3-ten ridaz

People like me were born too late within the timeline of humanity, or perhaps we were born too late. But one thing I know for certain is that I’ve never felt like I belonged here, now.

I recently read up on this project blue beam silliness then determined it wasn’t too silly after all. If you have ears to listen and eyes to see, it’ll be apparent. But if you convince yourself of the ideals of the old days are still viable, or you think everything will work itself out with enough hard work… well I don’t want to be the bloke that bursts your bubble, though I’m confident it’ll burst on it’s own. I’m not one of those survivalist nuts or conspiracy theorists, in fact, I believe we are due some change. Those unmentionable elites have run things for at least 350 years, which I think is commendable, however the thing I can’t agree with them on is their deciding to keep the stupid, intellectually repressed semi-morons from death. Well, they’ve got it backwards, obviously, but I suppose there is some sense in keeping semi-morons around because manipulation would seem like less of a chore.

The thing with conspiracy theorists and survivalists are that they’re on the same wavelength but have terrible timing. It’s funny. But as quick as they are, they would be the first of society to exhibit barbarisms when shit hits the fan. Those New Agers, are complete morons and focus only on the Yin instead of equally viewing Yang as well. They’ll have a sunny disposition in the firing lines, as passive as they are. Well, just where the fuck do I fit in?

I’m a magician. Not the, ‘pick a card, any card’ sort, but, I do know some of those tricks. Unintentionally, I fell into it, I guess. There’s nothing here that scares me, and nothing left here that keeps me afraid of dying. Maybe it’s confidence, or maybe it’s a general disregard of fear. What if Blue Beam implements the anti-christ as the new messiah, though? Bahaha. They can’t. Because they don’t know who it is, yet. They’re trying to pin the title on someone else to fit the indoctrinary bill, but please. The AC isn’t what most people think it is either. They think horns and goat legs or some stupid shit some medieval writers wrote. So easy to scare, you all.

Get off your horses, man.

Anyway, when I make quesadillas, I always prefer flour over corn. It’s not great for my figure, but it tastes so much better than corn. It took me a while before I learned using shredded cheese was much better than the square-packed american cheese. Stupid Kraft.

burns

everything burns
life burns
everything you do burns
everything you have done burns
everything you will ever do burns
when the morning light breeches my windows
it burns
when I squeeze the toothpaste on the brush
it burns
when i go to work
it burns
when i pay the bar tab
it
burns
when i fall in love
it burns
when she breaks my heart
it burns
when she breaks my heart again
it burns
when I die
i’ll burn
this is a fact of life,
we burn
from this side of the spectrum
hell doesn’t look so bad.

The muses

Her beauty blinds like sunbeams
Her moonlight mannerisms mysterious
Flowers a pollenous soul
Awaiting the honeybee
Like a cup of ink for quill.

I’ve been waiting for a new muse to come along for nearly a year and a half now, perhaps longer. Everything I’ve written in that time is more our less rubbish, but rubbish none the less. But I did learn late last night that I lacked a muse. I never chased women nor hunted them for love out lust. I never found that enjoyable. But I often spoke with and to them as if I’d wanted something else. That strange mutual feeling of elation when you find someone with a spark, peaking intrigue and then a hunger that comes not from the guy but the heart. I imagine it’s not much different than when a lion stalks it’s prey. Minus the physical pounce and maul. Well, sometimes. But a peaking intrigue is only elevated more than usual and will deflate. …nearly 18 months and no good hunt. A beast could die in these circumstances. All patrons of the arts are essentially beasts like the rest of humanity in this safari, but an artist has this sort of fluid beastly eloquence that doesn’t feed on carrion, but on the tour guides themselves.

This is becoming a rant and is leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I gotta find a muse before I starve to death.

correspondence I

Carl: I don’t know, man, sometimes I feel like leaving this life behind me and just hopping on a train to wherever… I don’t understand how people can be so comfortable with repetitive lifestyles. I just want to travel and change the world, man…

Michael: This is where I’ll say, know your enemy first. I know you’ll say something like I’ve no enemies or enemies are a product of hate or whatever. But it’s change. Change is a conduit not everyone can understand and fit into. So where does one begin? Home is the only answer I can think of so far. Home is where the heart is and perhaps it’s even ground zero. Though I don’t know about everyone else, I know there are a plethora of things I can’t confide to my own family. I dunno man, I’ll talk in loops, but what do you think. tell us.

C: I’m sure I have enemies man, I wouldn’t doubt the fact that there are people who hate me, but I’m cool with it man, ya know? I’d rather gain an enemy being myself, then a friend pretending to be someone I’m not. My life up to this point as been a beautiful, scary journey man… I honestly don’t know how to explain it in words. My house is not a home, man, I’m so lonely here, there is nobody I can relate to, not even in the town I live in or when I was in college… Everyone is expecting me to be so rich and successful, but, like, nobody understands I don’t want to be. I have no desire to conform to society and participate in useless consumerisms. My family hardly knows me and I have all of these expectations to become someone I have no desire of being. I know my family loves me to an extent, but it seems like they love the thought of me becoming someone they want me to be, rather than loving me as I am. I got nothing but love for everybody, and I just feel like I’m wasting my time being where I am. I don’t know, I can’t even think straight right now, man. But thanks Michael, definitely something to think about. It’s just killing me to keep the peace within myself when I’m not content with my life.

M: I’m not sure if it was Carnegie, but I think he said, “Show me a contented man, and I’ll show you a failure.” You’re a thinker, and from what it’s worth, a genuine philosopher. The real one’s aren’t too articulate to begin with, instead, they just do. But I know where you’re coming from, I know those silly expectations people have of you because they’ve expected it of me too. The only solace I can give you right now, brother, is that you aren’t alone. There are others who feel the same way. As for myself, I often wonder why I have to be such an adult about everything when I never even got the chance to be a regular 5 year old. It’s like we were pushed into it here, this consumerist, throw-away culture and all. But can we really just get up and go? Like Kerouac did half a century ago?

C: It was Thomas Edison that said that. It does have some truth to it though, but I can’t help but think. -what if a man’s dream is to be content with life? Does that make his dream unworthy of being pursued? That quote creates so many questions, very good questions, actually.

That really makes me feel good that you think of me in that light, though. Thanks, man. I feel like its my calling to change the world; to finally see the world live in peace, where we can live out our temporary existences on this Earth as we should. It’s a very overwhelming feeling. We are pushed into all of this, brainwashed to believe this is the way life should be lived when it’s simply just an opinion of how it should be based on the beliefs of another. When the people of this world open either one of their shut eyelids, getting up and going will be all that there is left to do, ya know? Why should you have to be deprived of such an indispensable time in your life? Why should anyone? We’ve created this illusion that things have to be a certain way and conform to a pre-set list of expectations to be considered right, failing to realize that thinking that way is far away from being true, man.

M: …what is one man’s life, really, but a murmur within the foghorn of humanity’s existence.

Ashleigh: This is me all over. Staying in one location bores and stresses me.

M: Kierkegaard once said “boredom is the root of all evil.” even though he lived in a completely different timeline, it was as though he knew. I guess that’s what philosophers do. They say shit that applies to anyone from any timeline.

C: Then how? How do we get outta this, man?

M: I don’t know where to begin, just clues to where to begin I guess. Jefferson said, “the price of freedom is eternal vigilance.”

A: That’s like, the rest of our lives then, right?

C: Eternal‘s a pretty long time.

M: Not if you’re having a blast, I guess.

young hearts be free, tonight

If I were to ever pray, as I haven’t yet beckoned this sort of spell-casting in my blip of an existence, I would do so for two reasons. 1.) I ask for the will  and grace to weather the storms that invade our lives like the battalions of foamy waves that the tide deploys upon the shore. I hail from a long line of cowards and though I, at times feel myself to exude the most radical sort of cowardice, my second prayer would come into play here. 2.) I ask and hope that the seed of my soul matures by the time it is reaped and or harvested.

I see so many souls in my travels and accompanying them are the most beautiful smiles. I often daydream that one of these souls and their smiles would one day come to be because of me and my actions. Have you noticed how much light a strangers’ smile can shed into your day? This person, with a story of their own that I haven’t yet heard, beaming in the wake of it All and when they do it feels as though it was always okay to exhale in the midst of the unknown.

Never in the history of the world (to my awareness) have I seen this outstanding potential for us all to be connected, be it technologically or socially, and to be so fantastically disconnected simultaneously. In ratio to how many people are on this planet, I find it absolutely heart-wrenching that anyone can feel lonesome at all. The loneliness I have felt has been so heavy at times that it has felt comparable to stomach-twisting starvation. Everyone should feel that hungry, not once in their lives but at the least twice in a decade, only to feel what it is like to be utterly alone. Twice a decade so they can remember it the next time they state a hurtful statement or commit a hurtful crime. Bukowski once speculated our souls to germinate from the very pit of our stomachs and I’m inclined to agree.

There aren’t many things left in my world to make me weep, but sometimes when it’s dark and my eyes have adjusted to the stillness of night I weep over everyone I have met and they whom I’ve not yet had the pleasure. I’m aware of it being silly, but it wasn’t always considered silly and that’s exactly what I mean. It’s like I extend my hand in fair faith even though I know no one would reach for it. If they say Jesus was the beginning and the end, the first and the last (like the Barry White song) then surely, he must have seen this too. When tears are shed in the shadows is when I want to hold someone the most.

Though I know the person in my caress cannot make things better, they certainly can make things seem less dark. And maybe it’s because when they are held, they are also held deep in your heart.

Bad poetry aside, it is a complete wonder to me that I’ve chosen to stay among the living.

Clouds

An addiction to something only tells us how something was seriously lacking or missing in the world our eyes see. But with some guided help, I was finished with my addictions. Not “kick it” cause that implies the detrimental aspects, but finished because I no longer required their services. You know what I mean?

Our minds are capable of so much more than we are aware of, imagine if they worked together.

fairer love

Once, I faced a coyote with only a meter between us. I didn’t wince nor was I afraid. Another time, I saw a mountain lion maul a friend’s chihuahua, but I wasn’t afraid. The only thing I was afraid of was to have my friend catch me hold back my laughter. I never think of chihuahuas as dogs. There was one time I was on the freeway in a mate’s car, thoughtlessly looking at a man in an SUV before he crashed head on into a stalled car in the far lane, ending in an 8-car pile up. Nothing. I found another driver to look at. I had a knife pulled on me once, and enforced how much I still wasn’t wrong about something stupid. There was a guy along with his gun who thought I was someone else at some dark, dingy dive bar. My voice almost trembled at that one. I’ve seen some frightening things but nothing compares to a woman’s love. The daintiest bottoms I know can’t reach the terrifying level of fury a woman can, and they know a thing or two about getting into character. In the end, only a woman has this angelic potential that her lover can’t reach, can’t assume. But it can be touched. Delicately. However, she also has the potential to become a demon to the lover if the lover falls from her favor. She can do all of this without knowing she is doing anything. That’s what scares me at night.

Hughman Flaws

At times, I feel like a convict. It is difficult for to participate in the daily push and grind like I used to. Well, back then when I was younger, with a better metabolism and boundless curiosity, I felt I had my future in front of me. Of course there is no exception that I was to have taken those years for granted, as is the charge for most people. Now that I’m older, the word cholesterol incorporated into my universe, and most of my questions answered -I have to live. Life now feels like a sentence I must serve from a fraudulent conviction.

I’m not angry nor am I depressed. I wish I were sometimes because of the fun pills they give you. But like most citizens of my country, I don’t have health insurance. There’s always the odd Mary Jane facility scattered around Los Angeles, but Mary Jane was never good to me. It was never an enjoyable experience when we were together, so I split. Then there’s the street pharmacist that’s got the upper hands. They’re dealings are more frowned upon because movies made them out to be villains almost all the time. Funny thing is most of the actors in those movies usually had the upper hand. Until the 1920′s that stuff was more like cognac and caviar.

I know what it is. It’s the masses that bother me. They really stress my sentence more than necessary. These days everyone’s goal is to get a degree, doesn’t matter which, to convey that they can take orders and think inside their specific box of expertise -just so they can enlist in the army of managers, as Huxley once quipped. The taste of power is begets an even worse addiction than any pharmaceutical debaucheries. They steal the best years of everyone’s lives, and that’s somehow okay. Okay. They call it capitalism or something and say it’s a right. Or was it a privilege, I forget.

I really don’t mind, though. A life is only worth something if it is lived for someone else. To the enslaved workforce they’re worth something to the managers, but to the slave they’re worth something for their wives, or husbands, or kin. Just for the right to live. I don’t think it has to be that way, but I didn’t enlist anywhere, so my words have no clout. So they say, at least. I don’t mind because I don’t really have someone to live for. Not even some thing, like a cause or whatever. It wasn’t a choice for me. Then again, it really isn’t a choice for most. Until I find someone, or some thing, I will live with decadence until death because it truly is the only way to respect one’s own livelihood. Who knows, maybe decadence was the intention for humanity all along.

Entrails

Your life will change on march 27 and november 9.

Just kidding.

the way of two swords

Men that go about praising them and teaching others to do the same believe they’re doing it for the sake of their bodies, minds, spirits, or souls. However, this is an obstruction to the truth behind the gods teachings to begin with, and can only have become a bad influence thenceforth as long as they preach in the style and mannerisms that they do, layering interpretations upon ideas gluttonously until the original teaching becomes diluted. So the only true way to honor the gods must be to become decadent to the end. It’s better to burn out, than fade away. Respect the gods by not expecting them to intervene.

In my tales of summae in the city posts, I intended on posting the remaining few parts to conclude the story, but I’ve decided to keep those in my journal. I guess I realized that some writings can remain un-digitized. It really wasn’t for anyone else because the events that happened were to be witnessed only by myself. There’s no way I can capture the allure of it all into a fraction of literary dribble. I wanted to try, though. To enrapture the reader into a world of fiction and having them believe, even if for a moment, it was real. And I will, just not with this. This is mine. Just because a swordsman looks fancy swinging a blade doesn’t necessarily mean he knows how to win duels. The same goes for writing. Shame though, cause I really wanted to get to the part about evil clones, robots, Europa’s alien space base which is actually a command outpost and the mysteries of the human body and the electrical anomalies the bodies experience, because we’re actually androids programmed with biometric intelligence, the secrets of the mystery schools and And aNd the cool shit we can do once we’ve figure it out!! ARGH! FUCK! Alright, alright. Digress, H.

I dunno, I guess I’m saying goodbye to this blog. It’s helped remind me of why I was born here, or some hippie new age shit like that. Which, by the way, hippie new age shit sounds great on paper, but it’ll never happen. Not that I’m pessimistic on their outlook, I like it, but passivity, and pacifism will never slay the hydra. That’s what they’re up against but they’re too lost in rainbows, stars and fucking unicorns to see themselves at the foot of a hydra. I don’t need to remind you how it’s killed, do I? Anyway, who’d have guessed that I was right all those years ago when someone asked me, “what are you doing here?” and I answered,

“Well, hi. My name’s Jess and I’m here to fuck shit up.”

(I might have asked where the keg was, too.)