_____________________________________________________________

____________________THE PROLOGUE 3.4.05____________________

I am the lack of and the search for-
my life, to some extent has been built around art,
my appreciation (most importantly) for it, in all of its forms,
i strive to create it. I'm a well-learned student
in the art, of the inevitable, perennial come-apart.
To prevent a massive universal implosion, or risk
an indeterminate detainment in a frenzied, personality
dismantling purgatory, I will carry on with
the notion (delusion) that my life, to
some degree, is a medium in which I'll work.

No Regrets.

As you were.(...)

____________________________________________________








Fourth of July, Two Thousand and Six A preface to the House of Logic and Lack Thereof perhaps, I'm in a place where contentment and displacement, physical and psychic, overlap, fornicate, procreate, die and re-spawn At this moment, Bukowski is god and man, teacher and student gentle warrior and radiant asshole, Just having watched a documentary on the poor son of a sadist, as we all are, children of G(s)od(om)... Minutes ago, I sat in a chair outside I felt frozen- and in turn compelled to capture the passing moments from my paralysis: My eyes closed, smoke drifting from my mouth, in a warm, wet-ish weather, my roomate ferverously sweeping the stoop while a light breeze is carrying the fractured yet steady piano playing of our neighbor's daughter... And at last I am brought to an oh, so quiet place of the brightest confusion... I had looked at my child earlier and could not grasp his prescence I looked at my truck, black and shining and relatively new and could not understand what it was... I could not understand where I sat and what I gazed upon; Trees green with New England summer rustling, lawns and houses, automobile noises all the life that was transpiring I did not and can not understand... My father is in Maine, being what he is, doing what he does I look back and try to understand his when's and where's and why's and how's, and I fail. Yet through the same filter I try to examine the lives of my Mother, Grandmother, my whole life of people I am left with a photo album and that is all. The residual weirdness of that intangible past full of intangible feelings. Everything is unfamiliar even the songs that I've forgotten and once played The physical evidence of what I can't remember only amplifies my sense of alienation I pry apart the encasement to expose and intricate May 23rd TwoThousand Six.


Highlight: Axiom
-delete-
Highlight: Hope
-delete-
Highlight: Self
-delete-
Highlight: Now
-delete-
Highlight: Art
-delete-
Highlight: Music
-delete-
Highlight: Expression
-delete-
Highlight: Mother
-delete-
Highlight: Father
-delete-
Highlight: Childhood
-delete-
Highlight: Growth
-delete-
Highlight: Wisdom
-delete-
Highlight: Reconciliation
-delete-

Highlight: Fear
-Copy & Paste-
Highlight: Confusion
-Copy & Paste-
Highlight: Guilt and Remorse
-Copy & Paste-



Counter productivity
to the point
of Infinity

Broken machine



__________________________________________________V
March the Second
Three Fifty Five, Ante-Meridiem
Two Thousand and SiX

So...one year later.

Silence, hum, and crush
i close my eyes and move my fingers

only to realize they are still there
and it is not my fault

is this what it's like to be afraid?

how am i supposed to work in this place
when the fear has everyone on the run
in the dark

i left the city, for a mountain, but found another city

noise, silence, crush

the disappointment of never being contented for more than a number of days
perhaps a week, is more than i can bear
it is like a job, like a job, like a job
that i hate

when can i stop
i open my eyes once in a while because i lose track, and that's when i fall
apart
that's when i fall apart
the guilt
oh the guilt

days fall



_____________________________________V






3.6.05
Where Shadows Eat One-Another ...elaboration

...a darkness, soft,
a daylight hushed,
where ghouls are concerned with only their hearts,
ghosts hope to sleep, and we are casual guests,
the sun is an unexpected peck of a kiss,
the moon is an endearing "goodnight" from a stranger,
branches sway in silence,
we vanish from each-other's sight inexplicably;

then arrive suddenly,
tightly embraced,
in the midst
of an eternal, clouded
morning



          V







it is strange to leave my mark
in this dark room where i seldom
sit. yes, here. right where you're
peering into.








9.12.04____________________________________



Three years ago yesterday........

now that
that is over with

i'm moved to say
the muse is gone.

yes, the muse has gone and left me in a house of mirrors;
full of musical instruments, books, and other various variouses
of various variousities.
__________________________________________________Vendange





4.29.04_________________________________________________________V








How many times do I have to travel this road? This time
around there are some exceptions. No real reasons to be
angry or sad. But lying down on my bed, rifling through
all of the shit that I wrote several years ago, I realized
there's nowhere to go, nothing to do, it's all been said.
No one wants to hear anything I have to say. If they're smart
anyway. So much passion, things were once new and powerful
now everything in the world seems like such a fucking joke.
There's no point in picking up my guitar. No reason to paint
haven't painted in two years. Fuck it. Fuck all of it.
I hate everything I've done
I hate what I've become
I hate the way I look
I hate the way I think
I hate this
I can't stand this
I don't deserve any of the help
I've been given
Stagnant
This too shall pass
Once in a while it's good
to go to that place that makes
you want to die.
It keeps me on my toes.












i do not want this

i'm losing ground
you know how this world can beat you down
i'm made of clay
i fear i'm the only one who thinks this way
i'm always falling down the same hill
bamboo puncturing this skin
and nothing comes bleeding out of me just like a waterfall i'm drowning in
2 feet below the surface i can still make out your wavy face
and if i could just reach you maybe i could leave this place
i do not want this
i do not want this
i do not want this
i do not want this
don't you tell me how i feel
don't you tell me how i feel
don't you tell me how i feel
you don't know just how i feel
i stay inside my bed
i have lived so many lives all in my head
don't tell me that you care
there really isn't anything, is there?
you would know, wouldn't you?
you extend your hand to those who suffer
to those who know what it really feels like
to those who've had a taste
like that means something
and oh so sick i am
and maybe i don't have a choice
and maybe that is all i have
and maybe this is a cry for help
i do not want this
i do not want this
i do not want this
i do not want this
don't you tell me how i feel
don't you tell me how i feel
don't you tell me how i feel
you don't know just how i feel

i want to know everything
i want to be everywhere
i want to fuck everyone in the world
i want to do something that matters

-Trent Reznor










__________________________________________________________V






RARELY AM I HERE3.29.04
But there is a reason for that i suppose......
Just remember, everytime you're walking and you
find a dead bird on the sidewalk, you must assume
it fell from its nest as a baby and grew until it died.

This is brood

Today, I stayed in bed all day. I didn't want to get out.
I called work and told them I was sick. I want to stay
in bed, away from the world for the first 72 hours of
nicotine withdrawl. But I must go to work tomorrow.

In an out of strange dreams, I woke up to a world
where my aspirations were quickly fading. Still are.....
I don't want to get out of bed tomorrow, there's no
fucking point.

There's so much to do. There's too much to do.
All this for what?

There's so much beauty and music and interesting
things in this world. It is completely overwhelming.
I've had several chances to be part of the beauty and
the good of this world. Everyday I suppose is another
opportunity to come closer to obtaining those things
of desire and/or necessity. I wish I never knew how
good life could be. I wish I had none of the experiences
that I've had, I don't want to know what I'm missing out
on. In the past six months I've been discarded, in the worst
place of my life, deleriously drunk, completely stoned, stone
sober, maniacly laughing, sobbing like a mother at her
first child's funeral, near bliss, holding a razor to my wrist
at four in the morning, terrified of dying, longing to
live a prosperous and rich (rich like godiva chocolates) existence,
freaking out, studdering, shaking, freezing, extracted from a fruitless
environment, introduced to a new area, life style, another second chance
at setting out to become something, losing it and getting it and losing
it and getting it and absolutely in fucking love the whole time.
And this evening I found myself
coming fatally full circle, lying on a floor, listening to
the great below, over and over and over and over and over.
I don't know, I just don't know.

A rose is a rose is a rose and
there are thorns everywhere, I'm barefoot and tired but
my sleeping beauty is out there in the forest, at least
a thousand miles away, a thousand miles of thorns, but if I
just stay here I'll be alone and the lions will eventually smell
me, surely they will eat me.....

______________________________________________________V






























































































































I push the rest down and down NOTES FROM THE UNDERGROUND 1.29.04
i've probably lost my mind
among other things........
and now i return to something that
resembles normality and i'm riminded
why chemical bonding is not my favorite
activity anymore i have my plan lay low
stay in the darkness figure it all out
I know what I'm doing......
for the first time in along time I think
I know what I'm doing......
My re-emergence is near, and it's about fucking
time
I need to pay my dues.
___________________________________V
Walt Whitman
1819-1892




A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER


A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to con-
nect them
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold
Till the gassamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul
______________________________________________________w.w.















the world is sick and unfortunately there are unlikely folks who defect into blind..............losing all humanity. TEMPORARY PSYCHOPATHS.



Full Circle 3.14.03



The Sad Story of Ourselves It's happening as we speak. On our guitars and in our minds. On paper, on this computer; these words. It happens in conversation, on canvas, even at our job. Everywhere you can think of, in almost any circumstance and human interaction. Trying to project our more promising characteristics. Wanting to be wanted, sought after, acknowledged, in any capacity. We want people to know we've been there and done that, we're smart, witty, and very, very wise. However people are also now the first to admit that they're wrong, stupid, ugly. All the while there is a secret agenda, our egos are and vicious and tragic. All of this is true.
This is all innocent narcissism. This is all natural. We are all victims of ourselves. Self -loathing machines full of life. There will always be a definite division between the good ones and the bad ones. All the while these internal conflicts and tortures transpire and end in blood, sweat, tears, glory or the inevitable agony of defeat.
Full of poetry, full of stories and music laughter and love we are. While we slowly whittle ourselves down and spin away into oblivion we try to appease the beasts of our universe and unite everything with hope and mutual longing. For those of us who are victorious and manage to foil these parasites of the human condition: congratulations, I hope it lasts. For the rest, well, it is what it is.
But this is all human invention, and it�s all for nothing.
















one moment in a crippling fear of death, today, I cluctched the back of
a bench seat on a shuttle heading towards home
so afraid of dying, one day i will die and love no one any longer
know anyone know longer...........tried so hard to find a way around it
but death will come to my body for what ever reason sometime
and here I am, smoking cigarettes and drinking
like there is no tomorrow
and in this day
and age
WWWIII is not an irrational fear paranioa
as daylight shows
and the moon is no longer behind the clouds
but behind the sky.....somewhere
I am unaware of all those things
I wish not to acknowledge
how far will I go
how far should I go
this is no different
I AM A SLAVE yet again and YOUR EARS ARE DEAF!!!
one
two
three
I falter, I slip, I swallow, I choke, dead yet again
with no reason
no purpose
these decisions will be made only in recollection
there is no point, no point at all
yet, indefinitely, the magnitude of this conflict
will be life altering
what is to be done
nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing
why care...........
tragedy is beauty
and sometimes tragedy is all that is left
all that is left to provoke any emotion
a cry for help that cannot be ansewered
so longing
lingering...
real....
too
fucking
real




________________________________
________________________________________________
born yet again... I've heard it all now, everything that could possibly be said about life that would make sense in this day and age. Everything about psychic connection, collective consiousness, the worth of life and how existentialism is not a school of thought saturated with despair and anguish about life, how life is a dream unfolding, how life is a dream never ending and the lucidity we call life is just confused with other dreams. The question as to when our next evolution will take place, how all advances in the past are seen transpiring in shorter intervals, cromagnon homonid this that it's all too much where do i begin, where do i end. If I take all of these words into account I must draw from them, thereby drawing from everything the senders of these messages drew from. Again and again spinning off from one human invention to the other. But that's all we have to work with!! So why should I diminish the importance of history and everything within it. I so naively believe I can go through life and go my own way without taking time to consider materials and theories and thoughts, ideas, essays, people, people walking on the street, people on the television, people I interact with on a daily basis, I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING LISTEN ANYMORE I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK TO DO AND EVERYTHING I TRY IN MY MIND, TRYING TO ABSORB AS MUCH INFORMATION AS POSSIBLE (which is a farse since i am incredibly lazy and have absorbed nothing faltering in my quest of blindness and infantile intuition) TRYING TO EXPERIENCE ALL THAT I CAN TRYING TO LIVE LIFE LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW (which i don't) TRYING TO DRAIN EVERY OUNCE OF FLUID OUT OF LIFE AN MYSELF SO I CAN LAY DOWN DYING KNOWING THAT I'VE DONE ALL I COULD, AND IF ANYTHING, I DID MORE THAN I SHOULD HAVE.




I am a sick man.. (as Fyodor Dostoevsky wrote)
I am ill, and in this day and age we embrace illness
the weak no longer die
the weak sometimes live longer
than those who may be percieved as "strong"
or "dominant"
thereby preserving patterns or, tendencies of weakness
or inferiority, susceptibleness
creating insecurities, holes, dysfunction
in the human brain
human existence, tendencies, destroying the natural integrity of instinct



I am that
I am the weakness
I am devolution
I am that which will strive towards failure
The only difference is
is that I am aware
Which creates a conflict, or paradox, or any one
of those stupid pretentious words used only to
make the speaker of those words feel wonderfully inflated) Do I just know the course of my life
Is this just an attitude towards life
Can I change it? If I know what the future holds I can take a right instead of that left


I heard this question this evening: Which is the greatest universal human characteristic; fear or laziness
with that I pondered the absurdity of my life
and once again all of the answers were in front of me
______________c___o_n___c_l__u__s___ION____?

1/8/03__________ 517am_______(music starts)

......all my life my heart has thought a thing i cannot name..
-some one


......the only people going to heaven
are stillborns and retards...because the
are the only people who've truly done nothing wrong.
-I


the best way to dismantle a personality is to isolate it. -Princess Diana


AND SO IT BEGINS the measurement of how tall and proud
broken we are....we lie beneath soft silken veils of silence
and what little light comes through the window, reveals the
the frail outlines of our slumbering bodies.......moving
languidly in sleep motions. Trapped in desperate longing
dreams.......dreams that go on forever and ever and ever
trying to grasp love and in our last moments before we fall
from our minds we see the truth but it's too late. Dreams I've
had where there's a woman sitting on my back as I'm lying down
and I can feel her hair move across my back as her body fails to
be perfectly still like a statue.....moments go by and then i'm
startled to feel warm tears fall onto the bare skin of my back
and make their way by the contours of my body. All I know is
a mutual and profound sense of loss and sorrow with no explaination.


I look inside and wish I could be what I once was
somewhat detatched
I feel like a new born and now I'm suffering from life
shock but that's just life......it seems all of the things
I wanted to do and my passion to escape and feel and live
has led me to hell and now I wish I could crawl back into
the hole, and resume a warm liquid suspension with the music
of a heart beat to lull me away........
what it would be like to be starting out again thinking
only in pictures and smells and the many sensations of touch...

now half grown half alive half awake-I wade through useless miseries
that mean something only to me because I know that this kind of shit
makes people (including me) nauseous. But now I am too full and
can't take it anymore and now am only lost..........

but.......there is this music playing....so slow it makes the air slow
it's the kind of music that just makes you want to cry and cry and cry
no words just melodies and a relentless waltzing rythm, voices that carry and accentuate the underlying
mood in the room...........

it seems some people just go through life, and experience happiness
sadness anger regret, guilt, pride all those things we feel. But the
emotion itself is just a ghost. Many people fail to realize how far these
feelings penetrate their soul.
566666666666666666666666666666666(the cat just typed that)

Have you ever known yourself to induce some of these emotions?
More along the lines of inducing sorrow.....that lump in your
throat and then the eventual tears and choking cries...it goes on
and you think of the saddest things in your life to keep it going
and going and then all of a sudden you can't cry anymore...
.......and you feel clean. You turn off the song you've had on
repeat for an hour and go back to normal life like nothing happened.


(music ends)










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