Who, what, when, and what significance?
If I were a term, appearing in some test format, how would I be approached?
Hated, scorned? Unappealing? Irrelevant? Boring? Useful? Important?
O sancta simplicitas! In what strange simplification and falsification man lives!
...and for the first time the word "world" was a reproach.
And so the life ends, without any meaning, without substance. Headaches can be epiphanies, you know.Take my advice: manifest yourself in what you do.
Chiririsitmas is cuming the goose is getting fat, please fuck the lady in the old straw hat.
So many metaphysical feelings, so much raw emotion driven into your head with a hammer. The cord wraps around so mightily and slenderly up your neck and up to the ceiling; why do this? Why let the floorboards hang beneath you, space extending between you? Rings bind fingers. But what else to contain them? My epistemology is not simple, nor is it blind to your understanding. Nude eels strafe the passageways to my mind. My fingertips are frozen by these seemingly liquid nitrogenic undertones that spew from your mouth. So sanguine are you, that even you know predicament. You can see it in my eyes. You can hear it in my voice. You know me. Don't mess up, don't turn the tables on yourself. Don't let the looking-glass shatter in your gaze.
Homeostasis only achieved when x=3cRM.
Caesar had a son.
Caligula had a vice.
Charlemagne had an empire.
Constantine had a city.
FIVE FUCKIN THIRTY.
Oi'm a fish?
Woi oi'd loike sum'dat scone.
I'm a fuckin creep.
I'm gonna rip a head off a doll.
I'm gonna stare wide-eyed into space.
I'm not gonna hurt ya-
Grandmother, what large veins you have!
The better to relax with!
I'm gonna bash your fucking brains in.
I'm gonna grab the glass and smash it over the counter.
I'm gonna tick tock tick tick tick tock.
I'm gonna blare, stare, glare, dare.
I'm gonna picture this, that, over there, yonder.
You yeomen will suffer wrath.
You steel-men will economically have nothing.
Slaves slaves fucked up the staves, poles.
Blues for your porch? Yes, thank you- wait- can I get whipped cream on that?
Shiny rich stuff, shiny metal gleams in your eyes.
Rings on fingers have nothing to do with your life.
Looking at others while not looking at myself.
Looking at speech flying through the air, by myself by myself.
Mountains of piano keys can't move themselves.
Foot tapping, impatiently, on the mother fucking tile.
Go into the West from Ohio, wearing a pin-striped suit, waking from no dream, but from life.
My head is so meddled with the effects of former Idealism I cannot discern between my life and theirs sometimes.
My mind don't work too good.
So much to think about and only humanity to please. I'm all rusty- maybe I need a new paint job. I wish I was crazy sometimes.
I need to stand out. If I can't have any other shitty reimbursement for being born, please let it just be that. Revenge for what? Bein' born. Take my mothafuckin twelve string and shoot you with its methodical melody. Lookin' for the New World: well fuck Cortes. What defines a good life? What constitutes a meaningful existence? They can only provide so much insight to my own life. Your input is so invariably and irrationally necessary for me. The need for others is such a burden sometimes. Solipsism could be my reality, if only I was something else. I need to travel to get myself out of this mentality. But if that fails, what then? What then when my mind becomes so enveloped in reality that I lose all sense and hope of rationality? Only certain chords can be dramatically uplifting. Something needs to happen. A murder, a slaughter, a killing, a saving, and a birth, constituted by my brains turning to sludge, so slow in thought, caught up in a sloth's renaissance. I'll just go down by the river and shoot it up. I'll just go to the South-land and kick it with my main man. I'll just look at life through a magnifying glass, spectacles speckled with stars and plasmatic gas. My whole existence is esoteric if you don't have the rationality to yell and scream, run-through yourself with a broom and drown yourself in detergent. Is that a hole in your head? No, my apologies; I mistook your mind for a hole in the ground. I mistook my legs for roots and tentacles. I mistook your eyes for a thermostat. You understand that, right? You understand your hate for my intentions, yes? I'll shoot you. I will shoot up. Together on this ground, on this cliff, we will rid the world of conventionality by ridding these people of their traditions. I am separated from this. I have eyes that notice details so easily passed over by the populous. Bulbous is my mind. Green is blue, red is orange, yellow is silver, gold is black. Tears are relative to your own situation. I'm not wired like you. I'm not made like you. I'm not you. I'm nothing of that sort. I'm apart. My feet tread so softly on the border of reality.
I have lost my mind within itself. I'm in my own little world, full of complexities rarely explained by even the brightest of minds. A flash of light, a speck of dust catches my attention and, however small it may be, my eyes fasten themselves close to this special eccentricity. A chill flows through my legs and up to my head through the spinal column. This column stands fast, like Grecian architecture; however, even it is subject to this humble existence and finds complexity in the strangest things. My mind doesn't work normally: it isn't like yours. I see things none have dared seen. I've envisioned what you will call unfathomable. I don't need substance to be different- to think outside of the box; all I need to do is look out at the stars, realize my hopes and fears, grip the steering wheel and close my eyes. How comfort eludes me! I have this feeling of doing something for the world, making something of this pitiful people which I call my kin. To teach them is to train them, to change them, to transform and mold them. This is true. In this I find solace. But my mind feels something else, so evasive and perilous. My mind wanders instead of sleeps, my thoughts have such a tendency to slight my body for rest. Insomnia is a trait I inherit from such a degenerative nature. I will for things to occur, and yet they do not occur. My eyes look past the screen, look past the sky, look past you whilst you stare at me in objection to my apparent ignorance. Always something deeper seems to reach me. I want to be content.
I' m anImmigrantan imi
grant
'as;fjkI'm an immigrant.s
I see
things and hear
you in the reeds. My receptive qualities and
senses help to conform my mind to the
world of the empirical.
I lack it and look beneath the surface. My hands stumble under the waves to grasp something below the blanket of reality.
y tu, como la infeccion, como el pelo tanto negro con la sofa sucia, te odio con muchas I hate you muchachas en el televisor banks and money victoria victor torres amnesty admision 8 has a lot of tiempo y salgados 3 un virus altamente contagioso de los filoviridae de la familia que causa fiebre hemorrágica, señal de socorro gastrointestinal, y a menudo muerte. [después del río de Ebola, Zaire, cerca de el cual el brote del virus ocurrió en 1976 pero paranoia and violented behavoiral problems occur and possibly the death that from overdosage. Disruption of normal sleeps; danger- double the vision on you, possibly death, ulcers. Brain, heart, lung, and repro. damage. Ulceration nostrils. Damage heart lungs. Death. Brain, psychological unresting en sus ojos and your mouth.
I am angry I am depressed I am sick I am nauseous I am ready I am tired I am exhausted I am green I am yellow I am purple I am blue I am frantic I am free I am stuck I am here I am set in my ways I am disgusting I am lazy I am joyful I am wary I am boring I am peculiar I am ambiguous I am eccentric I am labourous I am colorful I am vain I am stingy I am aware.
I am not myself.
And yet-
I have a watch that stays on 5 o'clock all the time.
The stars smile upon us, spreading over a Novocaine so sweet it ceases to be a drug and continues to be a life-giving essence: a metaphysical serving of love.
You call them Pilgrims, I call them Separatists.
My ears crackle, my knee stiffens, arms spasm and eyes blink so in tune with today's motion and intrinsic blur.
Sadness Joy
asdness ojy.
I look at the time, but it stays still. I look out the window only to confront blackness with an iron shield. Water does not sustain me. My eyes are weary with seasons long past. My mind wanders. These pages I sift through are only permanent, yet they hold a message so immortal I cannot stand but to delve deeper into their quarry. So here I am, in the turning of the times, the changing of the age, in the midst of a struggle so known by many and by the world. My breath is stifled and yet I trudge onwards. I look through the annals of history for an answer, I look the stars for solace for my hysteria. And yet, I find it so much closer to my person. How I long for comfort.
-66-
All steams flow to the sea
because it is lower than they are.
Humility gives it its power.
-70-
If you want to know me,
look inside your heart.
-
Who, then, can prove that I am the proper person to impose, by my own choice, my conception of man upon mankind? I shall never find any proof whatever; there will be no sign to convince me of it. If a voice speaks to me, it is still I myself who must decide whether the voice is or is not that of an angel. If I regard a certain course of action as good, it is only I who choose to say that it is good and not bad. There is nothing to show that I am Abraham: nevertheless I also am obliged at every instant to perform actions which are examples. Everything happens to every man as though the whole human race had its eyes fixed upon what he is doing and regulated its conduct accordingly. So every man ought to say, "Am I really a man who has the right to act in such a manner that humanity regulates itself by what I do." If a man does not say that, he is dissembling his anguish.
-
You look at this and think me weak.
I look at this and see myself as in need-
Clovis people?
From France and Spain?
Siberian?
Across the Atlantic and Pacific?
It seems
that there is more than
Self-proclaimed existentialist and critical thinker. Cats and foggy weather, a coffee master.
"I am that gadfly which God has attached to the state, and all day long and in all places am always fastening upon you, arousing and persuading and reproaching you."
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