I am waiting for something. Everytime I walk down the sidewalk outside my place, I look both ways before beginning my journey. Not check, look. I don’t know what is coming, screaming across the multitude in a flurry of blurred lines and neon flashes of damnation incarnate, born of starstuff. I look, I feel, I wait. I can see them coming for me, I will be here
The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali
I am sitting curled up in bed one hand clutching my stomach the other my head and rocking back and forth and asking myself why all of this pain, why right now. I look into nothing, i wonder what i should read, what I should drink, I am wandering through all of this without the life raft, i am lost and without meaning. Goddamn where is the red button, the one that ejects life and puts me back in the seat, give me a sign and set me free, amen, alleluia and i’ll see you tomorrow, sign off, check out, go on board with the waves, the show, the neverending stream of confetti and lies that we poured over your lives, this is the jungle of yesterday, the wasteland of tomorrow, the forgotten place of today. We are the simply, the meekly, the poorly done half assed drawings of an absent generation, attempting to create art for the blind, music for the deaf and ask questions of the dumb. Where will you sink to? Will you sink so that the pressure hurts or will you sink to the top where the pressure is only your own?
I am the infinite in this moment, pain and pleasure and forgotten censure, the roiling tumbling avalanche of me.
You will remember my name.
I’m losing it. where is it going,
Hovering through each cloud of a day
I am the lost breeze in the alley
I’m losing it. Slowly, it drips,
Quietly down this abandoned corridor
She dances a jig upon my hands
I’ve lost it
Mr. Wallace say we are watchers, and watchers we shall be.
Even in this semi-delirious state, I know I would still feel slightly disturbed if I were to be otherwise unencumbered by said entanglements of sleep deprivation. We are just so many distracting ourselves in this room, listening to the sincere man tell us the mysteries of the inner workings of our prisons.
The bars are only in front of us, and yet we cannot move.
There is him however. No.
Him. As in Him.
Relegated to the holy pronoun, the big walker, loud talker. That manthing, sitting close to the front of this panoptical mind fuck.
"Professor," he calls, "professor, you see, we don’t understand."
- See, he is not alone, he has implicated each of us into his utter failure. I asked for no share of this burden. It was given without permission. The damn fool!
Trust no one, its a den of liars and cannibals!
You sit curled up across the double seat, facing the window. The world blurs and its almost beautiful in that strange, hazy sorta way. Every turn accentuated the bumps of the track as you feel the train cars tilt and sway a bit.
Clear skies now, the storm hasn’t made up its mind.
Every time you hear the train whistle, you wonder who may be sitting on the tracks ahead of this long steel bullet. How they will go from being something to being nothing in a matter of seconds. Your story goes in slow motion however, upon impact you are flung sideways into the seats in front of you, two rows, three. Glass shatters in tandem with your ribs. Spleen bursts, lungs puncture. All of this happens in the span of the longest second you’ll ever remember. And yet… Part of you hopes this will happen every time you hear that whistle. You want to hate that part of you, but you can’t because something about it is so appealing. You being a victim of so many paths of opportunity converging in a single moment and place. It humbles you, and you smile.
You smile the same smile you will be smiling upon impact, all the way up to the point where your skull is fractured in so many places that you won’t even look human anymore.
And still, the trees blur by outside, and you drift off to sleep.
But I’m pretty sure its happening. I’m just not so sure it is. I’m sitting in a kind of limbo here, waiting for the next hand to strike from the inky darkness. Sitting calmly with my tea, watching nothing, feeling nothing. I want to be the void, the more, the all encompassing empty. I sit here, and I sit nowhere. I want you to see me, but you must blunder through the dark like I have to find this place. I am the stillness, I am the wind. Here there are whispers of someone I knew, someone I will soon be. With ink and heart he wrote the world, and not a tear was shed. The burden laid bare upon his back was a reluctant masterpiece, keys and hammers striking the mighty chords of creation, rendering of them the once was, once will, and once forgotten. I have found my loneliness once more, embraced it in the high note of the night, letting the walls speak to me of their sorrows. Tonight we weep blood, dear children, and no one will make a sound.
Fall break win! :D
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name
Now listen hear: fish chairs.
I want to understand how these people do this, they take two things that don’t belong and turn it into something beautiful. Fish can’t sit down, chairs are not made for fish. But if you think about it, that means fish are kind of always standing. Or the flip side of that, that are always sitting. But without chairs.
These two things do not belong, but if enough people get on board, it will become something great and people will say it in the common tongue. It will become something slightly more than what it actually is. No longer fish and chairs but Fish Chairs. The Chairs Made for Fish. Capitalize that fucker.
What do you do with that? You build it up, let it grow, watch it die and then years down the road, some young one will blow the dust off of it once more and the cycle begins anew, the old becomes new.
Such absurdity could topple nations and inspire impossible creations. What do you with that? Advertise? Hope it works?
I couldn’t tell you.
But I do know this, you have wolftoilets to blame for this.
Spread the word, it’s gonna be big.
There are a few moments that I would like to take and remember for a moment or two before they are lost. Just hold them in my hands as they are, recognize how this moment is moving and powerful and full of possibility, how so many things had to happen in just the right way for this moment to materialize…
Then to realize that every moment is the culmination of all the moments before it, part of a much greater moment that is right now and always happening. I am this moment (for a moment) and I can see all the pieces line up so well. Right now I am lost in so many things, I’m trying to find my way back to where I was. If I find something and enjoy it as another person, do I truly enjoy it as me?
I hope I can find that place. Let gravity do it’s work on our celestial bodies and bring the Other with me, draw her into this lovely dance I have established with life, show her its wonders. Happiness lies in the moments. Not the ones to come or the ones past, the ones right now.
Right here, right now, you living in them.
Each word a moment in itself, looking in every direction before marching on for a mile or two. The ghosts that haunt before and after are no problem for you, you stand in the light. As long as you carry it with you, you will never be in darkness.
Hello again, my old friend
Come home for the weekend just to be home. Sit around, talk to family, embrace the big empty. Play some Twilight Princess, meditate, read the Blue Cliff Record while in the tub. Saw a picture for a bathtub/desk contraption and am slightly (incredibly amazed). Have carried the feelings and attachments for long enough now, they are beginning to decay and deteriorate into something sinister and morose, let them go. Wash them away, throw them out your window, see the tea trees growing below.
Here, I sit, slow and low and calm. See the mind wander.
What is mind?