Tryin' a new thing.  If you want to be in the mental frame I'm going for, at the end of each rant, will be a YouTube video to provide an auxillary audio overlay to what I'm saying.  Nothing more than a mood.  Feel free to join.

A parade of misconceptions

"Its like 'Ok, I spilled something on my blouse'"...
"You dont goto the butcher, but you goto the counter... and everythings laid out for you.  Like 25 chicken legs the skin on them.  If you don't like the skin on... cook it, and pull the skin off... the end cuts are always nice..."
"Thats what I'm getting"
"I'm looking for her, but I've no idea where she's actually gone"...
"I won't be around this weekend... but definately I'd be doin that if I was"...
"I'm just bored of this place... as soon as I find someone to take my place, life will stop sucking"...

Life constantly exists around us at all times.  Happiness, sadness, excitement, love, anger turning into cruelty, sadness turning into anger, happiness turning into love, love turning into sadness... Around and within each and every one of us, at all times, the wheel turns, and as we navigate our lives within this fluid sea of emotions, the sea swells and recedes, the moon pulls the tides, and the phoenix burns to ashes.  I was thinking the other day... of how I just don't feel the desire to write, or call a friend, or mail a letter, or make my bed... 'whats the point' my mind battled with itself.  And as lethargy consumed the passing seconds, I sought solution in some external arena, where the battle could be thrown upon some team whose allegiance meant nothing, where my cheers or boos could be drowned out by the crowd, on the television, whose loud volume still left me in isolation.

Ten seconds before, and after, I couldn't put the guitar down, or stop the pens ink from bleeding across the paper, scrambling to say the million thoughts that pissed through my mind, as if each and every thought were an epiphany in need of immortalization.  Until ten seconds passed, where my mind began to doubt what I thought, and systematically dissected each epiphany as they ran the gauntlet of scrutiny, until the page was filled with scribbled out sentences, and crucified dreams.  These waves of thoughts that flow through our minds... these waves of thoughts.

I have a surfer friend, whose philosophy of the seas leave him caught in between sleep and work, where he mounts the concept of time as it carries him into shore.  Each wave the representation of both distance, and space.  'Time travel' as he put it.  As the water licks the shore, there are no walls to break it, except for the manifestations of man, and his attempt to control natures swells.  And so I internalize.  I must learn to surf!  I speak not of the high seas as they travel their time, but my own thoughts, as they flow through space.  Breaking down the unnatural barriers of manifested self-judgement, and allowing traveled time to lick the shores of their completion.  For each swell of inspiration to control and carry me throughout the environment within which they were created.

 I learned once, a river.  I understood it, and was rewarded with laughter and insight.  It taught me my place, and that I was no more than a leaf, and that as much as I could understand it, I knew nothing.  With nature, there are no rules.  There are only frequencies, shuffled between chaos and the predictable.  My river taught me that no current could be chased, and that reward is only ever granted with time and persistence... or when it storms... where reward and chaos are blurred into one.  Where thoughts or being cannot be dammed, but flow.  And so, with each thought, or current, or swell or tide, I reside to controlling none, until 10 seconds pass and the wave pulls back.  Until my epiphany runs the gauntlet, or the river turns a swamp.  But as I crucify each passing thought, and fail to internalize the rolling waves of reflection, I laugh.  For all of this, each passing wave, or thought, or day, or hour, is no more but a punchline in the joke of life.  The arena and stage from which no audience exists but ourselves, and who's boo's or hurrah's are no more than the chemical joy of rustling leaves, or a sheet of seething rain.  It all depends upon the second we reflect, and the ten that follow... tick....tick....tick.... hahahaha...

He goes, she goes...

"she could for all I know"...
"Sun salutations... another vodka, and a creamy ale of some sort"...
"But seriously.... you should come to Montreal!"
"I haven't gone to bed at 10 o'clock since I was 7"

All of the candles seem to flicker in unison, but I dont know if its
the circumstances or the moment,  But here I sit, Amidst the alien
familiar.  Somewhat influenced between pints and purpose.   With
acoustic recollection of past and present, reminding me of what was,
what is, and what is left to be...

How many times does one erase, and recreate, until they hope for a fresh breath.

"I'll text you tomorrow"

The laughter makes me smile, but the distance reminds me of yesterday.
Altogether shuffled, to each unfolding hand.  Poetics aside... Today
was a quagmire.  I awoke with ambitions of summit, and I never laced a
shoe.  I sat, amidst swampy tent and avalanche, reading of surrender,
of psychosis, of renown trombone solos, of quilters, seeking yet
anything but fair weather to embark upon today's journey of progress.
I admit... the self probing of reason and sanity possesses many a muse
for creativity, or inactivity.  I am guilty of both.




I don't know how many people are guilty of the same crime... but I
feel like I have been leading the world on for 30 years...
Every day I emerge from my bed... put on my pants... socks... shirt...
open the books... and daydream.

At times, I feel like eventually there will be some sort of judge that
sets me straight... yet I truly know that he doesn't exist... and as I
tend to distance myself from mankind, through isolation, I get to know
that judge far too well.  There is no use hiding who we are... if we
jump out of bed to tackle the day as my memories remind, or if we roll
out, reluctantly, to deal with the responsibilities, as the
contemporary emphasizes.  Both possess a piece of what I want to do,
yet I fail to remember the discipline that propels me from the present
into the productive.  I am a lazy man.  But do not hate me for it.
I remember a time in my youth when I worked in a factory.  I only
worked there in the summer and the regulars loved me because I did all
their work, but at times they hated me because I did more work than
them... I was... within the eyes of society... productive.   And here
we are now... as I shed such

But, as all waves of time reach their judgement point, let us too know
ours.  For I feel that as our time of atonement may be encroaching
upon us, I find our race as a whole distracted... Stolen from solution
and fed the sedative of circus, free for all to forget.

Our generation has always possessed one strength, and for this we will
be remembered.  We are the breed which erased history's lessons, and
tales, we are the vacuum of moral resurrection, but do not curse our
legacy, for in doing so we have shed light on the imagination of
another way.

And with that, I shall share the imaginations of a 10 year old Korean
kid whom I enslaved to write me poetry...

Imaginations are real
They are kind of monsters, ghosts and things,
And once we think of something,
Dream your life forever.
And they can be funny as a cartoon,
or they can be scary as a ghost.
No really. Don't forget. Dream your life...
So I am told....

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