The following occurred a few months back.
Two gentlemen walked up the stairs today. They had overcompensation written all over their faces.
"Yo, man."
"What's happenin? You guys bring your IDs?" I responded.
"Yes, sir. It's right... here." Hands me the wallet. Follower-dude also quick on the draw.
"Thank you, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"
"Just lookin for a new piece. This guy's a total stoner," slaps follower dude on the back.
"Well unfortunately for you, you've established illegal intent. You're no longer welcome to shop tobacco products today, and you'll need to vacate the premises immediately."
"Duuude--"
"No dudes. Leave. Now."
30 January 2010
28 January 2010
anxiety
the glare of the sun off of the windshield
the high-pitched whine of machinery
the rip in the new nice denim
the tone of the accuser
the immutability of contesting wills
the angle of the hang of the head
the sudden decrescendo of sound
the sink of the pit
the excruciating molasses of time
the high-pitched whine of machinery
the rip in the new nice denim
the tone of the accuser
the immutability of contesting wills
the angle of the hang of the head
the sudden decrescendo of sound
the sink of the pit
the excruciating molasses of time
27 January 2010
oscar
Everything started after a semester at school. Well... before that. It's always before, isn't it? But that semester set it off. I was wound up tight. Restless, without peace. I felt okay when I left that town, never in it. Too much baggage.
I went to Mexico to clear my head. To relax. I packed my car, stopped before leaving town to fill up. I hung up the pump with an air of finality, electricity in my blood. Bid that town fucking adieu.
Now just the road. I had enough pot for the first part of the trip, and my cousin had some waiting down in Texas. Perfection. I stopped to see him graduate highschool, and then he came with me. He'd grown up quick and tall.
Excitement! The road! Mexico! I left the tension, the restlessness, and I drove. Got high and drove. Tell me I was immature, reckless. I didn't care. I don't care.
Me. On the road.
I went to Mexico to clear my head. To relax. I packed my car, stopped before leaving town to fill up. I hung up the pump with an air of finality, electricity in my blood. Bid that town fucking adieu.
Now just the road. I had enough pot for the first part of the trip, and my cousin had some waiting down in Texas. Perfection. I stopped to see him graduate highschool, and then he came with me. He'd grown up quick and tall.
Excitement! The road! Mexico! I left the tension, the restlessness, and I drove. Got high and drove. Tell me I was immature, reckless. I didn't care. I don't care.
Me. On the road.
26 January 2010
vibrations
I'm bored. I'm anxious. Because nothing belongs to me.
Because I owe.
I fight to be something I'm not.
I am weary. Weary of trying to think new thoughts. How do I think new thoughts? It feels so new it's not me. It's fake. It's tiring.
But there are glimpses of hope, like today. Then I immediately fear my hope because it crumbles, always. Falls away.
I yearn to express myself poetically and I fail because I try. Too hard? Yes. Too hard. And what am I trying for? Newness. The newness I fear and is elusive.
Avoiding. Avoiding me. I'm avoiding me. I come to the brink and retreat back. Because it's unknown? Kind of. Not really.
Because it doesn't work.
Not the way I want it to. And I fear it never will. That is my fear. Mediocrity. I fear being one of the crowd. Indistinguishable. Because I hate the masses? Yes. The masses, not individual people. The stupid masses, I hate. And I am lost in them. I cannot escape. I can. But I won't because I choose not to. I choose to stand and fight, not escape. Overcome, not escape.
I want reality to feel better. Peace. I am not at peace because I don't live now. I live then, or before. To live now, see the trees, smell autumn, do, finish. To lift my arms, to raise them and shake fists! To seek truth, to say truth, to live it. To believe it. Mostly to believe it.
Droll argument.
Rather droll, once it hits there. Belief. Life. Do they cross? Droll. Why? No progress. No moving forward. Just idle arguments. Idle words. Words make me feel like I'm doing something when I'm not. Words rarely satisfy. Do I not believe in them? Less and less. Words are folly. No one hears them. It matters not what I say, but how I say it. I hate this. No one listens. I don't listen.
We are preoccupied. The present is vulnerable and painful, yes? Living now, this is painful. And boring. Why do I feel pain in boredom? I feel pain everywhere. I cannot escape it.
I can!
I don't.
I will.
I won't, needs facing. Process. This is what I'm told. Process. Think.
I don't want to. It's the same every time.
But it's not, if I try. Not try - if I stop escaping. Emotions are in control. I am not my master. Emotions run free. And drag.
And now I am tired. I am broken, feel empty. Drained of useless thoughts, the goal. But never drained, really. They sit and they wait, the follies. They claim me at my best and desert me. Flee. Like rational thought.
Too intellectual. Too.. bleh.. abstract. I hate that word and what it means. Pseudo-intellectual. That's what comes to mind when I hear or say or write the word abstract. Overused. Overadmired. Now scorned.
There's a good one. Scorned. Word.
I'm trying to drain it all. Trying to sleep. Trying to remember myself. Trying to keep it together.
(Partial bile upheaval.)
Scream. Scream again. From the guts, now! From the belly, tearing through the throat, the body resonating like a beat drum, bare teeth SCREAM!
Imagine there's a Heaven. And imagine it's where you're made to be.
I hate. Odd place to turn, I know. But there are some things I hate. People acting, for one. Acting different from because they're embarrassed of.
Speaking things into being. Interesting concept. God's vehicle in creation, our best way toward healing. Yes. Dark thoughts need to be spoken. Loudly. Not without propriety. Not to just anyone. Not at dinner. No, no, NO.
Keep your head on.
Don't mess up.
Be a jackass. They love it.
Because I owe.
I fight to be something I'm not.
I am weary. Weary of trying to think new thoughts. How do I think new thoughts? It feels so new it's not me. It's fake. It's tiring.
But there are glimpses of hope, like today. Then I immediately fear my hope because it crumbles, always. Falls away.
I yearn to express myself poetically and I fail because I try. Too hard? Yes. Too hard. And what am I trying for? Newness. The newness I fear and is elusive.
Avoiding. Avoiding me. I'm avoiding me. I come to the brink and retreat back. Because it's unknown? Kind of. Not really.
Because it doesn't work.
Not the way I want it to. And I fear it never will. That is my fear. Mediocrity. I fear being one of the crowd. Indistinguishable. Because I hate the masses? Yes. The masses, not individual people. The stupid masses, I hate. And I am lost in them. I cannot escape. I can. But I won't because I choose not to. I choose to stand and fight, not escape. Overcome, not escape.
I want reality to feel better. Peace. I am not at peace because I don't live now. I live then, or before. To live now, see the trees, smell autumn, do, finish. To lift my arms, to raise them and shake fists! To seek truth, to say truth, to live it. To believe it. Mostly to believe it.
Droll argument.
Rather droll, once it hits there. Belief. Life. Do they cross? Droll. Why? No progress. No moving forward. Just idle arguments. Idle words. Words make me feel like I'm doing something when I'm not. Words rarely satisfy. Do I not believe in them? Less and less. Words are folly. No one hears them. It matters not what I say, but how I say it. I hate this. No one listens. I don't listen.
We are preoccupied. The present is vulnerable and painful, yes? Living now, this is painful. And boring. Why do I feel pain in boredom? I feel pain everywhere. I cannot escape it.
I can!
I don't.
I will.
I won't, needs facing. Process. This is what I'm told. Process. Think.
I don't want to. It's the same every time.
But it's not, if I try. Not try - if I stop escaping. Emotions are in control. I am not my master. Emotions run free. And drag.
And now I am tired. I am broken, feel empty. Drained of useless thoughts, the goal. But never drained, really. They sit and they wait, the follies. They claim me at my best and desert me. Flee. Like rational thought.
Too intellectual. Too.. bleh.. abstract. I hate that word and what it means. Pseudo-intellectual. That's what comes to mind when I hear or say or write the word abstract. Overused. Overadmired. Now scorned.
There's a good one. Scorned. Word.
I'm trying to drain it all. Trying to sleep. Trying to remember myself. Trying to keep it together.
(Partial bile upheaval.)
Scream. Scream again. From the guts, now! From the belly, tearing through the throat, the body resonating like a beat drum, bare teeth SCREAM!
Imagine there's a Heaven. And imagine it's where you're made to be.
I hate. Odd place to turn, I know. But there are some things I hate. People acting, for one. Acting different from because they're embarrassed of.
Speaking things into being. Interesting concept. God's vehicle in creation, our best way toward healing. Yes. Dark thoughts need to be spoken. Loudly. Not without propriety. Not to just anyone. Not at dinner. No, no, NO.
Keep your head on.
Don't mess up.
Be a jackass. They love it.
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