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this one is for you, cara

Jul. 30th, 2010 | 09:56 pm

I was committed to the St.Gordian County Emergency Psychiatric Ward. They roused me from my drug induced sleep and groggily I was walked to the elevator, out the lobby, and onto a short white bus. I was the only person on it besides a marshall and the bus driver. The bus smelled peculiar, like urine and sweat. The Marshall lazily held onto his shotgun, it resting between his crossed arm. The controlled madness of the bus driver’s hair loomed from over the top of his seat, a great black matted twisting mess. Spire of hair seemed to jut out in almost geologic fashions. The pain of my failure was all too real, my whole right arm was in a constant dull pain and completely bandaged. I had movement from my wrist down - which I used to scratch myself. The god in me had retreated slightly. I remember the bright gasps of disappointment. I had to get free, I knew that much. They can keep a man contained but they can’t keep him from killing himself. I had seen all those ingenious little things on the television. Shiv’s made of toothbrushes, nooses out of a blanket. Ropes and cigarette lighters, and tattoo guns all made of things scavenged together from the fringes of the tiny world of prison. I wasn’t really going to prison anyways. It was like a prison though, or at least what I thought prison was like. After the first two weeks of isolation when I only talked to a psychiatrist they let me out into the common room.

When I would sleep the dreams would come like waves of pleasure. Stark dangerous things that would come over me in the bare moments of my dreams. I could feel the golden light stir beneath my skin and I could see the visions of beauty - of creation. I could see the bare empty cosmos that exploded with light, the roar of reality of existence that expanded forth from me like a woman pregnant with possibility. I could sense the rules being set like path stones in the garden I never had. The way that my children would be created from little more than mud and earth. The spark of life that I would breathe into them. My faceless head, my eyeless lids. The bare feeling of matter beneath the hands that could bend existence - the existence that was my own body into its will. I would shape a universe within myself. I would shape reality with my own existence. The dreams were unrelenting. I would awake cold and naked under the thing woolen blanket. The white walls bare, my clothes stacked. I could feel this god pushing against my chest, my back, my eyes like a newborn. I wanted to let it out. I wanted to go free.

It would be six weeks until they let me out of that place. Six weeks before they admitted to me that they could no longer afford to house and feed and clothe me. So after one of a hundred hearings. I was driven to a home, and pushed out of a van onto a crowded urban street. A hundred leering eyes waited for me there. It was a five mile walk across the city back to my apartment. It had been possessed and my things had been given to charity. No notice had been given to my landlord. In the end I was left with nothing but my own wallet, a frozen line of credit, and my tennis shoes.

I had to escape my body. That night I slept below an underpass, tucked into the warm spot between the edge of the bridge and the the slope down to the street. I curled up among the garbage and filth. I had nothing but the god in me.

The god gave me dreams, it gave me wondrous dreams. I dreamt of the infinite worlds that pushed against the boundaries of reality - the infinite beings that occupied my reality. I dreamt of a billion billion stars being born. I dreamt of the beauty of each solar death. The white heat of a neutron as it flared like a beacon into the emptiness of reality. I dreamt of each of my six wings. Thin and spindly and golden that would push through my flesh like a razor through paper as I was reborn. I dreamt of the way that I would ascend into a reality that I would create. I dreamt of the light and the heat.

When I awoke I kept walking.

I avoided the heat, and smell of the highway - walking towards the sun. I was thirsty and tired, but it didn’t bother me. I needed absolution more than that. While my death would never be as dignified as I intended it would not be like an animal. I did not want to throw myself in front of a car or wait like a monk as my body withered. I needed my exit from this world. I needed to peel back my life and expose to myself the reality of my existence. The way my body was just a vessel; and so I walked.

The city gave way to the country. I slept in a ditch alongside a country road. My body was exhausted. The dreams were stronger than ever.

I witnessed the timeline of my reality - trillions of years of existence distilled into a moment. The way in which my body, this universe finally heaved. The ways in which it caved. The infinite light of reality expanding into nothing. I witnessed the heat-death of my universe. I witnessed my body decaying into something which I could not fathom. I felt my body fall into the threads of a reality that was neither kind nor forgiving. My body would decay as only a universe could. It would collapse as only a universe could. I awoke crying. I felt the sparse tears of my body cutting through the filth on my face. I heaved silently in the ditch beside the road. The gasps of my cries went unheard in the dawn. As the sun rose I walked into a grove of trees. It was an orchard. The trees were neatly aligned. The rows formed patter out of chaos with every occasional step - from nonsense into order, from order into chaos again. I walked slowly into this grove. It was here, I felt it, It was here that I would finally leave this place. It was here that I would end this existence to begin anew.


It's almost done. The first half is on my other blog at Tuktukfight.tumblr.com

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May. 29th, 2007 | 10:48 pm


switching to linux, bbl.

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That bitter taste

May. 28th, 2007 | 11:16 pm

Reading over this godforsaken shitstain of a site leaves a bitter taste in my mouth as I remember that my world is so much happier when I remain in blissful ignorance.

No one is to blame. stop trying - it'll make your head hurt and you'll get suspicious and start the name game. stop it.

I made a chocolate bourbon cake, perhaps not the best, but passable. Hopefully delicious. I'm leaving it with Jenna because I'm utilitarian and joyous. oh me oh my -

so tired so tired.

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Jesus chrysler drives a dodge (II?)

May. 27th, 2007 | 06:54 pm

Oh my oh my.

The machine death curtails into sound and fury. Like a pheonix my machine is rebuilt from the ashes. I'm sad, but not for any practical reason.

My lady, is quite disrupted, and I can hear it in her voice. I would love to help but I'm very much content remaining in a happy place. I want to help but I have no hands - and I cannot.

so instead I do my best to enjoy myself. I do my best to put my head in a good place. (I just replaced two albums, and got a new one).

Hoo boy.

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May. 20th, 2007 | 10:43 pm
music: Violent Femmes - Add It Up

Heh - It's been a while and LJ is still throwing that old, INCLUDE NUMEROS IN YOUR PASSWORD, error.

I get the gut feeling that this will be so much less interesting than I ever imagined it being - but I suppose I write - not to actually be interesting but rather to empty my head.

Right now I'm at a strange crossroad - I feel totally goddamn skullfucked, like my head is retreating into itself and I don't want to sleep because I have a feeling that it wont help. I also have a mildly intense paranoia. That's a-okay - I might go downstairs for a swig of whisky - Makers mark always seems to hit the spot, but that might be my inner alcoholic talking. Jenna always said I have an addictive personality - I'm inclined to say she's right but I'm also inclined to say It's not like I'm slamming shots in a dive somewhere. I've finished my work and I'm staring at the chair that I tumped over in my fit trying to get my head to stay where it was - It's not like I ingested anything even remotely hallucinogenic or even mood altering. I just want my goddamn head to stop playing ping pong with my perception so I can settle down and maybe get some work done.

At least I have the Violent Femmes,

They always make me smile and think back to more inappropriate times.

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Mar. 2nd, 2007 | 10:41 pm
music: Ratatat - Kennedy

I be havin' atcha.

with a bat, no less.

thank god none of you read this, elsewise I'd have to find new modes to air the comparatively mundane ideas that I found to fill my time.

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Feb. 24th, 2007 | 06:14 pm
music: The Blood Brothers - Laser Life



Man, I love this song. So. How's it been. Been keeping clean internet? Silly question, I know - I just thought I'd be friendly. Anyway.

Current status:

Now in three flavors including:

Hickory smoked horse asshole

Thai spiced Curry



Anyways. I've spent far too much time hitting enter instead of writing anything down, so here goes. Most of my chronicling has been shunted off into my journal. Labeled 01, it contains my day to day agenda with accompanying annotation and outlooks on life by me. Wonderful, isn't it? I plan on making it a serious repository, something I will try to keep with me anywhere my bag goes.

Today was a debate tournament. Fun, hardly, but I don't think I completely sucked. At least I think I sucked less than I did the last time I competed. So less like a hoover and more like a dirt devil. I find solace in shooting people over the internet and finding new ways to iterate basically simple concepts into increasingly elaborate turns of phrase. I want to expand them metaphorically with traffic circles that lead into traffic circles which lead into a loop-de-loop over the edge of a RIVER OF FIRE into the mouth of a hooker and out her asshole into a half full enema bag.

yeah, I felt like being explicit.

Life is good, best keep it that way or I'll be havin' atcha with a bat.

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Self Explanatory.

Feb. 15th, 2007 | 05:27 pm

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Kraggar let loose a butt blast the blew down the boundaries between reality and surreality.

Jan. 15th, 2007 | 08:12 pm
music: The Third Programme - Imaginary

Jenna and I went to DC today and had ourselves a grand ol' time. Two suburb kids rockin' the big city. Never before have I had this much fun. When we got home I had to take pictures for Rhonda, so I set up a studio of sorts and we took shots of the things she wished to sell on the Ebay. She just got back from Bali so she had some in-fucking-credible shadow puppets, scarves, and sculptures and what not. It was really fun to shoot. As a bonus we took some other pics.

Blew my christmas gift on a pair of pants, a western shirt, two long sleeve tee's and a hat which I like a whole bunch. We also stopped by the Warehouse record store in Georgetown and I got the "The Third Programme" EP which is fine and dandy music as well as the wondrous and magical Brazillian girls "La Bomba"

The Thirde Programme isn't particularly memorable, but it's fine music. They haven't yet shattered my brain cells yet but I'm waiting. They seem promising enough. Plus they have a tambourine player! The Brazillian Girls "La Bomba" is fun, however not as sharp as what else I've heard of them. Perhaps I just need time.

it should also be noted I just dumped my digicam so I'll be posting some pics of Halloween on Facebook. Look out kiddies, it's gonna get violent.

Anyways, until the next time I care to post!

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Jan. 13th, 2007 | 11:58 pm
music: Motion City Soundtrack - Together Well Ring in the New Year

Free self help is proving to be fucking useless.

Why do I feel like I'm the only one not excited by the next phase of schooling.

To a greater or lesser extent I feel as if I don't do it I'll end up somewhere in life where I don't want to be, while if I do I'll be doing not only more work - it will be more work towards something I don't want to do. I don't get it. What's the trick?


and the College talk. It drives me insane. I feel as if I'm separate because I can't find those colleges I best identify with. Personally I don't trust campus literature. I never trust any sort of self aggrandizing literature. It feels too much like putting trust in other people's hands, specifically very costly hands who I will inevitably be stuck with for a period of time. The whole idea fails to elicit coo's of delight from me. In fact it more readily emits sighs of wariness and sideways looks.

Yes, I know the benefits, I just don't understand the emotions that everyone else has. The excitement seems to much for me. It's like oh look, I get an extra so many miles between my friends and I, just like before. What's not to love? Somehow the excitement and adventure aspect aren't really appealing to me.

tangent cosine and also sine.

It feels like I'm slipping between two states of being. One includes an ironing board. keen, ain't it?

Trying to recollect the previous days is difficult, and I can see why people keep ridiculously accurate journals. I read on boingboing about a man who would write his every action every 5 minutes for an obscene number of years. He kept all the transcripts. After his death his family released them to the semi-public domain. It was amazing. He would even include the time he spent writing down the actions he was doing and how much time he spent doing those actions. Somehow I find it admirable. I want to get a moleskin, and start subscribing to the cult of GTD, and doing that whole simple clean - make life - improve existence thing.

Jenna and I went to Rhonda's tonight. She just got back from Bali and endowed us with gifts from the second world.
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