| craft of love |
[25 May 2009|08:47pm] |
What the Moon Brings
I hate the moon-
I am afraid of it- for when it shines on certain scenes familiar and loved it sometimes makes them unfamiliar and hideous.
It was in the spectral summer when the moon shone down on the old garden where I wandered; the spectral summer of narcotic flowers and humid seas of foliage that bring wild and many-coloured dreams. And as I walked by the shallow crystal stream I saw unwonted ripples tipped with yellow light, as if those placid waters were drawn on in resistless currents to strange oceans that are not in the world. Silent and sparkling, bright and baleful, those moon-cursed waters hurried I knew not whither; whilst from the embowered banks white lotos-blossoms fluttered one by one in the opiate night-wind and dropped despairingly into the stream, swirling away horribly under the arched, carven bridge, and staring back with the sinister resignation of calm, dead faces.
And as I ran along the shore, crushing sleeping flowers with heedless feet and maddened ever by the fear of unknown things and the lure of the dead faces, I saw that the garden had no end under that moon; for where by day the walls were, there stretched now only new vistas of trees and paths, flowers and shrubs, stone idols and pagodas, and bendings of the yellow-litten stream past grassy banks and under grotesque bridges of marble. And the lips of the dead lotos-faces whispered sadly, and bade me follow, nor did I cease my steps till the stream became a river, and joined amidst marshes of swaying reeds and beaches of gleaming sand the shore of a vast and nameless sea.
Upon that sea the hateful moon shone, and over its unvocal waves weird perfumes breeded. And as I saw therein the lotos-faces vanish, I longed for nets that I might capture them and learn from them the secrets which the moon had brought upon the night. But when that moon went over to the west and the still tide ebbed from the sullen shore, I saw in that light old spires that the waves almost uncovered, and white columns gay with festoons of green seaweed. And knowing that to this sunken place all the dead had come, I trembled and did not wish again to speak with the lotos-faces.
Yet when I saw afar out in the sea a black condor descend from the sky to seek rest on a vast reef, I would fain have questioned him, and asked him of those whom I had known when they were alive. This I would have asked him had he not been so far away, but he was very far, and could not be seen at all when he drew nigh that gigantic reef.
So I watched the tide go out under that sinking moon, and saw gleaming the spires, the towers, and the roofs of that dead, dripping city. And as I watched, my nostrils tried to close against the perfume-conquering stench of the world's dead; for truly, in this unplaced and forgotten spot had all the flesh of the churchyards gathered for puffy sea-worms to gnaw and glut upon.
Over these horrors the evil moon now hung very low, but the puffy worms of the sea need no moon to feed by. And as I watched the ripples that told of the writhing of worms beneath, I felt a new chill from afar out whither the condor had flown, as if my flesh had caught a horror before my eyes had seen it.
Nor had my flesh trembled without cause, for when I raised my eyes I saw that the waters had ebbed very low, showing much of the vast reef whose rim I had seen before. And when I saw that the reef was but the black basalt crown of a shocking eikon whose monstrous forehead now shown in the dim moonlight and whose vile hooves must paw the hellish ooze miles below, I shrieked and shrieked lest the hidden face rise above the waters, and lest the hidden eyes look at me after the slinking away of that leering and treacherous yellow moon.
And to escape this relentless thing I plunged gladly and unhesitantly into the stinking shallows where amidst weedy walls and sunken streets fat sea-worms feast upon the world's dead.
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| FINITO |
[09 May 2009|04:42pm] |
I HAVE FINISHED MY FIRST NOVEL.
I FEEL SO RELIEVED AND COMPLETE NOW.
SO MUCH SO I SHOULD WRITE IN CAPS.
it's called chirping at night
and i designed the cover and everything my father is editing it for me, if you'd like a copy which i'm sure you would just promise me a buck fiddy (which is actually going to be less than printing costs but fuck it). it should be on the streets within the month.
drug free is the way to be.................
i am also starting up a new band with my friend bacchus, i am gonna play bass and the 12 string. and i'm also getting my saxomophone back. we're gonna be righteously awesome we're writing music to the play prometheus and bob right now and then we're gonna go put on the play at the local hip college here, kasey is going to act and we're going to do a live soundtrack. life is beautiful.
everyone read a philip dick book right now. then listen to a shuggie otis album.
please....
i feel like a slice of lemon with sugar all over. went back to raleigh and the streets felt like a junkies dead veins with scars everywhere i look. i never want to be abck in that city.
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| ahhhooooga |
[27 Mar 2009|06:17pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 accomplished |
] |
| [ |
music |
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kasey's loud ass fucking typing |
] |
long time no write...... arthur clarke the co-creator of 2001 the space odyssey has become a star child himself. i guess we will never know the secrets now.
me and kasey are moving to asheville. we're getting this apartment right in the middle o0f downtown. the view is righteously ab fab. we can see all of downtownand miles of mountain ranges. the search for the grail continues!
i also got a job at the local head shop there. could i ask for anything more.....YES, such as getting paid under the table(c'mon you guys know we're never seeing that soc sec money) free concert and festival tickets and boarding to tun the booth, and also i can sell anything of my creation out of the store and get a good profit. now i can ask for nothing more.maybe a monkey, but for now i can do without.
well i'm still writing the greatest novel of this millenia. i've just been retyping the old words though. i've never been a perfectionist at anything maybe i found my calling. i also have about one hundred pages of notes on my new sci fi book "Cricket in Snowglobe Reality" it's a juicy one full of peril and mind bending adventure.
other than that everything is still the same. good tidings to all!!!
has anyone else heard the bjm song on that commercial....."i got my eyes on YOU"...maybe it's the warlocks i unno
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| get it while you can, don't turn your back on love nonononono |
[23 Aug 2008|02:51am] |
that gypsy did get me tipsy
but i promise her brown heart will soon
roll away
and i'll be left with no one but myself to blame
gut the slut
i love youuuuuuuuuuuu
your moon my moon
it's all up there
all written before we were born
but i'm a liar
"i'm riding on my red chariot,you can make a fool out of me"
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| casey jones better watch yo' speed |
[16 Aug 2008|04:07am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 content |
] |
| [ |
music |
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hank williams - howlin at the moon |
] |
love is me
love is you
love is brother love is sister
love is a huddle cuddle
with a bundle of nasties
in skirts and overalls
drooped over each other
like folded laundry
free love is just another chauvinist trick
for guys to stick their dicks in girls
don't fall for it juust on it
freak out of your make up
and kasey is on my run
she's getting too currious
and that's never fun
slap me and i'll slap you
just promise to treat me like a whore
mormon piece of shit stride off with
your pastey white dicks
and methodist tricks and politician twig boys
messing with your penthouse ridden mind
swearing off salty water and anything that's slivering on the ground
well wordd
money isn't money till ya spend it
and toilet tissue don't work till ya stick it up your ass
god, where does this come from
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| helter skelter |
[03 Aug 2008|07:53pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 crushed |
] |
| [ |
music |
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howling wolf - spoonful |
] |
revolution revelation
----------------------------
he was just a scruffy little guru
with nothing better in life to do
sold for a bottle of five cent beer
sucked off a boy to show he had no fear
we're bringing the society to the now
to the bottomless pit, when it is found
we will be stripped of ego
and unify with our universal self
everything belongs to everyone
and what do you have to show
the drippings of a black man's dick
swallowed the world in one wet lick
a burned panther raping it's prey
a blind america with nothing to say
a flatulation revelation fumed inspiration
to the man in leather thongs and righted wrongs
but he's playing a hollywood role for a tv show
a best seller on the list
of an ordained pregnant bitch
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| a good scare is worth more than good advice |
[23 Jul 2008|06:51am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 drained |
] |
| [ |
music |
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al hirt |
] |
howdy ther livejournal and fellow livejournal aliens
all has been well
same job same life same me
i kinda joined a band
me and these two other guys have been paying music together
one of the guys is really into jam band music
and can play music theory for hours
and the other guy is just a really good blues guy
we all play guitar but play other instruments as well
we're calling ourselves either ground control or unwanted ghost
the acoustic jams are fucking boogie riffic
nice and rootsy kinda grateful deadish kind of not
i'm excited i haven't been able to play with other instruments
in a long time
and it felt soo good to plug into an amp and feel like the god of sound
we'vce only had one electric get together
i kinda like just staying unplugged
but we'll see what happens
me and kasey have been making extensive plans for our trip
this coming november
i'm so excited
it actually feels like it is going to happen
and that it's not THAT far away
if there are any people who wanted to travel some ways with us
just let us know
partners are more than welcome
detours add to the memories
well i finally typed up the 2nd installment
to crickets adventures in "chirping at night"
i'm writing it by hand
so there is a delay to when it gets typed
i've just finished chapter 6
but this is all i have typed up.
please excuse grammatical errors and typos
and was very quickly typed and not
ran through grammar check or anything of the sort
************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
CHAPTER 2
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Cricket opened his eyes feeling very delusional. Confusion and dizziness was engrossing him as if he was just tossed up into space and fell all the way back to earth landing right back in front of the oak tree. Clouds were starting to form in the evening sky and began letting go of the water that it no longer had the strength to hold. To cricket the rain falling on him could have been magma, and he still wouldn't have been upset. He weaved his way through the ancient rows of grape vines. While gazing away at the little green marbles, he wished away the Dionysian existence he had luckily survived thus far. Each individual grape glowing in the sun flashed a moment of disappointment in Cricket's mind.
Cricket reached his car still in a genuinely adventurous state of mind. He was more than ready to get on the Trojan of destiny and take hold of the reins. On the third attempt the engine finally turned over allowing the radio to spit a couple Iggy Pop yelps before Cricket smashed the pause button. The button got so frightened it stayed hidden inside of its plastic shell refusing to ever again show its little rubber face. It took Cricket a few minutes to actually realize it would no longer play cd's.
“Great apes of monkey shit, mother fucker!" was his official response.
He quickly found a nice jazz standard to travel to. "About that cat..." Cricket said to himself thinking back to the reason he was even here. Cricket made himself a promise to hijack a kitten from a kill shelter before he arrived back home. Cricket reminisced about the day he had made all these plans to come here. It was a dull morning white knuckling a Planet of the Apes marathon hangover when the Price is Right came on. Bob Barker's face always reminded Cricket of his grandfather's stone countenance when he was lying in his casket. Cricket knew that nothing warmer than glacier water could flow through that platinum topped melting face of his. Then came his famous line "remember folks to help control the pet population and get your pets spaded or neutered". This was right after a geriatric woman had lost the showcase showdown that included a Harley Davidson and a cruise to Hawaii. Barker didn't care though; he had a mission, which was to save the damn pets.
"That's AMBITION" Cricket hollered at the streaming image.
Cricket's eyes quickly cut to a family portrait eyeing his mother. "I just don't get it..."
One week later...this is where he ends up. Cricket was not one to over analyze his compulsions. His obsessions, he believed, were the only emotions fueling his passions, and passion was all Cricket thought he had left. He had stayed out of "big" trouble thus far. So he could be doing something right...
As Cricket was traveling down Corridor Z he passed the first protestant church he had ever become a member of. This place was a very special one to Cricket because it was a recurring element in his dreams for quite a long period in his life. The altar, the black bell memorial in the middle of the courtyard, and the statue of Jesus with his smooth, bald, blemish free, un-carved stone for a face all were there. Cricket always loved this faceless statue. It made him think deeply about the actual person Jesus was, and not the legendary mythical deity everyone adores.
This struck a lightning bolt down Cricket's spine when he glanced at the statue. He felt as though he encountered a spiritual hot spot. Fear felt like courage. Courage made him feel wise. Wisdom aged him tell he in his mind he was on a prairie with grayness shadowing over all by the overcast sky. He was standing in front of an old style European house made of stones with a widow's clothesline standing between him and the house. The bed sheets were black, blouses, skirts, bras, bloomers, all grim and black. It was all contrasting against the primer coated sky. This is how she obviously mourned the death of her husband. The only objects not dismal were the red poppies in blooming pockets of flames tucked away on the prairies gentle slopes. Cricket could only repeat "Proverbs 1:9 the fear of the lord is the beginning of knowledge.” Cricket had no idea where this prairie was, but he knew that just over the hill was a beautiful cottage housing a preacher's wife. A flood of memories entered into Crickets mind like that of a 50 year tension stricken dam finally relieving itself of it's duty and satiating the surrounding bone dry canyon. He had the overwhelming sense that these current memories weren't from his life but from a story he had been told or read somewhere. Bible verses, games of red rover, twenty-four hour slumber parties/fasts from food for lent, all of these things were being aroused like dead ancestors in Cricket’s mind. Cricket thought back to the dream he had sitting back at that carved oak. He had closed his eyes and tried to absorb his surroundings, and boy did he. He really didn't want to think about what he saw back there at that house though. Time always changes perception. Hindsight is a much more reliable source.
Cricket was now pulling into the parking lot. The only evidence of this building still being active was a suited up, tall, dense, Native American fellow out front. His hair looked like finely woven silk with a gentle flowing motion in the wind. Almost like a tissue on the breeze. This gave the man a very classic look. Cricket quickly took out a notepad and pen and drew a quick gesture drawing of the stoic figure. The only aspect that Cricket was impressed with was the figure's hair. It looked like sand slowly falling through river currents.
Cricket reached up under his seat pulling out a 190 proof grain liquor bottle replacing it with the notepad, hoping to forget he even drew anything until he came across it accidentally later in life. He easily took a cheek-full down the gullet. He then forced about three more down feeling like he was literally shoving a gas pump down his throat and pulling the trigger. He gave himself ten seconds to recuperate he put the bottle upside down again till his belly drooled its inhabitants out of his mouth across his chin feeling like liquid fire on his skin. Not even putting the top back on, he rested it on the emergency brake and got out of the car. He loved the feeling he got when he had been sitting down getting drunk and the first moment after standing up. It was almost as if he couldn't get drunk sitting down, that he had to stand up and stir it around in his body. His brain set off a firework show slowly taking over his visual field and moving to the beat of his heart, and then blitzkrieg brain rush receded back faster than it had spread.
Walking towards the suited man he could start to feel the bass from inside beating from within his chest cavity. He passed by the door man without even once looking him in the face. When inside of the front lobby his skin was aglow painted by the vibrancies of the black light. There were quick flashes of clarity created by the strobe light which made everything in movement in the distance seem slow motion. He walked up to the slide window and spotted a very young Pocahontas, with the eyes of a pure doe nibbling on the snow covered ground.
"I need your id and $15" she requested mechanically.
"15 dollars? What's going on in there?"
"Its HBO night sir" she said looking right through Cricket.
"I'm no sir" he said as he dug out the items she needed.
"Yes your majesty" she sniggered and gave Cricket a smile that would make any man's day.
"Anytime your grateful servitude" Cricket said arrogantly, not even facing her, or asking for his ID back. He was to busy heading for the club floor entrance.
As soon as he entered the doors he wanted to turn around and go talk to the woman with her clothes on, and look at those eyes for a second time. The breasts in the room were like bike reflectors in spotlight. They could not be avoided, all the shapes and personalities. There were teardrops, cantaloupes, and even a pair that looked like sunny side up eggs nailed to a post.
After Cricket found a nice cozy cracked wooden table with a chair that was lopsided and tilted to any shift of weight he took a rest. He pulled a cigarette out and tore off the filter into two halves and put one in each earlobe slightly dulling out the drilling bass, and then lit up the remaining tobacco. Cricket finally became receptive to his entire surroundings and not just the y chromosomes’ bulbous growths. He looked at the main stage where a six foot blonde was laying on her back with all of her weight on her bent elbows. She had one leg propped up at an angle so that when she swung it, it appeared to be a flesh pendulum. Cricket heard a loud cheer rising over the beats and breaking through his cotton barrier.
"Get that shit; get that.....You guys seeing this? That fuck is folding up like a lawn chair." shouted a square fellow with a mustache. He looked like the type of guy who wore his suit and tie disguise all day and took it off at night to come in here where he spent the whole time hoping a client would not be a witness to his ritualistic debauchery. Cricket was gazing at the bellower's buddy sitting straight faced as a poker player at his mother's funeral while a short black girl had her fingers wrapped around the legs of his chair and her thighs creating a noose around his neck. She was shaking her body in front of him like she had stepped in a nest of flesh eating ants, and was trying to shake them loose. The woman showed no more pleasure on her face than the man she was supposed to be pleasuring. She seemed zoned in on how many 20's she had strapped to her bosom, and what business she was going to finance with it. Money is a harsh mistress never settling down in one place unless they are thoroughly surrounded by friends of the same face.
Cricket now noticed who and what the man was cheering on, UFC, Ultimate Fighting Championship. Modern day Roman gladiators, if the Romans had been skilled in the arts of boxing, all types of martial arts, GI training, commercial wrestling, and bullshit. One of the fighters had all of his weight on one leg, with just his big toe on the other touching the mat. Something was obviously broken in his knee. It was bulging at the side of his knee cap, and it looked like someone had held onto his knee and twisted his foot 45 degrees to the left. The same fighter had no eyes. His eyelids were the color of the night sky, ungodly sized swollen bruises resembling miniature domes. The rest of his countenance was crimson red; there was no evidence at all of what he previously looked like. All of a sudden the roars started forming into three recognizable words.
"Blood and sex, blood and sex, blood and sex" it seemed to Cricket that he was the only one not participating in this chant. Even the strippers were joining in with their fists in the air. It only took five seconds for this to turn into a brainwash session were nothing else was audible in the building. Then what Cricket thought was just a large blemish free wall turned out to be a projection screen which had just flashed on. Cricket never would have believed what he was now witnessing if someone else told him. They had put on Passion of Christ on the main screens with the fights continuing on the subsidiary screens. Not only did Cricket have personal hostility towards this movie because of all Christians refusal to accept this movie as an artistic expression, and not as scripture from the good book, but he just didn't like it. "Every movie is art all art can be good or bad, just because I think it's shitty art doesn't mean anything" Cricket told himself. All that put aside this just wasn't right. Cricket felt very uneasy and dirty, he didn't even know if he believed in god but he felt the adrenaline rush of being scared for some reason. "Fear of the lord is the beginning of knowledge" he kept repeating to himself.
Cricket suddenly couldn't even hear himself think over the ecstasy filled yips being emitted by all the participants. Cricket couldn't take it a single moment longer. The Romans were tapping on Cricket's and Jesus’ crown of thorns with clubs making fresh blood flow over the dried blood on his face. Cricket shot up out of his chair, put his hands in his pockets, centered his visual field on the floor, squinted his eyes letting in as little peripheral vision as permissible, and busily scampered to the first doorway he came upon. He pushed open the door walked up to the first door he came to and pushed the door open with his back and swooped in.
"DOOMP!"
A loud crack of glass filled Cricket's head.
He felt a very strong and violently throbbing pain in his head as he involuntarily fell to the floor.
****************************************************************************************************************
hope you enjoyed it!!
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| i love the man i wish i was!!!! |
[10 Jul 2008|06:58am] |
welfare should be available to EVERYONE
no paperwork bullshit
all that you have to do
is read a book of your choice
any book
this is all to recieve your check
people READ
i'm kinda preaching to the choir
\but reading and knowledge is so important
so is imagination and creativity
work on both
make that your work out
a material world diet
like mark twain said
a fellow who can read but chooses not to has nothing over the man who an not read anything at all.
50% of the country didn't read a single book last year
what's happened to this world
we use to cherish our authors
they were who symbolized us
to the strangers on the outside of our area
if there was an author in your area
he spoke for your location
now we have machine made magnetic refrigerator poetry
and studio birthed and bred musicians
who have given their human power over to the machines in the recording studio
is there no end
fuck fame
do what you do
cuz you love doing it
nothing wrong with dreams
but dreaming to be famous is ignorant
dream for respect
that's all an artist should want
respect
not fame
there is a major difference
but i love you guys
hi how are you?
my name's johnny
i believe that i can believe, if i have faith in the power of nothing
how are you today?
(please respond with a comment)
*)()()()()()()(*)()()()()()()(*)()()()()*)()(*)()()*
building the peacock one feather at a time
*)()()(*)()()(*)()()(*)()()(*)()()(*)()()(*)()()(*)(*
*------*------*------*------*------*------*
the water drifting
down the icey stream
cooled jim's throat
like a drenched moonbeam
coming from the top of the mountain
from a crack there
flowed a fountain
quenching men's thirst
ages ago
tender hearted mountain men
bearded eyes
and shredded teeth
jagged cliffed mountain women
brown hearted
beautiful eyes
the knife in it's sheath
a family has survived
from this stream alone
with help
five generations have grown
when they reach their death
into the water their ash is thrown
flow with the roll
of the gently undulating
gravitate in a centrifugal manner
till your scooped in a cup
steeped into tea
fulfilling your destiny
reviving your ancestry
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
another one for the notebook
you guys tell me what you think about this one please
i'm really really fond of it
it feels like a parable
maybe i finally wrote something moving
but being your only critic
kind of becomes lonely
and not very satisfying
AT ALL
|
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| a perfect circle |
[09 Jul 2008|07:03am] |
| [ |
mood |
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drugged |
] |
| [ |
music |
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grateful dead - new speedway boogie |
] |
on the day i was born july 3 1986
the moon was one day past full moon
(which says a lot about my presonality traits)
on the day kasey was born sept 5 1986
the moon was one day past new moon
(which explains a lot too)
but if you put her little piece and my big piece together
we have a perfect full moon
she's exactly what i'm missing nothing more nothing less
fitting perfectly
just like our mind and bodies
we're the yin and the yang personified
glory be to god
i promise you folks
one of these days
I WILL FLY AWY
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| all that i am is not at all what i use to be |
[02 Jul 2008|05:38am] |
| [ |
mood |
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busy |
] |
| [ |
music |
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john lennon - my mummy's dead |
] |
)}{)({(){[][)([]{)){]{)){}]{{]{()({][}{})(}{][}{]{][)()()()({][}[(())(()(())))(()(())(()()}{)({(){[][)([]{)){]{)){}]{{]{()({][}{})(}{][}{]{][)()()()
YOU ARE THE STRANGER YOU SEE
)}{)({(){[][)([]{)){]{)){}]{{]{
you have to dream to live
and you gotta live to dream
emulating the marble owl
perching high up in the tree
you're lost in the labyrinth
thinking because you're all alone
that you only have yourself to blame
that's not it
and absolutely not right
so when the stars come out
and share their ancient light
think of me, abd direct your borne thoughts
portraying what you admire
and all which you wish to aspire
both in unison with your sight
to create the garden of your desire
containing the fruit of enlightenment
for your delight
*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*
point in any direction
in this infinite universe
each way is the shortest distance
to be returned from whre you commence
even in reverse
heed my advice
and be aware of what you do
that finger your pointing out
is also pointing to the rear of you
shooting yourslef in the back
is too common for you
so careful where you set your sights
and, again, be aware of what you do
*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*
*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*
*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*
*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*
i'm so proud of that poem
that's the first poem i've ever written
that didn't just come out and get revised a few times till i liked it
i started it and then jhust worked on it for a few days
and i really enjoyed the outcome
it a lot more focused than i thought
i didn't think that i could keept together spreading it out like that
i'll have to try it again and see if i can do better
i've written 3 chapters in chirping at night
i'm typing up the 2nd right now so i can put it in here
i didn't get any feedback from the 1st chapter from you guys
where you at
a brother wants some opinion!!i'm still trying to get them in a publication around here
any magazine'll do
i met this guy who is with the editor of a free publication around here
it's called the hatchet
i'm hoping i can get a few people to be interested
but i guess i shouldn't be so hopeful
or should i...
i picked up a second job waiting on tables
at this italian rest owned by turks
they're nice though
a little weird but nice
a guy ran out on his ticket basically last night
and i had to pay for his fucking meal
fucking bastard
it was like half of my tips
i made good tips but still they were better
i gyess that's just karma for havinf dons similiar things
DAMN IT
i got a 3rd job giving plasma
haha it's not really a job
i've just been going up to the plamsa clinic
so they can have intraveneuos intercourse with me
believe me folks it's not as sexy as it sound
but i get 60 bucks a week in cash for doing it
not that bad for laying down and reading for an hour
we're just really trying to save up money
so that we can travel
we just really need to
we have so much passion in us
to get out there
and it would be so wrong of us to not do it
so come hell or high water we're going
it would be nice to be kinda prepared though
my 21st bday is tomorrow i wonder if they'll let me buy beer at mnidnight
i'm so uber escited
i've been waiting for this for a long time
i wish i was down in jax to enjoy with all of my friends
in heart ...
i've been on a robert heinlen obsession lately
door into summer, double star and stranger in a strange land right now
id anyone wants to read a fucking awesome book that is so insightful on religion philosphy and the de-evolution of man caused by our love of convenience and greed, and also a highly action packed sci fi
then fucking read STRANGER IN A STRANGE LANd. it is so good. an epic. i advise everyone with a good amount of time to spend on something they'll remember for the rest of their lives to pick up this book.
well i'm gonna go read the last few pages i've been saving in it. i think it's time for closure
thank you journal for listening to all i had to say again
the notepad is your best friend
never forget it
it listens to every minute detail
and never misses a thing
as long as you have your ink interpretor that is
hehe
i'm so cheesy
peace for everyone
love everybody
and happiness everywhere
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| cheers to life |
[11 Jun 2008|08:34am] |
| [ |
music |
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MOOG! (playing country favs) |
] |
i can't believe i'm actually
gonna try the editor and publisher
and paperback writer thing
but i'm getting up with my neighour
who was an editor
and he said he would love to help
me get a package ready
i've been writing a lot of notes down for
the title so far is
"cricket goes to mind control camp in a snowglobe dream"
( a scheme in a snowglobe dream and this is what it said...)
i have almost 30 pages of notes and guidelines that
i have to follow
for the characters and buildings
and the chronological aspect laid out
i'm definitely leaving it open ended
cuz if i can get anything done
anyone to actuall read this
i'm writing a sequel
cuz this is so damned fun
i encourage everyone to try
it's so fulfilling
fuck the negative assholes
newbies are the best
people act like any first atttempt you make
at anything is gonna be bad
i don't see why
i think it's very good in it's own respect
but whatev
people tend to be assholes
well
in another life maybe...
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| the man who invented himself |
[07 Jun 2008|02:33pm] |
"He came bursting out of nowhere like a sphere into the sun
And he cast his light on everything, it was like he never died
And he landed right on target, but the target rolled away
And it left him pointing nowhere you could hear the children
say
He's the fellow, the man who invented himself
When you need her love so badly but she's trying to relax
You can't work it with your fingers so you try it with an axe
And he taps you on the shoulder; looking out for number one
Is like drilling for a rainbow or an iceberg in the sun
He's the fellow, the man who invented himself
Nobody knows where he's from
Nobody knows where he's gone and gone and gone
But he's not here
When you're waiting for your baby to get back from the moon
And throw her arms around you, in a fairly quiet lagoon
Well that loneliness is nothing, just imagine how he feels
He's the only person in the world who still believes he's real
He's the fellow, the man who invented himself"
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| haikus for bhikkus and zen lunatics |
[06 Jun 2008|06:35am] |
| [ |
music |
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mama cass singing HR PUFFNSTUFF |
] |
i am a zen lunatic
i know this
i've gone through a few of my old poems and changed them to haikues
i wonder if this is sacrificing essence for structure
and i am definitely not one to usually favor structure
but i think it adds to the essence
and i think the one stanza rule in haikus is much too limiting
so i took the rules and played with them a little
so here goes
PI*^&)*(&^)*&^)*&%)^%()&^%(&^$(*%$*^%#&$#&@$&^@&$*^%$*^%$
"Transmigration of the Zen Lunatic Undergoing Stigmata"
bamboo silhouette
craftily painted on the blinds
lazy leafy lines
stretching towards heaven
beautiful calligraphy
rooted in the ground
fragile paths of stems
intricate and gently entwined
cluster of purpose
purpose of beings
from each leaf, is a life lived
from each leaf, beauty yields
(*&^(*&%*^%#^@%$&$(&^%*^%@*^%#$(&^%(#(&^$*^%$*^%@#*#*
"Slipstream Candu of the Paraplegic Nomad"
(^*#)&$*^)#@!(*%^_)#@!^%_(*@#!^$)&!@^$)&*(^#)@(&^)&
black and white carvings on my bedroom wall
forgotten heiroglyphics
potraying the rise and fall
scratch marks from a kitten
a witness to it all
two lovers never listened
though they each called and called
a firey stain in the kitchen
was the whore to cause it all
two lovers and five sense
a child of unity
lost in the garden
planting bulbs casting feed
hypnotized while gazing
into spring summer and fall
two lovers never listened
though they each called and called
(*&(*^&^$%&%#^$#!^#*^%$*^%$&^@#&@%$
i hope i can keep this journal for 4 more years
then this will be an entire decade of my life
in livejournal
i've been keeping up with this journal more so than
when i first started it
i think i reailized how nice it will be ot have
this living piece of history
and plus it's impossible to lose
a MAJOR plus in keeping this thing
so expect a few more years of dedicated writings you guys
whether you read it or not
(i have a feeling my journal is one of those that
quickly get glanced ovver)
but it's a journal
and a journal is for the journal keeper
goodnight my friends
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| Transmundane life for a price of cinnamon spice |
[05 Jun 2008|05:38am] |
)*&^()^%$(&^%(&^%$)*&^_&)_&^)*%)*&%)U&_&^)*&%^)*&^)
JOGGA HOGGA ALADUNGA FALLS OUT OF HISSETH MOUTHEST (aka serving the servant)
)*&%*^%#^$#!&%$)*^%()&%(&^$*^$&%$@*%)*&^)&*(^&^$*&$
what a surprise
when you find what lies
neatly cozied
underneath disguise
words are what he sold you
for a bargain price
but as our wise father's prophecise
what's cheap
is only the shepherd
herding the sheep
truth is a journey
without moving a muscle
it lies under skin, flowing within
truth never tries to be your best friend
society is nothing more
than a functioning drunk
sinking to the bottom
of this global void
all walking around
in circles round and round
hey what circle are you in?
you think i could circle with you?
We can be concentric
Like the circles sound waves make
as they bounce around
until something is there to receive them
with open arms
and an empty belly
what is there to do now
what mountains are left
where will Buddha rest his weary feet
on the escalator?
being pushed across an advertisement panorama
of capitalism made sleazy
when will i weep
when will i be broken into shape
when will scars form across muy back
is it still a leash,
if the length is unending?
i am the servants servant
i serve the servant
**i don't care if prophecise isn't a word...
i love you guys seriously
i've found happiness
and i have everyone to thank
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|
|
[02 Jun 2008|12:54am] |
Two Virginia hillbillies walk into a Dairy Queen. While having a couple of Blizzards, they talk privately about their moonshine operation.
Suddenly, a woman at a nearby table, eating a Coney dog, begins to cough. After a while, it becomes apparent that she is in real distress.
One of the hillbillies looks at her and says, "Kin ya swallar?"
The woman shakes her head no. "Kin ya breathe?" The woman begins to turn blue, eyes widen and shakes her head no.
The hillbilly strolls over to the woman, lifts up the back of
her dress, yanks down her drawers and quickly gives her right butt cheek a long lick with his tongue.
The woman is so shocked that she has a violent spasm and the obstruction flies out of her mouth. She begins to breathe again.
The hillbilly ambles smugly back to his table.
His buddy says, "Ya know, I'd heerd of that there 'Hind Lick Maneuver', but I ain't never seed nobody do it."
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| fear of the lord is the beginning of kwoledge -- proverbs 1:9 |
[31 May 2008|11:04pm] |
i have a fear
a fear of being forgotten
by everyone who i have met in my lifetime
from kindergarten to the present
they'll all hold a service
and pray to forget me
and i will cease to exist
i found an old girlfriend from georgia
in 7th grade
she doesn't rememebr me
how can she not
we did a lot together
kasey thinks i'm seeking new women
but really i'm just afraid
becuase if this happened to this girl
will kasey not remmeber me 8 yrs down the lines of time
is that all i'm good for is 8 yrs
and then any memory of me is vanquished
this is scary
good thing i'm a drug addict
or ii would actually care
that was a lie
i do
but wouldn't it be easier if i was
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| cessation of suffering |
[30 May 2008|10:38am] |
| [ |
music |
| |
joni mitchell - court and spark |
] |
what path is this
that i have chose
what path now exists
through the cracks
now growing
you have asked
that i clear my slate
that i seek reality
in this snow globe
that bubbles and bursts
inside the infinite void
it is your eyes
that i seek
it is you graciousness
that i wish to master
it is your charity
that i wish to imitate
but my dreams drag me back
across acres and forests
into another land
where familiar faces
call and call
they flirt with me
their faces change and melt
into what it is i desire
and when confronted
with a force such as this
what else to desire
mountains
gardens
braids
misty sunlight
contrasting
against the pine's shadow
shelter enough
for me and the changeling
but upon awakening
i gaze at what i wish to be
into a pitch black picture
i call reality
bless me
will you send someone
with spiritual strength
to comfort me
what my mind puts to sleep
can forever change me
what my mind
wants and desires
is not what i see
so when i close my eyes
is when i am alive
no longer am i sleeping
i need someone by my side
to hold my hand
through the living world
a smiling face
a gentle grace
now surrounds me
i asked for noble truth
inside the ticket booth
and buddha
is what he sold me
|
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| james 1:10 --when the down and outers get a break cheer,when the rich are brought down to size cheer |
[21 May 2008|05:46am] |
"i have written a wicked book, and feel spotless as the lamb" melville
i've written five storyboards
henry the eighth of an inch -- cricket goes to mind control camp -- the reality patrol -- amandla and pip pope (music of war)
they're basically like little comic books with no pictures
i'm thinking about keeping henry the eighth of an inch in little bubbles
with arrows pointing to the next portion to read with little pictures and doodles connecting all the paragraph bubbles
it's pretty short so it won't be annoying and it'll be fun
man i really enjoy just thinking about these little stories
i'm gonna try and write enough for a good compilation of lots of characters
i'm just gonna write all the storyboards now
and when i get an ant up my asshole
i'll write them out
until i must think!
ray bradbury and phillip dick have been wettin my whistle latley
i started "or something wicked this way comes" by bradbury and it is so comical
the whole thing is genius
i'm also reading galctic pothealer by philip dick and it always amazing
i also bought flow my tears the policeman said and
valis which is supposeto be him writing about his descent into paranoid schizophrenia
i just finished songs of distant earth by arthur clarke it was good
it kind od reminded me of his other book childhoods end
which is a classic
i really want to finish his 2001 series i got up to 2061
music wise i've been slacking
i'm not giving up on music
i'm just having so much fun putting my thoughts religously into something else
i think it's ok to expand
my guitar is always sitting there
and a small break isn't going to make me forget anything
i guess for some reason i have a fear of that
i unno why
i just think there's either progression or degression
one or the other at all times
of one isn't ocurring the other is
me and kasey are really gonna travel
i can feel it
i know it's gonna happen
i think we're both fed up and both on the same level
about what we want right now
so let's see
john at 18 - graduates movesout for first time untilfe life smacks him in face
john at 19 - junky
john at 20 - in NC alone with kasey in information phase acting as sponge
and now hopefully next year there will eb travel
and chaotic adventure
no rules no plans
me and kasey
and our outdoor camping supplies
and lots of city parks
hoping to go to the keys first then
throught the south and texas straight to cali
i can't wait till this doesn't seem like pipe dreams
and we're actually on the road
we need to find storage space
and start collecting outdoor life equpment
so we can live off the land..... as much as modern life deems possible
well off to king of the hill land
man this cartoon has got me hooked
almost as much as quantum physics
haha NOT
that movie what the bleep down the rabbit hole
IS OUT THERE
what you can understand
which is a small percentage of what is actually said (for me anyways having no physics background )
is pretty mindblowing to hear about the physical world
but you really gotta listen to get something out of it
another sugeestion
is firesign theater
these guys are fucking hilarious
they are only on audio
records cds
and they are fucking hilarious
very fast and very sonic comedy
you have to listen to it 5 or 6 times to start gettting most of the jokes they are so fast and from left field
and just break off into song and dance numbers
and then they're onto the next skit with no warning
it is so good
like an american monty python or something
the album i have is from 74 i believe
check em out
put em on sit down for half an hour and enjoy
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| read me |
[14 May 2008|09:22pm] |
| [ |
music |
| |
devo are we not men |
] |
hey
finished this short story
english friend is gonna meet up with me
and fix my horrible southern grammar
and send it to a couple publications
wish me luck
oh yeah if you don't read this don't consider yourself my friend
puh
man it feels good to write
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
CHIRPING AT NIGHT
________________________________
Cricket walked across the green finely trimmed lawn to a very old tree. The roots of which spread across a good ten foot diameter surrounding the base of the tree, like a moat protecting the squirrel kingdoms sacred pecan castle. Squatting down looking closer at the trunk he ran his fingers across a couple, he was sure, unwanted, tattoos.Cricket smiled at the thought of walking into a bar with groups of trees sitting at the bar taking shots of hummingbird feedermix. With one tree in a special chair with stirrups with all of his friends holding his really leafy branches down while the weeping willow, whose willows looked more like nappy dreadlocks compiled of clusters of the most neon flourescent green buds he had ever witnessed. Each containing a kaleidoscope of spectral scrystals and formations creating such hypnotizing effects that each seemed to be singular living organisms. The tool the willow was holding in his hands looked very archaic in his colorfully embossed hands. The tool consisted of a sprial digging trenches and forming lines on the restrained trees bark. With two outer curved lines facing each other with opposing circles on the end of each line (69).
This was a symbol that Cricket became very acquainted with, through 6th grade in the swampland school. Where every sexual deviancy and act was turned and screwed to the furthest reaches of the truth. It was also an upper that it looked cool at the end of the 3 hr update letter that he gave to his girlfriend.Aalong with a few other chosen symbols(i.e.peace, ying yang, $, nike, adidas, rose, heart, nirvana smiley, *) whatever pop or consumer culure put out, and his overactive mind could devour, it did.
The swamp seemed like a majestic fantasy land full of smoke and mirrors to a once young Cricket. Stories like the one about the 19 foot alligator that had stopped a smaller inferior john deere boat, by beaching it on the dinosaur's back. The myths of criminals escaping from jails all over the surrounding counties and running for the swamps as if salvation waited there. Protecting them with murky water and swamp gases, leaping from floating island to floating island. The good ol boys would have these
canals down and more efficiently mapped out than Eisenhower's most lucid dreams of tar and cement could ever conjure.
The only thing missing that kept this from being a Mark Twain comedy was a travelling minstrel show going through this forgotten
paradise of the delinquent. When a visitor in reality visits this area of the globe they are not met with friendly conditions. Instead
of the usual condensation and morning dew the surviving organisms just steam. Giving off a smokey radiance. As a child, Cricket had witnessed
a grizzly concrete buster, who walked into the jiffy lube along with him, whose head was steaming with what he told himself was mental vapors.
And that if he himself stayed there too long his skull would be fixing brain stew along with the rest of the snot brain inhabitants. If the heat didn't scorch your ass out of town the disease ridden mosquitoes, denim craving copperheads, or the white supremecists dressed in their child's halloween costumes would do the trick. One thing that wouldn't scare you was a jew. When they were building the first synagogue in town, the redneck elders were describing this place as a fire worshipping, circle dancing, snake prodding, blood
of maneschevitz drinking, group of fanatics.
Thinking back on this Cricket was ever so glad his dad's job sent him to an actual point on a map. What had brought his parents back here Cricket would never understand. Maybe they were chasing a bronze memory of innocence once and forever lost in their lives. Or maybe, BUDDHA FORBID, they missed the place.
"Who cares?" Cricket whispered to himself. That was their life. He's Here NOW to reconcile HIS. Cricket thought to himself how easy it was to just turn off that train{wreck} of thought of questioning his parents motives. Why couldn't they do this with his life? If they acqired this simple capability he probably wouldn't even be here right now. Looking at these inanimate objects squeezing meaning and memories out of everything in his vision.
Things used to be so different.....
......TRUTH......
......LIES.......
......WORDS......
They were all a blurred mass of unintelligible ramblings to him. As a child everyone was percieved as crazy to Cricket. He didn't need a text book and a scientific point of view to know this either. Everyone on the street walking, headed somewhere, with some goal or some kind of incentive in life. And if they were just standing around. He knew they were scheming somewhere they could be headed, just like himself. so when simplified, boiled, and concentrated down to this essence, we are all just as mad as the next person passing us by.
The truth doesn't matter. The stories that filled Cricket's head like puffs of imagination smoke about the seedy secret alternate life of the criminal-filled swamp and the amount of distance this was from the truth didn't matter. Because that life of swampy violence and chaos existed!It was alive and well in young Cricket's mind and was still a town in his mind. With living breathing adventure-filled shady swamp characters. This town
was located in the lobal capital of a cul de sac on wrinkle ave in Seratonin, the most up-scale of all gated communities. In the map
of his mind this city was signified with a circled star, Cricket thought to himself, and genuinely smiled, something that had been long since it had
previously occured that he thought to himself when was the last smile that felt so good.
All of a sudden Cricket felt freed. Freed from his chosen reality. Yes, CHOSEN reality. H e was the master of his own destiny. An act of
spontaneous enlightenment. He finally found it humorous that he travelled 100 miles to kill his mother's favorite, $2000 cat. For reasons that had been
piling up for years in a dirty rusty bucket in his mind, but this gathering of angst, neglect, power, isolation, and neurosis had a surprising effect. Instead of adding to the ugliness that encapsulated the bucket itself. The nastiness of the water cleansed and purified the bucket and the liquid inside. slowly eating away and cleaning till it ate right through the bucker. It left nothing in his mind at that moment but humor. It was recess time for emotions. Cricket was suddenly fully immersed in the idea of spending an hour or two at Cheyennes, the night club his dad frequently visited. Always coming home with a sweaty red forehead. Almost as if a few well busted women slapped him full frontal with their tits for a half an hour straight. In fact there was nothing else Cricket currently had planned.
Nothing at all.
He was finally not gonna wait on life to happen, but view eternity as a vacuum.
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