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[ Sunday] 7.26.09
[@ 5.22p ] |
Moved out of Charlotte.
Writing a lot.
Drinking more.
Working on getting published.
Feeling so much better about life.
I've victory in mind.
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[ Saturday] 5.16.09
[@ 3.02a ] |
There's little reason these days
to paint the walls
call god your master
spend time with those with hope in their hearts
devour the notes and spit up their resonance
dive into new changes and believe the power of fate
bellow a sweet and somber melody
cry out to the sky with conviction.
there is little left but the striving to fill the void
the clicking of time against the hollow space of the present tense
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| poetry you can ignore |
[ Wednesday] 3.18.09
[@ 3.54a ] |
I've trapped myself again within wooden walls
warding off unwanted weary passersby
jesus christ wept and i didn't feel the sorrow
I felt the tears contrived and counterfiet
collapsing beneath the weight of doubt or uncontrolable knowing I remained inside this hollow tomb
waiting wishing and wanting
left emptied forgotten and discreditted
another loon
forfeitting emotion and pitty
another bum with an emoty cup and ill rehearsed sob story
2
tilt the body dry.
emptied.
like flesh fallen to rock.
dashed and dismemebered.
imperfections aged from withered souls.
drowning yourself in shallow pools of vanity.
self conscious back talk and all that.
what room has the mind to dream when life's waking moments are spent in paranoid self awarance?
consciousness a courageous path, and I chose the lower road.
inhaling mediocrity's fog and exhaling the void with every breath.
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[ Tuesday] 11.25.08
[@ 7.01p ] |
Submitted some of my writings to Heartworm Press the other night. Hope to hear back soon.
The changing of seasons is slowly eating away at me. A positive attitude is really hard to cling to, right now. It's hard to win when you feel so defeated. Wish I could find a way out.
life is extraordinarily dull
death even more so
living life morally obtuse seems the way to go
we're all carving out lives
while life slowly chips away at our truest selves
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| In no particular order. Desert Island top 10, final cut. |
[ Monday] 11.17.08
[@ 10.33p ] |
/Radiohead%20-%20The%20Bends%20(Japanese%20Version).jpg)
10. Radiohead - The Bends
9. Bob Dylan - Bringing It All Back Home Again
8. Pedro the Lion - Whole
7. Less Than Jake - Losing Streak
6. Death Threat - For God & Government
5. MxPx - Slowly Going the Way of the Buffalo
4. The Get Up Kids - Something to Write Home About
3. The Good Life - Black Out
2. Elvis Costello - My aim is True
1.Bright Eyes - Letting off the Happiness
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[ Tuesday] 11.11.08
[@ 6.42a ] |
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| I've heard no discussion on this obvious possibility. |
[ Saturday] 11.1.08
[@ 4.02p ] |
In the unlikely scenario that Obama loses (which I couldn't fucking care less either way.) There's gonna be riots.
Shit will get fucked up.
And very interesting. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a McCain win, for the sheer entertainment.
If this post has you wanting to reply with some pro Obama dick suck message, save the time you'd waste typing on learning how to fuck yourself.
And then go fuck yourself.
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[ Friday] 10.24.08
[@ 7.45p ] |
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music |
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Bun B - II Trill |
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12 hours of lifting a 45 pound hammer...and dropping it. over. and over.
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[ Monday] 10.13.08
[@ 5.18p ] |
what's up fucking sunny disposition?
track four off the yardwork cd is helping maintain it, as well.
what's a song that does the same for you? that keeps you whistling through the day?
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[ Saturday] 10.11.08
[@ 7.37p ] |
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wow. I haven't been so confused by a dream.... ever.
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[ Thursday] 10.9.08
[@ 8.29p ] |
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as if explaining to random bums at the gas station that I'm drinking on the change in my pocket wasn't enough.... it seems now I have to explain why I'm not voting.
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[ Monday] 9.29.08
[@ 9.27a ] |
| [ |
mood |
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 happy |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Headphones - Slow Car Crash |
] |
Thursday night on through tonight.... having the best weekend I've had in a long time.
+/-
+ scrabble
+ weed
+ anti-anxiety medication/pain killers
+ lying in bed watching movies
+ new it's always sunny in philadelphia episodes
+ watching every californication episode in one night
+ great conversation
+ brighter outlook for the future
+ full body massages
+ watching David Bazan interviews and realizing what an awesome dude he is
+ being overly nerdy
- no sleep (but not such a bad thing)
I'm really happy right now. Kind of excited for November.
here's a clip of one of the interviews from the David Bazan (singer from Pedro the Lion) DVD coming out in two weeks. Can not wait to get my copy.
and, to keep it balanced (and interject my usual cynicism towards things) Bukowski on love.
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[ Sunday] 9.14.08
[@ 5.34a ] |
| [ |
mood |
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 exhausted |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Bob Dylan - New Morning |
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fighting the bad fight
animal instinct overrides moral law
as the soul is eaten away by unfounded conscious
best intentions die at the hand of reality and our struggle to survive
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| Fear of Stheno and Euryale. |
[ Monday] 9.8.08
[@ 4.01a ] |
Upon an odd, and misdirected thought process, I began searching for a reason why civilizations would create tales of female creatures, i.e. mermaids. I discovered that many civilizations have their versions of the creatures. Men of the sea believed they existed to sing to them, enticing at first but eventually leading to their demise. Be it shipwreck or abandoning ships in hope of embrace, their power was known and feared. A slight hope was given. Perhaps they had no understanding that men lack the ability to breath under water. Hans Christian Anderson gave them that benefit of the doubt.
Such beautiful beings that searched the sea, some asking questions of those they encountered. Given the wrong reply, they'd turn into evil, terrible roaring and fanged monsters. There were three of these hideous entities. Stheno, Euryale and Medusa.
Medusa is well known. We've grown up with the tale. A woman whose gaze turns you to stone. We are fully aware the potential of certain looks from the fairer sex. Hardly a woman without weakness, though. Perseus, with a sword of adamantine took her head. A grand story, but not the one I'm getting at. What of the other two sisters? The retelling of immortality in the hands of two women so deadly is easily put to rest. We know they exist, to this day. Still catching the gaze of men, innocent and evil. Turning to stone the passerby's in their instinctual quest, be it real or fleeting. No. We can't accept this. That, to this day, in a sea of beauty, the risk remains one to be taken.
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[ Friday] 7.11.08
[@ 3.37a ] |
A desolate landscape
Surrounded by the beer soaked and yearning for attention.
There is no hope to be found here.
Souls laid to waste by the last nights indiscretion.
What hath god wrought?
Our souls ache and awaken with the longing of each day.
We all know it, but rarely do we realize
when tomorrow comes
we'll awaken from stagnant pools of self deprecation
Wring our hands of the blood from past mistakes
staggering on into the cold lonesome sunrise
Where it all makes sense
or, with luck, it begins to.
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| You can't always get what you want. |
[ Thursday] 6.19.08
[@ 7.13p ] |
Tonight, I experienced a truly odd feeling. I just couldn't shake the surreality of the evening as the sun began to set. Nothing seemed real. Being not quite sure what set this off, I left my mind to wander.
Earlier in the day, I thought a great deal about the facade of humanity. What we allow others to see of ourselves. It's hard to admit that we can't fully disclose ourselves, be it out of fear of vulnerability or pure, unadulterated shame. It's disconcerting to think that we all do it, to some extent. We make it so impossible for people to know us, while, at the same time, trying hard to get to know and relate to people on a personal level. It seems we're fucked from the start. I don't want to appear as though I have no hope for more, in fact I do. If I didn't, I don't believe I'd continue this cycle of attempts and inevitable failure. Perhaps, one day, we can make it worthwhile. Definitely not tonight. Probably not tomorrow. But maybe, just maybe, I'll find the strength to persevere. To wake up to a dawn where it begins to make sense.
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| A madness without passion |
[ Monday] 6.9.08
[@ 7.19p ] |
Head up toward the mad men
Toward beings of light
Toward soul giving gods
of unquestionable size
and magnitude
Eyes of empty madness
A madness without passion
Devoid of anything worthwhile
or life affirming
Life breeds death
and death, thoughts
of lofty goals
Set and maintained
by sad sorry silences
Misgiven by guideless
lights of solitude.
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| A time for change. |
[ Sunday] 6.8.08
[@ 11.36a ] |
| [ |
mood |
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hopeful |
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| [ |
music |
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Neva Dinova - Tryptophan |
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Been working on my writing a lot... pretty happy with what has been coming out.
Slowly feeling less and less social. Not sure whether it's my own psychosis or... something more.
Looks like I have a chance to get away, and go to school in Savannah. Never been there but it sounds promising. New people sounds incredibly attractive, right now. Especially the ability to meet new people that aren't somehow connected to "the circle" in Charlotte.
Keeping my fingers crossed, as far as the school thing goes. Hoping for scholarships. It's all a scary thing for me, but the appeal of doing what I love as a living definitely trumps my usual lack of motivation.
Until I can finally get out of here, I think I'm going to continue to stay in my room, play chess, write and hang out with the select few people who inspire me.
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[ Friday] 5.23.08
[@ 3.18a ] |
I never claimed to speak truths.
A writer is a liar, a thought I've had before.
Honesty comes hard for most.
Until the ink drips dry.
Until the filter burns.
It will go.
There's nothing like a thought that has ran its course.
It can go on and on.
Endless possibilities.
Never arriving the same.
Detours side streets interstates.
Editing is the only dead end.
Well, not the only one.
We are always getting in the way of a good idea.
Lets put an end to this.
Right here.
Dedicate yourself to this thought.
Let it be the current you find yourself caught in.
Ride the crest of something larger than yourself.
Give way to the notion that we've no control over the firing synapses within our skulls.
It's all a science that we're clueless of, but don't let that distract you.
Dive in.
Inhale.
Be.
Exhale all the bullshit.
Be done with it.
Get over and past yourself.
The only way to become anything greater is to allow yourself to be less.
Less calloused.
Less jaded.
Less listless.
Devote these seconds to being.
Experience the glory of existence.
Don't.
I repeat DO NOT permit the thought to die.
Nurture it.
Play with it.
Entertain it.
Stimulate that which inspires.
Set up your muse.
Place it above all else.
Do nothing, but live for its sake.
There it is.
The appeal of religion.
Sacrificing all for something greater.
But strike religion.
Remove it from the process.
Let the thought be your guide.
Strive for more.
More for yourself.
For the ones you love.
Give what you've got.
Hold back and miss out.
Speak the words that come.
Let analyzation carry its own dead weight.
This is yours.
No one can take it from you.
As it continues it may become clearer.
I make no promises though.
The life of a word can go on forever.
Imagine what the thought could do.
I slept last night and awoke with hope.
The day is lived and ends with that dawn of hope.
You can pretend to know.
You can act it out.
It will all be done blindly.
The movement of blood.
Rushing sound of our veins expanding and contracting.
So much goes into a second.
All I ask is that you place them on a string.
Point A to B is much farther than it seems.
There's so much god damn space there.
It all gets ignored.
Swept away.
As if we've the capacity to hide ourselves from, well... ourselves.
What ridiculous and ignorant beings.
The same that could assume any creator would share this image.
We like to think of ourselves once or twice removed from god.
Stripped of omnipotence, omniscience and the third thing.
Perfection.
We, no.
I was taught that only he is perfect.
Like perfection is something I should set my sights on.
Head down.
Blinders to the left and right.
Obedience.
I remain inside.
Indulging this intoxicating feeling.
A slave to this.
I've no will outside of it.
No desire of will.
In it I lack nothing.
The words are there, waiting in line to be picked.
Hanging on everything I'd known before.
Memories Experiences and all pasts cumulating so be spread thin across pages and pages of ideas.
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