I am done with The Trial. at least with the main story. this particular translation has “fragments” at the back, so I am going through those. but the story itself tells of a nightmare, one of Kafka’s, and this is his usual style in my opinion – that he writes from dreamscapes, or as if he does. which is why I can relate to him so much, over a hundred years later.
soon I will start reading “if beale street could talk,” another of James Baldwin’s. picked it up at the used book store the other day; it was a nice surprise.
enjoying the genius of Firefly, a show that was canceled on Fox last year but recently released on DVD. we’ve spent several hours this weekend going through some episodes and extras included on the forth disc.
Today, Rohatsu. the biggest Buddhist holiday of the year, celebrating Buddha’s initial enlightenment. I celebrated the opposite, the celebration of sleep all through the morning. but it was good to run into some people. we sat and ate lunch with them at the co-op by chance. very nice people.
I don’t knows.
what do you want for christmas this year. don’t know.
what are you going to do if you have to get a new job.
why not tell them they are screwing up.
why am I having dreams about death lately. article
I have a strong desire to write tonight, but this could be coming from some sense of guilt.
. . .
spoken. letters in question. I mean to have some words with you. stand by for a conversation. feel free for anything. okay, thank you. that. this. and. the other thing. electrical malfunctions. how this all pieces together. apes. television. tele. telephone. on the tele. then. then she hammered away at him with her small fists. this effected very little and justice. justice was not served. they went down to the building to complain but the building would not let them in. the decision was made to paint it an ugly color to punish the building and make it feel humiliated. someone wrote “big dumb building” on the side. personal signatures all about.
pained hands and wrists. an introduction to new people. a reintroduction to old friends. a broadway production. def poetry jam on tour. missed this. could not afford this. could not afford to drive godzilla miles either.
punctuate. punctual. arrive quite frazzled. be happy I keep this ball rolling. she says pretentious things like, “don’t disturb my art. it’s trying to sleep.” we look at her like she’s a freak. it is okay.
he threw a chewed up apple at his head. he was drunk and threw off a slew of compliments at him. the pool was drained and skated up like in old Powell Peralta videos. I actually found Animal Chin. he keeps a private live journal account and sometimes lets me look at it. things you read here that you do not like were taken from his area and pasted in, so send complaints to the north pole. if the earth was flat I’d grind the edge.
. . .
or… wordpadd. wordpad 3, wordpaddd. wordpadding. wood cutting. I am helping trim the tree. in my mind. be glad for writer’s words. be glad if you want. I won’t tell you what to do. I’m telling you what to do. damn. stop that! stop that! all these voices in my head, memories, I mean, characters. can you listen? often you are tuned out from the get go. word flag. any given sunday, al pacino. never seen it. have not seen angels in america, either. have it taped, though. schedule, pace yourselves. wordpaddddddddddddddd, 2015. I will be an old damn man then, 40 something, scarysomething. don’t remind us.
see, we are trying to have a conversation here, if you can’t see that already. dialogues under construction. all of this under construction. strictures. constricted breathing often, but Theron sends kind gift of air purifier in December mail, I Friday plug in an notice the difference and rejoice. thank you, thank you.
. . .
you might think I am drunk. how did I get here? I thought myself I was drunk, but checked, and all I had was an orange (organic). awesome. I could go for another. I can keep you company with some insanity. don’t mind. you might as well be viewing over these words as if they were Chinese; I’m not putting any deliberate sense into them. you are too kind for staying on. I’m only indulging myself right now. you will get to see this in the next few minutes, which never ceases to excite me.
Chinese, huh. why not Korean. okay, then. that. growing up across the street from my best friends, Daniel and James Bach, Koreans with an irate old grandmother who hated my ass. we stirred up trouble constantly because we were feeling spiteful. I met D. when he was three, J. was 1. I was five. we’d climb on and old beat up car across the way. my parents figured this out and raised a stink. they were lame asses, and to this day resent them for it. if I ever have kids, I will let them jump out of trees and say whatever they want. these kids will be some serious hippies. they won’t even have to come back home if they don’t want to. curfew. to hell with it.
hell. heal, as in, let me heal some. hell, as in, who the hell’s stopping you?
the trash bags are overflown
I grassed the front yard a year wide miracle
you did wha?
I put garnish on the plate
you moved it aside
the girls said how many pairs of shoes they own
they were on 20/20 talking like big shots
he said materialism of this kind may
have teenagers running the risk of becoming shallow
his polite wordage gets him no where
I yell at the screen too often
place the logo tramps on a cliffs edge
and startle them
woke up and
police were busting high schools
for drugs and the
footage resembled I don’t know what
it horrified me
kids all mashed down
faces pushed up against their lockers
no one was that psyched or in much
of a mood at that point
to learn much of anything
thoughts to how
I myself didn’t
have it that bad in school
10 years ago
it’s enough to have me
soon chanting whatever mantras
to avoid rebirth
in another suburban or city death camp
. . .
you have too much free time on your hands to be caught up concerned about this kind of thing. that is my statement.
and the country that I was born in without my consent that is supposed to protect me while I stand innocent judges me on the color of my skin and dollar value and sentences me to the realm of the guilty. this makes this a terrible place to live. you would rather smokescreen, put off the blame on someone else. go somewhere else? smokescreener.
I am in my chamber
I am going through routines
but choping with pad and pen
I have an ego
cannot sit still for too long
I’ve become a new person
new and improved more or less
or more than less enthusied
we spend our time softly but exposed
soon enough there will be no choice
but to gear up in thick war layers
I cannot predict
I can’t predict
when this war will end
dreamt my father died and the news came
again I was in school
take your time
no, I am rushed
I have to rush in turn for all the things I want to do
reached a lull
it’s more often not a myth
the body is shaking
flu spreads to all fifty states