Monthly Archives: August 2012
I don’t believe I’ve every proclaimed to be of any dense substance. In fact I’m profoundly shallow on and within the surface. I have an oceanic lack of knowledge with a bleak horizon on the edge. I know I come off big to people but I’m not. I have a hard time being clever. If anyone wants to know what goes on up in my head they could be waiting forever.
But what are you willing to admit? Was that being vague? Maybe you should go first.
I don’t like the situation anymore than you. but it’d be much easier if you’d remember who you are.
Has it always between this way.
Is it possible that all this magick went unnoticed.
Maybe now things will start to change,
And life will turn a better page.
No more rage.
What took the cake of the things I could have been was; a better son.
I’m a genius when I put my mind to it, but Asperger’s will render that quite difficult and especially so if you couldn’t understand why you felt alienated. I can also do anything provided I had enough time, I’m really quite informed in all walks of life and it’s subordinate facets. I think that came to be because I spent so much time denying what I was and in the process learned a billion other things to be. I learned people. I learned what love and care was like without ever having a real example from home. And I pushed it. I went to extremes when I learned these things because it felt like it could get me away from my family, my universe. My parents weren’t terrible parents. I just found out, not a moment before writing this while taking a dump, that my parents were just as resilient and prolific in nature as I was. I shunned my youth solely because everyone else seemed to have a family that had it so much fucking easier than mine. My agitation increased tenfold when I found other Asian kids to come from money. They were pricks too. I subconsciously wanted to be a prick to, a big one, metaphorically. I mean I really didn’t look all that different from them apart from fashion expenditures. Its was a handicapped life as though the universe picked on us simply because it was bigger. In all I’ve learned, I’ve learned hermetically and I’ve learned that I was a terrible son because of the materialism the rest of society imposed upon me. I used to believe having lots of cool expensive things was as good as knowing who I was.
But I am not an 80 gig ps3 I purchased on the release date. I am not a plethora of vintage clothing and boys from the 60’s era. my clothes were pushing 50 years old. I am not a vast collection of DVDs of Indie cult movies. I am not my record collection of obscure musicians. I am not the display of books on my bookshelf. I am not the cute minimalist organizational angles of my ikea furniture. I am not the car I drive, nor train, nor bike.
What I am is the feeling of vintage clothing and it’s history. I am the mind of a 50 year old man, or woman I’d I include the strange obsession with shoes I had. I am the interest of new technology and new ways if being like a ps5. I am the dialogue and the story in all those movies we all love watching, even In Her Shoes. I am the feeling of an obscure musician under a needle until I click. I am the ideas in all the books I’ve read as I am the counter arguments to some of the books I’ve read. I am the clean, sleek state of an armoire from Sweden. I am catching onto the ways you and your friends make me and my friends feel.
You may think I have gone insane, but I was insane from the beginning. I was insane from misinformation until I got the picture. I want to show you but you’ll just tread on me again. What tells me I’m right is this: my picture applies to every single person in this world while yours applies to you. I want my world back. You can keep bussing tables to finance your fancies, but when the rest of us aren’t impressed anymore. You’ll feel pretty silly for thinking I was crazy. Welcome to the grander scheme of things, biaaaatch. My world is a world where lessons learned are not forgotten. I hope you can say that too one day.
There’s a little voice inside my head that tells me to tread carefully for fear of mucking things up. That little voice seems intent with my protection in the world, keeps me in place. What if I don’t get this job?! What if she/he doesn’t like me? What if I’m wasting my time? Why is this happening to me? We know that voice. But what about that other voice?
We all have this other voice that condones our more carnal urges. I want to sing out loud! I wanna play with my food. am I the only one that thinks that’s funny? Both voices clash ideologically, though they have this in common: fear.
The first voice fears the dilapidation of the ego. As though a part of who we think we are is chipped away when something doesn’t go accordingly. Onsets of depression and disappointment are but venomous. They serve to reconstruct your ego until the second voice is only scorned upon.
The second voice is fearless. It is the voice of your psyche. Or soul. Or whatever the hell your passion comes from. Once the who of the first voice is snuffed, the psyche’s voice takes over. You’ll do, DO the things you really want to do. You don’t need the rules of everyone else to tell you who you’re meant to be. Man wasn’t meant to be grounded. We’re here because we’ve lost or way. We’ve lost or magic. We’ve lost our love. Even the pious had the right idea when we were riddled with the skies to be or limits. Of whom on earth is closer to godliness than they who fear not the death and demise of themselves.
An atheist doesn’t believe in the powers that be, an agnostic is close to solving their riddle. A gnostic looks for the right words to speak the truth. The amazing thing is, it is the atheist that is closest to god, than they know. Not to believe in a higher power is just a backwards and secular way of saying they don’t believe in life, a=a/1=a(1), they don’t believe in death. No heaven, no hell. What’s left is that second voice, telling you who you really are.
I used to be such a cynic about spirituality-hippie-shit, but a cynic is only cynical about the things they don’t understand and don’t have. Understanding chaos is the first step. It shimmers in infinitude in the starry sky despite the veil of a blue sky on a sunny day, but its secrets are howled to you in the wind. If you think this sounds far-fetched you must ask for which voice is telling you that.
Your courage and wisdom will wake you back up to the life you were meant to have. In an imperfect world, courage and wisdom wouldn’t count as currency. If you’re one that thinks its all going to shit anyway while you lifted not a single finger to help, just keep your damn mouth shut while the rest of us do real work. I was that guy. Then I found a bargain and bought a whole universe for the price of my one material world.
”we were brought up on the space race, but now they expect you to clean toilets. When you’ve seen how big the world is, how can you make do with this?” -J.C. Pulp
”when they lied, I knew it was just stable children, trying hard not to realize, I was standing right behind them.” -J.C. The Strokes
” Well if you were me and I were you, then I’d use your body to get to the top. You can’t stop me no matter who you are.” J.C. Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls
which voice do you think is creating art? Take a second look at the things you enjoy, for god’s sake, sister. This is the last of my betrayals to the art of subtlety. the metaphors miss me… but I did this because I miss you.
We are always falling. But we keep torturing ourselves by telling ourselves to get back up. Don’t. Let it all fall away when you fall. Then you’ll see that it isn’t that you have to get back up again and again and again, but that you’re going to stand up for the first time.
You mean to tell me that it actually makes sense for you to climb back up into this pattern of despair repeatedly? You know I’m right, wake up. Bloom, baby. We’re coming out off the sidelines and I need my old team back with me. There’s lots and lots for us to see, and lots and lots for us to do. You be electric and I’ll be electric too.
It’s been three months since my pilgrimage across the country began. Tonight, I lodge in a utility closet of a small roadside diner aptly named, ”Pete’s Diner,” after the patron himself whom had died some time ago. I was very lucky to get the utility closet for the evening because the Arizona desert becomes unusually frosty even with the absence of frost. Though an evening trudge across the state was far more advisable than a trudge beneath the bully that is the Arizona sun, at which my only protection is a cosmetic cream with spf 40 I found in a discarded handbag on the side of the road. the bag contained nothing else of use as it had been looted long before my hungry hands held it. A night of rest in shelter, albeit next to open containers of industrial strength cleansers and large and possibly mutated cockroaches, was still a night of rest. At least its better company than snakes or lizards or scorpions. I don’t really have the resources to manage venom and poison so you’ll have to excuse my cowardice.
The contents of my backpack for the backpacking include; an electric razor, a toothbrush with bent bristles, a cornpipe a friend bought for me from Cadiz, Spain, two packs of bugler tobacco, three lighters and two packs of matches, a brilla water filter I’ve engineered to give exactly 8 ounces of filtered water per pour, a tin water canister, a charger for my mp3 player and a charger for the razor, a small first aide kid, and several books including a boy scouts handbook I purchased in a thrift shop for 25 cents. That quarter I spent had saved my life several times, or at least my sanity. I was a well dressed drifter, though the soles of my shoes are beginning to deteriorate. I’ve about fifteen bucks on top since I started though, but I won’t need to buy new shoes because there are lots of shoes by the side of the road. I don’t quite understand why that is, but its in my favor so I’ll just be glad.
I haven’t been in contact with anyone from home. Friends close enough to be family. They said I was crazy and would probably die on my journey. They weren’t exactly credible oracles, but I agreed with what they said and would still agree should I have chosen to remain home.
Helen, the waitress that listened to me all afternoon before sneaking me into the utility closet, has decided to give me a lift to her house in the morning for a good shower and to toad my clothes in the wash. It is eastward so it’ll help me get through the state a bit quicker and put me right back on schedule. She seems kind enough to embellish me with supplies as well, this complete stranger. I will visit her when my trip is done to tell her all about it because it feels as though she would gladly take my place in an instant. I wonder if she has a pair of mens 10 and a half. That would be wonderful.
The mop bucket is my X,