moment no. 33 1/3

Don't look now, but that monkey on your back's starting to get comfortable.

vice squad

wicked bad unvirtuous impatience.

i'll say she's not my fault, but the sentence barely comes to fruition before the truth slaps my tongue, insisting i retract (and clarify).

the extent to which you can blame the abused for pissing on the rug at the sight of a rubber hose . . . .

death to conditioning, life to envisioning: a call for re-visiting the quintessential experiential existence.

the tactile knowledge of what's been missing . . . .

Is still no excuse.

oh shit

. . . as if existing in that moment when you realize that skydiving actually means that you're jumping out of a goddamn plane.

and you're next.

melting

Two Kisses, left together on a warm Spring day in sun-spotted shade.

Unwrapped.

Perhaps on reserve, perhaps forgotten entirely, but nonetheless existing; at first separately, but as the day floats along, increasingly unified.

No mush, just double sweet.

headache medicine

"Won't someone CEASE that INFERNAL racket?!?!?"

I always love when they say that in the cartoons . . . or the old black and whites even . . . .

What do we have now, "SHUT, the FUCK, UP?"

Effective, but unnecessarily brazen, wouldn't you agree?

. . .

Tenderness in minute quantities begets obnoxious, hardened human (one could even argue sentient) beings.

Vulnerability begets tenderness . . . eventually anyway.

Tell me of vulnerability within oneself - as the journey promises to deliver, in small part at least, a unique interpretation of Divine cruelty: I will retract and re-state, stumbling along The Way. I will re-envision and clarify . . . I will arrive.

. . .

And the racket will cease. And the racket will cease. And the racket will cease. And the racket will cease. And the racket will cease. And the racket will cease. And the racket will cease. And the racket . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Capitol-ism

For the first time in my life, I'm actually proud to be an 'American.' I'll give you one guess as to why.

You got it, I'm sure.

But if you didn't, here you go: Obama.

This man, whose name alone defies so many ill-begotten conventions of this nation, has inspired a slew of people worldwide. He has single-handedly (in a sense anyway) brought together the old, young, black, white, gay, straight, fat, skinny, tall, short . . . and made us all give a damn, all at once.

I mean, come on. That's pretty impressive.

. . .

When I think back to the night that he was elected, I lose my mind all over again (and it feels phenomenal!).

The rejoicing . . . ! The elation! The collective ecstasy of a people who had finally allowed ourselves to be vulnerable again; to possess a dream that just barely kept an inconceivably cruel nightmare at bay.

We did it (Yes We Did!!!)!

And if you weren't here to cry and scream and dance and laugh and scream and cry that day, no worries! You still have a chance to phatten up your nostalgia bank on Tuesday the 20th.

Who cares where you're coming from, just come. Who cares that you'll have to miss work, just come. Who cares that you don't have a place to stay. . . .

You can stay with me. For free.

hand-made scars

I'm grateful that you're torn wide open.

There's something tangible there: a memory, a lesson . . . deep emotion. As the blood dries, I watch your metamorphosis with an illogical, idyllic curiosity. Knowing the progression of proper healing and acknowledging that I make no provisions for this propriety, I still cock my head to the side and furrow my brow as I watch you mutate, disfigure . . . cry for my compassion.

I feel great pain of course, but how else to know this pleasure?

Touching you, I shamefully delight in how wrong you become. In my mind I reach back to what I may have done for your betterment, and there it's revealed to me the distasteful possibility of being robbed of these moments.

:In the heights of obsession, I go so far as to search for where I may aggravate you most while causing the least regression.

. . .

Somewhat improbably, I would like for there to be an end, but please . . . not just yet.

Not just yet.

I'm not done.

You're so beautiful . . . .

Perhaps now you'll be with me for some time?

. . .

At some point I'll most likely ask you to leave.

teabag wisdom no. 786

If you want to make peace, you don't talk to your friends. You talk to your enemies.

Moshe Dayan

no sleep for the wicked

How peculiar to be privvy to a person's human being-ness for the very first time.

When I was younger, I don't believe my eyes were able to see in this way. Or perhaps rather, my mind was not quite ready to allow my eyes to see in this way. After all, there is a level of discomfort that accompanies a certain awareness.

I had never seen his eyes before. I had never taken him for a man. He's always been a caricature of sorts; an authority figure of a teddy bear and quite type-mimicry. But now he exists as I imagine he always has (by sheer definition): seams visible, potentially vulnerable . . . apart from all else, as a _______ .

What does he now notice looking at me? Where do I show age? Experience? Sexuality?

(Am I fair game?)

. . .

Once again dawn has arisen, only to find me thrashing about; still searching for a comfortable position in which to greet the night.

'wide awake'

Sometimes I realize that my eyes have been closed for a very long time. Usually, I'm 'collecting myself,' but the quotation marks mean that in actuality I'm 'avoiding what I'm supposed to be doing.'

What do those quotation marks mean?

Not funny.

OK, so now my eyes are open, but as a result, I'm aware that you're looking at me. Expectantly.

Didn't your mother teach you about expectations?

. . .

Or at least about not staring?

classic

me (the look): it's late
you: I was taking artistic nude photos to put up in the bar.
me: what bar?
you: The bar.
me: you've been working there for a week and you're taking 'artistic nude photos?'
you: Uh hum, yeah.
me: who was taking them?
you: The general manager.

trying to keep it together - poor attempt

me: the general manager?
you: Uh hum.

necessary pause

me: did you guys do anything?
you: NOoooo . . . ! I'm trying to keep it professional.

Sun Is Shining

"To the rescue . . . here I am! Want you to know just if you can . . . here I stand!"

moment no. 6382

supposition into the characteristics of this particular disposition. enlightened as it is, all well and good. . .still profound inability to comprehend the impasses.

the magnitude of the multitude a quality of inflated perception, yet perception of factual qualities remaining.

expression, as is channeled without hindrance. . . hindrance realized as motivation depending on the occasion.

. . .

celebration desiring my engagement
the distance to reach her embrace bordering chasmic

-

(l)edge.

salud

De vez en cuando no puedo pensar en otras cosas. Fortunadamente, puedo recordar el sabor de amor - mi amor; lo mas importante.

cold hard

An extremely pressing desire to retreat.

No more light - it has become unbearable to part when darkness arises.

HIBERNATE

. . .

If I were to live in a shell, would you visit me from time to time?

. . .

Never mind, there wouldn't be enough room.

Arc de Triomphe

In the midst of celebration, I'm taken aback by the sweetness of these moments having been tempered with an essential grain of salt.

As it passes over my tongue I realize that I was not prepared to be aware.

And yet . . . but still . . . .

astral

. . . in between our embraces I find my self unraveled, at the mercy of the winding Earth and it's polarities.

Magnetically, you and I form an axis; impermeable and unaffected by notions of time and space.

In the absence of this lifeline, my arms question their utility. . . .

Holes

I had to re-pierce my ears the other day. I wouldn't have imagined that after 7 years of continuous accessorizing, to remove my adornment for a week would lead me to such heights of pain.

Just goes to show that there is no permanence in this state of existence. . . .

right, right on

It seems I should prepare myself for the time when you choose to re-insert yourself into my realm of being, but something tells me that preparation most times proves futile so I might as well carry on.

somebody said let's keep on keeping on

moment no. 88888818

surprising to think: the difference between butter and margerine.

one of those 'what the fuck. . .?' or rather 'where the fuck?' sort of thoughts.
why indulge at all?

there is a need for knowledge - nonsensical as it may appear when it strikes, it remains undeniable: as long as i am living, i am learning.

perhaps a basic rendition of sanity will allow for the passage of time more freely . . . . and perhaps that brand of freedom is packaged in such a way as to be prohibitive to many wishing to purchase it.

currency
being
currently
misunderstood

. . .

i choose to gamble . . . . but let me first calculate.

does that still count?

Long Distance

I saw you today on the bus - thirty years into the future. I suppose I should possess a stronger reaction to the ever-present attraction.

You were looking . . . .

Still searching I see
(I smile).

I wish I could say I'll be there when you arrive, but then again I don't; we've already squandered so much time.

(laughing) Who am I to mind?

aloud

my desire leads me to disappointment, by way of expectation.

(but how to reconcile the need for water with the perceived thirst?)

i suppose a release into the Unknown - that which defines knowledge as it were - that presupposes desire and therefore delivers me the antidote.

antithesis?

theoretically?

rather practical it seems.

hear hear

yoga gem no. 753

The difference between nowhere and now here is only the positioning of the letters.

hands free

I've never ridden a two-person bicycle, but it sure looks interesting. The most I know about the mechanics is what I can figure out from sheer logic: the two people create more momentum than just one would, but with one person the bike would still be propelled - it would just be more to tow for the individual.

I saw these two people riding by tonight, in a great collective rhythm, having a conversation that wasn't strained by distance and issues of audibility. . . just riding along on that two-person wonder bike, making it look like a real good time.

Just a minute or so before I had been riding along on my own one-person version, working up the nerve to take my other hand off of the handle bar. I used to do this without any extra effort when I was a little one, but nowadays I can only get the one hand off and manage to keep riding along nice and smooth. But that second hand . . . . It lets go for about a second and a half before I know I'm about to go careening to the side and I instinctively re-attach my grip.

I'll eventually work my way up to it, but I didn't until just now think about what it would be like to try the same stunt on a two-person ride. I wonder if you'd have to give a heads up to your partner or if you could just let go and the journey would stay the same (given that they didn't have the same notion at the same instant)?

Or what if my basic assumption is incorrect altogether and both parties need at least one hand with a grip on the machine at all times?

I wonder if I'll have as many questions about the way it works once I actually ride one, or if I'll just know the answers from the feel of it?

Curious.

moment no. 36592746522

the stuff i'm made of or something of that sort seems to be what i'm inspired by today to act upon/call upon/muse upon if you will. . .

the great paradox of human (sentient?) existence: singularity being a given, yet the need for collectivity. need as perceived, perception being all there is.

but love. what of love?

what is love?

love is:
source
breath
fire
life
mean
raking
breath-taking
all-inclusive
a reminder
all-encompassing
unification
embracing
stability
insanity
love

peace and blessings abound my friends, and we are all bathed in glory at all times - let us not lose sight/hope/inspiration.

evidence of wonder exists within this great magic show we call living: here we are.

voila!

noise complaint

i play the drums and i have no job. . . .

but my neighbors do.

my-bad.

dialogue

Write something. The act is cathartic.

There - are you satisfied?

?

i wonder so many things all the time. i was once told that my curiosity is endearing. but in the same breath i was admonished for being excessively inquisitive (apparently answers can be distracting).

i wonder what it would be like to not wonder so much anymore.

quote no. 5673

"I have sex with my secretary. I have sex with my wife . . . . I even have sex with my sister-in-law. But with my researchers, never."

- uttered after an extended bout of maniacal laughter by big shot bad guy during interrogation scene in super-cool rotoscope animation sci-fi shoot 'em up flick Renaissance.

scream

There are always children screaming around this time of day. The elementary school nearby provides me with a multitude of shrieking reasons to get out of bed on days when my funemployment feels more like straight up laziness. Even though elsewhere people are eagerly counting down the hours left in the workday, and in cyberspace my inbox is steadily overflowing with unread messages, the children across the street are running, laughing and screaming themselves alive.

I can't stay in bed any longer when I hear them going off. And I'm by no means annoyed - I'm riddled with curiosity. When was the last time I squealed like that?! Did I ever make those high-pitched sounds when I was their age, going wild at recess . . . ? I had to, right . . . ? So how come I don't remember?

And why did I stop?

. . .

I'm going to scream right now.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Shit, man. That was amazing.

fuck fear

what are you afraid of?

well . . . ?

fuckit.

love musings no. 641

i love you to the moon and back.

does it even matter?

Blue, like the color.

A dear friend, one of the dearest I've ever known (and am likely to ever know), is in mourning. Most likely the weather doesn't help, but still . . . .

It's good to mourn when the feeling strikes. I think too many of us feel pressure (both internal and external) to 'snap out of it' and get back to the business of our routines, but that's bullshit in my opinion. Not to say that wallowing in sad feelings ad nauseam is highly productive, but still . . . .

I remember once about two years ago I didn't get out of bed. Just one day I woke up and decided that there really wasn't anything going on outside of under my covers that I cared to engage in. I don't recall feeling particularly melancholy either - I just made the decision (of course now in retrospect I realize there was definitely something more significant than an arbitrary decision taking place).

My mom peeked in a handful of times during the day - at first to shake her head at my sloth, but as the day progressed and the sun rose to it's full height and began to descend again, I remember noticing how her level of concern took on the inverse relationship. Finally, just as the streetlights were about to kick in, she said something.

"You're being weird."

But with her accent the last word came across more like wared (I love the sound of that word from her mouth).
-
Hells yes I was being weird. ANd . . . ?
-
She paused at my door longer than she had all day, still neither of us did anything. Instead we listened to the last stream of air from the last syllable she uttered dissipate into the ether. She closed the door.

I stayed in bed well into the evening, until a completely unannounced, surprisingly relentless craving for ice cream guided my hand to push back the covers, sit up and put my feet on the ground.

I was done.

I had mourned, and now I would gorge. Who did I harm? Aside from my lactose intolerant digestive system - no one.

. . .

Back to my friend, who's feeling a bit - you know. I think she gets it. She came over to my place and pretty soon after arriving, began to cry. Nothing overly affected, just a good old fashioned cry.

When she finished, she looked up at me all red-eyed and sniffly . . . and smiled.

Yeah, she gets it.