously the hardest time to put ink down, all that blood just gets in the way.
I don't know what to write, what is past the line, what is too true, what should I tell. The truth is long, shocking, and oh so boring. The lies are just a diversion, to make a false front or fake impressions.
If I write what I want to right now it would't be fair to certain people. No one is going to read it anyways are they? I guess someone might read it...
I know that there is a answer, but I am too tired to find it right now.
Any subject, any viewpoint, any concept. I will put it in a blender with my perspective and give it to you. If you do not like it, I will respect you if you read it. If you do like it, I will respect you if you tell me you like it and keep reading. I reserve the right to use all that I have written in future book, and then to have you pay for it. So get it free now.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Frustration: The story of Mars and Earth
We all have those times where everything rubs against the other moving parts in your life, causing friction, a heat and an uneasing shaking that makes the system flirt with falling apart. In a hundred trillion years everything will shake apart, those atoms can’t hold forever. I don’t have a trillion years, but I do have the shakes. Those vibrations in my nerve endings tingle, the vibrations in my stomach are causing an ill will of human fortitude.
I love the consitution of my body almost as I love the consitution of this planet. Surely the six thousand year bender would have brought me to my knees, most of the nightly benders do it to me. The planet wakes up with a fever now and again, and shows some along the plates, but it hasn’t started dry heaving yet. Yet those frustrations must be sitting in, just like they are for me. Those shakes hit the core, and surely California will pay.
There is something that I know will never happen to me in this life, in this dimention, in this universe, in this house, in this frame of mind, in this country, and in this beard. I keep after it because the frustration exists whether or not I try, and while a deep sorrow can overwhelm when the frustraion teams up with uglier things I have no fear or loathing. There are certain priorities, but the friction builds on irreguardless of the priority you set on careing for the system. You will flirt on until you seize and your engine rips apart. Or maybe you will just stall.
I think Mars and Earth were friendly once, they flirted for a while. They had conversations under the stars, made joes about the spot on Jupiter, talked jealousy about those rings, and really made a connection. They realized that they were the same, and it meant different things to them both. Mars took his infatuation and his desire for meaning and linked them. Proud of his identity maybe for the first time since Mars had memory, he would ask Mars to meet under the moon time and time again. Yet she never showed, though she would continue to be polite and friendly, even flirt. Unfortunately, this just frustrated Mars. Finally, it came to be that the frustration caused the fortitude to fail, forever fated to fall, he failed and the face, cried. The surface rusted in salty tears. Mars became less friendly, and became an isolationist. Forgetting that all the planets were made from the same stuff, and all the materials and feelings were the same as all the other planets, he let the surface die to reflect what the inner mantle resembled. He became dead like all the other planets, for all intents and purposes.
Earth would grow and remain lively, surround itself with those like her, those who care when convienent. Never really happy, living six thousand years in a bender. Every so often she would think about the good nights with who was more like her then any other. Mars was always there, but so far away. She kept the moon.
How long until her frustrations cause her to fall apart for good. How long until the ride stops? Or maybe she is just stalled on the freeway, waiting to get hit by an asteroid. If the Earth could only understand before it was too late for them both.
All of this is in the future, but still seems so ordinary that it must come to pass. All of this seems so extraordary that it must be true, can’t make that stuff up. All of it seems so Mundane that maybe it must be a miracle. Maybe, all of it seems so exciting because it is frustrating. The Earth, she doesn’t know, she just enjoys the summer days. For Mars all the days are Winter, hoping for the spring and maybe a harvest moon. Mars settles for itself, rather then settling for Venus, or having a fling with Neptune while it’s closer. Mars should just get a job.
At least he won’t remain blue like Earth, he has comfort in the black. The stars seem so far, but they all have their quirks, sometimes even quarks. Distance is the mother of frustration. If we all could get together, it would work out.
I love the consitution of my body almost as I love the consitution of this planet. Surely the six thousand year bender would have brought me to my knees, most of the nightly benders do it to me. The planet wakes up with a fever now and again, and shows some along the plates, but it hasn’t started dry heaving yet. Yet those frustrations must be sitting in, just like they are for me. Those shakes hit the core, and surely California will pay.
There is something that I know will never happen to me in this life, in this dimention, in this universe, in this house, in this frame of mind, in this country, and in this beard. I keep after it because the frustration exists whether or not I try, and while a deep sorrow can overwhelm when the frustraion teams up with uglier things I have no fear or loathing. There are certain priorities, but the friction builds on irreguardless of the priority you set on careing for the system. You will flirt on until you seize and your engine rips apart. Or maybe you will just stall.
I think Mars and Earth were friendly once, they flirted for a while. They had conversations under the stars, made joes about the spot on Jupiter, talked jealousy about those rings, and really made a connection. They realized that they were the same, and it meant different things to them both. Mars took his infatuation and his desire for meaning and linked them. Proud of his identity maybe for the first time since Mars had memory, he would ask Mars to meet under the moon time and time again. Yet she never showed, though she would continue to be polite and friendly, even flirt. Unfortunately, this just frustrated Mars. Finally, it came to be that the frustration caused the fortitude to fail, forever fated to fall, he failed and the face, cried. The surface rusted in salty tears. Mars became less friendly, and became an isolationist. Forgetting that all the planets were made from the same stuff, and all the materials and feelings were the same as all the other planets, he let the surface die to reflect what the inner mantle resembled. He became dead like all the other planets, for all intents and purposes.
Earth would grow and remain lively, surround itself with those like her, those who care when convienent. Never really happy, living six thousand years in a bender. Every so often she would think about the good nights with who was more like her then any other. Mars was always there, but so far away. She kept the moon.
How long until her frustrations cause her to fall apart for good. How long until the ride stops? Or maybe she is just stalled on the freeway, waiting to get hit by an asteroid. If the Earth could only understand before it was too late for them both.
All of this is in the future, but still seems so ordinary that it must come to pass. All of this seems so extraordary that it must be true, can’t make that stuff up. All of it seems so Mundane that maybe it must be a miracle. Maybe, all of it seems so exciting because it is frustrating. The Earth, she doesn’t know, she just enjoys the summer days. For Mars all the days are Winter, hoping for the spring and maybe a harvest moon. Mars settles for itself, rather then settling for Venus, or having a fling with Neptune while it’s closer. Mars should just get a job.
At least he won’t remain blue like Earth, he has comfort in the black. The stars seem so far, but they all have their quirks, sometimes even quarks. Distance is the mother of frustration. If we all could get together, it would work out.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
What he says.
I wish to be axiomatic, and while I axiologically analize eveyrthing to the point of being an axiologist rarely will anyone agree on the values placed upon the critiera utilized in examining the empirical world. Is it ironic that this has become an axiom, in and of itself? The only axiom that we surely can agree upon is I have to find someone else who knows what the fuck I am talking about.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
This isn’t the Lord Prayer, it should be the prayer of the people. It is my labour of soul.
This isn’t the Lord Prayer, it should be the prayer of the people. It is my labour of soul.
I will preference this very carefully and succinctly as I can by saying, I wish I could have put this out before this movie did. Never has such beautiful statement of true humanity. At least from my life experience, and if it is true, of yours as well as long as your enjoy the night as much as the day as two sides of the whole.
Excerpt from Synecdoche, New York:
"Everything is more complicated then you think. You only see a tenth of what is true, and there are a million little strings attached to every choice you make. You can destroy your life ever time you chose, but maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out, just try to figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born, but while alive, you wait in vain wasting years for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes, or it seems to but it doesn’t really. So you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along, something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is, I feel so angry. And the truth is, I feel so fucking sad. And the truth is, I felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long. And for just as long I have been pretending I’m okay just so I can get along. Just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen."
Simply put, there is such sadness in these words, such death. Yet there is such life in them, because they are indistinguishable. We will all die, and that is what defines our life. We all will live in that shadow, and we all find even darker recesses from our explorations of the shadow. While this never highlights the amazing moments, when the light peaks through the branches of that tree, when the shadow on the ground moves and lives in dancing light and playful absence, it still embodies that moment. The moment where we can sigh in contentment and let those thoughts drift away. They are in that diatribe, they are in there as sure as they are in our lives. They are covered ad nausem within the other billion movies, books, songs, poems, and episodic small talk sessions.
Our lives are good, they are short, and they are cruelly ridged in that.
There is not a single word of that movie, written by Charlie Kaufmen, that I cannot endorse with 100% of my being. I have spoken them a thousand times with every combination of breath, silence, and body movement capable from my physical and spiritual form. Just as these words are truth I write in vain attempt to forge connections with those who are me, and not of me.
I know they are words that would suggest a cry for help to the normal person, but those who have examined their own lives, those with a depth know this is a celebration. Misery doesn’t love company, Humans hate isolation. No thought is lonelier then that, no hardship greater, no depression more severe. We are all identical in the fact that these constructs, no matter the way they manifest throughout our existence, are present.
I wrote this about a year ago, I decided it would be my foreword into the book I proclaimed I would write. I feel that this thought is applicable to all of my writing and definitely goes hand and hand with this topic. I would want the end of my book to properly convey what has been written to this point, and the beginning to resemble this foreword, but with more subtlety and nuance. So I feel today I will put on this blog the end of my feelings first through what you have read from a movie and myself, and finish with the beginning.
I’m just thinking right now that I am trying to put together something.Like so many others, I think I know something, as if my life has some meaning, something that is unexplainable. I have read the classics and it’s all the same. I’m just a guy. What is the difference between me and Hemingway or Kerouac? Interesting stories perhaps, but it’s all the same when it comes down to it. I am going to try to bluff as if I speak the truth. Take what I know is true and wrap it in a colorful bluff so it is the same, or at least I hope. I think I know what not to say, I just have to figure out what to say.
I would love to write something that someone could decode, I mean if skillfully done someone, and I mean a rare someone, could identify it understand and make that connection. You can sit alone and be alone, or you could explain yourself. Tell someone about yourself but you never learn anything from being told, and they will just look at you as if you are crazy and then you might as well be. That is the isolation we all seek to shatter, that is the immortality that we seek and poorly by most standards. Echo throughout time not a name, or a motto, but knowledge about the truth. Simply put the only thing we know in truth is ourselves, and the only way to share that is to find you in someone else. Or, at the very least, put yourself out and hope someone finds themselves in you.
I will preference this very carefully and succinctly as I can by saying, I wish I could have put this out before this movie did. Never has such beautiful statement of true humanity. At least from my life experience, and if it is true, of yours as well as long as your enjoy the night as much as the day as two sides of the whole.
Excerpt from Synecdoche, New York:
"Everything is more complicated then you think. You only see a tenth of what is true, and there are a million little strings attached to every choice you make. You can destroy your life ever time you chose, but maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out, just try to figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born, but while alive, you wait in vain wasting years for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes, or it seems to but it doesn’t really. So you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along, something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is, I feel so angry. And the truth is, I feel so fucking sad. And the truth is, I felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long. And for just as long I have been pretending I’m okay just so I can get along. Just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen."
Simply put, there is such sadness in these words, such death. Yet there is such life in them, because they are indistinguishable. We will all die, and that is what defines our life. We all will live in that shadow, and we all find even darker recesses from our explorations of the shadow. While this never highlights the amazing moments, when the light peaks through the branches of that tree, when the shadow on the ground moves and lives in dancing light and playful absence, it still embodies that moment. The moment where we can sigh in contentment and let those thoughts drift away. They are in that diatribe, they are in there as sure as they are in our lives. They are covered ad nausem within the other billion movies, books, songs, poems, and episodic small talk sessions.
Our lives are good, they are short, and they are cruelly ridged in that.
There is not a single word of that movie, written by Charlie Kaufmen, that I cannot endorse with 100% of my being. I have spoken them a thousand times with every combination of breath, silence, and body movement capable from my physical and spiritual form. Just as these words are truth I write in vain attempt to forge connections with those who are me, and not of me.
I know they are words that would suggest a cry for help to the normal person, but those who have examined their own lives, those with a depth know this is a celebration. Misery doesn’t love company, Humans hate isolation. No thought is lonelier then that, no hardship greater, no depression more severe. We are all identical in the fact that these constructs, no matter the way they manifest throughout our existence, are present.
I wrote this about a year ago, I decided it would be my foreword into the book I proclaimed I would write. I feel that this thought is applicable to all of my writing and definitely goes hand and hand with this topic. I would want the end of my book to properly convey what has been written to this point, and the beginning to resemble this foreword, but with more subtlety and nuance. So I feel today I will put on this blog the end of my feelings first through what you have read from a movie and myself, and finish with the beginning.
I’m just thinking right now that I am trying to put together something.Like so many others, I think I know something, as if my life has some meaning, something that is unexplainable. I have read the classics and it’s all the same. I’m just a guy. What is the difference between me and Hemingway or Kerouac? Interesting stories perhaps, but it’s all the same when it comes down to it. I am going to try to bluff as if I speak the truth. Take what I know is true and wrap it in a colorful bluff so it is the same, or at least I hope. I think I know what not to say, I just have to figure out what to say.
I would love to write something that someone could decode, I mean if skillfully done someone, and I mean a rare someone, could identify it understand and make that connection. You can sit alone and be alone, or you could explain yourself. Tell someone about yourself but you never learn anything from being told, and they will just look at you as if you are crazy and then you might as well be. That is the isolation we all seek to shatter, that is the immortality that we seek and poorly by most standards. Echo throughout time not a name, or a motto, but knowledge about the truth. Simply put the only thing we know in truth is ourselves, and the only way to share that is to find you in someone else. Or, at the very least, put yourself out and hope someone finds themselves in you.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Peace, Love, and Understanding.... the universe.
My mother read an update on my facebook page from some girl who decided to badmouth me indirectly for the manner of my status updates. She suggested I tell her off, or remove her as a friend, and so on to various degrees. I admit to thinking how to make myself sound justified in doing these things even before she suggested them, but I seem to have evolved beyond it. I said I do not need to spend anytime hating anyone for something so minor, it is much easier to just let it float on by. Simply put I try to worry about what is in my world, and respond with a bit of love and understanding.
French Philosopher Henrik Bergson said that the Brain does not perceive the universe, instead it acts as blinders that allow us to block out the overwhelming amount of information in the universe so we can handle it all. Because we are all interconnected, the universe is one and the same. We exist alone because this is how perception is. Like the electron flying through a cloud aimlessly, it exists in all places except when observed. That observation is our existence, and while that sounds boring I find comfort in it. How can we possibly sink while observing? We exist in all possible locations, so how can we want?
Really, it all seems inconsequential if you think about it all as an ebb and flow of consciousness across a unified singular existence. All except the overlapping mundane existences, that is to say where we interact with others with a small window of perspective. There are numerous psychological factors we understand from our interactions, from hating someone for not having the same point of view, or attributing poor interactions with someone to character flaws on their part, to loving someone for having the same perspective.
This culminates in the several types of love that exist, platonic love and undying included. If we all are cut from the same cloth, sharing a unified existence only holding a unique perception or window we use to look upon the universe, then the only thing that is not mundane is when we are blessed enough to look out on the same thing with two sets of eyes. (or more)
This is the only time we are not alone, when a shared perspective is found. Who hasn’t been in a room full of people and been lonely? Most likely this is because we are not sharing the same experience, or at least not cognizant that you are sharing an experience in the same magnitude. If we watch a movie or other artist medium, we usually have as much pleasure telling a friend about it, selling them on how good or bad it was, and the penultimate is showing them the art piece and hearing their opinion. We bask in happiness when their verdict is identical, and become frustrated when it is diametrically opposed to yours.
Now we are revealed to the part of the story where to the erudition that I am optimistic romantic. It seems to me that platonic love is at its zenith when we share the same perspective and we enjoy sharing experiences because of that commonality.
For your consideration from Wikipedia:
The triangular theory of love is a theory of love developed by psychologist Robert Sternberg. The theory characterizes love within the context of interpersonal relationships by three different components:
Intimacy – Which encompasses feelings of closeness, connectedness, and bondedness.
Passion – Which encompasses drives that lead to romance, physical attraction, and sexual consummation.
Commitment – Which encompasses, in the short term, the decision to remain with another, and in the long term, the shared achievements and plans made with that other.
(coincidentically, I love Wikipedia)
This means the best relationships do have based on a friendship, and when we share that level of intimacy, we are happier. I have always associated that intimacy closely with love. Commitment just seems to follow by my perspective.
Passion seems to be the real lynchpin of the whole thing. This is the only thing that has nothing to do that shared existence and really confuses me. Perhaps it is because my life has been devoid of any passion. I will talk about this topic more in the future.
I think this means that love is the most important thing in the world because it is the only concept that existentially supersedes the mundane nature of our existence. It allows us to bridge the gap of our limited mental prowess to truly exist on a higher level, a shared universal level. This gives meaning to every single speck of dust in the universe, only if you find someone to agree with you on the meaning.
I think there many be many different ways for you to obtain that level of love you need to make a universal existence possible, and obtain happiness. Though I still hold out hope that there is a way to get those three components extremely high, and find that one love that makes a prefect mate to people watch with while experiencing everything that we can find in the universe. Or at least fucking watch some 30 Rock with. I do want to go to there.
French Philosopher Henrik Bergson said that the Brain does not perceive the universe, instead it acts as blinders that allow us to block out the overwhelming amount of information in the universe so we can handle it all. Because we are all interconnected, the universe is one and the same. We exist alone because this is how perception is. Like the electron flying through a cloud aimlessly, it exists in all places except when observed. That observation is our existence, and while that sounds boring I find comfort in it. How can we possibly sink while observing? We exist in all possible locations, so how can we want?
Really, it all seems inconsequential if you think about it all as an ebb and flow of consciousness across a unified singular existence. All except the overlapping mundane existences, that is to say where we interact with others with a small window of perspective. There are numerous psychological factors we understand from our interactions, from hating someone for not having the same point of view, or attributing poor interactions with someone to character flaws on their part, to loving someone for having the same perspective.
This culminates in the several types of love that exist, platonic love and undying included. If we all are cut from the same cloth, sharing a unified existence only holding a unique perception or window we use to look upon the universe, then the only thing that is not mundane is when we are blessed enough to look out on the same thing with two sets of eyes. (or more)
This is the only time we are not alone, when a shared perspective is found. Who hasn’t been in a room full of people and been lonely? Most likely this is because we are not sharing the same experience, or at least not cognizant that you are sharing an experience in the same magnitude. If we watch a movie or other artist medium, we usually have as much pleasure telling a friend about it, selling them on how good or bad it was, and the penultimate is showing them the art piece and hearing their opinion. We bask in happiness when their verdict is identical, and become frustrated when it is diametrically opposed to yours.
Now we are revealed to the part of the story where to the erudition that I am optimistic romantic. It seems to me that platonic love is at its zenith when we share the same perspective and we enjoy sharing experiences because of that commonality.
For your consideration from Wikipedia:
The triangular theory of love is a theory of love developed by psychologist Robert Sternberg. The theory characterizes love within the context of interpersonal relationships by three different components:
Intimacy – Which encompasses feelings of closeness, connectedness, and bondedness.
Passion – Which encompasses drives that lead to romance, physical attraction, and sexual consummation.
Commitment – Which encompasses, in the short term, the decision to remain with another, and in the long term, the shared achievements and plans made with that other.
(coincidentically, I love Wikipedia)
This means the best relationships do have based on a friendship, and when we share that level of intimacy, we are happier. I have always associated that intimacy closely with love. Commitment just seems to follow by my perspective.
Passion seems to be the real lynchpin of the whole thing. This is the only thing that has nothing to do that shared existence and really confuses me. Perhaps it is because my life has been devoid of any passion. I will talk about this topic more in the future.
I think this means that love is the most important thing in the world because it is the only concept that existentially supersedes the mundane nature of our existence. It allows us to bridge the gap of our limited mental prowess to truly exist on a higher level, a shared universal level. This gives meaning to every single speck of dust in the universe, only if you find someone to agree with you on the meaning.
I think there many be many different ways for you to obtain that level of love you need to make a universal existence possible, and obtain happiness. Though I still hold out hope that there is a way to get those three components extremely high, and find that one love that makes a prefect mate to people watch with while experiencing everything that we can find in the universe. Or at least fucking watch some 30 Rock with. I do want to go to there.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
A highway to hell isn't as bad as a bus to Barrymore's
When eight kids of the tween persuasion started singing horrible songs with horrible lyrics in a horrible tone by horrible girls in horrible makeup and one horrible boy who was most likely thinking horrible thoughts about those horrible whores, I was horribly annoyed.
My Ipod couldn’t go high enough.
Yeah it's overwhelming, but what else can we do? Get jobs in offices and wake up for the morning commute?
Well I am still somewhat alive though, my brain healed fast enough even though my mind surely will suffer fatigue over time from all of this reality. I am waiting for the good life to come back as I am not sure how fucking long the bad will last, but I am positive that life has been as erratic as a Mexican jumping bean.
Maybe it is that there is too much pressure on the big things in life, the landmarks. Such as the team you spent your entire lifetime devoutly following triumphing over evil. Perhaps it is finding a social partner and the implications to your self-identity that follow from it. Or even if it is as simple as the unexpected 500 Dollars in expenses that show up unexpectedly.
The maelstrom stirred upon my life over and over, but never did my ship never sink. The captain must have gotten good marks in regatta school and his mother is oh so proud. If I don’t go under after all of this, I too must be a captain of clever and measured cut. Life seems tough, but my callus is tougher, and I do not have any problem looking beyond the dark folds in my life, and more patience to look beyond others as well. It took me 26 years to get here, but never has this life been hard enough to destroy me because I have survived.
I think I will share my secret with you, but only if you ask nicely. The real point is that I found a garden in my soul, and it is a passive place, which rarely has visitors, but is open for company for the summer.
The seven days of shiva (spelling prob. wrong) on weeds made me laugh and I have determined that more funerals should do that.
My Ipod couldn’t go high enough.
Yeah it's overwhelming, but what else can we do? Get jobs in offices and wake up for the morning commute?
Well I am still somewhat alive though, my brain healed fast enough even though my mind surely will suffer fatigue over time from all of this reality. I am waiting for the good life to come back as I am not sure how fucking long the bad will last, but I am positive that life has been as erratic as a Mexican jumping bean.
Maybe it is that there is too much pressure on the big things in life, the landmarks. Such as the team you spent your entire lifetime devoutly following triumphing over evil. Perhaps it is finding a social partner and the implications to your self-identity that follow from it. Or even if it is as simple as the unexpected 500 Dollars in expenses that show up unexpectedly.
The maelstrom stirred upon my life over and over, but never did my ship never sink. The captain must have gotten good marks in regatta school and his mother is oh so proud. If I don’t go under after all of this, I too must be a captain of clever and measured cut. Life seems tough, but my callus is tougher, and I do not have any problem looking beyond the dark folds in my life, and more patience to look beyond others as well. It took me 26 years to get here, but never has this life been hard enough to destroy me because I have survived.
I think I will share my secret with you, but only if you ask nicely. The real point is that I found a garden in my soul, and it is a passive place, which rarely has visitors, but is open for company for the summer.
The seven days of shiva (spelling prob. wrong) on weeds made me laugh and I have determined that more funerals should do that.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Alliments and cures common of rock and roll.
“I thought I saw somebody drowning in the clear waters of Lake Michigan, I threw in a life perserver, but preservation is always only temporary. See I can offer you my hand, but I cannot save you from innevitablity.”- The Silent Years
Never should one think like this, that there is an negitive innevitablity coming. Sometimes the onlything innevitable is the path of your thoughts. The sky is not about to fall, but everything is falling apart aside from the azure. There is a rumbling in the ground, forboding in chilling intimidation. Errors in faith we have made, as the good times seem to be running out. As the winds change I know a huge stone will roll down the hill soon to crush me. My confidence wains as I look up and notice that the stone gathers moss, my state of mind shall be intertwine with the soft green and imbedded in the hard facts. These things will continue to roll down hill with all the other shit. I have no desire to push this boulder uphill for the rest of eternity, do I go for a ride?
Never was there a short climb to the summit, where no stone from above could crush. Yet I still climb the long hard side of the cliff, bones smashed beneith me. I could predict what happened give or take the particulars. Yet the feeling I had the last time I saw my friend and was to preocupied with supressing tears to treat him correctly, with or without knowing his ultimate fate, flooded my mind as my ears went numb. The bell tolls for thee, and hense all the ringing that followed my hearing around. I know the path held out to me is a long hard climb, but I climb because I know that jumping is too hard, and the rock will find me a home amongs the moss before long. The feeling of being gathered upon the rolling stone.
No award for the effort,
No commendation for stepping forward one night a year,
None shall stand by you while you stand by yourself.
There are things that I know and things I don't, things that perplex and things that comfort with simplcity of absoulte understanding. Of these things for which certainty can be certain, is music makes everything better. I am sure that there is even a song out there that makes assrapings tolerable, though not as markatable as the average love song.... The things I don't get how a person could be so afraid to let the heart drop a rythym of its own, that cannot be envoked by any percussion that rattles the flesh and bone. These are the things that make me stand and wait, at least for one more encore song….
Never should one think like this, that there is an negitive innevitablity coming. Sometimes the onlything innevitable is the path of your thoughts. The sky is not about to fall, but everything is falling apart aside from the azure. There is a rumbling in the ground, forboding in chilling intimidation. Errors in faith we have made, as the good times seem to be running out. As the winds change I know a huge stone will roll down the hill soon to crush me. My confidence wains as I look up and notice that the stone gathers moss, my state of mind shall be intertwine with the soft green and imbedded in the hard facts. These things will continue to roll down hill with all the other shit. I have no desire to push this boulder uphill for the rest of eternity, do I go for a ride?
Never was there a short climb to the summit, where no stone from above could crush. Yet I still climb the long hard side of the cliff, bones smashed beneith me. I could predict what happened give or take the particulars. Yet the feeling I had the last time I saw my friend and was to preocupied with supressing tears to treat him correctly, with or without knowing his ultimate fate, flooded my mind as my ears went numb. The bell tolls for thee, and hense all the ringing that followed my hearing around. I know the path held out to me is a long hard climb, but I climb because I know that jumping is too hard, and the rock will find me a home amongs the moss before long. The feeling of being gathered upon the rolling stone.
No award for the effort,
No commendation for stepping forward one night a year,
None shall stand by you while you stand by yourself.
There are things that I know and things I don't, things that perplex and things that comfort with simplcity of absoulte understanding. Of these things for which certainty can be certain, is music makes everything better. I am sure that there is even a song out there that makes assrapings tolerable, though not as markatable as the average love song.... The things I don't get how a person could be so afraid to let the heart drop a rythym of its own, that cannot be envoked by any percussion that rattles the flesh and bone. These are the things that make me stand and wait, at least for one more encore song….
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Looks like were going to have to jump.
I knew from the very start that somewhere in the middle I would have to find an ending. The final never comes before the ending, except in art house films.
Finality follows certainty. Is there not something cathartic in that? Jumpers soaring for an indefinate amount of time find a smile placed permanent upon their cadaver. Personally my thoughts on the subject is that there is no escape from gravity to the featherless fowl known as the meloncholy, and the unavoidable destity is accepted without the bullshit that usually blocks the serenity with letting the things fall where they may. The sights and sounds, not from excitement but acceptance.
It is certain you are hitting that ground young meloncholy bird. No time to think about what will happen if you break though the earth to the otherside.
Reason you get hurt is the entire mass of the Earth will act upon your body, The reason you will be fine is your soul will bounce, the rubbery substance is the elasticity of the certain man. Sublime.
I sometimes thought about what would happen if there was no more thoughts and instead just acceptance. First I would have to jump. Although I do not want to crash into the soft embrace of concrete, I would perfer the hard hold of something unfamilar yet pertantly consistant. My Catharsis is cold, better put it on the backburner.
Finality follows certainty. Is there not something cathartic in that? Jumpers soaring for an indefinate amount of time find a smile placed permanent upon their cadaver. Personally my thoughts on the subject is that there is no escape from gravity to the featherless fowl known as the meloncholy, and the unavoidable destity is accepted without the bullshit that usually blocks the serenity with letting the things fall where they may. The sights and sounds, not from excitement but acceptance.
It is certain you are hitting that ground young meloncholy bird. No time to think about what will happen if you break though the earth to the otherside.
Reason you get hurt is the entire mass of the Earth will act upon your body, The reason you will be fine is your soul will bounce, the rubbery substance is the elasticity of the certain man. Sublime.
I sometimes thought about what would happen if there was no more thoughts and instead just acceptance. First I would have to jump. Although I do not want to crash into the soft embrace of concrete, I would perfer the hard hold of something unfamilar yet pertantly consistant. My Catharsis is cold, better put it on the backburner.
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