The mind

BANG! Ha that wasn't what you were expecting was it you dirty rat bastard. Actually it wasn't what I was expecting either. I meant to start this post with 'Have you ever wondered...' something or another. But then my mind started wandering and I forgot what I was wondering, so that's how we get to the big bang. Not the Big Bang mind you just the big one. And by this point I've managed to remember what I was wondering before I started wandering and that was how the mind works. No one really knows. The process of figuring it out is sort of like building the trans continental railway. There are two sides of how it works, the physical aspects and the psychological ones. And as far as I understand it the one is barely to the Rockies and the other is still stuck in the Catskills. Which basically means we have no real understanding of how the brains works. We may somewhat understand how people think, and we are starting to get a grasp on how physical processes in the brain work. But we have absolutely no understanding of how they are connected. I may be wrong on this, I'm not a scientist or anything, but I try ot keep up to date with scientific progress, and I would assume I would have heard about any grand breakthroughs in how the physics of the brain affect how we think. I'm even more unsure about my transcontinental railroad metaphor. The metaphor works but I really have no idea where each side is relative to the coasts. I don't think the scientists really know either. It seems to me that its more like building a transcontinetal railraod when you have no idea how big the continent is. For all we know the two branches could have gone far enough to reach each other but somehow gotten off course and never connected. Well that's about all I wanted to say. Oh and thanks Kelley for being my muse in this instance. All you really did was ask if I had written anything, but apparently that was enough.

More thoughts on pig weed

I know its not really the best thing to be thinking about. But I can't seem to keep this pig weed idea out of my head. Some may say that all of the ideas expressed in both this post and the last are completely unethical and extremely cruel. And to those people I say I completely agree. But it makes an interesting and thoroughly amusing thought experiment.
Ok I've got this pretty much completely figured out now. I still haven't really considered how many pigs you would need per say square meter of sea of green style grow, but I'll outline the strategy for one pig and that could be repeated for more if necessary. First of all you're gonna need a treadmill. Good meat requires good muscles, not overly tough but still reasonably well exercised. The confinement of a grow op and the need to keep the pigs from eating the plants means you will probably have to cage the pig. Now this should be fine, many domesticated pigs are raised as pets in cages. This does raise another problem: for god's sake don't give the pig a name. At first giving the pig a name may sound like a good idea, but don't be fooled. When you are looking down at that delicious bowl of roast pork do you really want to be thinking 'Oh God! I've killed Betsy!' NO! You want to be thinking 'mmm this is gonna taste great.' So just skip the whole name idea. Now on to the cage. The size of your cage should depend both on the size of pig you have and the size of your growroom. I would suggest getting a cage that can fit the treadmill inside, that way you won't have to deal with supervising the pig's exercise. Also you will probably want to be able to get inside the cage yourself. You don't want your weed smelling like a pig sty now do you? I'm no expert on pig exercise habits, but I figure a couple hours a day of casual walking pace on the treadmill should be good.
Well that's about all I've thought of so far. I'll post more ideas if any come to mind.


(Please note that if you can't tell this is a joke then you are an utter moron and I have no respect for you at all)

For all you unethical marijuana growers

I was just reading about a bust on a grow op and I was intrigued by the whole ventilation problem. Not necessarily the smell problem but the problem of replenishing CO2 in an indoor grow room. And while considering the methods of doing this, which usually involve pumping air into or out of the room, I came up with a quite different idea. I don't think it would actually be feasible and even if it was I would not suggest it as it verges on cruelty to animals. Actually it is cruel to animals there's no verging in this case. So my idea is this. Keep some type of animal in your grow-room. I'm thinking pigs. I don't know anything about numbers, but unless you have a huge grow I doubt you would want more than one or two. Why not mimic nature. That's basically what the rest of the grow room is trying to do. So why not use animals the way the natural environment does. We, as animals, breath in oxygen and expel carbon dioxide. And plants in return use that carbon dioxide to create energy and expel oxygen as a byproduct. Actually it works the other way around. The plants were first. We just developed a way to use their byproducts. But that doesn't really matter in this case. Of course as I said before, raising pigs in your grow room would be highly unethical as you would be raising them in a confined space in which they would never even see the light of day. But on the bright side you would have plenty of delicious bacon, ham, pork chops, etc. to eat when you start getting the munchies.

new kazoo

It's been some time since I wrote anything for this thing. I have been writing, but for the magazine and before that I was having some difficulty coming up with things to write about. I'm still not having the most brilliant ideas. I won't claim that I ever had brilliant ideas but I rather liked the one about the owl and the well and the big tree that inverted into a well. That happens to be one of my personal favorites. But enough of that gibberish, we need to get to the real point of this post. Actually to tell you the truth this post has no real point. It doesn't even have a fake point. It has absolutely no point at all. Unless you consider periods points, which technically they are. Really since you are reading this on a computer the whole thing is points. Each pixel is an individual point. So this post is in reality full of points. I say screw those points, we need to find some mental point to fixate on. Otherwise the whole thing has been a giant waste of time. If you consider typing randomly for 3 min a giant waste of time. Some people think its not a waste of time at all. And others may even claim that despite it being a waste of time, it can by no means be referred to accurately as giant. But I can remedy that. If I just keep writing who knows how giant or even gargantuan I could make this. But then we still have to deal with the people who would claim it is no waste of time and rather a useful mental activity. To these people: 'I poo-poo you.' Yes I said it. This is a real and official poo-pooing. Be warned if you do not change your opinion I shall have to poo-poo you again. And I know you don't want to be double poo-pooed. Wait a second, now that I think about it I may have sided on the wrong side here. Do I really want to claim that I am wasting time. Maybe I should switch my opinion so that what I'm doing makes sense. No, that would make too much sense. I would much rather poo-poo those who try to help me. It's much less productive, and we can't let it out that I may support productivity. That could be disastrous for my career. Who knows what sort of crazed workaholic people might start thinking I am. I have enough trouble keeping up with the meager, I might go as far as to say nonexistent, workload that I have now. If people started expecting real work out of me, things could get tough. Who knows, I could turn into some drug crazed dope fiend, so twisted on speed and blow that I couldn't stop working even if I tried. And don't forget caffeine, that shit is much more powerful than commonly perceived. Sorry I just got a kazoo, can't write any more.

magazine33

I don't know if anyone actually reads this thing, and frankly I don't really care. So fuck you. I'm just kidding. I love you, if you're there. But that's not why I'm writing. Gotta do a bit of shameless promotion. So if you're reading this you shouldn't be. You should instead be reading my new magazine article in Magazine33. You can find it at http://magazine33.com/issue/october2009/article/let-s-go-honky-tonkin. Ok that is all.

Che

Damn, its been a while since I wrote anything. I guess I haven't had much to say. It's hard to think let alone say with that damn fan vibrating. Every damn time it oscillates toward me it rattles, but its too fucking hot to turn it off. In retrospect it's not all that hot. Hmm, the folks next door are smoking a swisher. I can smell it through the window. I think its grape. Not all that sure, my nose is a bit stuffy so the olfactory senses are not working at full capacity. I can just pretend the smell is coming from that cigar Che is smoking as he looks out over my room form his vantage point on the wall. Its not the standard picture of him. When I first got the shirt, I never thought I'd hang it on the wall. But I like it too much to let it get worn out, and there was this big blank spot on my wall between the 'Don't drink and drive, smoke and fly' poster and the picture of my family. He fits well there. Its comforting to know I always have Che looking out over me, smoking a cigar. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, but I never really am. It's no fun if you know where you'll end up when you start. The Motorcycle Diaries is a fanastic story. It gets that last statement. Che knew what he was doing when he set out not knowing what he would do. I'm not sure that sentence makes sense, but I'm sure you get what I'm saying. Can't write any more. The music is too good. I can't think with this bass line, it just invades my head and makes me feel good.

Train's Runnin' Late

I wasn't expecting this. Not on the train. The train runs on time, dammit. I'm losing faith. 10 minutes late? Oh that's just an oddity. 20 minutes? Starting to bug me. 1 hour and 15 minutes: what the fuck? This isn't the bus. We should have been in by sundown. Well, at least the Apaches aren't attacking, and we don't have any whining bankers. At least not that I've heard. Too bad we don't have John Wayne: The Ringo Kid, or Doc Boone. Then we'd have a good time. Doc's my kind of man: likes the occasional nip of whiskey. It keeps the spirits high. I'm not drunk, I'm happy.

The Other Side

Have you ever been to the other side?
Have you ever been the one who died?
I bet you haven't cause you're alive.

no idea what the fuck this is about

There I was. Nothing else. Just me. Blackness. Its strange how you can tell that you're moving even when none of your senses are working. It was some sort of falling and spinning combination. Maybe it was just vertigo. The emptiness slowly faded into blackness. I was definitely falling. I could feel the wind. No more spinning. Just the wind. There was no movement involved in this fall. I could tell. Just like when I could tell before. Then it hit me. Not a physical blow, but a realization. My eyes could work, but I had to make them work. I had no unconscious. Total awareness. Total control. Neuron fire. Nerve transmit. Muscle receive. Muscle act. Repeat. So much is required to just keep the head upright. But don't forget to make the heart pump. Senses sense. Brain coordinate. Too much. Too much. Just let it all stop. Will I still be without the physical things that make me? Oh. I failed. No more control. The unconscious was there. Just hiding. Waiting until it was sorely needed then stepping in when it would be appreciated most. No one is aware of how much it does. Never underestimate your subconscious.

get our shit together

The more I pay attention to the world around me, the more I wish I hadn't. I'm not talking about the natural world, that is wonderful. I mean the man made world: the world that we live in. Unless you're a hermit up in the mountains or out in the desert or somewhere else equally remote, the only natural world that you see is what little is allowed by the human world. Of course you could counter by saying that humans are natural and therefore the human world is natural, but again that's not what I'm getting at. I guess I should define my terms. By the natural world I mean the parts of the world that do not require human input to survive and in some cases are detrimented by human interference. I've pretty much forgotten what I originally set out to say, but what does that matter. Now I'm saying something different. Plans are by necessity meant to be adjusted as the situation changes. The world is like that. As humans were first becoming the dominant species on the planet it was necessary for us to physically conquer our environment. Unfortunately this mentality has carried over into our time. I think we've pretty much conquered nature, at least in the sense that we really don't need to keep beating it down. If this were boxing, I'm pretty sure we'd be damn near a knock out at this point. We need to adapt our fundamental way of living to our modern times. We are at a tipping point. For the first time in our history, and by first time I mean the last hundred or so years, humans are truly capable of physically destroying our world to the point where complex life is no longer possible. This is a terrifying fact that we truly need to acknowledge. WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE? We need to get our fucking shit together and start acting like we give a damn about the well-being of life other than our own.

The Gonzo Papers

I just finished the whole series. It was a great read. It's taken me a while. I started The Great Shark Hunt: Strange Tales from a Strange Time over a year ago. My reading habits seem to have lapsed at some point after this. But I made up for the lapse by finishing the other three in about two weeks. It was almost by accident that I picked up Generation of Swine: Tales of Shame and Degradation in the '80s. I was desperate for something to read. Having just moved into my apartment, I was without TV or internet, my two standard pass-times. I took this lack of technology more as an opportunity to read more than any sort of hardship. After finishing volume two, my taste for the Doc's writing was piqued. I quickly moved on to Songs of the Doomed: More Notes on the Death of the American Dream, and finished with Better than Sex: Confessions of a Political Junkie. Looking back at my reading schedule, I realize that it somewhat mirrors Thompson's writing schedule, on a smaller scale of course. The Great Shark Hunt was published about 10 years before the next three were put out in what can only be called a flurry of publishing. Anyway, I highly recommend all of these books, especially if you read all of them together. There are a lot of themes that carry over from one volume to the next.

Why can't we do it in the road?

Drugs are bad,
And abortion.
But killing people is sanctioned
By the state,
As long as they are bad.
We must have some outlet for aggressive behavior.
Kill the deer and the murderers.
There's too many of them both.
But naked hippies making love in the streets
Is illegal and wrong.
Why can't we do it in the road?

Thoughts don't work

Thoughts don't work
When tired.
Freezer feels nice
On hot night.
Radio
Not too loud.
Music not recognized,
But not bad.
Show called Mercury Falls.
Wall hanging ripples
From fan
On medium.
No knob so very hard
To change setting.
Words come in waves
Or bursts.
Machine guns shooting
Down low flying planes.
And eyes glazed
See nothing
But elephants with pink drivers
And gray riders with pink hats and gray roofs
Rippling.
Music very strange now.
Comes in waves of strange sounds.
Need acid for it to be good.
Need to feel these sounds.
Music
Too
Powerful.
Can't
Think
Anymore.

late night driving

There's a strange, crazed feeling that you get when you're driving late at night. When there's just you, the pavement, and the radio blaring old country tunes as loud as it gets. When the only other cars on the road are drug dealers, gangsters, and cops, livened up by the occasional dope fiend, ripped out of his skull on Wild Turkey and uppers, driving around the block like its the Sprint Cup. There's a weird serenity that comes from all of this. Maybe its some sort of hypnosis from the passing streetlights. And you can't forget the fog. Just thin wisps that give you the feeling that you're running down all the marchers in some freakish ghost parade.

narration of a rainy night

Its been a strange night. Hunter Thompson was slightly prophetic and the folks outside can't film because of the rain. He said in '86 that the Patriots wouldn't make the playoffs for another 20 years. Well they did, but it took 'em 15 years to win the Super Bowl. The rain's coming down pretty hard now. It was just drizzling when they set up. It's the fire pit in my back yard that attracted them. Like moths to a flame. Some of them look like witches, in black cloaks and deathly white makeup. But they can't shoot in the rain. The scene doesn't call for it. Damn fools made me turn off the music for nothing. I don't mind in particular, but I'm pissed about the soda situation. If I want more I'll have to walk to 7-11 in the rain. It's quiet now, without the music. Just the whirr of my aging window fan and the pitter patter of the rain outside. Every once in a while they shout something at each other. I can't make out the words.

Apparently they started again while I was getting another soda. But they've stopped now. The rain picked up while I was paying. This rain is really putting a damper on the filming. They're packing up. Before they were just waiting out the heavy bits and filming in between. It doesn't look like it'll let up any time soon. But now I can play the music. I've settled on the Flaming Lips pink robots album.

I just found out I have working Christmas lights on my front porch.

Home

As I sit here on my bed, I wonder: 'Is this home?' The creole and cajun music blaring from my stereo definitely helps give it a homey feel. Or at least a significant amount of down home feel. I haven't particularly had a permanent home in some time. I'd been staying at my parents house for the past four or five months, but that always had a temporary feel to me. Now I'm in this new apartment, but the walls seem very bare. Just two posters so far. There are several Indian bedspreads in a pile on the floor with an old South American blanket. All of them will go on the walls, but they're not there yet. Things are still strewn aimlessly around in most of the space, although the bed is in place.
The real question is, 'What makes a place home?' There's a book by somebody who I can't remember titled Home Is Where You Hang Your Spikes, but that's not really what I'm getting at. I've always considered the world to be my home. That theory is coming into question now. I have this feeling that where I am right now could be home; it's just missing something. Some element of dedication perhaps. Or maybe it's just lacking in decoration. I've always been very influenced by my surroundings. I need lots of activity and color: things that are pleasant to look at. I have a tendency to stare off at things, which is much more interesting when the subject of the stare is not just bare walls.

new apartment

It looks as though my writing on the blog will be coming in bursts for the next couple months. I no longer have a computer available all the time. This post is coming to you from my parents computer, at their house. I'm stilling writing things that would probably go well on the blog, but they are on the old fashioned, pre-internet blog: the note pad. So I guess every once in a while I'll post a whole bunch of entries. That's all I have to say for now. Other than saying that Hunter Thompson is a inspiration. Generation of Swine was fantastic. 'Buy the ticket. Take the ride.'

insight into the mind of a four-legged hippopotomus

how
am i alive
the colors are
just check the door and
the fan blows air but
speakers
do not speak
unless spoken to
in electricity

Out of body experiences

I have nothing to say. But I'm going to say it anyway. Brass buttons are things that are shiny and go on blazers not suits. Suits have other things that go on them. Like pinstripes, but they can go on the wall too. I heard about a guy who hand pinstriped all of the walls in his house. That sounds really tedious, but he probably enjoyed it. I can't think of any other reason to do that. Maybe he just needed some practice pin striping. I don't really know. I've been feeling sort of out of it today. Like sometimes I'm not really sure if I'm still existing in this world or not. Sometimes everything just starts to seem so distant. Like noises get quieter and everything gets dimmer and I can't feel things as well. I'm not really sure what it is, but I'm going to assume that
it means I'm beginning to transcend out of this plane of existence. That seems to be the only reasonable conclusion to me. I think that what I've been feeling is referred to by some as a spiritual moment, but it hasn't been very spiritual to me. Its just like yeah ok, so I left my body, big deal. Its not that great. It happens all the time. I don't see why people make such a big fuss about out of body experiences. They really aren't all that amazing. I've had quite a few in my short time in this body and none of them have really made me think 'Oh God! I have to believe in God now.' Its more just like 'Oh thats me, cool.' Once I saw myself running and it sort of scared me because I'm bad with angles and I was afraid I might trip going around the turn in the track since I had no more control over my actions and was just an observer. But really I don't see what the big deal is. Well I'm done ranting about that. Wow I wrote a lot more than I thought I had. My mind just sort of dazed off there and now there's a whole bunch of words. Not really sure what they're about. I wasn't paying any attention to my thoughts, I was just sort of writing about pinstripes then I was watching myself type, but there was only one time. That's not the best way to describe it but I don't really know how else to. I was sort of watching myself for just an instant, then all of the sudden there were all these words and I don't know where they came from. What the hell is going on?

Existence

When one has reached the edge
of human perception and
delved into the very existence
in which we live, it is possible to
see it all.

There is no more
you,
me,
or it,
the universe is
all as one and it flows through
the perceived me, as
you and I
transcend into the essence
of being.

All is finite,
yet into that finiteness one can see infinitely.

As we approach
the thing we seek it only
expands
to new minuteness that we had not
encountered before.

As the senses interact with
the surroundings the fibers and delicate filaments
that make up the universe are drawn
out into the open
so that we might perceive
the true nature
of that which is.

It is all as a donut,
no matter how far you perceive
in all directions
everything raps back on itself.

We can then realize that
all of the universe is
but one single dot that merely wraps
around itself creating the illusion of
vastness.


This is a rewrite of a short essay On the Nature of Existence that I posted in January, but that originally came from one of my emails from a year prior to that.

20

im twenty now
for a whole twelve hours
i feel a bit older
but it might just be the food coma
the years fly by it seems
only yesterday i stood
and watched the ceiling fall
as rain poured in
to the kitchen
of my daycare
called circle school
i was two

ive learned so much
in my time on earth
the stove is hot
and so is the bulb
used to light the wall
that my mom was painting
ive also learned
that pants are made for
on your legs and not your head
and the integral of x squared
is a cubic function

but the thing i want
to do the most
is to thank my mom
for going to concerts
while she was pregnant

I Know It's There

Many times I've seen
the face up in the air.
They tell me that I'm crazy
when I stare
at nothing, but
I know it's there.

It's there like cold
on a summers day, fair
and warm. The cold is lurking,

waiting like a bear,
hibernating in winter
until the spring day when it will scare
you as it lumbers from its den.

I know it's there.

The Eternal Race

In the East rises the sun,
And in the West the day is done.
But what of North and South.
Are they eternal spectators
To a one man race?
I sometimes watch
The dog chase it tail.
Is that the same?

Paraphrasing

What can I say
That's not been said
Before.
I may use words
Unlike those
Before
Me. But the thoughts
Are the same.
I'm just paraphrasing.

Soaked Bread

Is there a reason
Why
My head feels
Like bread
That's been soaked in beer
All night
To the point of falling apart?

Staring at Her

Pink
was the color of the sweater
she was wearing when
I saw her last.
With brownish black hair
that curled around her
face. And her arms
crossed slightly,
just at the wrists.
As if
she were posing
for a portrait.
Not that anyone would
paint a portrait of her.
Only rich, important
people have portraits.
No,
the only portrait of her
is in my memory.
Her sitting there on the bench
wondering why
some stranger was
staring at her.

My Plan

I had a plan.
It was good.
I forgot it,
And then I stood
For hours and hours
Looking under the hood
Of an old car
With no floor and four good
Tires attached to broken axles.
The steering wheel was made of wood,
Possibly oak, but I don't care
About things that would
Distract me from my plan.

Just kidding

In regards to my question along the lines of an inquiry, fuck you spacecadet.

Desert Sun

A blinding ray of sunlight
Through the leaves
Leaves only certain spots to see for real
Put your eyes on the spots
Where the foliage blocks
The most intense of light
The beams that blind you
Instantly with light
More powerful than any retinas can take
So severe that every
Creature dies if exposed
For too long.

opossum

Sitting on a couch
in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere
is not the place to be
if you love food
cooked
or things that look like opossum
in the middle with
a white triangle face
and rat's tail
My story starts with one
and ends with the death
in cheese food
of a stranger
He had served
his purpose and I
could do nothing

Writer's Block

I know I broke it off, but...

Ok google ads, yes I did say we were over and that I was going to ignore you, but I just can't help it. I'm too curious. What have I written that has anything to do with scanners from Fujitsu? Although I am a bit curious as to why Fujitsu is leading the paper reduction revolution, it really has nothing to do with anything I've been writing. Or maybe you're advertising directly to me. How did you know that I write a lot of this shit on paper first? I mean I guess I should thank you for caring so much about me. It can get pretty tedious transcribing my chicken-scratch. But seriously stop stalking me. It's over. If I catch you spying on me writing anymore I'm going to fucking flip. You're supposed to have ads that relate to the subject matter of my writing, not to the manner in which I wrote it. If you can't keep your fucking distance I'm gonna put a stop to it. You hear me? This crap better fucking end before I lose my self control. I know you can make me money, but I can do without that if I have to. Just remember: three strikes and your dead.

Beerdo

Jim part 1

Benjamin Dover had never liked his name. His parents had thought it would be funny to name their son Ben Dover. That's why he had it changed on his 18th birthday. He'd always thought he was more of a Jim anyway. He gave a lot of thought to what he wanted to be named. 'Jim what?' the lady said irritably when he turned in the paperwork with a big fat blank space on the line after surname.
'Just Jim,' he said.
From then on his name got him quite a bit of attention. But his answer was always the same. 'Just Jim,' he would say when people asked him what his last name was.

This whole issue of his name had caused him to deeply hate his parents. It was a horrible and lingering hate that he hid almost completely because other than the unfortunate naming his parents had really been incredibly good and kind to him. They even always went to his PTA meetings, when he was in elementary school. They always went to his little league games. They were in general caring and loving parents.

At the age of nine Ben discovered huffing glue. He was very excited. It changed his life completely. Instead of playing with friends out and about, he spent his free time locked in his room getting high. His skin turned pale from spending so much time inside. his face took on a certain gaunt, exhausted look that is entirely unexpected in a 10 year old.

Without knowing it Jim developed a serious relationship at the age of 22. Because of his heavy use on marijuana to self medicate for his back injury, he never thought about it as a relationship. His sense of how long it had been going on was also seriously flawed. When he reduced the amount he smoked after his back healed, he finally began to realize just how involved he was.

Jim hated doctors. When he was 20 he hit his head and was knocked out. He was taken to the hospital while unconscious and when he awoke he freaked out. The bright glare of the florescent hospital lights and the stark nature of his hospital room terrified and confused him. He did not recognize his surroundings and immediately paranoia set in. He lept from his bed straight into an expert crouch and darted out into the hall. He snuck from doorway to doorway carefully avoiding anyones notice. Eventually he found an elevator and called it. Luckily he heard the man's voice before the doors opened and was able to to get around the corner before he was seen. In his dash to dash around the corner he found the stairs and was able to get down to the ground floor. From there it was only a matter of finding an exit, which was very well advertised and therefore quite easy to find. Out the door on the run he ran directly into the road only to be cut down by an oncoming car. This put him right back in the hospital for with some very severe injuries. It took a long time for all of the pain to go away, especially in his back.

chairs

Chair. That's a noun. But is it only a noun? I think most nouns can also be things other than nouns if used correctly. Anything can be anything if used incorrectly or correctly with no regard for the consequences. World War I German helmets can be chairs too, if you don't mind giant spikes up your ass. Chairs make good firewood. But be careful not to chop them up with axes in public. The authorities don't like that. They usually take the ax away, at least in my experience. They say it's too dangerous. Well I'll tell you what's really dangerous is trying to burn a chair that's about a three foot cube without cutting it up first. I bet there would have been a lot more trouble if that chair had been set on fire without first being chopped up. I think what attracted the attention of the authorities was the sparks being thrown up as the ax hit the concrete because I'm really bad at hitting things with an ax while my eyes are closed. Or it could have been the ear splitting racket caused by the very same ax on concrete contact. I guess I shouldn't have been wildly flailing an ax around in a crowd with the police right across the street, but no one else seemed to mind. I mean yeah I wasn't really paying any attention to the safety of the people around me, but I'm sure they were, so what's the big deal. It didn't help either that I had had a different ax taken away under similar circumstances just one week previously. But in my defense it was my chair. I think I should have a right to destroy my own property, even if it was a gift. Apparently our wonderful civilization has evolved beyond the need to chop fire wood.

consequences of sleep deprivation

The consequences of sleep deprivation are unknown to the sleep deprived. Unknown may be the wrong word. That's a consequence. They are only known when they happen, because memory is one of them. Eyes are one of them too. Closing that is. Talking is another or typing. It all seems to fall apart at the first sign of trouble. It comes and goes you know. But always present. The mind may stop for a quick break but it is back in no time. At least it seems that way. There is no telling when it will hit. Actually that is not true. It comes when there has not been sleep. Slowing. Lots of blinks come and go. Things don't seem what they should be, if they should be. Words are always wrong in this situation. They work as a stopgap so that the mind can catch up, because it has slowed or stopped. It never really does. That's why the words are so important. If they keep coming out it does not always mean the mind is engaged. The key sign is the blurriness, and the loss of focus. And the green on this leaf is important too. Unknown is the why, but it just seems that way. The walls seem to close and open, or maybe that's just the door. The sounds have started, but they are there. I'm sure. It's someone out there moving around. Someone is always there. They love to make the mind wonder. The truth is not always real. Or maybe it is. No one really has any answers to the important questions. The ones that are unanswerable. Those are the ones that make you think, even when the mind is tired and wants to rest.

In By Accident

I was on a boat once,
And I fell in the water.
They threw a life ring to me,
And hauled me back aboard.
They said 'You gave us quite a scare,'
And I replied 'I am sorry.'
When they were not watching I jumped in again,
And this time I took the life preserver with me,
Because I had not fallen in by accident.

how i do things

I don't really know how to do this. That's my real problem. I never really know how to do anything. I doubt anybody else really does either. This comes to mind because everything always seems to work out for me even though I have no idea what's going on. Enter my conclusion that no one has any idea what's going on. If I can make things work, it makes me very cynical about other people. Based on personal experience I bet they don't have any idea either. You really just have to act like you know what's going on. Then people think you know what's going on. Then you tell them what's going on and they believe you and it becomes what's going on. The real key is to not care what's going on. My philosophy relies on a lot of fate. I don't actually believe in fate. I just believe in random chance. And acceptance. One example is traveling. I claim to never be lost. I always know where I'm going. And I always know where I am (I'm here). I always know that I will get where I'm going eventually. Sometimes I just take the circuitous route. You just have to have patience. Recently I was visiting a small college town in Pennsylvania. The girl I was visiting had a study group during the day so I decided to go for a walk. About two hours later she called me on the texty thing to tell me that the study group was over and to ask where I was. My reply: 'Well i think im headed back.' By this time I had absolutely no idea where I was in relation to the college. The key to never being lost is never losing your cool. I just started walking the direction I thought it was and in a half hour I was back on campus. When I first started driving I never knew how to get anywhere, so I would just go by instinct. Whenever I got to an intersection I would pick left, right or straight based on gut feeling. I always got where I was headed, and usually not to late. That's how I write as well, if you hadn't already noticed. I just start my mind going and see where it goes. I've always found it to be an interesting experience.

Is anybody out there?

Is anybody out there? Not out there out there, my question was more along the lines of an inquiry. I was just wondering you know. About you. I keep talking to this 'you,' but I don't actually know that anyone reads this. So what I'm trying to say is should I start addressing my posts to me. That way I wouldn't have any delusions about it. I've always treated it like I was talking to myself. I just referred to myself as you. So I'm trying to figure out if there really is a you. Are you there? Am I actually writing this blog? Are you actually reading it? If you even exist. I guess it would be pretty hard to read this if you didn't exist. Although I'm pretty sure I exist so I shouldn't really be making judgments about what people who don't exist can and cannot do. I've never been in that position before. Well I guess I was before I started existing, but I can't remember that far back: I didn't exist. I guess that lets me say I have a hunch that people who don't exist also can't remember. I'll have to wait to make judgment on the whole reading while nonexistent issue, seeing as I can't remember nonexistence, so I wouldn't know if I could read or not. Anyway I think the reason I started writing was to see if anybody read this. So I guess if you read this maybe could you leave a comment. An empty one will do. I just want some reassurance that my suspicions that someone is eavesdropping on my public conversation with myself are true.

self entertainment

Its really hard for me to get bored. Its not that I don't get myself into situations that other people would find boring. Its just that I don't find them boring. Take staring at a wall for instance. Most people would find that exquisitely boring and a complete waste of time. I think its hours of great entertainment. And its free. As long as you didn't have to pay for the wall. I mean if its like the wall of your apartment its not exactly free. But some brick wall downtown works just fine. Brick walls are even better than sheet-rock or plaster. Actually plaster walls are really interesting. Sometimes there are really cool patterns just waiting to be found. That happens with anything that is done by hand. There are always these awesome little mistakes that aren't big enough to warrant fixing but are just enough to add some flair. Sometimes I'll even stare at the backs of my eyelids for hours on end. I never get bored, I just live longer. You know how time seems to slow down when things aren't all that interesting. Well if you just embrace that fact and do more boring shit your lifespan will be increased by a huge amount. The real trick to not getting bored is being able to hallucinate on command. It has to be on command though. Hallucinating when you don't want to can be extremely terrifying. On the other hand if you're stuck looking at a blank wall for several hours, a good hallucination can be just the ticket. Or just walking across the living room can go from being a mindless chore to a great adventure in which you must avoid all of the stalactites and stalagmites growing from the floor and ceiling. That happened to me once. I was real careful because the ones on the floor looked really sharp. I think if I had stepped on one it might have pierced my foot. I wasn't wearing any shoes so I didn't have any protection. I did have a hat on so I figured my head was protected from the razor sharp stalactites. In retrospect I doubt that a straw oriental hat really would have protected my head from anything. Luckily it was all in my imagination so I was never in any really danger. Another cool thing to do is seeing black and white movie hallucinations on colored walls. Like a green film noir. Or you can project the movie on a window so you have real picture in picture. Not just up in the corner but all throughout. I think they should make a movie like that. Just overlay two movies and the sound from both and present it as a brand new movie. It would be a great way to save money on production costs. I don't know that it would be received all that well. Well I've forgotten what I was talking about, so I'm going to quit while I'm ahead, or at least not too far behind.

Intrinsic

Intrinsic is an interesting word. I'm not really sure what it means at the moment. I knew what it used to mean a while ago, but I can't be sure it hasn't changed its meaning on me. Also I can't really remember what it used to mean, so its possible it still means the same thing as it used to. The real lesson learned here is that I can't think straight when I'm tired. On top of that I can't even think straight when I'm tired. I think I might be tired, I'm never really sure. Am I tired, or is my mind just not working up to par at the moment. I mean I really like sleep, I thoroughly enjoy it, so what if my mind is just faking it so that I will go to sleep. I have some trust issues when it comes to my mind. Well really I should just say I have some trust issues. We can leave my mind out of it. There are some things I trust. I trust my memory to never work whenever I'm trying to think of things that I trust. Other than that I can't remember what it was. Built in, thats it. I bet you thought I'd forgotten all about the whole intrinsic issue. Well I didn't. And I can now say that it has the same meaning that it had the last time I remembered what it meant, because remembering what it meant triggered another memory of the last time I remembered what it meant. I'm not so great with words. I know a shit-ton of them but I can never remember what they mean. Its not that I know of the word and not what it means, its more along the lines of me knowing that I know what the word means but not at the moment. Thats another thing that I trust. I'll always remember what the word means eventually, sometimes it just takes a while. A similar situation happens with french, except that with french I really don't know what the words mean. I have all these french words in my head, but I just know that they are words and not what they mean. This leads to some very confusing dreams. I used to dream in french. Unfortunately for me I couldn't understand any of it. I know it was french, I didn't make that part up. I just didn't know what any of it meant. It was like living a surrealist fench film without subtitles and then finding out you have the leading role. Sometimes I would even be talking in these dreams, in french. Talking in french that is. Even then I still couldn't understand what I was saying. Its a horrible feeling to have words hemorrhaging out of your mouth and no idea what any of them mean. I'm used to the hemorrhaging part, that happens all the time, but the whole french part really disturbed me. I would have preferred that clicky african language. That would be intrinsically cooler.

next stop philly

There is no more room in this world

Trees here, trees there,
And all throughout roads to everywhere.
No more forests, no more fen,
No more wilderness and when
I try to lose myself, to get
Away from all these people in their Met-
Ropolitan areas and suburbia
All I find is an endless sea of
Houses, towers and telephone poles.
People feeding the government with taxes and tolls.
There is no more room in this world.




dumpster diver

have you ever tried
to go into a building
and
been told your kind
aren't welcome
and
then a sleaze ball with
a tie on
and
a hair cut walks
right by
no
questions asked
why
are you less worthy for
respecting your hair
and
dressing comfortably
who is better
the man who hordes his
money to pay
for fancy clothes and
fancy haircuts
or
the man who gives
his money to those in need
and finds his clothes in the dumpster.




My Reality

I have never been there.
Not that I should know where
there is, or where
I have been. Have you been
to the places I have been.
You cannot know for
I have never told you
of the places I have been.
Many far ones and some near.
There are many of my
places I have been
that you will never be and have never been.
These places do not exist
in your reality.
They are mine.




Army Man

Are you with the army.
You act like you are with the army.
Confident.
Well composed.
But you are not just with the army.
You are with people.




How far is the nearest bus station?

How far is the nearest bus station?
It must be far.
Not in terms of space,
If that is the term, but
In time.
The time is very long.
It reaches to New York,
And all points North
Or to Miami,
And all points Florida.
It is far in trouble also.
There is no helping the trouble.
It is bound to happen.
'This bus will terminate in Baltimore,
Those bound for D.C. must get off.'
How far is the nearest train station?

Jim

I've been working on a series of short stories and anecdotes about a guy named Jim for several months now. It's sort of a third person look back at events in an old man's life. I haven't yet decided how they should be arranged and I've not come close to writing everything I want to about him, but I feel that I should start putting some of the stories out there, or here as it is. So in the next couple of days I should start putting up some of these stories. This is as much a reminder to myself to do it as anything, because I'm too tired to do it right now and I don't want to forget that I had this idea.

talking to myself

Oh, hello there. I didn't see you there. Actually I still don't see you. I'm just being on the safe side and pretending you're there. That way if you really are you'll be surprised that I know you're there. Well I guess now you won't, but you would have been if I hadn't spilled the beans. Even if you're not there, who cares. There's no one here to see that I'm talking to myself. Its the perfect win-win for me. Unless someone walks in at 'see you there.' That could be a bit awkward. But I don't really care if people think I'm crazy so I'd probably just go all out and totally freak out over the fact that this intruder can't see you. Then I'd start making up things you were saying and ask them if they heard you. That should get rid of whoever this person walking in on me talking to you is. Yeah that's a sure sign of mental instability. Pretending to be seeing things to get out of someone hearing you talk to the very same imaginary person. Unless you are real and just invisible.

kindness: it contagious

There was this kid. And he was running down the street. It seemed odd that he was running because he was wearing dress shoes. I've only ever seen adults run in dress shoes. When I was a kid I was always super careful of dress shoes because I knew they cost about a bazillion times more than the normal shoes that I got to pick out off the shoe racks at the thrift store. Of course the dress shoes I wore were from K-mart and only cost about twenty bucks, but I didn't know that. All I knew was that I was the first person to ever wear them. That seemed pretty impressive to a kid who was used to hand-me-downs and thrift store clothes. Maybe this kid was like I was, maybe he was wearing dress shoes because those were the only ones he had. I guess they don't seem so special if you wear them everyday. The rest of his clothes weren't fancy just his shoes. I really only caught a glimpse of him before he had plunged around the corner. He was running like only a kid can, with all of his heart.
I guess I shouldn't blame it on the kid. Its my fault for daydreaming about my childhood. All he did was run enthusiastically around the corner. I mean can't we just forget about it. There isn't even a scratch or a dent.
I said sure, it could happen to anybody. Luckily he was stopped before hand and just rolled forward a bit. Just a slight loss of focus and the foot eases up on that brake. I was just surprised is all. He sure was lucky I'm a laid back driver. I know some people would have sued him for all he's worth. Say he caused them irreparable emotional damage along with severe whiplash. I can't understand those sorts. Never could. Retribution never helps anything. It makes you a worse person and hurts the person who already feels awful for whatever they did to begin with. Just because they wronged you doesn't make wronging them right.
Thank God that man was so understanding. I really can't believe it. In this day and age with everyone suing everyone else for everything. I thought for sure I'd be out a couple thousand at least. I mean its really refreshing to see someone actually following the golden rule. To be honest with myself I guess I probably would have been really pissed if I was in his position. Probably would have done exactly what I was thankful he didn't do. I guess that's why I thought he'd do it. You always expect the worst out of people if you would do the worst in their position. Oh, I guess I should let this lady cross. Quit honking you asshole I'm trying to do something good for a change.

the unconscious

Well, I was planning on writing something different, but apparently I'm allergic to writing. Thats right, after having typed about three words, I've forgotten what they were now, I started having a sneezing fit that lasted through five kleenex. Oh, now I remember what I was going to write about. No lost it again. Oh yeah...
For the past couple days I have been religiously checking my blog to see if I had posted anything new. Why would I be so idiotic as to do something like that, you may well ask. In answer, I'm not really sure. I guess it never dawned on me until this evening that in order for new posts to appear on my blog I have to write them. I'm not really sure what I was expecting, or if I would have been surprised if there had been any posts. To tell the truth, I'm not even sure why I'm writing this right now. Maybe its so that I can check back tomorrow morning and see that there is a new post. I always look forward to reading the new posts. I think it might have something to do with the fact that I never really think about what I'm writing at all. I just sort of write whatever's going through my head when I decide to start. It makes it more interesting for me when I read it later, because its usually quite a surprise. Although fortunately I somehow always manage to tickle my sense of humor. I guess its because I have the same sense of humor as myself. It would be pathetic if I couldn't even make myself laugh at my own jokes. Thats when you know your not funny at all. I've quite forgotten what I was writing about at the moment but it couldn't have been that important and I'm too lazy to scroll up and see. Also that would ruin the fun of reading it tomorrow morning. I can't be giving myself unfair sneak peeks at my latest posts. That's almost as bad as insider trading. Well not really, insider trading is pretty damn bad. Its just a crooked way for no good scammers and Martha Stewart to make lots of money off of other people's misfortunes. How the hell did I manage to get on the topic of insider trading? Sometimes I really wonder how my brain manages. For that matter, I really have no idea how I manage. Supposedly I'm not too bad at it, but I guess its just a case of me accidentally doing everything right. I think the key is to just let your life take you where you're going to go. Whenever you start getting involved in making decisions everything starts going to shit. I really like the philosophy that Douglas Adams put forth. You know the one. I can't remember it right now, but I know I would follow it if I could remember what it was. You'll have to trust me on this one. Honestly I probably wouldn't trust me if I were you. If I were me, I would, but not if I were you. Thankfully I'm me, so I would trust me, which is normally what I do. Well its really more of a faith issue than a trust issue. I just have faith in my subconscious to work everything out for me. I don't have faith in my consciousness so I just rely on the other one, you know that first thing that I mentioned, the unconscious. I think that's why I enjoy my writing. Usually my subconscious has something to say that I don't get while I'm writing it because I just sort of let my thoughts flow out of my mind and then I go back and read it and there's something there. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying its some great important message. Its usually more just along the lines of 'I'm hungry.' Well I think that's enough of that. Good morning me of tomorrow.

Dear Google Ads

I've come to the realization that this relationship is just not working out. Don't worry its not me, its you. You don't seem to understand me. Made its because I treat you like a joke but that just can't be helped. I mean you are a joke. You don't really work. The slim chance that even one person would click on you is exponentially smaller that the minuscule chance that they might read this blog. Seriously the type of people who would like my writing probably aren't the same type of people who would click on web ads. However, all is not lost for you. I have decided to keep you on my blog in the same out of the way spot as I've had you all along. I'm just going to ignore you from now on. Well maybe I'll make fun of you every once in a while but its married life for you from here on out.

Yours unfaithfully,
Beerdo

Victory

Success! Even if its only partial. I now have one peanut butter ad. It looks like my plan is starting to pay off. That's a good thing because I'm getting damn tired of writing about peanut butter, even if it is a miracle cure for cancer. By the way did you know peanut butter is a miracle cure for cancer. I just made that up but maybe its true. You never know. Are you ready for me to make more shit up about peanut butter. Well you better be, cause I'm gonna. On average 5 tons of peanut butter are eaten each hour, its just that good. Apparently you're the only person who doesn't know about it. So get out there and make it six tons. If you eat that much peanut butter you might even become a peanut butter popeye. I don't know about that one but it could just be your spinach. Actually popeye ate peanut butter not spinach, the vegetable industry just tricked everyone into thinking it was spinach because no one liked spinach and everyone already liked peanut butter. Of course the reason they liked peanut butter was because it is just so good. i don't know if you've heard this before but peanut butter won both world wars. The germans just didn't embrace peanut butter the way the US did thats why the allies won. Well vodka was a major factor in WWII as well as peanut butter, but WWI was all because of peanut butter. Anyway have you ever tried putting vodka in peanut butter. I've never tried it but it might work. I feel as though I'm rambling at this point so I'll just go eat some delicious peanut butter. Why don't you eat some peanut butter while surfing the interwebs, which by the way were made possible by none other that peanut butter.

more wonders of peanut butter

Well I don't really feel like finishing that last story about a peanut and his quest not to be made into peanut butter. Why? You may ask. And I may answer, but not right now. So we'll just leave it at that. Why don't you just enjoy a delicious spoonful of peanut butter. You could even put some peanut butter on top that. It always makes things better. You know like that song from mary poppins, a spoonful of peanut butter makes the medicine go down. Peanut butter is just that amazing. Some people even offer it in exchange for cognitive action. As in 'peanut butter for your thoughts.' Personally I would give a lot more than my thoughts for some peanut butter. That deal just seems too good to be true. I mean how can you expect someone to just give away peanut butter and only want some thoughts in return. Or maybe its an advertisement for peanut butter, you know the kind google could be putting on my blog but refuses to. One of the best uses of peanut butter is for stealing if you are hungry. It comes in an easy to carry jar that fits unnoticeably in any baggy coat or jeans. If you sag your pants you can put it in the crotch area and pretend you have a hard on. And its full of lots of healthy protein to rebuild those muscle fibers in case someone does notice you stealing and you have to book it out of there. I have several runner friends who eat gobs of peanut butter after working out for this exact same reason. Well except for the theft part. Anyway if you do end up getting caught stealing it just say you thought it was on sale for free.

The Peanut's Quest

A long time ago or sometime in the future, I'm not really sure, it might even have been right now its hard to tell. Well anyway there was this peanut. He was a brave young peanut and was on a lifelong quest to become butter. Not peanut butter mind you but real butter. He wanted to be a real butter. All of his family, his many millions of siblings that he grew up with in the fields and his parents and everyone who came before them had been turned into peanut butter. His line wasn't so vain as to want to be salted. That was for the elite peanuts, no he came from a long tradition of blue collar peanuts, peanut butter peanuts. But this particular peanut, I've been referring to it as a he nut but it might have been a she nut you never know with these things, wanted something better , he didn't really know what butter was but he figure that since it was what peanut butter was named after it had to be something magnificent, something that a young peanut could aspire to. Well everyone had always told him that his dream was the stupids and that he should just be content with being peanut butter. They told him that the best way to get into peoples' stomachs was to become peanut butter. As you should know the one thing that all peanuts strive for is to reach peanut heaven (a human stomach). But this peanut knew that humans ate butter so he paid no heed to the naysayers. So on the fateful day when all of his field was picked to become the next batch of peanut butter he made his escape. This was when he started researching what...

To Be Continued

more peanut butter

Ok. This google thing is starting to piss me off. Peanut butter peanut butter peanut butter peanut butter peanut butter. Somehow it got the idea to put up ads about tree nurseries and eye care and family trees. Peanut butter peanut butter peanut butter. Where the fuck have I been writing about family trees. Peanut butter. And there's only one damn story involving a tree. Ok two. Peanut butter peanut butter. The one about talking to owls and the one about falling off the earth. Peanut butter. But they were mere references to trees not about them. And I still have no idea how the god damn eye care ad managed to tag along. I can't think of a single thing I've written about optometrists although that could be a good story idea. Peanut butter peanut butter peanut butter. And why haven't I gotten any ads about peanut butter. Thats all I've been writing about since the damn things started, peanut butter. Also did you know you can use peanut butter on mouse and rat traps. Peanut butter has many wonderful uses. I really hope google decides to put some peanut butter ads up otherwise this is going to get really boring because I'm fucking serious here. Peanut butter peanut butter peanut peanut peanut butter. I swear to anyone, and I do mean one because I seriously doubt there are more than one person reading this. I swear to anyone reading this that I will not stop, I will not rest, and I will never give in in my quest to get you the peanut butter ads that you deserve. Peanut Butter!!!

peanut butter

Here goes. I will now try to get peanut butter ads on this blog. Because peanut butter is cool and I thought of it as I was going to bed last night. Also you deserve to see better ads than wasp removal. So peanut butter it is. Now that I've decide to do this I can't think of anything involving peanut butter. Except that peanut butter is delicious, on toast, with honey, or even straight out of the peanut butter jar. I like chunky peanut butter, but some other people like their peanut butter smooth and creamy. Thats for wimpy peanut butter eaters. Peanut butter is also good on crackers in the form of peanut butter crackers. Or peanut butter crackers with honey. You can even dip those delicious peanut butter crackers in milk to have soggy milky peanut butter crackers. Peanuts in general are good and so is butter. You can even put butter on your peanut butter, maybe with a couple corn chips. You can also put butter on peas or peanut butter on peas although I've never tried that one and hesitate to suggest it. You can also eat peanut brittle and even put butter on that. Or you could try some delicious peanut butter cups with butter on of course. Like I said you can put butter or peanut butter for that matter on just about anything. That doesn't mean that it will be good, I'm just saying it is possible. Personally I think I'l have a piece of buttered peanut butter and jam toast with honey on and maybe sprinkle some peanuts on top. Did I mention that I'm allergic to peanuts, but I tough it out and eat them anyway thats how delicious they are. Do you think I've said peanut butter enough? Just in case, peanut butter peanut butter peanut butter peanut butter pea nutbutt erpea nut butter PEANUTBUTTER.

Bees and Wasps Need Eye Exams

Ok these ads are totally freaking me out man. How the fuck does anything I've written have to do with bee and wasp removal. I haven't even mentioned bees or wasps. Well I guess now I have. I can understand the one about getting an eye exam, although thats almost more scary to me. I think I gave google blurry vision when it read my blog. I mean I can sympathize, sometimes I get blurry vision especially when I ignore my body. You know how it gets when you forget to eat or sleep for a couple days straight. If I keep mentioning bees and wasps do you think it will keep coming back with ads about bee and wasp removal or will it jump to some other conclusion. I wonder if I can affect the ads by writing about things that I think would be funny ads. What if its really just a sham. Google puts out these ads and tells you they are based on some super dee duper smarty pants algorithm but in reality they got some fat guy with acne all over his back who glances at your webpage and types in a couple keywords that trigger the ads you get. I bet he didn't even look at my page. He was probably wrapping up a long day of staring at the interwebs and just put in the first thing that came to mind: 'bees and wasps need eye exams.'

Ads

Sorry to anyone who thinks putting ads up is selling out, but times are tight. Also I was curious to see what sort of ads google matched to my blog, hopefully they'll be relevant although I seriously doubt it. In addition I did put them well out of the way so that they aren't too bothersome. I know how annoying it is when sites have banners with ads all up in your face. But if you feel like helping me out why not click the ads (I get money when people click the ads) then leave their sites immediately thats what I would do. Although I guess I really should suggest that. Damn I feel really bad for putting them up but at the same time I truly am curious as to what ads google will find relevant to my blog. And I am fucking broke so every little penny helps.

People in a Flood

And then I fell

down

It wasn't a horrific fall
Just enough to loosen my

brain you know how

You can sort of lose track of

whats going on and of

what just happened right

When you need to be at your sharpest

mentally

All of the gnats didn't help with
So many little pests swarming everywhere
I couldn't concentrate before

the fall as I started to

Get up I thought they were floaters
You know how sometimes
You get little black spots flitting around in
Your vision but the movements weren't

erratic enough to be made by

My mind there seemed to be
A pattern to what they were
Doing all this contemplating of little black dots wasn't helping
Me remember what was

going on but the giant

Wall of water should have been a bit of a clue
Too bad I was still in shock from the

fall

I didn't notice
The water till I was washed
Away the chill was quite a shock
Considering how warm it had been warm
Enough for a swarm of gnats I could
Not really concentrate on anything until the

flood

Had settled down a bit but when I did
Get a chance to look around it was a real mess
There was a lot of mud in the water and

lots of leaves leaves

Everywhere they seemed
To be coating every surface
I could see I still don't
Know where all of the leaves came from it
Wasn't like I was near a forest or

anything I

Don't even remember there being
Many bushes around but those

leaves must have

Come from somewhere I could

Just make out some other
People floating in the far
Distance so I tried to swim towards

them

By the time I had gone
A couple feet I was covered in
Leaves but I kept going maybe the
Leaves made them think

I was

Some kind of monster
I don't know
I never found out why
They shot me

Its hard to ask questions with your head blown off.

Some advice about yourself

Have you ever journeyed into your mind? It can be pretty intense especially if you take the train. I prefer to do walking tours. It takes longer but you learn a lot more. If you go too fast you can easily forget things even if you did notice them at the time. I remember this one time I made this huge revelation about how my mind worked only to wake up the next morning with no idea what I had realized. I knew it had happened but for the life of me I couldn't recall what it had been. But if you take it slow and treat your brain like one of those 19th century cameras that took forever to get an imprint of the image you'll do just fine. Its more important that you get a few good clear images than a million blank pieces of paper. You also have to realize that who you are is constantly in flux. Something that you knew about yourself yesterday may be faulty info in just a couple weeks or even less time. But its important to not only know who you are, but also who you were. Knowing who you were in the past can help you create a better you in the future. Or at least a you that you are more content with, whether others think its better is a crapshoot, but who the fuck cares what they think anyway. That's not to say you should never accept advice. If you respect someone's opinion by all means pay attention to advice they give you. So to recap, unless you respect my opinion pay no heed to this advice. Of course now I've created a paradox. If you don't respect my opinion you won't follow my advice to not follow my advice which leads to you following my advice which says not to follow my advice and so on.

If dreams were real

Running. Trees, maybe I can just plow through in between them. Ow brambles. Ok maybe I ought to walk. Got to be careful to grab the brambles between the thorns. Never put too much pressure on them that way the thorns won't stick into you. Ok that wasn't too bad. Maybe I can run again. Oh.

What happened? Why is it dark out. Blood, why am I bleeding? Oh yeah something hit me on the head. Must have run into this branch. How long was I unconscious. Oh I guess its not dark out I just couldn't see anything. Man I've never heard of loss of vision from hitting your head. Why is everything the wrong color? Where the fuck am I? Where did all those trees go? And the brambles, I distinctly remember brambles. Why is the sky shimmering? And the ground seems to be moving. I must have hit my head a lot harder than I thought. That would explain all this blood. Well I guess I better find some water and wash my head off. How am I supposed to find any water with everything moving like this. Well I guess this more flowing bit is water. It is a bit clear. Holy Shit is that my reflection? I look awful. Wow I really must have lost a lot of blood, its all over my head. Wonder where it came from, I can't seem to find a cut. Ah, that's better. Now I better figure out what the fuck this place is. Huh, the tree seems to have disappeared. No wait, if I tilt my head just right and look out of the corner of my eye I can just see it. Oh there's the rest of the woods, and the brambles. I knew there were brambles! I wouldn't forget something like that. Why can't I see them regularly. Oh shit what the fuck is happening? Why won't I stay on the ground? What happened to all the vegetation? Why is there nothing to hold onto? Getting hard to breath. How the fuck can gravity just stop working? That must be what's happening. That would explain why the air seems to be getting thinner, it must be dispersing with nothing to hold it to the earth. I better not make any movements. That would just propel me further from the ground. Maybe I can fart really hard and push myself back towards the ground. Too much effort. I think I'll just close my eyes for a bit. Getting really tired. Must be from lack of oxygen. Losing my vision again. Damn I had hoped to go out with a bit more of a bang than this.

A bouquet of words

Orange. I like to start with a color. Or a fruit. Oranges are delicious, but that's not the point. The point of a mountain is a peak. The peak of sophistication is supposedly in Paris. And Paris was supposedly a rather fruity guy. So there we are back at fruit again. How do you get out of a circle? Or into one for that matter? Where exactly is the best place to be in relation to a circle? I guess it all depends on what kind of circle it is. Most experts agree its best to be in the circle of life, whether that circle is a hangman's noose or a circle of friends I couldn't tell ya. Are we even sure life is circular? What if its ellipsoidal? Another thing that's ellipsoidal is our dear planet's orbit. Unlike a piece of Orbit gum, which is more of a rectangular prism. That sure sounds a lot like prison. Come to think of it a prison cell is most likely prismal. If that's even a word. I don't really care if it is a word. One of those letter thingies that I'm sure is a word is vase. I sure got my word's worth out of that one when I was describing my glass collection. Did you know that if you take the space out of it, words worth is a poet? He liked to write about sublimity. Like a lot of flowers or other such things. Never could quite figure it out. I mean I like flowers as much as the next guy. Well unless the next guy were to be a florist. Then I probably like them more than the next guy. I'm going on the assumption that if you have to work with flowers eight hours a day, you're probably pretty tired of them. Speaking of tired I'm pretty tired of all this gibberish.

Acceptance

I was running. There was this really big animal. I think it might have been a dinosaur. Maybe it was a house. It's all a bit blurry. Then my feet went forward and I was flying backward. Someone must have hit me. Maybe I ran into a branch. No I think it was one of those two part doors and only the bottom was open. Well whoever it was she sat on my chest and started punching me in the face. Then the trees decided to invert themselves and she was thrown off as we shot up. It must have been a yew or a pine, definitely not a holly. This bird dropped by he must have been an owl. We had tea and discussed the nature of existence. He seemed to think the primary purpose of living was to enjoy wonderfully fresh and delicious field mice. I told him he had the right idea but that mice really don't taste all that good. Since we couldn't reconcile our difference he decided to go. At this point the trees reverted to their normal positions and I ended up in a very deep well. It hadn't been there before but that's life for you: always full of surprises. I was lucky because when the bucket came down I realized I could fit in it, although the man trying to get some water wasn't all that lucky. He got me instead of water. This quite startled him and he dropped the rope, but never fear I grabbed the edge of the well and was able to climb out. It quite startled me to see all of the pink foliage so I tried to eat some, but the tie-died man stopped me saying that it was poisonous. Poisonous to you maybe but I'm not from around these parts. I ate it anyway. Apparently this was against his religion so he had me skinned alive and cooked for dinner. I have to tell you I was quite delicious. After dinner I decided I better be moving on so I rounded up one of the little yellow bunnies and rode it to the next town. These folks weren't quite so zealous as the last guy so I tried to sell them one of the books the owl had given me. Unfortunately it hadn't been published yet and I couldn't figure out how to get it out of my head. They were very nice though, and gave me a lobotomy in the hopes that it would come out. I think it might have but they must not have liked it because they ran me out of town soon afterwards. Since I obviously couldn't get the hang of people I decide to try and reconcile my differences with the owl. He had already forgotten about our little tiff when I found him again and was feasting on a delicious mouse. After that I spent most of my time with the owl, because he could accept me for who I was. It was a good life, even if the height of cuisine was fresh killed mouse.

Embrace the good things in life

Green. I painted this room. Did you know that? With my own two hands, and a paint roller of course. I painted most of the rooms in this house to tell the truth. Well the ones that are painted. My room is just unfinished brown wallboard. I'm not too happy with the trim work, but I was in a rush and the corners are rounded so its hard to get the line to look good from all angles. From the ladder it seemed just fine. I had to pay a fine once. Actually I've had to pay more than one fine, but only one big one. It was a memorable event. Do you remember it? Oh never mind. I've half a mind to forget it myself, but it doesn't want to go away. Sometimes I like to go away. I don't get much chance to physically go away, its just too expensive. So I just go away in my head, that can get expensive too. People tend not to like those who travel in the realms of their heads because they seem detached. I found out I have a high risk of detached retinas but I don't have them now so I shouldn't worry. Thats what the doctor said. You know how they are, any reason to get you to come back. Well I'm not going back, at least not back to Mexico. Its full of Mexicans. I do like Mexican food but you can get plenty of that in New Mexico. This country is all about the new, and the news. We're news obsessed. There seems to be this phenomenon in the US that everyone just loves to hear about others misfortunes. Oh they say "How horrible" and feel genuine sympathy, but I think the underlying cause is an ever present need to feel better than others. Thats why I stopped watching the news, when they start reporting about all the wonderful things that happen in the world then I'll start watching again. I don't need the TV to tell me something I can look outside my door and see. The sea is frequently green, did you know that?

Time

Ok. Hear me out on this one. As long as you have the time to do so. How the fuck can you have time? I'm really confused by this whole time thing. What the fuck is it? Sometimes you've got too much time, then other times there's too little time. Then something happens just in the nick of time. What the fuck is a nick anyway, and does time really have one? It seems like one of those things thats made up just to disappoint you. Whenever you want a moment to last forever its over in the blink of an eye, and then when something is going horribly wrong and you just want it to be over time extends itself and it lasts forever. And then this other time you eat some weird piece of paper with a picture of Winnie the Pooh on it and time just starts undulating and dancing all over the place and you're not sure if its coming or going or maybe you even think you can hold onto time with your bare hands and wrestle it as if you were breaking a big old bronco named Widowmaker. I mean what exactly is it? Is it a liquid of some sort that flows by you, or is it a solid that you can have and use up? Are we even sure that it exists? What if the whole concept of time is just something we made up to freak out the acid freaks desperately trying to get a grasp on it so they won't get bucked off into some strange dimension where no one cares about time and just sits around chilling out. And then they stumble upon the stoners.

In the Window

I'm thinking about perception. I mean are the things we see actually there? Like, I'm looking out the window right now and yes I do see what's outside, but I also see reflections of things behind me in the room. I even see myself. But I'm not outside, I'm inside. At least that's what I think. How do I know that what I'm seeing is not some other me? I know you could say that I can prove it's just my reflection by moving and seeing that the other me moves, and then you can say that since I thought about what I was doing first I must have instigated the action and the other me was just reflecting what I did. But what if I'm some mental reflection of him? What if the only reason I thought to move was because he was thinking about moving and then that was reflected in my thoughts and we both moved? I mean my senses tell me that this other me is just a physical reflection of myself, but what if I'm actually seeing some other reality, of which I am just a reflection? Is it possible that all of my thoughts are just reflections of this other me's thoughts and therefore all of my actions are mere reflections as well? What if we are just living in one giant 3 dimensional reflection of some greater reality. Maybe that reflection that I see in the window is really the real me living in some strange dimension that I can't even comprehend and I see him in the window because he thought it would be funny to see his reflection in some strange otherworldly mirror. But then again what if he too is writing this and thinking I'm the strange other him? What if we're both just reflections, like when you hold two mirrors up to each other? Is there even a real me or are we all just reflections? And if that's the case where does it end? Is there some strange third party me that's not me or the me in the window that thought it would be funny to see how I reacted to seeing myself? Maybe that me held up millions of mirrors and I am repeated into infinity, just looking at my reflection in the window and thinking all this shit. Well, at least it gives me something to think about.

A City of Ideas

Hi its me again. Is it ever anybody else? Am I just me or am I a conglomeration of different mes? What happens if I act differently in two occurrences of the exact same situation? Can you ever have two occurrences of the exact same situation? Does the fact that it already happened once make the second time not the exact same? What if its just two very similar instances in which you should have acted the same way both time but you don't? Is it because you've learned something? How can that apply if you always react to things at an instinctual gut level? I at least try to. I trust my gut much more than my head. Well at least I thought I did. Can your gut instincts second guess themselves? I thought that was just something your conscious could do. Or is it not second guessing but actually two different gut instincts, or even more? Is it possible for one to have multiple gut reactions to the same situation? I'm really starting to make myself paranoid here. How are you supposed to live your life if you can't trust that you are only one person? Or can you become a community, permit sharing between the multiple identities? By doing that would you again become one person? Just at a different level, sort of like a city is one unit even though there are millions of different people that make it up. Are we just a city of ideas, each one just trying to go about its own business? But which idea gets to rule this community, or can it be some form of non individual government like a republic or democracy? Being a democracy of idea would be sort of cool. But I think I want to be an anarchy of ideas.

ME

Just a couple thoughts I had a while back

Paranoia
It!? Is it a question? Or is it just part of a complex thought? Could it have come from some other planet sent here through the depths of space so that it popped into my head? Who are these creeps? Is their life some abstract contortion of what we can understand? Is there some way for us to communicate back? Could I be dreaming? If not what is the meaning of it? Why do I only have questions? Can you answer that? Who are you? Where exactly does it hail from? Does it ever hail here? Does it ever snow here? Does it ever sleet here? Why won't you answer me? Did it actually come from some strange gothic castle high in the alps that always has lots of snow? Or is it the product of some inhumane torture project on some unsuspecting caterpillar? Could it have originated in some back alley among a group of savage killers?

Or is it all just in my head?




thoughts i stole from a deranged psychopath before his mind blew up
so my thoughts have been wandering to more intellectual material recently how can we reconcile science and humanity i can't think of a way that we can should we look on science with a human viewpoint and try to find meaning and purpose in the way things work or should we look on humanity with a scientific viewpoint and try to reduce all of our emotions and thought processes down to pure logic is there a way to do either of these things i think not when you look at the universe do you see infinite possibility or infinite decay as we discover more and more about how the universe works are we really just eating away at our humanity or are we becoming more human by giving in to our intellectual curiosity what is it to be human does it only require genetics or does it require something else that human element that cant be described scientifically i certainly dont know the answers to these questions in increasing our understanding of how the world around us works will we forget about our own humanity read stranger in a strange land and you might grasp my meaning is it possible for someone who is genetically human to not be human if they dont have that other human element and is it possible for someone that isnt genetically human to be human because they have that element here we start to drop of the deep end into some serious shit that i cant even start to get my head around is it possible that we will eventually expand our conciousness beyond our physical being will we still be human?

I sure fucking hope so man.



On the Nature of Existence
When one has reached the edge of human perception and delved into the very existence in which we live, it is possible to see it all. There is no more you, me, or it, the universe is all as one and it flows through the perceived me, as you and I transcend into the essence of being. All is finite, yet into that finiteness one can see infinitely. As we approach the thing we seek it only expands to new minuteness that we had not encountered before. As the senses interact with the surroundings the fibers and delicate filaments that make up the universe are drawn out into the open so that we might perceive the true nature of that which is. It is all as a donut, no matter how far you perceive in all directions everything raps back on itself. We can then realize that all of the universe is but one single dot that merely wraps around itself creating the illusion of vastness.

Hats

What is a hat? Does it say something about you or just about how much money you have? My guess is that its part of your personality. You've got your no haters, those brave souls who walk around with unprotected noggins, or maybe some ear muffs if its brutally cold. Then there are the bandanna dudes, your dewrag gangstas, and your headband hippies, who've all got some vested interest in what they look like. But then again you have your long-haired hippies who just use the bandanna to hold their hair back. Or is it just part of the culture, like your southern boy with his baseball cap and the fish hooks on the brim. is he trying to make a statement or just blend in with the rest of 'em. Or he might even have them because he fishes frequently. Or maybe it's functional like the bald guy with his knit hat instead of hair or the balding guy who uses a cap to cover his bald spot. And what of these fancy knit caps with patterns in them that are not just for show but also functional. I don't know how to handle the headgear thats multipurpose.
Do you look good in a hat because you radiate contentment from wearing it, or is there a specific hat that will look good on you whether you like it or not. Why'm I even talking anymore, are you even listening. If you are you should listen in a British accent because I'm hearing one. Not really sure why, must've been talking to too many Brits. What right do they have to fuck up the way I think. But then again what right do I have to think my way is right. Careful there, if you start to question whether you're right you bring up a lot of unwanted questions.

Couplets

I miss the faces that I know,
But long for those I have not met.


What's the difference between a pound and a dollar,
Is it 40 pence or 3000 miles.


In my travels far and wide
I have found a match for pride.


Where do you get the inspiration for your mustache?
Do you light it on fire when you smoke hash?


I think this way, you think that.
But others think of baseball bats.


Why the sad face mister clown,
Are your loved ones not around.

In time, in time I'm sure you'll learn,
But just for now I'd say beware.



Always searching, always trying
To find something I cannot have.


Are you here to face the facts
And do the things that others ask.


Cliches, cliches all around,
And not a new one to be found.


How far is too far when you have no car?
Is it just round the corner or all round the world?

Poems from the UK

A Strange New Place

Noise, or is it music to my ears
In this place where what I know is all I own,
And what I see is strange and weird.
Do I blend into the crowd,
Or stand and shout my individuality.




Purpose

What's the point of being here
If all I do is run from what I fear.
Will I turn and face the fight,
Or will I fade into the night.
Its hard to do with all these city lights
And all these people standing round.
All these wolves in human guise
Ready to pounce at any moment.




Breaking Out

Songs I know in a place I don't.
Sounds I've heard but not from here.
I've left everything behind,
But what's the point of breaking out,
If all you do is mourn your past.




Big Brother

Signs all around,
But they lead nowhere except
Out the door or to the bathroom.
Fire exit, that's a change,
But out the door all the same.
All these signs they wish me well,
And tell me what I can and cannot do.




Wishing Everyone was a Homebody

So much to do, so much to see.
Every pace I want to be is full of people crowding me.
Its not their fault, I don't know why
I wish them not to have a life.





Nature

Why do I listen
When songbirds whistle
And call to me from in the thistles
And brambles and bushes that glisten
With dew.




Spare a Dime

Is it worth my time
To spare a dime
For a man who needs it
More than I say yes
Without condition
Even if I'm broke myself.




Actions

I know you
By the way you walk,
By the way you talk,
By the words you say,
And the things you do,
Not by who you are.




Free Thought

Throw off your shackles,
Free your mind.
But if you do not see the cage,
Enjoy that life which you hold dear,
It's something I could never bear.




New

What's your point? Are you sure?
I've never met someone like you before.
I've traveled round and round,
All my life meeting those I've met,
And seeing things I've seen.
It's rare to find something that's not a shadow of something else.

But you're different,
You're anomalous, a break from what I know.
In terms of everything I've seen
You're not.




A Drunk Punk

Where am I? Why am I here?
What's that? Who do you think you are,
Calling me a punk? You little fuck!
I'll pound your face in!
Come 'ere!
Spry old bugger, you.
You just wait, you're dead motherfucker, you can't run
Forever!




Indecision

I'm lost in a sea of clear water.
I can see so far I don't know what to do.
It's not that I can't see the options,
I see too many.
What's the point of knowing a multitude of choices,
If you only see them and
Never make a choice.




Inspiration

Words
Come slowly.
But my pen
Has a mouth that
Speaks if I work it
Correctly.




Ditty of Certainty

I don't know what to write about
But I'm sure it will come out,
If I keep on to the end,
And never give up till they send
Me to my grave.




Stop the Press

Stop the press.
I've got it now.
I won't give up,
I will not bow
To all these folks
Who tell me no,
And try to keep me down and out.




Kate

You're the reason why I'm here.
I love your hair, I love your ears,
I love the way you pour a beer.
I don't know what to say to you,
Except to say I've had a few
Too many probably,
But I'll have another
If you'll pour it for me.




Independence

I've had enough of the world's crap,
And all this shit they throw at
Me and try to tell me I
Can't do this, or I can't do that.
In the end I'll do what the fuck I please.




Down and Out

Is there a reason why you came,
Or have you nothing to your name.
No money, clothes or even fags.
Even the air about you sags
With the pitiful state in which
You are. Isn't life a bitch.




Nocturnal

With all this light
How can I see
With eyes accustomed
To the dark.
For the longest time
I lived at night
With pupils dilated
To catch every detail.




Psychology of a Killer

Have you ever seen a fella
As was definitely a killer.
One of those with death
Upon his face, who underneath
It all is just a baby.




B.A.C.K.S.

Why did I leave the people I love,
In search of a happiness I already had.
I'll keep on going till the end
But I doubt I'll ever find better friends.
Hopefully I'll find my calling in life
Something that gives me the joy I had with you.




Frost

I see the kiss of death on the window.
I guess some people would call it frost.
They say "It makes the view look cheery."
But I say yes the view is cheery,
Its full of life through a ring of death,
And anything looks cheery when compared to death.




Ode to Hunter S.

We can't stop here, this is bat country.
They fly all around
And swoop down on me.
But I've got a weapon to fend them off
As long as we keep on moving
And don't get swarmed.
I'll swat them as they try to get in the front seat.
My weapon is even better than that gun you point at me,
Because I WILL use this fly swatter if necessary.