| DEMONS!!! |
[15 Sep 2009|12:00pm] |
i can only listen to hip hop anymore. having a job, being at school, listening to hip hop, it all helps one rise above in the henry rollins (5'2") sense of the word.
naivete and honesty are cool
mystery and fear are free masons
how much can you define yourself through references? what about the pocketless shirtless little ex-wizard of oz munchkin actor who goes to the bathroom and then sits and then sleeps. shit i used a reference.
references are the content of irony
naivete and honesty are cool
harmoniously and exploitative is the working gears of a funtime late night strapless dress society
ended up at christine's house after seeing a bunch of nice, long-missed faces. writing in livejournal, god i've forgot what its like. passed on the weed, not tonight. art school oppression is true, but so is genuine hug-based expression. a love of bright colors is the most natural love a guileless person can have, not that i'm any where near guileless. love has become too ironic; because expectations for it are almost unanimously based off media cues. its actually something really simple, almost stupid and very crude, like kicking a pine cone or cranberries.
i'm getting better at joining the human race, but the tools are flimsily crusted together in the first place. just keep on re-learning that lesson, that the sidelines are the good times, and that the source of all your problems, scanners style, is the fact that you are engaging in a ritual in which you have deep, firmly grown beliefs against, and thus can only cause immense pain against yourself. used another reference.
The Light of September
$#%^*()(*%666666666666666666666666
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| writing in livejournal |
[28 Aug 2009|03:58pm] |
will this rose red pimple that hides in my blonde-brown mustache go away before my sister's wedding tomorrow? am i now a person who considers these things? i listen to downer music so i don't have to take them; i listen to crack music so i don't have to take it; i write asymmetrically just because i am a very impersonal, or angry, person. with all the family i have coming in today, both on the conservative methodist side and on the conservative jewish side, i will probably take real downers. with a 1-day dead grandma on my shoulder, which was accompanied by a few of the most horrifying images i've ever seen to keep stewing around my spirit, i feel compelled to a state of angry cataclysmic dysfunction, and at the same time some kind of seamless clarity of purpose. in the past i felt heroically dead-armed in this state of infinite confusion, waiting for it to eventually spill out into a california stream of gold, that would make all of this time waiting, and considering, and settling, worth while.
how can you explain to those who have settled that when you look in their eyes it seems like a death knot has tied up their tubes? how condescending, and yet here i am unable to deny this realization--that's how it goes. it's always a question of "how it goes" until you decide that every moment of your life is weakly balanced between understanding things deeply/being useful/being emotionally mature, and feeling constantly on the verge of a desperate-nervous-decision-breakdown. and that none of this ever seems to come through on my face, makes me wonder if the pale sketch for my life is a forever wandering of that college classroom that teaches we are "beautiful on the inside." sometimes when i listen to the version of chopin's prelude no. 2 in A minor that i downloaded, a riff of black sabbath's "iron man" suddenly appears for less than a second, then the song continues. this, though i really do love and believe in it, describes my function in society, that must split til it is out-of-print.
------->
wedding tomorrow
one funeral in two days
another funeral in three days
sit shiva
see my mom cry 30 times in five days
maybe see my dad cry for the first time?
providence
bachelors degree
get famous
travel the world
make love to dark shadows
get my leg amputated
make positive contribution
deny assertion that anything can be positive only
realign
soundtrack:
"cripple creek" by skip spence
"troubled waters" by michael hurley
"don't leave me" by link wray
"red rockin chair" by karen dalton
"good day mrs. hamm" by no trend
"forces of oppression" by the pop group
"ince ince bir kar yagar" by selda bagcan
"slip it in" by black flag
"on my own" by quix*o*tic
"memory is distant" by les rallizes denudes
"apesma" by captain beefheart
"storm of shit" by the flying luttenbachers
"a thing of the past" by phyllis dillon
"give it up" by wolf eyes
"the wise toad" by black pus
"deep blue sea" by odetta
"mother at the top of the stairs" by pino donaggio
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[04 Apr 2009|12:55pm] |
A Poem About Shining Metal
You guessed right how much money I make at this job;
Jobless unsurprised like i am that agnathans
can swim,
caverns opine thin and large porous hole
shimmering come hither light, on the painted
white deck--
a person walks by, a person walks by
wearing black, a man rides by on a bike
wearing plum blue, a person walks
by wearing grey,
a person walks slower by swearing navy
blue, an arched back on a person riding by
on a bike wearing yellow,
a slow heart spinning metal in the circular
swim of Zeus' beard hitting the land,
my ancestors farm the brutal peeling Pluto sub-
heaven shrapnel on the lightening
sun-passed beer cans...
river higher, can dampen
his beard and his penis
both at one single inch
Downstate--
Type II sun hitting hills
and crossing Kentucky state lines
but Zeus bending back his head into the
Rhine, where the bottom darkens
his light, with the throat
mountainous and the fish inside his eye.
Now turn to the person next to you
and scream!
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| oh yeah |
[08 Mar 2009|02:38pm] |
~teskosuicide:iconteskosuicide: Feb 11, 2004, 3:59:59 PM
you are what your body fucks.
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| swirled hair |
[25 Feb 2009|12:41am] |
horses staring you in the face
unibrow creating eye lines above you
dumb silence
more dumb silence that you watch in a dark theater and then you stroke the back of the hand of a girl and ask her if she loves you. then you drink a kava root tea bag and get numb in the face. people avoiding saying hi to you is creepy but i guess makes sense when you know they're an alcoholic. people who face their problems vs. WWE storyline; i must advance the plot vs. i'm from los angeles.
let's stand still in the hallway recalling fascism together and then collectively realize that no one is actually weird:
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| how can goodbye be good |
[12 Oct 2008|02:55pm] |
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music |
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what's so good about goodbye |
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a dream that i rode through a tunnel and then i was riding my bike through the forests of russia (watched the first 20 minutes of Mirror today). cars had license plates of georgia and russia on them, my brain using the weakest evidence ever to convince me of where i was. we got to a restaurant that was one-side russian food and one-side mexican food, in which the russian part was full of people i know who travel a lot (something to do with trotsky?). a mississippian man in the mexican part repeatedly tried to convince us that mississippi wasn't ever racist but were in fact the originators of being politically correct.
etc., some people i'd like to see again! i miss anyone who isn't wise, made over or unnecessarily wise through education. we all have our nerves, i know, but there can be those limits. i hear the thunder roar, and spending 5 hours reading white power forums can do this to anyone.
though a lot of that self-inflicted internalized hatred has fallen off like so many tears of blood, and "stand up and fight" is being pretty genuinely practiced, and as bo diddley said "Now, all you women
Remember when I was twenty-one?
That was a year, baby
That I had a-lots of fun
But a year has gone by
I'm now, twenty-two
I can eat nails, honey
And drink gun powder soup"
i still, when quietly hit with sun in the face, am forced to close my eyes and at least think of something. now it is food, kalamata olives, olive pate, and bruschetta
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| swedish kid in class |
[02 Oct 2008|11:52pm] |
soon this will all be expelled from my mouth and i will see just how impacted a tooth can be. or does impacted mean downwards, because i got one thats growing up. recently i've been overwhelmed by all the vitamins and minerals i previously was condescending towards. i feel things. i see the tv side of things again. i can think about other days for longer moments and still rip the skin off my lip to set off the keg. a burlesque-wise indomitable spirit reborn with a hatred of socrates and yearning for aggressive slowness. or a yearning for my grandma's brisket and for even getting up early.
because like they said of bresson, a man is made up of his likes and dislikes, and plus greek democracy was just a retrospective of the white man's burden so i'm preaching a new gigabyte
"fuck advertising commercials psychology" is what the minutemen said. the word "fuck" is owned by andrew dice clay and his associated bloggers so its been de-valued--the question is how to take it back. it may be through sexual frustration, says the future.
or it may be the answer to this question:
what image do you think of when you hear the phrase "ejecting puma"?
the first image google offers is this:
so, net neutrality
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| humidity humidity |
[19 Jul 2008|06:05am] |
letting the sun come up maybe or maybe not dubiously, while letting certain ideas that could once part seas disappear in a mixture and die forever, or maybe until i see hellboy II. i also suddenly could remember the feeling of other's personalities being dimensional and deepening, when they are revealed it is like a white elephant for me, but am still unsure as to what i have to give them. sometimes the people who i work with have head-crushing cheekbones that i can't help but see as the vital skeleton genre burning me with their primitive broke open truth. singing robert palmer's "addicted to love" in monotone, and other things, is that really freedome or just biodome, well is it real? is it powerful enough?
-analysis of wearing sunglasses
-violent conversation vs safe topics/safe joking
-once dumbly thinking you felt too big for this
-what you can get away with when you sing selena songs
-contempt disguised as laziness vs. joining the ROTC
-how long would you have to stare at a face before you thought it was a movie
-les rallizes denudes' "otherwise my conviction," "night of the assassin"; "new day" by the scissor girls
-staring at humidity divided by distance
pretend this is a youtube video
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| Mutants |
[05 Jun 2008|01:38am] |
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music |
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under my thumb |
] |
THE DEAR YOUNG GIRLS:
THE DEAR YOUTH CULTURE:
THE DEAR YOUNG BOYS:
1. you may or may not remember a very specific possibility of an abstract and feather-rustling vitality
2. you may remember the broad existence of a both natural and scientific encompassed heartbeat in your dunce-clapped overeducated self
3. you have no idea how fresh the caffeine breaks open in my brain, i can feel wind move through the walls like a fogwashed pollination of iambic pentameter, a ghostly edna st vincent millay with a supersoaker
4. the only thing truly missing from every dorm room is an electric chair
and you guys have to know what it feels like when your chest pushes a brick hallway of vortextual depth through the dermal chunk into that one consciousness of (what sucksrs call) enlightenment. it is all in the cheeks, a feeling of sincerity.
yes it's true, at one time i performed back breakers on my childhood friends. i once played a cabbie in my attic driving secret agents to the stripper bar to get information out of a chinese dancer. i once burned an entire 7-11-lifted issue of playgirl at the beach with a cave's worth of goths. in my throat, when it's clear, i still do.
i can think about the sea glass in my back pocket like a billion sifting cilia of emotion. i can ride my bike through its luminous sparkles and scream.
the stairway down to cherry street beach alone, peeing off the pier. skipping rocks thinking in a messy way about the hardness of sand. all of this accompanied by that sweet lustful liquor instrumental breakdown..."under my thumb."
a question for everyone that can dance really well: WHERE DO ALL OF THESE INSTRUMENTAL BREAKDOWNS GO? well, where can they go. they follow frank zappa through that yellow snow, lazily
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| sweetest pet in the world |
[04 Jun 2008|07:35pm] |
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| "you talk like endless mike" would be a good compliment |
[27 Apr 2008|01:10am] |
i stare at some old pictures of flat space and houses of people i used to know and what else to think about but where else i'm going to go when june splits open. i'd like to see topeka or tulsa and lincoln and kaskaskia because winnetka is just a glossy crapshoot, cause sure there'll be the night but what's a night for without cicada backdivers.
what's all this training for anyhow, train yourself to disbelieve in future planning. itineraries become emotional, i guess that was inevitable. last night i took a random road on my bike towards the suburbs of east providence. i found an orthopedic university called Butler sprout out of the blackness like the hand of Carrie White, spotlit by an ice-colored fluorescent. i indescribably felt like i was going to die. i turned immediately into the driveway and biked down a stretching road of nothingness that curved through pines and past rock-piled fences till suddenly a deer-shadow ran out from the dark and past the light on the ground. it was a giant fox with a really healthy sloping stomach and it stared at me as i slowly rode by staring at it, it looked back when i looked back and then i turned down and rode further into the campus. i found a bird's nest in a thicket of sprouting bushes hit hard by light pollution. i waited to be stopped by police but there wasn't anything moving. i rode back out, down some wilmette streets and was suddenly in a shopping town clearing. the first window i walked up to had a stuffed bulldog with luminous eyes of barking walnut biting an aqua frisbee strung up on white thread, hovering.
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| tennaqua |
[22 Apr 2008|01:19am] |
thoughts on this economic drought,
spring smelling like it was a cool predator special effect,
hearing about parties celebrating economic drought/recession with kegs and power,
endless boring parties full of wagner kuntzverk actors and actresses, which i leave.
midnight walking around downtown alone with a chip looking for a thing to do. walking by the night clubs seeing playboy bunny tattoos. learning that the blind read playboy with subscriptions funded by the government. and then the gov wanted to cancel it but were overturned by the protests or just sympathy. abstract expressionism was also interestingly funded by the CIA.
and all the while i am listening to "no guilt" by the brainbombs on repeat and wow, how did i miss them? my head might be sucking on the last painful drip of a coffee bean but my heart pumps out life-satisfying ghirardelli minced puke at 24 fps. and so what if i like "the sun also rises," but i don't romanticize it because now it's spring and things are calm without trying. suddenly i'm seeing trees with tight little white blossoms that smell like salmon, and that's no allusion but innocuously and painfully accurate.
also it is passover and a lady said to her children "we have one more day of eating matzoh" at the grocery. my undulating ungjewish discipline got a shank from my thirteen year old self, romantically sucked into congregational holy water by the drain of the rugrats episode where they think they'll be sucked into the bathtub.
but so what, when i got confirmed it was the first time i actually believed my own atheism. connie meislahn and i would sit staring at the ground thinking about black sweatshirts and wipe me away holy for i don't remember a thing that was said in that room. the metal faces, wire teeth and ambiguous, morphing sexual relationships between my sunday school classmates, at least those early teenagers who could get it, are really all the torn crumbs of jesus' body i'll need, but what can i do if joan of arc gives me hope and good ideas?
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| no, my son |
[17 Apr 2008|04:19pm] |
THE ONLY PEOPLE I WRITE FOR ARE MY EIGHT YEAR OLD SELF AND MAYBE MY SON, my son, my son my son, my son, my son, my son
and his name shall be RALF
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| schlupps |
[08 Apr 2008|03:36am] |
| [ |
music |
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summer's melting my mind |
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woman with a back problem
man with crutches and broken leg wearing the most intricate navy blue suit and tie, thinking about how he got it on and if it hurt just to look so sharp
woman at the eastside marketplace who asked me twice what kind of bag i wanted and apologized when she figured out what she did. really weird and nice face and slow way of speaking like talking through prison glass.
i had a dream that my dog was farting so much and everyone was laughing. later we found out they were a rare form of compulsive queefs that were slowly destroying her vagina. when she farted she yelped in pain and everyone laughed at the dog queefing.
later in that dream i was in a canoe about 20 feet above the land floating in the air. my mom and brother sat with me as we raced towards something. suddenly we were blasting through tree branches and it looked like a while we wouldn't make it. i screamed to my mom "i can't stop it!" and she said that you have to brake the back of the canoe with your butt. i did this and it slowly sank to the ground.
adrian tomine story about a girl who has a job late in the day. she chooses to stay out all night drinking six cups of coffee, riding her bike to a movie or the bowling alley and never thinking it's bad.
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[20 Mar 2008|11:23pm] |
die while holding two candles
i can't wait to see new york
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| I SAW ANDREW SARRIS slumped over like a broken kaleidascope |
[14 Mar 2008|01:56am] |
the best thing about college being you can swear in class, the worst thing being ??
sorry, but it's all about the physical, i.e. the shape of your spit when it expels. is it a horse shoe? is it motaro? is it the vorpal blade went on craigslist and pawned a grill? it's the lucky horse shoe because
you've got the attitude, but can you turn it into a national book award?
idle fame, crummy fame, yiff fame has been dealt a blow--by blogs, of course. nothing else but blogs can turn your spine backwards and the next very thing you know you're writing the first draft of a full metal jacket remake. it's all about the color of your tongue slipping like a cod needle-nose down full tilt with gills that splash atomic bomb gas on your tailor-made bertolt brecht proletariat clothes.
i went to the gallery tonight for the white wine but the walls were busy packed to the sides like slides and i almost fell trying to look at an industrial design senior's reconstructed playground. i breathed outside where i remembered the caveman's warning (you got the sloe eyes and bitchin' bod of a true sabra) and walked down to the auditorium to see andrew sarris sit down. he sat down so well i was shrieking with the visual aide of my pasty post-wandering jew complexion. he sat down so hard that his legs became top hats to snowmen all across the eastern european taiga. he showed us clips from war movies in a disappointing visual tribute to stephen hawking (surname schiavo) which gave me a two hour heart attack of pure painful ache. he showed a piece of the deer hunter and told us he didn't really care for it, i secretly wondered if he was too vindictively castrated to hold any real rage past pauline kael's death but i didn't ask, just watched his cane slit the punctilious pusillanimous patron saint of inertia and limply slide around the shitty brillo pad of a carpet. his cane!
the unsympathetic spastics, as e. smith says. they are cute and deserve your cyberpunk deuteronomy.
futures and pasts
hard to make real friends that get it and get it hard
wondering about the iraq war because futures and pasts
you got something on your chin, it's the last breath of otto dix
oh wait i lied it's
just a joke, it's
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chevaron's journal
