Tuesday, November 29, 2011

a "reality" escape

for Vera,

Step one: Drink one bottle of Saki.
Step two: Lay in bed.
Step three: Clear your mind.
Step four: Go to this link and press "Play All."


Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Atlantic Purgatory

Lady would you love me if I left her,
Laid, breathless in the sun?
My lady like a teacup on the counter,
Frail, pleasing everyone…

I have failed myself today and have relapsed into antiquities yet again. I didn’t eat well today, some what of an extension of my mind clouded by self-judgement. I think of all of them and the profound and non-profound effect that I have/had on their lives and the first place I go too, the first question I always consider is if my existence were to be eradicated today at this very moment, would I be remembered. Possibly for the first few weeks but after that I would only be a tablet that one could refer to, like the commandments, perceptively of course. A “what not to do” for that future special someone that has overwhelmed them in all the ways I could never. And the memories and experiences have reduced all interpretations of this so called love thing to nothing but a withered rose petal hung to dry and crushed by the wind. I don’t believe in love anymore. I can’t trust it anymore. I’ve been beaten down and cornered too many times and now all that is left is a dim logic of reality that perhaps is far too faded to recognize; worn out like an old watercolour painting that once had meaning and substance. So I guess I should move on to some other belief, some other certainty that at the very least, could give me a sense of guidance or a sense of purpose. A life of expression without love. I would live in a mad world where the absurd is the familiar. Where the dreams in which I’m dying are the best visions to be had. A daily race of accomplishment that leads to nowhere. A land where love does not exist. I’ll call it Purgatory. Yes, the island of Purgatory. Or perhaps a purgatory ocean. I mean, do fish have any realisation of their existence? Do they even question it? I highly doubt it. Their idea of life is purely based around procreation where they are born, they eat, they survive they procreate and then die and become worm food. Bleak but fuelled with purpose. Chuck Darwin would be so proud.

Oh god….I’m such an emotional bag of dirt. I’m like a child waiting for a happy day to arrive. A troubled child that waits for a day to feel good. You remember that notation of advice that your parents or perhaps a wise person once told you that you should go out and experience the world? Well I have and it’s turned me into an angry and bitter human being. And it gets worse as I age. I secretly find myself envy of other humans that discover love and mentally implore them to find tragedy. That’s horrible. I’m a horrible person. I even have an evil glare like a witch would have crouched over praying that the outcome is devastating. A present day Ursula if you will. “Come hither you little mermaids, you Bambi’s, you Snow Whites. I cast this spell of wickedness upon you and chuck you into the Atlantic Purgatory where you shall cease to find emotion and forever have the psyche equivalent to a fish meheheheheeeeh.”

“This program is brought to you by: IKEA…….Swedish, for garbage.”

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Anxiety - The Mood In Meaning


I sat in the chair for two hours today thinking about how physically alone I am. I sat and stared, and thought of nothing. Two hours. For those of you who have never tried it before, well, as the great Dr. Gonzo would say about his drug and alcohol induced, depraved and self indulgent lifestyle, “ I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me.” And now here I am writing about this odd journey of insignificance transmuting the empty non-firing neurons into something else that is perhaps worthless. Scribble. Journal. The filling of the blank page.

(Irony is an dish stacked full of foie gras served to starving migratory geese.)

Hey, that should be the title of my life achievement book (that I will never write.) But the paper back would have to be a foldout like the honorary section of a Playboy or Hustler magazine. The jacket itself will sell a million copies alone to the A, B and C-class of the morally corrupt who just might use it as another false sense of hedonism and perhaps a dampening to their upward spiraling conceptional spore, or giz. Or whatever you younglings call it today.

(“Mook” being my personal favorite.)

Okay fine. I won’t smear anymore nonsense into this entry for you (switching to vodka now.) How about a pinch of philosophy, eh? I…..believe philosophy is the fundamental study of humanities finite situation. Definition? It is a daily deconstruction of the human body, mind and belief and albeit, soul that will one day be the delight and culinary experience of the terrestrial worm. A being towards death, if you will. Now there are some in-betweens such as the idea of dogmatism and it’s various attempts to hold onto certainty, dialogue and ideology.

(Yeah, I love fairytales too.)

Then there is democracy or institution or domination, whatever you want to label it as, who’s soul blueprint and outcome is the rendering of the elite and the classification of social status and the accountability to the citizens or to the civilization in which they‘ve built to their liking.

(What ever happen to meaning?)

Meaning is a subject that is in constant negotiation for me. Or maybe it’s the search for the idea of non-meaning that is lacking, hence the two hour chair mind-meld session today. Perhaps the answer lies in the contingency of understanding the absolute of being.

(……….and love?)

……………………………….....................................................................................................................................................dark chocolate………………………………..copious amounts of dark chocolate.