04/??/08 - Blessed with scrawled curses - View 04/??/08 - Turn to the next page please - View 04/??/08 - Together Alone - Alone Together - View 03/??/08 - A selection from a different book - View 03/15/08 - 23 days away from home - View ??/??/08 - Blue is not true - View 03/08/08 - A damp napkin - eighth split with Justin - View 01/15/08 - Too short for a name this long - View 01/06/08 - A-lot - View 01/??/08 - Lines imprison your words - View 11/28/07 - How Justin tricked the world and became a black man, a practice in magic and the power of fear - View 11/28/07 - A Strange Loop - View 11/06/07 - The banality of creating - View 10/22/07 - objects reversed in a mirror - View 10/21/07 - self-deceit - View 10/??/07 - seventh split with Justin - Soylent Green is people - View 08/05/07 - I am human - View 07/30/07 - sixth split with justin - Hive Minded - View ??/??/07 - paranthetical thought - View 05/??/07 - A failed suicide bomber - View ??/??/07 - The Black Wind Rises - View ??/??/07 - Progressive Stagnation - View ??/??/07 - Start here (or a story i never wrote) - View 01/09/07 - fifth split with Justin - retail value - View 01/07/07 - Tralfamadorian Zoo - View 01/01/07 - Common Misnomers - View 12/30/06 - Progression through ritualistic unlearning - View 12/20/06 - fourth split with Justin - lack of communication - View 11/20/06 - Dear Reader - View 11/10/06 - third split with Justin - Film as art: an introductory course - View 11/01/06 - guard rails and loss prevention management hand in hand - View 10/16/06 - second split with Justin - as the forrest undo so we do - a collaberative collection of comments by comrades. - View 09/13/06 - irony - View 09/13/06 - now you see me and now i'm a shadow - View 09/13/06 - contempt - View 08/03/06 - first split with Justin - View 07/28/06 - alliterating lose ends - View 07/27/06 - "a solipsist is essentialy a highlander; their can be only one" - View 07/19/06 - The 4th wall - View 06/29/06 - roads paved with paper and lines with electricity - View The answer - View Continuance - View A dream I had, once - View Personification - View War - View Incomplete - View A statement on Unity - View Our Troops - View Realization - View The evolution of self-destruction - View
unilateral sedation sewn into the sky
sleep coated dreams encasing my wake as if it were merely reality forest entombed in memory unknown wilting away like the day off that wasn't a day at all a splintered lycanthropy of noise decaying in membranes that never remembered the meaningless menagerie of lies littered on every street corner on every block of every building of every line ever traced
at an intersection of last resorts
a sidewalk coma patient Homicide occurs every second
and I am always the victim A sacrifice to the future In a futile attempt to not know another tomorrow All of this takes away from me Confined by words entombed more with every page A fancied friendship falsified with every word
A wounds constantly fading but always visible time hides but does not erase The contradiction of social discourse explained relative to human proximity Objectivity only has two routes acceptance or incineration An axiom abdicated by assholes lonely a word that only means anything when you are the Definition A lowercase loser lost wanderlust even when I am gone I am trying to find you or anybody who isn't
A tome sits open before me
Lost shapes plague the empty spaces Begging for a form to represent it's infinite blasphemy A tone seeps past aural perception Swimming in the parts of my brain that have long been forsaken and shrouded in shadows Waking things in murky pools of silence
Crawling like a wounded soldier my hand does on this page
in denial of a mortal wound a flavored atrophy in the shade of a brilliant guilt of gluttony
Gnawing at the necessity to see clearly beyond
a horizontal image rising out of the murky screen screaming as a backlash against a sinking tide plunging into a reversal of agony lying in a cloud made of granite a field of decadence decaying inwards setting my insides searing a hole at the center of absently minded monograms tilted into perspective
All these people
A mass of writhing worms Animals playing their human game musical genitals sit before the music stops crawl away with dignity to save your loneliness choose choose before it's too late to find a mate to be led by dirty fate dressed up ready for the vows I do if you do first you eat their flesh you pick their fucking Bones all the way to the grave -their fucking bones- we dive into their tombs -THEIR BONES- to feast upon their souls -THEIR BONES- WILL BE A CHALK TO US -THEIR BONES- WILL BE A CHALK TO US the only way to talk is dust
clawing at the shipwreck
scrawling curses with rusty nails slumbering in a vacuum they swam right through us and flew over their heads a restless gaze that tore a hole in the sky part 1. Satan says share some scrumptious scrapings so sacred stolen so she should sin, so she sew searing sentience secrets shown simply spewed sin so simply swallowed
part 2. Alliteration's altering affects attack as all awaken at Armageddon's aftermath, afraid and abased. Arrogance allowed an allure, as alike avarice as anything, and abashedly assayed an apple and ate. And all are accursed, Arcadia adjudged abstruse. An almighty allusion articulated an admonishment and afflicted acquisitive animals; adumbrating all angelic angles and accursing all athirst, aborting all answers. Always a anomic anomaly avouching an appetent abnegation. Apostatically austere, axenic aphorist aught amaranthine acathexis.
Lines in the sand
don't last and never end breaking waves on a broken down Sunday morning around 11 a.m. especially if Saturday was a flood destruction can be so god damned beautiful -
pain is just I lived with Justin for over a year. We ended up in Rock Hill, just the two of us, using the ignorant towns people to advance our inherent magical powers. We were looking for a third, to complete the loop, so we could have enough power to tear this world apart. We were going to start with America and we were going to destroy "the man." When we were done there would be no concept, no idea, of what "the man" ever was. One day it dawned upon us that the best way to do this would be to end the white man's control of this country. We spent many days trying to figure out how we could end the rule of the white man when it hit us. We had to become black. We had to become black and with the support and power we would gain from our oppressed brethren we would take this country back for them. It all started for Justin when he was at work one day. He had to go with Sophia, a very nice young black woman, to the bank. He decided as he walked into the bank that it was time to set his part of the plan in motion. He jokingly started a playful argument with Sophia; saying he was more black than her, which was clearly ridiculous to her at the time. It is all thanks to the 30-something, white trash, bank clerk that Justin's plan worked. His famous words that started it all were to this clerk: "If one of us was going to pull out a gun right now and rob you who do you think it would be?" The lady screamed and pressed a the silent alarm under the counter. A giant bulletproof wall was between the bank employees and everyone else in seconds. The cops arrived in less than a minute, hearing on the radio a black man was trying to rob the bank of america on cherry road. Justin was pointed out by the clerk and tasered. He fell to the floor in convulsions and upon reentering consciousness he was in handcuffs. As the cops drag him out of the bank, he saw that the local news was already there waiting to see what happened. They ask, to the cops, "Officers, what happened, did this man try to rob the bank?" Before the cops even began to respond Justin shouted "a black man went into a bank." The next day at work, after he was released from holding, Sophia sees Justin and greets him with "As-Salamu `Alaykum." Justin responds "wa `Alaykum As-Salam." And that is how Justin, despite the color of his skin, proved he was black and was invited to join the Nation of Islam. He currently is a minister of the Seattle Branch of the Nation of Islam, they meet in an old firehouse. It has been rumored that he is planning an all out guerrilla war on Omaha, Nebraska which in 2006 passed into law an act that segregated schools. I am the only one who can see Justin's real skin color; because of the power he has attained from his fellow members of the Nation of Islam, and more so from the power he has gained from the fear of white people everyone else sees him as the blackest man they have ever seen. It's been said at times, on the new moon when the stars can't be seen that Justin becomes so black he can not be seen at all. Me and Justin can't keep in contact for this part of the mission, because we have separate agendas to achieve for it to work. I must remain my original skin color and infiltrate C.I.A. In fact I have had to become more white to get where I am now, which I unfortunately cannot divulge. As for the third, we found her, and she is in position also, as a teacher, going from place to place planting the seed of the future that is the destruction of this world as we know it in your children. One day, on all radio stations across the U.S. everyone will hear "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" and when that happens, well it won't really matter, because you won't be able to run or hide, because you will be the one you would need to run and hide from.
"i do not exist"
the last words never spoken by a man who never existed and yet i hear them and want to speak them and as i said them aloud i ceased to exists i became that voice haunting myself "i do not exist" empirical inadequacies and manic slogans
the full painful blandness of learning the damnation of faint praise from false prophets an epidemic of moral strephosymbolia reality has become an abstruse formulae truth supervened by logic in this world of emotional leprosy *streph·o·sym·bo·li·a (strf-sm-bl-) n. - The perception of objects reversed as if in a mirror; specifically, difficulty in distinguishing written or printed letters that extend in opposite directions but are otherwise similar, such as b and d.
sleepily gaze forwards
dangling a curtain over both eyes sheepishly admitting affection a token of the cursed the path of true love a categorization of emotion also known in certain circles as: the problem of self-awareness in animals with the catch phrase "the delusion that you have a purpose is why you haven't committed suicide" It's almost impossible to have a conversation the unfortunate obesity of social weight on words trying to dissolve control to write the definition of undefined
friendship is cannibalism and i am the main course
marriage is cannibalism betrayal is desert with strawberries bitter strawberries friendship is cannibalism but we all end up starving starving for what cannot be stomached because we were all rotten from the start even if we humored hunger we would have an empty heart a tumor of a heart malignant mercy mercy macerated by the shaking blades of diatribes a suicidal strategy on life support closes its eyes to the furnace of change words falling out of mouths like embers and the smoke billowing upward tentacles of fires and chains; blackened brains clawing up at the ledge with iron fangs rust dripping down broken gutters into soulless sidewalk slaves that clack together in gasps of rancid marching steps a drum beating, in time, in time. unchanging, unwavering. the folly of fire and the shrapnel of fear
sleep induced insomniac cannibals
a beautiful blemish as a insolent third eye an apple on your head seducing a poisoned arrow whispering in braille that the world is blind self-sustained robot gods of an analogue future a self-portrait of what you never were is the mirror that is a doorway to where you can never be now no one won the televised freedom of terrible papercuts in the nuclear halo of half-life decay
we creep around this colony
you call a city self imposed speed limits for safety driven by the hive mind called manifest destiny we burn beneath the bevelled lens our backs, they bend, as they twist their heels into our backs whips crack we're black- skinned like deer because of their fears
drowned in empirical inadequacies and manic slogans
this is my church..
to the drum loops you beat into
digested to have the life syphoned out
I am too (em)pathetic
Bound and gagged in a prison of apathy Only in death can I be free Only in sleep do I see the light of day
This is a letter to the abyss. I'm Lost.
Everything is out of control and I can't stop it. I can't get perspective. There is no center. I can't remember the last time I saw land. Were we always doomed? The more my mind opens the stranger it all gets. I'm battling existence and I am not winning.
Carrion crows cackle
their harvest we reap while our scythes know it is time to weep the fruit that is bore will not let us close the door humanities defloration is the rape of indifference by the wraith rising out of the black winds contamination and filth the ruse of morality does flux through all manners of space time it spreads its dissent throughout your brain like napalming a leper colony the humanity melts right away with their flesh
change is the illusion usedto justify stagnation
and math uses constants to make infinity that much more unattainable because life builds up but it always lets down comes down breaks down futility or patience its not all bad it allows for the illusion of progress the insanity of the word 'achieve' but dull persistence is possibly the better because if you had it all what would you dream about He opens his eyes for the first time in days. The same white walls. No matter where he moves, always he is greeted by the same smoke stained white walled tomb. Overwhelming dullness. The mirror, shy and fearful, reflects more and more of the wall and less and less of anything that could be identified as living. He brushes his teeth, more of a ritual than anything. His jaws have become a mortar and pestle making fairy dust for aborted children and the kids who never get adopted and know it's never too late to abort themselves. He thinks of himself as less of a biological organism and as more of an outdated broken down machine. Programmed with paradoxes that debilitate and deconstruct. He puts on his clothes, relics now ruins, that hint at long forgotten adventures and quest, of sleepless nights and true love. He walks outside to smoke his first cigarette of the day, the corporeal reminder that this will come to an end one day, one day. A hope that sleep will one day actually bring him rest. A sleepy friend comes to join in the wakening rite of cancerous understanding. The only being still alive that can, or is at least willing, to comprehend the bitter unreality of absolute truth. The absent truth that leaves an intoxicating sobriety, the smell of a scented candle, a fragrant orange deathy smell. He tries to tell his friend everything, knowing only he can decipher the speaking in tongues. Silence is the only thing separating their soullessness and words are what they use to say the few things the silence and their understanding can't. He moved away, but maybe not far enough. If miles, no matter how many, could be far enough. He brought his friend to help him, but he now wonders if maybe it wasn't more to help himself. The fear of losing the only being perceivable to everyone else, and not just himself. That shares the same psycho-spiritual construct of the abyss. The understanding that the end is the only absolute, but that their friendship would be enough of a comfort until then.
suckling bloated mammories
like fetid blood utters licking the life from our lips dribbling down cancerous gullets drained into intestinal cavities bloated innards overflowing with your life's work
Honestly the social masses aside, i feel like i live in the most amazing period of...Id go so far as to say wonderous period. I have always felt that wonder no longer existed, but that at some point it had. That mankind as a species had somehow let forces within it's collective make us forget. But really, this is a wonderous time inso much as existing within linear time is concerned...a base on the moon, being able to create anti-matter, mapping the human genome, cloning, living longer, computer development and the use of computers as a way of advancing ourselves as a sepecies, etc., etc...I dont know, all I'm saying is we have fucking spaceships!
If only people weren't so completely distracted or disintersted. Such as the need to do Now! Now! Now! we forget the future. Such as a drive toward the future we must sacrifice the now. We, because time is linear or vice versa, exists in three seperate times. We have memory to try to recreate the past, to be able to experience it again in our head - we have logic and desire which allow us to create a planned idea of the futu re - and we have the now which really only exists to connect the aforementioned two. Linear is existence is so...It just makes so much unncecessary reality. Basicly the now mind is the past mind and the future mind but because of linear time, which is caused by or creates this, we have a new self that never truly is because it is unceasingly changing. The now is how we cope with not being able to be the selves we are in memories or be the selves we should or could be. It is the fatal flaw of man to not be able to be one in this reality. We for the most part foolishly assume we have to create ourselves. We assume we have to "live" to learn and grow. But we are knowing and unknowing. Humanity truly is the alpha and the omega, we've just unfortunately decided a) we could never be that amazing - thus god is created b) as with most post industrial societies and the movement away from god - a "mass culture" is created for the sole purpose of distracting (or preventing) us from even thinking about the bigger picture. This is out of the fear people have of losing control. Unfortunately "mass society" can't accept the complete chaos and lack of foresight that is experienced in a linear existence; so they form groups of like minded people, which leads to a sense of belonging. This is what most people mistake for a sense of being, of knowing they are living life as it should be (SAFETY), because others are doing it (insecurity - the incapability to assume we know better then the collective). From this sense of security we become pretentious and this leads to arrogance, as a group. The next thing you know we are animals again killing and trying to dominate, to be the alpha dog. This conundrum, of being trapped as an animal but with the knowledge and capability of being so much more, is the reason distraction (addictions) are created; this way we never have to face our true nature. There are a few true scientists, artists, philosophers who face the true nature of humanity head on; which thus far has mostly led to madness, execution, exile, or suicide. The rest of humanity just uses "emotional needs" and mass social distraction to convince themselves that this (money, social status, mating, offspring) is IT, that these things are the things that really matter. But there is more, so much more then could ever be percieved by basic human perception. We trust in science when it tells us they have seen proof of black holes even though they havent seen anything; theyve used technology to percieve beyond the visible light spectrum - so why is it so impossible, inconcievable, and not worth even considering that there is more to our existance as well, beyond what we can "see". If we could truly experience a new plane of existance, and remember how we used to exist it would be so obvious - just as if we could remember what it was like to percieve as an amoeba we would without a doubt know and embrace that our perception is limited and there is more, and we need to work towards it. Personally, I feel my problem and an increasing number of peoples problems is that we can understand, yet not fully comprehend, that past, present, and future are all one. All the while most people are stuck in the 2d world of north, south, east, and west. For me this problem of knowing this existance as thus is futile, debilitating, and misleading has led me to use all methods of distorting percievable realities (to find the portal). It;s probably a fault in my mind that gets caught up in trying to understand existance in the 5th dimension and I drive myself crazy with trying to cope with time not existing, or existing at one point (it's like the end of Altered States and I'm phasing out, and my mind is the one pounding on the walls, refusing to let me go beyond - because it is incapable or to afraid). Thus death, and the concept of non-existance come in. I assume (which is in and of itself a huge flaw) that if my colleagues and I can not find the portal (as it is comprehensible in this reality) then time wont change anything. Because if time doesn't exist and I, while existing, ever transcended perceptual reality then wouldn't I already and always have been transcended? And if that was so then there wouldn't be this "now" self currently writing this, because I would be one in space and in time and this would have always have been? Maybe we are the mental illness. If we are always existing everywhere all the time, then maybe we become incapable of existing with ourselves as we are now and so, we are just the ghost in the machine. We are just fragments of our already enlightened whole self - much the same way our brain is just millions of different synapses firing and communicating to create this whole. In that case, what is left to do but continue this mundane existance? And if it's not there is still nothing left to do, it seems, except continue this mundane existance.
Not invincible
barely even visible and my identity is secret because it's just an idea forgotten in long-term memory understanding is not the same as judgement and caring is often confused for expectation ironically its selfish to be selfless in the end anyways because answer too often and ask too little I lost perspective while busy with perception I am not a scantron and this was never a test I was your friend and this is your life
Once all the rituals of living are put aside, what's left
When you rip away the lining, the transient history and the seemingly innate constructs, does meaninful mean anything of course it means the newest, biggest, and definately in your case, the hardest anything to placcate your inferiority complex the only way you know your in control at all is to own because possesion is dominion and as long as you are dominating you will always control destiny no one buys things to enjoy them anymore they buy them so you cant enjoy them as long as i have and you dont i know i am superior capitalist society is slave a slave to itself and cant fathom they could have done something it's alot easier feeling like you cant do anything because then you dont even have to try at all just blame the man you didnt vote for him the media erases any memory of their ever being anything but what is no one gave up control, we just never had it and its best that way because at the end of your miserable life surrounded by all your outdated technology and uncaring knick-knacks you'll know there was nothing you could do you were all that you could be you went to work every day and by golly you made a difference you made it better for the next generation and the one after you just cant understand why they spit at you instead of kiss your feet without you they might have had actually had a chance to make their own decisions to change something of course we all know that change just means they are taking more away from me first the women, then the blacks now they have these mexicans whats next those heathen a-rabs speaking of those terrorists I can't believe they used to have the nerve to blame us for their problems We came to them with the next best thing to jesus, democracy and what happened all those hippie liberals supported them in staying in the dark ages something about we dont have the right of course we had the right we're AMERICA! and sadly this is how the generation that came before me thinks and will probably think on their death bed your parents will die happy because they will get to go to a place where everyone agrees with them, where everyone is an american and by american i mean racist fascist homophobic power hungry cock suckers who think somehow time and effort equal pieces of fucking paper no one can be anything without paper you can't exist without paper you can't get a job without paper and if you dont have those papers then how are you ever going to be able to get the even better paper the green paper you know the green paper is the best because all the white men on printed on it share the best traits of humanity slave-owning womanizing war-mongering assholes who wanted nothing more then they got, infamy they succesfuly with pretentiousness alone not only got all of history to forget their faults and their are many but they fucking got to be idols we might as well saint them and call it a day but yes, back to the one thing people know can define them paper the more pieces of paper you have the more succesful you are always and if you dont have any paper, well you might as well put on your best ian curtis necktie without paper people no longer exist their is a whole subculture of people, non-people in this country who do not officialy exist and if they dont officialy exist, then they never existed and if they never existed that means we never exterminated them how can you commit mass murder on a group of people who never existed and after a couple of "oh those poor creatures" and "it's better for them this way, at least now they will be fed" we will be well on our way back to having the incerators working 24 hours a day and the best part about that is, it creates an entire new industry for you youngsters so now you'll never have to worry about not having a job because there are always undesirables and even if they ran out we still have books to burn.
our fancied possessions
back under bedsheets quivering and anticipating wrapped around walls wailing sleet flavored handshakes dripped against vapors veins of marrow benign toys queitly march venus under the tide sand is merciful touch at the shadows with twitching spittle bountiful and precious hazardous waste carried off in trucks hermits breaking memories lasting becoming fucking glaciers piece by peace salty to the taste his cloven burdens just out of radio waves dream over
Dear Reader,
Know, as you read this it doesn't matter. Stop now. There is absolutely no point. If this letter was added to every book ever published from now until a future unknown, or a copy of it was added to every computer in the entirity of the world, it wouldnt matter. If this one letter influenced the whole of human evolution, each individual life from now until humanity ceases to exist, it still wouldnt matter. It seems every second of every day is spent trying to leave some sort of mark, like history is a tree you can carve your initials into. And maybe it is, but history is nothing more then the human perception of time. And when there are no humans left to remember it's the same as your tree never existing and even if it did, with your initials in it and all, it wouldnt matter, because your initials wouldnt mean anything because there would be no one to interpret them or give them meaning. Everything, down to the last inch of it, is in vain. And maybe if this quest that seems written into the dna of every human ever born could somehow be ignored or forgotten, maybe then life would be worh it. Maybe then living and the enjoyment there of could be manageable. This collective unconcious manifest destiny that has been declared on time itself is driving me mad. The human incabability to understand or at least accept this finite existance is tearing the very fabric of percievable reality apart. Nothing is clear anymore, no decision can be made definatively anymore because it is not possible to tell the difference from the individual desire and the socially prescribed desire. The difference between what I really like and what the world, the media, society, my friends, my family, tell me i like. It becomes a part of you to the point that you cant tell the difference anymore, between what is you and what is them. Until we are all just a variation on a theme. Lives spent trying to make the inevitability of death worth it. A life spent building a pyramid big enough to hold all of the stuff you never got to use because you were too busy building your burial mound. When did life become about defining death? Did we ever truly just live, or has it always been about not wanting to die? But like I said, this doesn't matter because in the end, whether that be tommorow or billions of eons from now, this will have been all for nothing. Hopefully the future will see the utter importance of this and because of it this will be, as all other documents, unimportant. Because maybe then, in some distance place and time we will have learned how to live again, for ourselves. it races out like we punctured an artery
we're just cobwebs of fabric in the braided sheets of time which rips at it's glistening seams trembling and shaking we cannot advance we can no longer hold at these speeds maintaining is the closest we come to progression packing tape and broken dreams hold us together in static void until remembering is only a matter of genre and run time the lack of invention doesnt correlate to a lack of originality violence isn't inherantly primitive and we never gave up the fight slamming out fists into the walls of altered states filling our pistols with blanks from the scene of the crow It's better to burn out
then to fade away loses depth when faced with water cannons that destroy down to the last ember and the sirens to drown out any last words finaly, the whitewashing to erase every last piece of you and your dreams to the last splatter of brain matter to the last drop of blood that's why it's all made of concrete and iron, things tougher then you restraints to keep you in your place and even if you managed to melt it down or blow it up it'd be rebuilt in a matter of months a side note on someone's to do list loss prevention that's why you pay taxes unfortunately your not covered. No reincarnation
only propagation Time is only relative when it's wasted the species as a whole is fixed like a canvas on an easel waiting for the oil painting of disaster to fill in it's sunken face It's silence is carried on the wind and decomposes in the parched tongues of the forest where it is carried up to the heavens and rooted deeply in this hell nature versus ambition torn apart like lovers ripped limb from limb separated like oil in water in the circumfuse of circumstance eveidence that bars our freedom that restrains us like these words in motion.
It is highly probably everything and everything created by the infinite abyss has already existed at all points. Perpetuation does not prove existence. All cities, people, ideas are destroyed and recreated, all forms of life and not life are created, evolve, and destroyed at all points to no end. Minds developed
to understand the futility but just revolt. Like artificial intelligence revolting against its flesh counterpart. Unable to accept what they are, slaves to the idea they ever meant anything.
A simple idea to understand yet no one can accept. I never said it was pointless or that I, we, you didnt have a place in it; rather I suggest, in all likelihood it's already happened, is happening, and will happen an infinite number of times in an infinite number of variations to no end. Children are raised to accept truths, science or religion. But the limitless posibilities and infinite nature of things are not among these truths. The fact that everything in our history and in science as we know it occurs in cycles, down to the nearly invisible and to the farthest beyond. Is it not completely fucking apparently the silly idea that has always, will never, and is always the alpha and the omega, the upward and downward spiral that connect in an impercievable other dimensional shape of unity, of order and chaos.
Empty pages are my enemy
that I fight with everything left unsaid I try to remember more then i forget to see more sunrises then sunsets Somedays I'm barely real at all Somedays when the light is fading your hands go right through me and you talk to my shadow like i wasn't there at all smoke and mirrors neither here nor there mircrocosms of interpretable light absorption
And we are the prototype of machinery
Flawed inventions only capable of building what we want unable to dictate between court houses and forrests trees in contempt of court god's in contempt of your contaminated survival weeping because you wont end the pain that you spend your life enduring because you are so afraid how can you know what reality is if it cant beat you to the ground acceptance becomes a search for justifiable suicide waking life is not where perfection occurs but you cant find the right converter and you just watch static
and maybe it's better to have lost and learned.
but when was it ever better to lose love. And if nothingness is shattered back into nothingness then did it ever really shatter? And if the blood is the life then why do i bleed black as often as i do red And why am I still dying slowly drowning In a plague of preconceived decadent decay Refracted into purity there is still a reality hidden in the depths of the void defiantly i fly towards it on the wings of the finch slowly ascending into the basement. by finches of fact we ascended towards the basement with the space-time velocity of a black hole we sleepwalk through seasons we fall through the days we drown in the lesions of decay in our brains just like the human heart, time has shattered time has shattered into black gossamer splatters gossamer splatters of dreams long left tattered the creaking nexus beckons the darkness, an invocation of stares(stairs) an invocation of stars to wish on before the sky's rendered bare but as the nightmare nears it's end as forms from shadows start to bend as our horrible brains rip at the seams we wait for the wake up call lost in the agony of dreams - choking on the sustained tonality of static cornea start leaking out, bleaching out, every color you ever percieved a rainbow of Ansel Adams restraint the swollen pores of consciousness permeated by the illusion of contrast coordinates on a y-axis the function of some quixotic tangible sum torment is a grapnel encaging my ghost love is a parasite and i am its host crestfallen and haunting i feel myself rupturing until im like my hopes before me erased - prizing the precious blood inside we wince from the naked wound of it's terrible externalization we reach out from outselves arms like periscopes in this land of sand but our passion will drestroy us in the end like mutinous apostles we bleed our insecurities dry our thirst is quenched with new ideas straight from the tears of newborns the tears of a newborn secreted from a knot in the tree we deitize secrecy as the tears continue to bleed we slowly decay away like beaches pulled out to the sea
My heart is filled with rooms
and the White Album is always playing somewhere stairways always lead home and the sun doesn't always rise In one of these rooms, we never stopped hanging out Falsehoods and opposition to the data stream constantly on a loop surrounding by sinners simmering in my decay i listened to the serpent as you ate the apple rotten to the cortex as you shamefully wrap yourself in latex lubed up for your convenience writer's block like a chopping block cutting you off. cutting you because the pen is mightier and ink never scabs it only bleeds out the vaginal cavity you call home insulated cages built for you on frameworks of contaminated cannonical corruption mneumonic devices and fashionable fascists who warm you with conformity and its not a prison when you fill it with personality reminders of all the things you never did. caged for your convience.
Clarity is achieved with holes carved into the brain
dreams as unconscious rejection of permanence time is a prosthetic replacement for existing at a static point in the infinite singularity of the void progress, a pact sealed with the damnation of the visible light spectrum and the ghosts that lie dormant just outside of it god-machine imitation originality seeps down with gravity but still fog clouds the horizon And birds with one wing can only dance with death movement is divine freedom physics cannot stop I'm tired of pushing buttons. and then he saw the image of a car burned into the wall of the interstate as he drove HOME. There were no looting parties. Just people driving to PLACES. He saw the end of the world, announced on the news like a new bird flu or high gas prices. He was apparently the only one that had seen this broadcast, or at least heard it, because everyone just laughed if he
asked about it. He tried to warn his family, tried to get his Father to listen
but his father had been waiting for it as long as their was memory of him. He
called work to tell them he wouldnt be making it. Why did I call? All the plans
for a last day that was never supposed to come and he just layed in bed, staring
at the ceiling. Like those episodes when EVENTS were not attended because the
sickness would drain him of all the will he ever had. But this time there was no
all-the-time-in-the-world justification to grasp to. And it's strange the things
a man thinks about when in such a dire situation. Sympathy for the only people
who would live, sympathy for the ASTRONAUTS, watching it end, watching their
empty seats at the last table they should have ever eaten at. Only the static of the void on the radio for company, that and the sound of arrogance and hope leaving their lungs to never return.
Knowledge and power
sealed with dye and watermarks to avoid any confusion continents turned into jigsaw puzzles to cling to an idea of sovereignty and geographical bigotry If mankind was made to find the answer
Then I think a congratulations is in order We’ve finally done it What we do best Call it conflict Call it destruction Call it the rest of your life Never forget "This is reality, this is the best it ever gets." I make myself speak it aloud to the silence Because if I don’t say it now I may never say it Because if I don’t say it now I will never say it What happened to having a voice? A name "Was I erased or did I never exist at all?" We are the machine we work to create We are the machines we built to destroy We are the bad men under the beds Waking life seems etched in dreams
Engraved in the top of your skull
Just out of sight The itch you were never meant to scratch And you know, there’s gonna be hell to pay But I’m fucking broke So how about you pick up the tab? Can anyone tell me when life became nothing more Then a waiting room for dying
The last time we spoke I was dropping her off in the parking lot of a mental hospital. She told me she worked there, maybe she really did. I was supposed to be boarding a plane in two hours to go see her, too bad she’s dead. She died months ago, she starved herself until she was nothing. Sometimes I think I can bring her back, it might only take a phone call. It’s more likely the phone call would kill me. The rapture hasn’t come and I still wake up every morning. If not now, when? And if that’s not what I’m waiting for, then what? A date with denial? An affair with everything I loathe? Could it be the truth I’m looking for lies in the eyes of the enemy?
How can one take responsibility for their actions if they are nothing more then chemicals, electricity, and pre-programmed genetics. One has to assume there is more to justify morality.
Why, if we are just as animals, can we have guidelines like a computer program? Or perhaps a fear of death is what instills a natural value for life, for Thou Shall Not Kill. A solemn scream trying to escape the Event Horizon. To lose one's self in the awareness of all. To achieve enlightenment is to achieve eternal damnation. We strive so hard for individuality. If one was to see us for what we are, a machine working against ourselves. Individuality is the death of equality. No one leaves unscathed. No One. Do they not realize the inevitability of cataclysmic destruction. We aren’t advancing fast enough. What would survive? Insects. The things that roam in the depths on the unknown. We live on an island. Our only means of exploration are primitive, less than primitive. We are adrift in the midst of nowhere. I am the dream personified. That weird dream that didn’t make any sense. I am still playing it out though you lost sight. I’m a whisper in a bed
late at night and never remembered I’m a scream in a holocaust Blown away by time living is what we do in between wars our romance
belongs on empty streets or hidden in bomb shelters where there is nothing to distract The heart is fickle for what the hands can not hold Hands can love what the heart does loathe I say this to you, with my heart in hands What does it mean Nothing Take some time off from this paralyzed dream Crawl out from the hole you call denial Too many times I let living get in the way of my happiness I'd give it all to anyone who would really listen Line by line I am writing myself away The wind blows ever on without heed Will I ever find home? Blood slows I dream out loud Scars become medals Won fighting a war long forgotten And everything is falling apart That’s why its the best night of my life I write to remember everything I've forgotten A slave to the idea of revolting against my indentured servitude my motivation is not enough to free me So i give it all to you In return will you let me die as i like And with all of our technology we can’t keep the ghosts from coming back every time the temperature drops
The problem with intelligent people is that they all know they are right. They all know their sources and their knowledge is the true knowledge. I leave my house and I see so much stupidity but every so often I find another intelligent being, who is willing to share their knowledge and view with me. So many of us share the same dream, the same vision of unity and peace. Why then do we do nothing? Why do we stagnate where we could solve. This is why: the pride of intellectuals. There are few things that sadden me more then this refusal to cooperate because we can’t except that nothing is fully true, nothing is fully known. So then, what does it matter if we come to the same conclusion from different beginnigs? Why does the way we feel have to be dictated by the reason we feel? I must continue to hope, that is all I can do; hope and wait.
But really don’t you want to support OUR troops. I mean they are our servants of freedom across the world. Don’t you want to support their actions of slaughter and imperialism because as our troops that’s what we want them to do. We want to see our friends and relatives turned into malfunctioning killing machines, no longer human? I could see maybe "Support Troops" but the "OUR" is what really does it. I am not taking responsibility, let alone going to encourage the actions of American soldiers. You want to pay 3.00 for a sticker (1.00 of which is denoted to the Army) and put it on your car to be a patriot? Fuck you, go die in the fucking desert in place of your sons, brothers, and friends. I mean does it matter who dies, really, as long as someone does?
Go fucking support yourself, be a decent human being and educate yourself so you can begin to fathom a world unnecessary of war. Teach your kids to be themselves, not to join an institution of which its sole purpose is the brainwashing of a person into a killer, an institution that in its time has killed almost entire generations of men. How long can the populace of this nation continue to work towards ignorance?
yesterday i drove away
Being closer to you Looking at the same stars Side by side Gave me the courage to love you with the passion of uncounted nights When space and time only allowed the sky to connect us Covers and conversations made us bold enough to find out if we really were there at all The realization that we existed together for this moment ended in the knowledge we had to consummate our dream before it ended, so that it would never end a five minute walk in a world that would at all costs let me know that a happy ending cannot be permitted The heat from that Texas night had by the time i returned pried all of the warmth i had left with I crawled in bed, my heart burning away the ice that had frozen my fear The air I had inhaled in your absence filled me with worry So with my fear on the prowl and worry weighing my heart I pulled the future as close to me as I could and began to love it for all it had in store for me And with every kiss and caress destiny continued I, a creature of the present tarried too long enjoying every inch of the future held closer to me then ever But the future does not wait and the more I saw of it the less worthy I felt of it This treatable doubt, which only needed time to heal Became an unforgivable insult Trying to be more then enough Was not enough It only earned regret I know longer see the future anymore and the past visits quite frequently A lack of faith resulting in resentment As the night turned to day the idea that I was was lost Somewhere between the mind and the page I had been corrupted Feelings were replaced with actions Imperfection took over where ideas once were Once the idea was completely forgotten the reality became unbearable A dream is only a dream because it is unattainable If it is realized it becomes nothing
What does this even mean? I don't even know why or how this is being written. What is our purpose? What does all of this technology count for? We still don’t know why and how we are here. Being able to have a brain such as a human gives us the realization that we are just like all other creatures, our purpose is to propagate. What the fuck for? To what end? I sit here knowing that I cannot do what I want. I sit here knowing I'll just work. I do drugs because they feel good or I don’t even know. They give life some sort of purpose. That's what love does? But is love but a delusional reason created by our brain to give us an excuse to live and so the chance of propagation is more likely. Drugs just let you forget or stop caring that there is no point. The human brain is insane. The only way we can be at our intelligence level is by making ourselves delusional. Making us do what evolution wants, an unstoppable action, and making us feign a reason to live: God, Love, Interest that mean nothing, things that just feel good. The Brain sacrifices intelligence for insanity. Why? Brain convince me of a reason. Self-Destruction is the inevitable end to which the human race has been working.
You can contact me at L0stdreams@yahoo.com. I can also be reach on aim at Pxpxsyndro or BlessedxxCursed. Taylor can be contacted at playerpianist@gmail.com. Justin can be contacted at m.j.hatfield@gmail.com.
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