"film proves helpful in constant search for direction."

one of those days
that takes you under, some may say but i say
"on the contrary, my hens."

i need days like these, and you do too.
rain, darkness,
every metaphorical negative to every shining positive that exists must be in place

i see a film
covering my eyes
it isn't fatigue
nor pain
surely cannot mean misunderstanding

simply a portal

unicorns needed them and i do too
don't you?
this wide expanse of mind body soul conglomeration that spans mine yours and her existence.
it's blanketed. yeah. i know. jason schwartzman already gave you all that idea.
but did you feel it? did you understand with the tightening in your chest? the quickening of breath, the 'look around to see if i am the only one?' huckabees is right about what is wrong?
we are allowed to feel numb.
we must, to process clear thought.
clear thought is one thing.
truth is another.

clear thought helps me to write things in a small white box with orange and blue buttons to tell you how to make a sandwich with three ingredients and two small tools.
truth is never lucid. it only feels that way.
appearance is nothing, and the day that i fully understand why will be the day my feel truly leave the surface of the Earth.
i am still in waiting.
i will remain there for some time.
i believe it's the physical alignment of my detination's path that will finally lead to levitation.
though i know what it will feel like now.
i couldn't be more anticipatory.

the corner pieces were all put in place, and the border, and every fucking missing piece that i failed to see disappear fell into place when she (you) didn't have to knock to gain entry.
it's as simple as that. puzzle == long finished.
it's what the puzzle looks like that won't be revealed until my body is light enough to lift off [without force > G].
this lens on my eye. especially my left. reminds me.
that out is not the only direction the eyes are meant to peer.

----------------------------------------------------------------------







i overheard a conversation of my colleagues today.
they were speaking about money.
and it made me vomit into my neighbor's sweatshirt hood.
i apologized immediately. how could i have done that to somebody?
disgusting! i mean, it's just money, right?
and didn't i tell you?
gravitational physics makes the world go round.
so what is the big fucking deal?
when my words equal my fire, i'll poke it in white-hot fury and spell the answer to you in sparks on my skin.
then you'll really understand why i could have possibly done that to my poor, unsuspecting neighbor.


back to ritualistic occupation of this idea of time we've smashed into our psyches.

from ohio

what is the url:// to your blog again?

all i know about ohio:
one should not drive to cincinnatti, oh from ithaca, ny in early april.
dennis kucinich.
toni morrison.
neil armstrong.
buckeyes.
symmetry.

i heard you the first time

maybe the night doesn't decide my day
maybe the day should show itself independent of the stars that preceeded.

i've been asked to speak about windows.
i am in a cubicle now. with windows. on the cubicle. which only display to me
more cubicles.
i understand the notion of false walls for space and economics
but surely i cannot condone the use of glass for it's misuse.
viewing is a priveledge reserved for trees sunshine clouds and birds.
maybe i have no ideas to counter their reason
but i'd like to think i do.

fuck it. who drew these lines with a ruler, anyhow? when i think about my day-
pure predetermination. how much of my day has nothing to say.
because it's planned. it's written in black dripping ink that soaked pages too long ago to wipe clean. right? we'll continue the right angles, the straight lines, the grey/tan/coffee stained walls by habit, no?
chaos would ensue if we had space to run. many would have forgotten by now that their legs are what carry them through their day. maybe mechanism is genius, but methodical uses of it piss me off daily.

refrain. do not take these words with gin, i don't look before i speak.
i may even be one who criticizes everything i can touch with my middle finger.
i may be bullshitting. calling a bluff. i just want a rise. i want something to spark my truth.
i generally think that my attacks are valid, though.
but how am i an authority? why do i feel that my opinions reign? we all do, do we not?
but fuck your opinions. you haven't believed a word of them, you just prefer your voice aloud to those echoing in your head. write it down. read it. aloud. read it aloud again. if it does not produce satan in your eyes and Fu Manchu on your lips, try again. you're dispassionate. you don't feel it. says i who may not turn my nose at sulfuric acid.
all i ask for is participation. in thought. belief. life. negative positive interaction pain love strength weakness and truth. just think about something. and tell me about it. and sit back and wait for my response.

i know what you are thinking now. you know today is an off day.
you know that today is a day where words exist only above the clouds.
and you know that i am afraid of flying [this can only mean one thing].


i apologize. but sometimes i like to force the dictionary to form phrases.

if you slow your eyes down
if you just stop to look
you can see the fluidity of everything
matter
space
time
love
i feel a white fog around my head, draping my eyes in mist so that i see purely.
so purely.
but not so clear that i can make out what the purity is.
you see, sometimes i feel what i know before i see it.
do you know that feeling?
i want you to take my voice like delilah right now, on cool 99.9, ever so soft and singingly,
not the raucous busting voice of somebody with conviction of opinion that may be slightly unfounded, as you may have been speaking to yourself as me
push down the levers and pull the red handle, they told me.
that's how you'll count as person #124,333,432. here's your sticker.
did you know what you wanted for yourself? or your children? or was that sticker too slick to pass up?
i wonder if i could run for office. i would have one agenda. i'm sure you can guess it and it's not your first notion. you'd have to read back a little. maybe to april 2006. take the hot out and inject stability, and your answer will appear.
symmetry is baffling. baffling. why cannot a classroom of ten year olds have desks that are not in straight rows? why cannot the kids just ... move the desks where they can see best? where they feel empowered, connected, and comfortable (though they would name this 'where my friends are'). one thing i love about children is that they utilize their energy in every step they take. they express themselves. they lay it all out there, radiating with last night's forgotten anger and today's overwhelming love. sometimes, they'll talk so fast, they'll begin to break a sweat. i love it. they'll talk so fast because all of those words and pictures and ideas and questions flying around their head are running full on into the side of their brain, asking to get out. and they are children. so they listen. we. we do not. we feel it. but not with magnitude. because we've spent so many hardworking years building up the white mattress to pad it. the mattress of fucking bullshit context and fear. once again. always back to fear.
i cannot type lately with the same speed and unthinkingness that i have always been able to. i am conscious of my fingers right now, something i've never had while writing, and it makes me wonder if they are not ready to let what they have stored for me out. not done analyzing. processing. looking for more evidence, one moment of empirical truth that can be embodied by the english language. goddamn english language. it's funny how angry it makes me. because, well, true anger cannot come from something that cannot place blame. that cannot be fixed. so i'll laugh. and just pretend that the asshole who invented a language with absolutely no logic involved had his feet chopped off by a train.
when you're on a subway, and you're moving in a straight line. why do you rock back and forth? the wheels have to compensate for the turning of the tracks, so each wheel has a short side and a long side. while travelling straight, the wheels essentially rock back and forth.
what do you think about radicalism? does it exist? or is it just the word that describes anything that is apathetic? i don't believe in radicalism. i believe in beliefs.
maybe someday in this space i'll let you know all of them. i'll rant and rave until my water is used and i'm ready for a beer. but when i do, don't touch the screen. and please, lord in heaven, do not believe a word that i write.