And then suddenly the future is upon you...
I honestly didn't see it coming. No slight twinges in my psyche to warn me of the impending shock of the present being so ominously here. With the added thickness of the future stuffed inside; hiding like a virus to infect when the host lets down its guard.
So here I am. No added flavours or colours. Just me. Pure unadalterated psyche, soul, mind and body. (As if they're disconnected in any way.) Might be easier if you could adjust them seperately like ingredients in a recipe. More soul. Less psyche. Put the mind on the back burner and let the body marinate overnight. Presto, a whole new you.
11.14.2002
Now that the future is behind me...
The clarity of it strikes me with unexpected violence. No clues surrendered, no warnings issued.
People move around me as if they were single celled entities. Singleness of purpose. The impossibility of another understanding my state of being as they bounce about me in a caustic rush of senses appals me. And I envy them.
We spoke for hours in an attempt to understand each other. Ridiculous really. No one ever gives away enough for the words to truly mean anything. The reflection of my face in the water hides the depth and danger of the place beneath. A shadow game.
You said this was a significant step for us. The creation of a solid bond. I see tiny threads flowing out around me. Each one a different colour and thickness. You've grabbed the ends of a few in your hand and hold them like the strings of so many weightless balloons. Tethered. Jerking them to maintain your control. Violently they snap, these threads, these vibrant connectors. The thicker ones holding out longer, but inevitably broken. They are threads which should never be held. Are almost painful to the touch.
Frayed ends buffet in the wind. Take care. Don't touch. Stay away.
Floating is a wonderful feeling. Senseless. Touching nothing.
The clarity of it strikes me with unexpected violence. No clues surrendered, no warnings issued.
People move around me as if they were single celled entities. Singleness of purpose. The impossibility of another understanding my state of being as they bounce about me in a caustic rush of senses appals me. And I envy them.
We spoke for hours in an attempt to understand each other. Ridiculous really. No one ever gives away enough for the words to truly mean anything. The reflection of my face in the water hides the depth and danger of the place beneath. A shadow game.
You said this was a significant step for us. The creation of a solid bond. I see tiny threads flowing out around me. Each one a different colour and thickness. You've grabbed the ends of a few in your hand and hold them like the strings of so many weightless balloons. Tethered. Jerking them to maintain your control. Violently they snap, these threads, these vibrant connectors. The thicker ones holding out longer, but inevitably broken. They are threads which should never be held. Are almost painful to the touch.
Frayed ends buffet in the wind. Take care. Don't touch. Stay away.
Floating is a wonderful feeling. Senseless. Touching nothing.
9.27.2002
She makes love like a woman…but she breaks just like a girl.
Sometimes I find myself watching myself in my own space. Searching, searching, searching…
The shelves are lined with books. All of them thick with implied meaning…answers spilling off the pages. But they never seem to answer the question that needs answering. The unwritten query which I still cannot name. I must learn to love the questions.
Ritual….does this fill the space of an answer?
Sometimes I find myself watching myself in my own space. Searching, searching, searching…
The shelves are lined with books. All of them thick with implied meaning…answers spilling off the pages. But they never seem to answer the question that needs answering. The unwritten query which I still cannot name. I must learn to love the questions.
Ritual….does this fill the space of an answer?
9.26.2002
Pondering:
imagination
freedom of speech
decourm
fascination
art
replusion
boundaries
fear
terror
obsession
vision
and what strange and inexplicable relationship all this has to with me.
string theory
quantum physics
anitmatter
neutrinos
black holes
as well as,
faith
conviction
belief
"in a minute there is time for revisions and decisions which a minute shall erase"
imagination
freedom of speech
decourm
fascination
art
replusion
boundaries
fear
terror
obsession
vision
and what strange and inexplicable relationship all this has to with me.
string theory
quantum physics
anitmatter
neutrinos
black holes
as well as,
faith
conviction
belief
"in a minute there is time for revisions and decisions which a minute shall erase"
9.22.2002
9.13.2002
You know why I think an education in science would be great? You could investigate the great mysteries of the human condition. Like why I can't pee and blow my nose at the same time.
The sight of myself suspended over the lake, mid-dive in viscous summer heat.
The rhapsodic feel my mouth acquires devouring mind-stunning food.
The variously eclectic collection of people I refer to as friends.
Clean sheets, cold water, skin.
The transporting buzz of knowledge.
What have I done to deserve all this?
The rhapsodic feel my mouth acquires devouring mind-stunning food.
The variously eclectic collection of people I refer to as friends.
Clean sheets, cold water, skin.
The transporting buzz of knowledge.
What have I done to deserve all this?
9.12.2002
So right.
In a bout of drunkenly lucid dementia, I saw George W B on the tarmac astride his trusty mount, (foaming at the mouth with incalculable revolutions of his lonely neuron randomly rotating in his skull), at the apex of his toychest of fighters hailing them on in his (un)holy crusade to crush the entire planet, starting at the letter i. His single cerebral cell coaxes him into promised infamy and quite possibly the post of Baseball Commissioner...not yet realizing that unlike Tiny Toons, we won't pop back from annihilation heralded by a cute, single-syllable sound. And quite suddenly the dam bursts and the collective tether of the human psyche bursts onto the scene with a resounding "No fucking way...are you out of your goddam mind?!?!"
'Course it'll never happen, but children still like to dream.
Sweet dreams, sweetie. Sweet dreams.
In a bout of drunkenly lucid dementia, I saw George W B on the tarmac astride his trusty mount, (foaming at the mouth with incalculable revolutions of his lonely neuron randomly rotating in his skull), at the apex of his toychest of fighters hailing them on in his (un)holy crusade to crush the entire planet, starting at the letter i. His single cerebral cell coaxes him into promised infamy and quite possibly the post of Baseball Commissioner...not yet realizing that unlike Tiny Toons, we won't pop back from annihilation heralded by a cute, single-syllable sound. And quite suddenly the dam bursts and the collective tether of the human psyche bursts onto the scene with a resounding "No fucking way...are you out of your goddam mind?!?!"
'Course it'll never happen, but children still like to dream.
Sweet dreams, sweetie. Sweet dreams.
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