fragments, these days that pass, cold days. sitting in the co-op without anything to write with, mentally I think out the words: december depression. december exhaustion. december depletion. december hard times. december hard to see a light at the end of the tunnel.
I’m reading a book on increasing reading speed and comprehension, therefore giving myself reading tasks. I know exactly what books I hope to read and what I have to pick up from where I did not finish. it is exciting to hope. I’m hoping to achieve this. I want to read faster. to have the time for all of this, because I feel so pulled away into other people’s worlds. this is why I resent them. they demand too much of my time and energy, and they shouldn’t have that right.
tonight thinking with all these different little philosophies. year 1000: they fear, hate and burn witches. year 2000: they study history and look back on much of it as primitive. when they come upon the topic of witches and learn the truth about what was done, they feel ashamed. year 3000: they are a tribe of witches. year 4000: they re-write history books and clean the slate of all abuse done to witches. this world has always been run by witches.
twenty four degrees. 3rd hour of morning. maths. short for mathematics. plural. that’s how they abbreviate mathematics in Europe.
the knowing mind
has a third eye
you turn a
blind eye
they release bombs on a restaurant because the bad guy might be in there. this is kept very quiet, for we hear news back here only of how efficient our military really is. they cross their fingers too much information does not leak out. and are happy the consciousness of the people is so entrenched in entertainment; a new scandal can always be developed.
. . .
word fad: hang your hat on the hook. slide the rook. time is otherwise occupied. he stage dived, the crowd moved away. serves you right for not being old school. sublime is not holding any sort of integrity as a real band for anyone who knows better, but this is to speak with the language of hardcore scene elitism. and I know better.
I could build a snowman in the front yard and it would be a better restaurant than El Toreo. this is to speak in the language of: that is why I know longer go there. the food is stark bad. it is a raspy voice of a restaurant. an old ash tray where some otherwise nice people are forced to work due to circumstances like a tv station that experiences technical difficulties and throws on a splash screen: serving the community. dumping trashing on the community. feeding the community bland food with no nutritional value.
. . .
doors are closed
to keep the heat in
can’t imagine otherwise
under blanket
I want well for myself
strong concentration
healthy body
blissfulness
of consciousness
in fact
want
to go blind with
extreme happiness
this
world is
just getting
too bland
I don’t know where to begin
there is no where I can begin
if I overthink it
in the meantime
give the people something to read!
they almost don’t care that you
can’t save them by handing
over the key to existence
no stress
the door is unlocked!
so then writing is all about
being in the middle of the room
the corner in the shadows
in the light at the window
and it all works out?
yes! yes!
so I will say something new
and it will have
been said somehow
on the other side of the planet
shunned English English
American English
Southern English
Northern English
freshly learned English
the English I speak
the English my mom speaks
the English you speak
nevermind the intention or meaning
even if it is understood
if it sounds different – it’s thrown out
lessons in prejudice
but I want well for you, too
for everyone
but I’ve lost my train of thought. writing is tricky like that. you pause, then look and there’s nothing. little bugs of thought. interesting. interests. this is all one big word pad. but don’t tell anyone. history is one big organism, the great event, moving, ever changing. each means something different to each person. reality is tricky like that.
we’ll see where this is going. where has it come so far? okay, three years back. 2000: in 1999 we were preparing for and mocking the idea everything as we knew it would end in 2000 upon the arrival of the Y2K bug. this thing was a dud and there was a sigh of relief. 2001, september events and much anthrax. note: events. events occur and shift things around. the powers that be take advantage of these events to further manipulate the people through means of sentimental patriotism. all the while this is happening I am thinking, oh no! oh no! why aren’t people seeing this more clearly? and there is job loss. 2002 we pack up and head for Roanoke, VA (which is a long story that I usually explain off by saying we were tricked into it). 2003 is 2003, you don’t need me to tell you. 2003 was some more of 2002 with more of that sinking feeling that an apocalyptic event is looming. if you lose someone. if you lose something. close to you. that’s your apocalypse.
. . .
dec. 19
active day –
work, wrapping the week up ( a long one!),
leaving, picking up Casey, one half hour later
driving to the co-op still in my work shirt
grabbed snack and went straight
across the street to the theatre and
caught Lord of The Rings
or could say, it caught me
9 o’clock came around eventually
I could only answer “I’m speechless”
I still am
add on to that: very, very tired
a minute ago wrote:
it’s a shame how tired I am
“and feel out of place writing any of this here
I may very well be. that’s just the way it is.”
wanting very much to be doing my own thing
be fully present in this room
listening to music
laying back in bed, reading
enjoying personal time
maxing out
remember last night’s poetry reading
how it went so-so but I was into it
I felt that people were attentive – which always feels good
“I myself thought I was drunk. I checked to see,
and I was not drunk.”
a friend says, “I really love people. I really respect people.” I don’t always feel that way. I have a temper and things get to me. it’s easy to feel put out or inconvenienced. it takes more of you to put differences of opinion aside and communicate and bend a little bit.
fugazi: “promises! promises! words.” “promises are shit!” I’m starting to see that now.
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