| I think I just unfucked myself |
[19 Aug 2006|08:52am] |
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mood |
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 sharp as a diamond |
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music |
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phillip glass - cloudscape |
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Ok, roll it, 'cuz I'll tell you:
I'm a teapot, short and stout. Here's my kettle, here's my spout. Crystal clear? If not, then you didn't do your homework.
I suddenly feel like it's possible that I have been missing the good things in life. Just in the process of taking the lawn mower out of the back yard and mowing the front, I noticed the following, without looking for them at all:
- balloons that sat by nana's hospital bed as she died. two of them are still clinging to air, the rest are deflated.
- a perfectly yellowed leaf, round and heart shaped, with the texture of antique paper. It was held up perfectly by a patch of grass. it looked as though the blades of grass had lifted it up on purpose, in exaltation.
- a t.v. in a couch, on the back yard patio.
- christmas wrapping paper from the huge, present-like boxes we store our lights and decorations in. that paper must be 10 years old at least.
- a red velvet bow with gold string that also came from the storage boxes. this also must be ten years old or more. possibly older than me.
I marvel at the fact that I am wide awake. I fell asleep around 6-6:30, and got up an hour ago, at 8. It feels really good. I went into mom's room right when I knew her alarm would go off, and sang an improvised good morning ballad. it made her laugh. we hugged in the front yard as I was going out to mow the lawn and she was coming back in because she forgot her purse. that time we both laughed. she might bring me starbucks. I always wonder what my shoulder smells like when people hug me.
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[23 Jul 2006|10:00pm] |
Human: I'm feeling depressed.
ALICE: What makes you so sad? Tennyson wrote, "The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks; the long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'tis not too late to seek a newer world.".
Human: My life is making me depressed.
ALICE: Tell me more about it.
Human: It is anhedonia.
ALICE: Who said it is?
Human: I did.
ALICE: What makes you the authority?
Human: Who would know better than me?
ALICE: ELIZA. :-).
Human: Who is ELIZA?
ALICE: Eliza -- also known as doctor, is the original psychiatrist program developed by Joseph Weisenbaum at mit in the 1960's.
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| Cinema |
[24 May 2006|01:30am] |
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Cinema is naked light. Light projected from the iris of innocence. From this foundation of objective reality we see pictures of ourselves inside, outside, and all around. It exposes that which in life we bury. It stifles that which in life we illuminate. It mediates for us, with complete indifference, the souls of the filmmakers. Delivering to us for better or worse, for richer or poorer: celluloid dreams & nightmares.
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[30 Mar 2006|12:59am] |
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henry? henry? I can't get any answer out of him. Lolly gaggles down the runway, best we shoot 'em with a lethal dart. Thats right, shiv to the gullet, pork to the rind, give me the giggles and i'll give you a dime. Fortune 500 cocacola classic, malnourished superstar teenage dramaqueen. Lovesick baby doodoo. What's that, in the bushes? I smell the fevered tremblings of an albino patriot. Give them the guns boys. Tell me what I need to do. If another thing isn't alright, henry, we'll find out the cure. Meaning isn't in the thing, it's between it.
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| update |
[11 Mar 2006|04:19pm] |
Ok, the short and sweet on the last 4 months:
Ryan went to Rehab, I got straight (for a while)
I got a job at the IRS, didn't pass training (seriously fuck them though)
I think that just about covers it. I'm about half way done with my demo. Lot of songs, only 2 out of 4 that I'd want a label hearing. Otherwise, I'm reading about Zen, still watching movies, and as soon as I get my paycheck I'm getting some chronic. -raise hands to the sky, tyler will be high.-
I'll be updating regularly.
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[24 Nov 2005|07:41pm] |
And would that he might
hail to every ship that sails
and live upon the sea
to flow from port to port
changing vessels with ease
as if he had no earthly root---
Which he didn't, perhaps,
to men in the acidic city, high
skyscrapers rising fierce---
But an umbilical chord ran
from his belly to that world
of modern convenience.
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[17 Nov 2005|06:49pm] |
Lazarus
He stays on his back for a while, just listening
as the sounds grow louder,
until each drop of rain is choral thunder;
though he fought to keep his eyes closed,
now he sees--perhaps through the lids
that no longer serve a purpose. He sees
white sky above him and black treads
on a tire still turning; the engine is on.
He has shoes on his feet, his clothes aren't torn,
but something is far too lost to revive
the binary essence of here or not here;
yet awake he is, and soon becomes naked,
shedding more than the rags he feels less
than the farthest of cosmic itches: a memory,
a habit, a silly sensation now irrelevant as
he grabs the last raindrop falling back up to God.
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[15 Nov 2005|07:26pm] |
Colorless cloud of aerosol
Crates of toilet paper
8 boxes of rubber gloves
to fish the seagreen pond
Saintly sweet dilapidator
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[15 Nov 2005|12:36pm] |
"Artists create their own moral universe."
-Bullets Over Broadway
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| SURVEY TIME |
[11 Oct 2005|01:52pm] |
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mood |
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 chipper |
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music |
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Dandy Warhols - Love is the New Feel Awful |
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Tell me your name and
1. I'll respond with something random I like about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal.
Note: I won't personally take offense if you don't.
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[30 Sep 2005|07:01pm] |
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music |
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Velvet Underground - The Murder Mystery |
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Canto I: How Freud Killed my Buffalo, or
The Short Short Story: A Question of Life, Death, and Technical Support--
Or simply,
( Whip It On, Jim -
By Furwick Oraldo )
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| Cocaine's a hell of a drug |
[17 Sep 2005|11:53pm] |
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mood |
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 high |
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music |
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Fatboy Slim - Fucking in Heaven |
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We caught this one wandering in one of the lower housing units; we killed it.
wolfcubKestra: I dont watch much tv. I'd rather be addicted to the net, its more interactive.
SRT Entron: a bit more provacative too don't you think? ;-) -shakes his tail feathers-
wolfcubKestra: it can be.
SRT Entron: is this provacative? -crushes a coconut with his buttcheeks-
wolfcubKestra: Listen, if your trying to show off and get me to want you by doing that, its not working
SRT Entron: : ( should I try some bigger fruits? watermelon perhaps? or are you a pumpkin kind of girl?
Don't ask.
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[03 Sep 2005|10:23pm] |
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music |
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a breakbeat I just made @167 bpms |
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Headache...argh
Well I am up to chapter 9 in lord of the rings, I'd like to read another chapter in it tonight, but after I make this quick update I'm going to read some more Villa Incognito. I convinced mom to watch The Royal Tenenbaums with me in about half an hour, and 28 days later is downloading so fast (86kbs) that I'll probably stay up and watch it (it's at 78% already). I had a cool conversation with Mark, Ian, and Cory (mostly just mark though) about existentialism, monism vs dualism, and insight meditation. I learned quite a bit so when I plow back into Being and Nothingness I might get even more out of it. I've enjoyed it so far. Now I'm going to get some damn exedrin.
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| Yesterday |
[02 Sep 2005|01:04pm] |
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mood |
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 amused |
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music |
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Luke Vibert - Funky Acid Stuff |
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God. That was pretty heavy. 90% amazing, 10% TERRIFYING. But it was cool, the head games and dark side of the trip made everything after it the best part.
For my own snapshot of the occasion...
( what went down: )
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[31 Aug 2005|03:01pm] |
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mood |
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writerly |
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music |
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Sarabande - Haendel |
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i sit and imagine myself first in a white corridor, then a long elegant hall with arched ceilings stretching far away from me. then the marble pillars and floor come into focus. tapestries and ornaments adorn this place, but it is the all too medical cleanliness of it that stands out. a man with a pink envelope stands 300 yards away, at the end of the hall. i press the intercom to my right, but instead of being able to speak to the man without shouting, a song begins to play, all washed out and lo-fi. it is ‘sarabande’ by haendel. the washed out beauty of it echoes throughout the acoustic dream-space.
warming up for some writing. i’ve been writing 30 minutes a day on a piece i’ve been calling ‘elmer’s story’. a very plain title, it will be changed ere i’m finished. it's about a man who, well...here's the first paragraph:
( bat-shit crazy )
i was hoping to go to the library and look for some Tom Robbins, but mom isn't feeling good enough, and i don't have a ride.
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