Dear friends,
I Live.
I am alive in reality for the first time.
The world is profoundly unfamiliar, a real fresh.
Some people call this 'born again' and
I am.
Yours,
Truly.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Something I know is that the mystery is that we don't know what?
the time is a time that the Time is a Time, that
Something is happening is happening no.
Nay, na, lest discuss i cry.
the mind has a mind of a Mind of its own,
i'll be breath no so
words is Word in countless world.
With your eyes closed close your eyes no close
subtle Details sew,
in reality it's never beauty false shown from with me home.
Something is happening is happening no.
Nay, na, lest discuss i cry.
the mind has a mind of a Mind of its own,
i'll be breath no so
words is Word in countless world.
With your eyes closed close your eyes no close
subtle Details sew,
in reality it's never beauty false shown from with me home.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
A dream
Margot and I are in a house at the top of the hill, the one surrounded by sharp black gates, and on the corner. While we are in the washroom getting ready for a party, I notice a device on the upper wall by the heater, a recorder of sorts. I watch Margot staring at herself endlessly, doing nothing different than that. Hedley is waiting to drive us to the party, but it’s like we can never be ready enough... We’re now at the party. Her and I are walking with a group of people. It’s dark and we’re passing many different trees that should not live together like this. Nothing is familiar. I don’t know where we are. A man puts his arm around my waste, and I think it is weird... Now I’m in a pet store with Margot and the man. A red button-vested employee is carrying a little black rabbit. I ask her if I can hold it. She immediately extends the rabbit for me to take. I hold it for a long time, petting it, feeling like I can’t pet it enough... I can’t find Margot or the man. I am searching the store frantically. Rabbit is pressed up against my chest. I’m petting it and petting it even as I run. I’m scared. We’re supposed to be at the party. I suspect plans have changed again. Like that, I see her walk through the automatic doors. She is wearing something different from before. It’s a blue dress over jeans.... No one will take the rabbit. I keep trying to give it back. Both employees and customers are telling me that they can’t take rabbit because there are to many different cages and they forget which one he belongs to. Finally I set rabbit onto the linoleum floor, and it runs to the stores back wall. I’m worried. I run after rabbit. Rabbit went down a hole, and ran through a tunnel under the wall. There are smaller holes punched into the floor and I can see him passing through. I keep trying to grab rabbit, but my hand is too big. I give up on rabbit. I leave the pet store.... I’m searching for Margot’s car, but I can’t find it. I open a car door. The man is inside. He doesn’t notice me. He drives away seconds later with his car door still open. Finally I see the back of her car. I get in. I say to her “plans have changed haven’t they?” Her eyes glow dangerously. “We’re going to the cham dance now.” I say, “Fuck.” She laughs, telling me she knew that I would be mad. I feel annoyed that she doesn’t feel the same way.... We see the highway from the parking spot. There is a deep ditch on either side of the highway. We are supposed to go around to get on our way, but instead she pushes her foot to the pedal accelerating fast in an attempt to jump the ditch. We are high in the air. It feels real, this horror is actually happening. My body is really dropping, the same sensation as in a broken elevator. Turning my head to her I say, “I love you.” She says back, “I know”, or “I love you too,” I’m not sure which.... She is at ease, like nothing bad is happening. We land and the car crunches on all of its sides and we are still okay. Our faces are practically touching and what we are doing is staring at each other as we become more entrapped on each roll. Margot and I stop rolling, but continue to slide. The car is upside down. We know that the world is moving as usual. I finally see her face change. She says, “I don’t understand why this isn’t ending, when is it going to stop? I’m scared now. I think I’m really hurt too.”
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Don't Know no Witness Until Now.
The coffee maker sputters thick black slower than a dripping IV. The sink and tub drains are stubborn too. Toothpaste spit floats closely to my face or filthy water blankets my feet. All is displaced, grimy, intolerably maddening.
We stagger into the garage taking hold of vinegar. Our kitty pool (printed by kitty's and umbrellas) is overflowing with jug-like containers. We hoard these containers rudely and embarrassingly because desperation is this way. I once pushed a farming man from a bridge since he possessed what I wanted.
We unscrew the caps, give a whiff, make the face and douse ourselves in the solution. Rather than unclogging what surrounds us, we drench our bodies. It's like playing with the hose in the summertime. He keeps pouring it in my eyes and they are burning from my face. I note his glass cut hands and I decontaminate them. This isn't a game of dare, rather it is how we are who.
We laugh instead of admitting the acidulous agony. I am powerfully delirious. I have been living from vinegar, and I am accustomed to this sensation, but no one has ever engaged in this sort of behaviour with me.
"I was in a curious mood that night, weary yet restless, eager yet impotent to seize the object of my search, and full of haunting images that would not stay to be reproduced...I slowly became aware of a disturbing influence whose power invaded my isolation, and soon took shape in the uncomfortable conviction that someone was looking at me."
We stagger into the garage taking hold of vinegar. Our kitty pool (printed by kitty's and umbrellas) is overflowing with jug-like containers. We hoard these containers rudely and embarrassingly because desperation is this way. I once pushed a farming man from a bridge since he possessed what I wanted.
We unscrew the caps, give a whiff, make the face and douse ourselves in the solution. Rather than unclogging what surrounds us, we drench our bodies. It's like playing with the hose in the summertime. He keeps pouring it in my eyes and they are burning from my face. I note his glass cut hands and I decontaminate them. This isn't a game of dare, rather it is how we are who.
We laugh instead of admitting the acidulous agony. I am powerfully delirious. I have been living from vinegar, and I am accustomed to this sensation, but no one has ever engaged in this sort of behaviour with me.
"I was in a curious mood that night, weary yet restless, eager yet impotent to seize the object of my search, and full of haunting images that would not stay to be reproduced...I slowly became aware of a disturbing influence whose power invaded my isolation, and soon took shape in the uncomfortable conviction that someone was looking at me."
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Notes from God.
I bought a button today. Signed underneath its note was:
-God
I love the idea of God writing me notes and then signing his name.
Oh, I just got one...
(From God to Alissa)
Dearest Alissa, I love you so much that sometimes other people are actually alone because I am busy being with you.
Love from God
-God
I love the idea of God writing me notes and then signing his name.
Oh, I just got one...
(From God to Alissa)
Dearest Alissa, I love you so much that sometimes other people are actually alone because I am busy being with you.
Love from God
blink, BLANK.
BadGoodBadGoodBadGoodBadGood
is how I reconcile myself now. I am not either/or, but a strict combination.
Living in Bad/Good extremes has been both horrifying and necessary for me. Attraction and repulsion rattled around in my mind and body and the experience became what I describe as good art, limitless (at least in the mortals sense of limit). These extremes perpetuated the suffering, which continuously invoked that violent internal movement. Our Bad Good call seduced one another into little discretion, and forced us to question if this sort of strength in our oneness was just too much.
In retrospect, I know I was cursed with a spell. You know who did it, don't you? Who cast the good/bad spell I mean? It was that witch, the one who hides on the insides of wine bottles in place of the message. The witch stole my message haven and after, well just ask him how many different people he met that summer inside my one body.
is how I reconcile myself now. I am not either/or, but a strict combination.
Living in Bad/Good extremes has been both horrifying and necessary for me. Attraction and repulsion rattled around in my mind and body and the experience became what I describe as good art, limitless (at least in the mortals sense of limit). These extremes perpetuated the suffering, which continuously invoked that violent internal movement. Our Bad Good call seduced one another into little discretion, and forced us to question if this sort of strength in our oneness was just too much.
In retrospect, I know I was cursed with a spell. You know who did it, don't you? Who cast the good/bad spell I mean? It was that witch, the one who hides on the insides of wine bottles in place of the message. The witch stole my message haven and after, well just ask him how many different people he met that summer inside my one body.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Danger is at the Top
My best friend Margot claims that it is both scary and hard to be as Good as she is. She tells me that being so Good comes with a price. The price is the agonizing fear that she will slip from her superiority because from her view, the only direction that she can go now is downward. Perfection is a hard thing.
Do we actually want our world to be perfect? That would produce two alternatives: remaining forever the same, or worsening. Presumably no one wants the latter; but the former to leaves a lot to be desired. There is the problem of unrelenting boredom, which makes perfection itself look suspiciously like worsening. At the least, as Lovejoy observes "It is not obvious that remaining forever unchanged should be regarded as excellence." Perhaps the best possible world then is one where there is "a force always at work to make the best better and the worst good."
Climb down a little, Margot. Give yourself, at least, the illusion that you have something more to attain, and perhaps you will feel less fearful of the downfall.
Do we actually want our world to be perfect? That would produce two alternatives: remaining forever the same, or worsening. Presumably no one wants the latter; but the former to leaves a lot to be desired. There is the problem of unrelenting boredom, which makes perfection itself look suspiciously like worsening. At the least, as Lovejoy observes "It is not obvious that remaining forever unchanged should be regarded as excellence." Perhaps the best possible world then is one where there is "a force always at work to make the best better and the worst good."
Climb down a little, Margot. Give yourself, at least, the illusion that you have something more to attain, and perhaps you will feel less fearful of the downfall.
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