rata.tat

working on a poem instead of simply jack kero-whacking it out of my head. not that i'm lazy when it comes to writing, but it's that i try to keep it like a quick lightning bolt of a traveling mind...it goes and hits and goes again. (if you say i'm lazy with my writing, i'll slap you, and then thank you). so, i have something that i'll go ahead and cultivate. i'll till it up, treat it well, hold its hand, and let it go.

i definitely had 4 cups of coffee today. i promise it was an accident.

1 was a must; 2 was insurance; 3 was a sin; 4 was free.

"that rain falls so slowly"

I am on your side.

I am on your Side.

I am on your side.

I am on your side.

I am on your side.

mr. john keats

iterations replying to the replica imagined

yawn scatters the insides

of undelivered thought

thrice embalmed in freedom's

generous

offr'ing

"world, i've overcome you, world

i've overcome you,

world, I've overcome

by my song and the blood of a Son."

o dead poets and lovers

sanctioned by gravity's kin

the law of death

you take shape in sound or vision

imagined.

you lie

there on a pillow

or even on a screen,

mister John Keats

quotes as others', words as mine

all within God's reach and cause

hesitant to the beckoning:

settle now settle

seated at antidote

A "two hands"

not chosen towards me

Little flakes colored white

as dry

churning their best

to say what they

would like to say

I did not mention

I did not make mention of the coffee in front

The cup colored

aluminum mauve--still cosmic

and ceramic and white.

It does the same job of feeding me

named Edward on the right. They wear purple as "purple girls" today (so Edward must have been a mistake on someone's ear). Two men to watch two purples.

Wiggle and snuggle and hugging all sounds of a promise

The promise of a keeper

A Bauhaus shirt darkened in thread

Talk of moms and hello's to strangers

More talk of other daughters and moms

all with child

feather to the lift

soft in approach

calm in exit

tempting in return

Zippers and clips and baby

gadgets galore.

Sanitation is paramount.

Golden eyes glazed over blue.

and ga-ga

mesmerized cuckoo.

That step eighteen on down the line

is a must

Catch my attention

Throw it back to you

'til these hands butter

away

the dryness.

I was literally here--separate from the page--

on a third first

with my goodness and my lovely (and my less dramatic better half in the most loving way)

staring at the same colors

-tangerine child chair

-dark denim blue wall

-tweedy yellow chair, too

That picture never changing that

had praises spat upon

All this--in hands and eyes--the same, never changing

But there now barks and begs a dog

playing in opposition to what had lasted

from before

He or she--dare Not go near--

delays outside

visible from glass

delays car chase

episodes

and bark/bite combos

That changes that

photograph,

the chairs,

the hues of recognition,

the hands,

the mug,

the purple twos,

Wisdom

Wisdom is on my mind.

"Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind. For that person must not suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.

[...] Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him. Let no one say when he is tempted, "I am being tempted by God," for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.

Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. Of his own will he brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures."

-James 1:2-18

"In an economy of grace, all things come by asking and believing. That is the foremost requirement: to forsake our dependence on all self-effort and ask. God is generous with all things...The petitioner who asks God for His wisdom acknowledges the deficiency of his own. There can be no confusion of providence and pride when the gift begins with a humble request."

I don't have anything to add, as of now.

More to come.

pound

that stellar

construction

does it feel

punch here and here

thousands of lines

supposed to be hugging and

choking this love

sharp, tacky

slavish and splintered

enslaved

words trapping

and calling

-out to be noticed

whisper this way

whisper

right

on top

ask again

does it feel

elbows

steel in construction

ribs bruised by

giant hands

three empty couches with no one to fill the void

dive beneath

the soil

our birth

quicksand from one

thousand feet up

drive into the soil

find life, find yourself some life

those giant hands, always

again again

split solid ivory by kissing that

rib

cage

still, still grinding. Now I

have no

mouth, or seeing eyes, or vapor breath

untangle this dusty apparatus.

here, make

You

chalky fingernails

i have no idea why i'm playing music.

this cannot be good.

commercials just end up watching me

i'm cashing in on this pot of gold!

and, i'm really proud of my last post.

charlie rose (is on)

anything will do

(do) here

psalms

if i've lasted

curled and torqued, touching other

seeded and planted and growing

this chaff

of lasting howling

crept in, oh i mean

mean-----mean-----mean

kept in

did this stalky grieving

goldfish growing upset stomach

I bought this and it does not work

can you spare some help

oh, i surely surely surely tell you

surely broken

crystallization

hopes crossing

crooks

revel in the fix

o how i dare say,

i surely must've forgotten soooooomething at the market...

i'm sure it shall come to thee or me or whoever

striking terr--, terr--

terrific asphyxiation

to the welcomed, humble hands

negating natural

biology, crusting,

limpid

identification

"but i want so badly to be in these pages", "somewhere

so badly in the pages"

.................................................

..................."so badly in", so badly in, [so badly in]

...............................

.....

.......................

"um, well, yes...but that color does not bode well for my good graces' sake"

here lies this cork

"got deviled into"

wine

bad

holiday

here, and

vacationing

here

soaking

among other

tattooed blots of an estimation but an estimation

I myself

will

not calculate

nor estrange with variants

collecting data

by the sea

take

a handfull of sand and stick

it

in your mouth and

try to swallow

fab

who is this guy? what a loony.

ooh la la

i need to listen to more of what i say because it's makes for better sentences.

by "sentences", i mean better free-flowing thoughts.

by "free-flowing thoughts", i mean better songs, i think.

i've gotta' write in some capacity. (i almost wrote "crapacity", and as of now, that's pretty accurate). i'll be homeless and miserable if i don't make the push turn into a shove.

based on pages and pages and notebooks of notebooks of half-written scribbles of thought, i could die and be post-humously endured. but, i'd rather actually gather those things and make some musical use of them. i'm not a great vocalist by any means and i'm a decent guitar player, and even my writing is probably like a pre-teen falling in love, but i think i can make something of it. why not...i don't have anything else to do.

hey, blogworld

i'm so lazy.

i'm so burned/burnt (burnt looks better) out on the idea of nothing. (i sound like an idiot).

what do i have at my disposal? too much. i have "too" of everything, and it's become a hindrance to overcome.

i want to be something else. the idea of "else" is pretty great. "else" is a hard place to get to.

i don't even know where i am. am i in a place where i just constantly regret everything i do, and constantly devote myself to cynically attack every decent, original thought that comes into my head? i'm totally terrified of whatever's in these bones and beneath this skin.

my life is excruciatingly exciting. it comes at the expense of progression.

this is good. what can be better

???

i'll keep this post. i'll keep it. i'll keep because it came out.

reversion.inversion.

beats sleep.

beats a tired hand

and a scratchy piece of paper

scratching my eyes

johnny cash soloing

condensing breaths of a wind

to spit out "That"

dear, that's such a decorative lantern

a-thank-you, confusion

confusion meet me

salsa dancing (stole that)

avec

MY MY

confusion

idiot wind

breakdown of last post:

84% psychological/behavioral rationalization KO'ing the first commandment

11% disdain for technology

4% thoughts about Spain

1% chances I'm in outer space

I was reminded that I can't rationalize everything.

I wanted Corn Pops, instead

I'm battling my own personal cynicism even as I type out these words because it's probably going to escalate into an immature rant that I'll end up regretting by dawn. But, I've got nothing better to do because sleep won't come, either. Just don't even read it.

What are we doing? It's as vague of an inquiry as is the answer. I ask collectively because we're all of humanity at large, whether admittedly or not, asking the same question. Or, if we're not, we've just become extremely talented hiders. I can't hide for shit. I have this haunting crutch to never be content left wondering why I'm doing something. Not to point the existential finger (or give it to you for that matter), but I just can't help believe that most of us have somehow trapped our minds in the prisons of "job", "family", "accumulation", "retirement", usually in that order. I have nothing against having a family and an income by any means, but why have these things with such beautiful potential become stifling to the wild nature we all know we have? Shouldn't those things held most dear enhance and contribute to something adventurous, full of a visceral urge "to be"? I'm not petitioning to re-write American Beauty or Into the Wild, but my desire to gut and bleed out the status quo dines at a full table.

I've been stuffed with fears and bloated by anxiety for the past couple of years, but now, as my Facebook network has recently changed to "Texas Alum 09", I find (or rather, lose) myself in a panic about what I'm to do with my life. When the hell did circumstances for a twenty-something grow fangs and a wicked grin? Personal responsibilities have morphed into demands for success. Looking at my own life, I see that I'm primed to grow my WASP-y stinger if I want to, but I'm not sure that I want to. And if I choose to challenge that, I know I have institutional standards opposing that decision. Why does my socioeconomic status matter? If I'm not at my projected benchmark for the present quarter of my life, does that mean that I've failed the system? Whoops.

That society and technology are my brutal adversaries means I'm fighting in the clouds. I know that most of what I'm going through, and what many-a-fellow colleagues past and present have experienced, takes place in my soul. Nothing else makes sense. Am I on a "spiritual journey" stopping off at religious 7/11s on the way?

POW! PUNCH! ZOMP! This whole blog post started because I was specifically frustrated with music stuff. That took a few exits, and I ended up thinking about how I feel pressured to "keep up" with technology and society as a whole. I didn't like that idea of chasing after that stuff because I don't give a damn. (Of course, I'm typing on my new MacBook Pro and listening to Bob Dylan being invisibly played off some 'chip' or something). But the disconcerting part translates "the neglect to conform" into "Oh crap...I'm gonna' end up homeless and then get stabbed on the streets of Madrid." (I have no idea what Spain's crime rate is, but the Spanish coast is on my mind). But, minus being murdered, would that be the worst thing possible? The world keeps spinning.

I hate technology and I don't really know why. I hate technological advancements. I hate progression of information. I hate globalization. But I participate in all of these things everyday. What is technology trying to accomplish? (It gets tricky because medical advancements seem legitimate because I'm in the business of saving humans). I just feel we're wearing ourselves thin and then we'll all just implode on one another and then we're all screwed. So what do I usually do in order to save myself from my own cynicism so people won't think I'm nuts? Participate. I'm a sucker for some Althusserian interpellation, and it seems that's where I'm at. Even in my dreams to sell everything, travel, be homeless with a pen and paper, meet new people, etc. etc., I know it's just at the merciful hands of capitalism. Dammit. Even the media encourages me to go for it because they know my leash can't go around the world twice.

Eh, I really don't even feel like finishing this blog because I'm betting maybe three people will read it and just probably pray for me. I didn't mean for that to sound arrogant and resentful or that I'm pushing away God or prayer AT ALL...I know it's all I've got. I want to be clear about that. I'm just articulating that I want yours and my prayer to focus on trust. "Trust" me, I'm well aware that everything I'm writing and thinking about stems from a lack of trust about a million things. Don't pray for me to become responsible or to get prioritized or to finally put sheets on my bed or to take care of myself...if you offer a prayer, let it be--for all of us--just to trust. Trust goodness, trust hope, trust faith.

I'm going into outer space.