god damnit. i'm tired. julian, i don't have the energy to say anything. so, there's that.
i guess if i were to say anything it would be that i've been smoking in bed too much. i've been working from bed. i get up. piss. naked. maybe, brush my teeth - depending on how hot it is - maybe, eat a half a turkey sandwich with chipotle hummus from costco - perhaps try and tweet something significant - search my soul for that impulse and wonder why i care. losing it. gone. kaput.
i don't go crazy over ladies anymore but i do want to be good to someone and have that someone be good to me too.
i have this fantasy - lately - of finding someone to come over and sit on my chest and rub her hot spot close to my face.
i've been looking at people and asking myself, what the fuck does this one eat for breakfast and why.
i get angry quick and feel like a prick shortly thereafter. then laugh about it from the other side.
my parents gave me a better television. it has a dvd player (built in). in it, a pilates dvd. my mothercalled twice for it and suggested i get a punching bag or do some home yoga.
i downloaded my bank statements 30 days - and started to highlight my consumptive purchases with a pink highlighter but stopped to go and buy beer. i'll post statistics tomorrow. none of this money is really mine.
i feel watched.
i don't want to smear or ruin reputation but i've got to say it. i've got to talk about everything. the way i talk about it. and i'm sad, man. fucking something is fighting very hard to do some fucking thing - like float.
this is not the reward. none of this is the reward. there is no reward for your achievements. not even floating. i'm not saying this with a black cape or scowl. i'm just saying it. there's a picture somewhere on some other post here that documents this arrival. i thought certain things (like altering anatomy) or writing very openly about everything would pay off like some sort of mechanism. your know, the arrival. the divining rod. authenticity of - head - heart - action. not so much.
this is the curse of mechanism. detoured quality.
what follows is anger, disillusionment, shit fits, then gladness.
i don't know if i care about "blogging" or breaking the paradigm of press/poetry/the trenches/publication. i want to say this - that since learning the things i've been teaching myself - the kind of work that's coming together (not writing) has me feeling like a felon. i've dropped my fingerprint everywhere (the writing) and its out there. with interest. wouldn't be so bold to say that the world is searching. but when looking for a job - there are certain fields and quality of jobs that will do the semantic forensics to see what this guy, that gal, any of us so bold to slap some sort of opinion or piece of self on the internet.
i mean - its all up here. ever since myspace (or when i joined it). i'm not dropping key words into here for the search. i'm being totally honest. as i learn more and want more and love more - the definition has broadened - these days i think only of the pink highlighter and family. its all up here. the better part of at least five years and this life in the trenches i'm so awesome fucking blog - whatever. it's all up here - the quirks, twitches, tourrets, spelling errors, quests and inquisitions.
then the mechanism.
the break, the sight, the bite, and blessing.
i'm jumping all over the place. i apologize for nothing. as far as jumping around goes.
i'm interested in getting interested in transcendental meditation. i am interested in investigating the cost of a punching bag.
i am very excited about the fingerprint. these mitts of mine like otis redding's arms are hungry.
in him like me still lives mr. knowing and mrs. longing.
they make quite a slice of pie like mr. riley.
i ramble. i apologize for nothing. i hate how i watch and carry around your faces. like the other day when i was working as a p.a. for a commercial and became very agitated and crazy because i couldn't seem to get people to stop walking on the grass (it was a growth formula home improvement commercial) and i felt small in my sight for absurdity.
logic yes. logic not.
please - stay off the grass. no searching.
that being said - i feel like the true movement is for those felons of emotion and verse - pretty much anything - even if you jack off to dragon fruit and spend a lot of time snapping pics on your phone of choice which, unless you say "no" (like it matters - a no - the they have laid it out there -
they: get excited. we're geo-tagging. for those that don't know - that's basically dropping your lifestyle - both in what you snap as well as where you snap it - with both coordinates and images.
anybody with half a god damn brain can locate you.
like a dog sniffing shit to see what's for dinner and where you've been. like a waft of something else. i don't want to talk about flowers or even give this phrase but all over the place i smell jasmine.
also, i'm sorry - i heard about six pops rock somewhere within an ear shot - i smell jasmine. julian. you are dead.
i'd rather keep the place where i drink coffee the place i go to escape the hazards of working at home - instead of fall in love with love - for love - instead of giving it a go - for them behind counters - i'd rather drink coffee.
all in all though - they used to get pretty pissed at the marquis for sticking his cock in the proverbial humping pumpkin. now, i think its the time of the felons. and its time to live bravely. i think i need to demonstrate some faith in what i believe. adjust. sit in front of the fire with some hot something and drawing smiley faces on trench warfare's death strike forced perspective - aka; 3 dimensional images - aka; making assholes out of brave folks who fight like assholes in defiance to the machine gun.
no one is broken. there is nothing to fear. everybody already knows it. they keep your statements. they track your tastes. i eat a lot of soup. some of the food from costco is quite delicious. in fact i'm hungry now. and i've got some highlighting.
the ideas are coming. the world is getting bigger. there is no reward. it has happened before. its happening now. and its going to keep happening (i'm referring to writing, pumpkins, fingerprints, semantic forensics etc etc) so embrace the degenerate - us artifacts - us litmus - us who live as best we can.
punk thunk romantics - fear nothing. want everything. nothings coming. sitting here. and me, sleeping with ashes in me bed.
live openly.
and feel like you know something more when you notice things like those glass roses one may notice while spending other peoples' money and take care of each of something. we'll sort it out.
in summation, i'll take a look at this later when my eyes aren't so heavy and edit it.
watch out, friend. a comet.
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