http://www.crimethinc.com/texts/atoz/contents.php

The Contents of Your Daily Life How many hours a day do you spend in front of a television screen? A computer screen? Behind an automobile windscreen? All three screens combined? What are you being screened from? How much of your life comes at you through a screen, vicariously? Is watching things as exciting as doing things? Do you have enough time to do all the things that you want to? Do you have enough energy to? Why? And how many hours a day do you sleep? How are you affected by standardized time, designed solely to synchronize your movements with those of millions of other people? How long do you ever go without knowing what time it is? Who or what controls your minutes and hours? The minutes and hours that add up to your life? Are you saving time? Saving it up for what? Can you put a value on a beautiful day, when the birds are singing and people are walking around together? How many dollars an hour does it take to pay you to stay inside and sell things or file papers? What can you get later that will make up for this day of your life? How are you affected by being in crowds, by being surrounded by anonymous masses? Do you find yourself blocking your emotional responses to other human beings? And who prepares your meals? Do you ever eat by yourself? Do you ever eat standing up? How much do you know about what you eat and where it comes from? How much do you trust it? What are we deprived of by labor-saving devices? By thought-saving devices? How are you affected by the requirements of efficiency, which place value on the product rather than the process, on the future rather than the present, the present moment that is getting shorter and shorter as we speed faster and faster into the future? What are we speeding towards? Are we saving time? Saving it up for what? How are you affected by being moved around in prescribed paths, in elevators, buses, subways, escalators, on highways and sidewalks? By moving, working, and living in two- and three-dimensional grids? How are you affected by being organized, immobilized, and scheduled rather than wandering, roaming freely and spontaneously? Scavenging? (Shoplifting?) How much freedom of movement do you have–freedom to move through space, to move as far as you want, in new and unexplored directions? And how are you affected by waiting? Waiting in line, waiting in traffic, waiting to eat, waiting for the bus, waiting to urinate–learning to punish and ignore your spontaneous urges? How are you affected by holding back your desires? By sexual repression, by the delay or denial of pleasure, starting in childhood, along with the suppression of everything in you that is spontaneous, everything that evidences your wild nature, your membership in the animal kingdom? Is pleasure dangerous? Could danger be joyous? Do you ever need to see the sky? (Can you see many stars in it any more?) Do you ever need to see water, leaves, foliage, animals? Glinting, glimmering, moving? Is that why you have a pet, an aquarium, houseplants? Or are television and video your glinting, glimmering, moving? How much of your life comes at you through a screen, vicariously? If your life was made into a movie, would you watch it? How do you feel in situations of enforced passivity? How are you affected by a non-stop assault of symbolic communication–audio, visual, print, billboard, video, radio, robotic voices–as you wander through a forest of signs? What are they urging upon you? Do you ever need solitude, quiet, contemplation? Do you remember it? Thinking on your own, rather than reacting to stimuli? Is it hard to look away? Is looking away the very thing that is not permitted? Where can you go to find silence and solitude? Not white noise, but pure silence? Not loneliness, but gentle solitude? How often have you stopped to ask yourself questions like these? Do you find yourself committing acts of symbolic violence? Do you ever feel lonely in a way that words cannot even express? Do you sometimes feel yourself ready to LOSE CONTROL?

what i know

all that i know is when i move into a new house, i look for the best way to get fresh air.  i open the windows wide and face the frosbite cold wind just to have the feeling of outside.  all i know is that the trees and my own to feet provide me comfort and unbelievable relief from all things that are heavy.  i know that i want to be set in my ways philosophically in order to help others develop theirs and to be influenced in the most productive way.  i dont want to be a sea of theories floating around, ready to be fished out when the situation arises or the crowd agrees.  i want to be a pillar, a beam of personal progress and self confidence that is steadfast in my ways.

if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you

but make allowance for their doubting, too.

that another key phrase that i want to be following.  one thing i can be sure about.  i find comfort in nature.

to him.

i wrote this to him.

and i felt strong.

of course i understood. why do you think you pushing me away only fueled me? i just don’t appreciate you insulting me by thinking that i needed/need you so desperately or that i was accessible. i would never ask a man to give up his mind or will for me, because it would mean i would have to give mine in return. i don’t despise you for pushing me away. i despise the fact that you dishonored me by thinking you were great enough to take my will or mind away from me.
plus, you giving in so easily at the beginning led me to think that it would be yet another empty relationship…or however you want to call it. the fact that you were inconsistent led me to believe otherwise and fall back on typical relationship problems. to any other person you would sound like an ass who is not ready to commit (due to immaturity, perhaps). but thats not what i saw. i found clarity in a statement that i knew you would say before it even came out of your mouth.
now are you content? i don’t want you and i don’t need you. physically, yes. mentally? never. and if you were to ever submit mentally, you would be out of my life forever.

“Perhaps, my dear, you need lessons on expression”

“Oh, is that so?  What makes you say that?”

‘Because your pen stumbles, your brain clumps up into a living paradox of all-knowing nothingness.  Because life itself springs from your dancing, speeding neurons, yet the pen, oh the pen writing you thoughts, stops in its tracks.  There is a sense of perfection that lays on the surface of your blank pages.  You love the prospect of opportunity – it makes your neurons tango.  But the fulfillment you face with complete fear.  But what you need to realize is thoughts will make the atoms about you glow, dance, and exult.  I just need to train you, that’s all.”

“Training you say.  I’ll admit there is truth to your claim.”

“Of course there is.  Open your being and pains on an hourly basis.  live in the spontaneous forms of expression which haunt those empty souls.  I guarantee that when you exult the expressions, the progress in all walks of mental strife will follow voluntarily – with passion.  It is passion you want to capture, correct?”

“Absolutely.”

It begins.

This is not going to be conventional.  This is not going to be written for the point of pleasing an audience.  This is a tsunami of held back inspirations.  The author and beholder unknown, or rather, anonymous.  If I began a description of myself, it would rapidly become egotistic.  If your eyes fell on the stem “ego” and caused you to feel any type of disgust, then you have forgotten, not read, or not understood “The Fountainhead” by Ayn Rand.  This assortment of words conveyed conveniently through this technological collection of human emotion is meant to show you my ego.  Technically speaking, I don’t care if you read this or not.  You do not concern my goals.  I am an individual revolutionary with specific targets in mind.  Your emotions and responses are irrelevant.  I am unstoppable.  Challenge me and critique me.  I do not claim perfection.  I am here to simply assure you of my utmost independence.

I am not soul searching.  My soul is my possession, which fully belongs to me.  I am intact and will remain so.  I will change the world, not through deception nor pointless pity nor compassion, but with my creations.  My creations will be successfully constructed, which is all that will matter.  Appreciation from others is completely unimportant.  This is my personal revolution and realization/development of the ego.

Bad Habit Dedication

the wrapped tobacco claiming the nickname “Red” is carelessly placed through two unmanicured, hard worked fingers.  the lips are untrained to lies.  the smoke fills no organ, damages no tissue, it creates a smog within the soul.  the adrenaline of driving down a mountain road in the fog engulfes my being.  there is a sense of unknown risk and desperation that drives my brush to created violent, direct, promising strokes of drugged passions.  my spine curves into an inhuman shape as i try to squeeze the emotion out onto the paper.  the black thin strap of my silk nightdown slides seductively down my shoulder-the spot begging for tattooed ink.  my eyes droop in ecstasy.  this is life.  this is being infinite.  alone with my Reds.

worthy

he says he still gets a kick out of life at age 100.  i just got off the telephone with my great grandfather and it has inspired me to a point that jack london beautifully describes as the following:

“there is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life,

and beyond which life cannot rise.

And such is the paradox of living,

this ecstasy comes when one is most alive,

and it comes as a complete forgetfullness that one is alive.”

I am an open soul ready to take in all that there is to learn.  to divuldge my curiosity into learning from others and be completely selfless in trying to understand their ideas.  i want to live, to soar, to climb, to achieve all for the sake of achieving this ecstasy.  ive been thinking how howard roark has this obsessive passion with architecture, which he put all of his energy into.  i know not what my targeted subject or job is, but all i know is i want to be addicted to this ecstasy for now until eternity.

i want to embrace new religions, read about things i disagree with, lay in a field of wild flowers, stand in my black silk nightgown in the rain and release an energy of laughter that tells the world i have achieved ecstasy.  i am a living sign of hope, success, individuality…of blooming womanhood with passionate emotions for people, myself, and my life.  i love who i am and what thoughts fill my head.  i am a romantic.  my virgin body has much to experience, yet somehow i feel so wise.  my wisdom comes through my passion to learn rather than to prove myself.  i am pure, i am me, i procrastinate occasionally, but i am beautiful.

i went to a antique market today in my town and bought a falling apart schoolbag that has seen more than a century of wear, a fiddler on the roof record with a lovely design, an elegant leather bag to hold my precious letters, a quilted box of floral masterpieces to hold beautiful discoveries, an elegant art piece, a book of goethe’s quotes to ponder, old beautiful jewelry, and a new mood that will flaunt my mediterranean colorful artsy attitude towards a grey europe.  i thrive in the position of individuality.  this is me discovering and learning.  you are witnessing a:

FREE PERSON.

nick drake.

I know it’s late
And I should wait until the morning comes
But I got a fear that wakes me up
And I don’t know where the fear comes from.

goal

i am learning how not to compare myself to anyone else.  i want to learn this by december 1st and master it. there. i have made my public announcement.

disturbed.

i guess that is the right word for it.  i’m frustrated and it has lasted for quite some time.  not a whim, but a habit, a constant existence of a feeling that will not leave.  it is like a pressure literally around all surfaces of my brain causing my spine to curve over in weakness.  i need to find answers.  or find the right questions.  i need time, i need the woods, i need solitude.  i need to strengthen my mind in order to prepare for the battle ahead.  i don’t know whether the goal is to be mentally healthy or just to get the pressure out of my mind.  i want to be rid of a cliche theories of life and form my own trail.  i want to run as far as i can until i run out of breath and collapse.  i want to find the most efficient way to make an impact.  to matter.  do i matter?

Almost Untitled.

THIS IS MY NON VERBAL SCREAM REACHING FURTHER THAN THE HUMAN IMAGINATION.

I AM RESTLESS.

I AM FRUSTRATED.

I AM CONFUSED.

I AM SCATTERED.

I AM UPSET.

i am alone.

I NEED OUT.

….

….

…

EXPLOSION.

The Birth.

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

i am basing my new development of ego on this video.

consider this step 2.  step 1 was the blog.

trouble breathing.

i am sitting naked on the cold, wet, marbled tiles of my german bathroom, wondering whether sleep deprevation is the result or the cause of depressive thoughts.  i would like to imagine that these thoughts do not belong to such irrelevant preoccupations of a senseless, expanding, yet ever so small teenage mind.

aber eigentlich und leider, es geht genau über das.

i have found someone.  i have found someone.  he has found me.  he has captured me.

i feel distracted, unproductive, and sloth-like while he probably has no inclination to feel such penetrating stabs.  to an intellect, being distracted from a thesis is not only depressive, it is life threatening.

what do i do?  i know what i need to do.  but i want to not be desperate, therefore i must wait.

step 1. i am me.  i am happy in love.  i am miserably successful in my journey through the wrinkles of my brain.  it is as if i should choose the route of more misery, for that would give me the most freedom.  i cant sacrifice my sucking the marrow out of a foreign culture for a single soul who has, shall we say, disarmed me temporarily?

step 2.  balance.  balance. balance.  ive never been very good with moderation.  or have i.  perhaps.

i am going to smother tea tree products all over my blown up body filled with troubles and calories to cleanse.  to rid.  to be alone.  to be productive?  we shall see.

PANIC ATTACK.  PANIC ATTACK.  TECHNOLOGICAL PANIC ATTACK THAT YOU WILL SUCK WITHIN YOUR BLOOD AND FEEL SUCH DEEP SYMPATHY THAT YOUR HEART WILL PUMP LIQUID IRON THAT WILL HARDEN IN YOUR BRAIN LEADING TO A BLIND WILLINGNESS TO FOLLOW EXACTLY WHAT I SAY.

OBEDIENCE YOU FOOLS.  OBEDIENCE.  NOT TO ME YOU FOOLS.  TO YOUR CAUSE.  TO WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN.  TO WHAT YOUR ENTIRE BODY THRIVES FOR.  IT GOES BEYOND PHYSICAL BOUNDARIES OF ORGASMIC CLIMAXING INTO YOUR FLOW OF THOUGHTS WHICH ARE JUST AS DANGEROUS AS THE KNIFE.GUN.SAFETY PIN. IN YOUR HAND.

the thoughts will not leave.  i am tired.  i am done.

the plan.

pick a cause, any cause.

give your all.

live for it, which is more honorable than dying for it.

(notice the fountainhead reference)

i need to find my cause.  i’m finding my cause.  i am going to live, to strive, to be, to remain content.

inspired.

motivated.

i am in my jack london ecstasy moment right now.

wants and needs.

i want to be a mediterranean undiscovered beauty.

i wish this love would work out.  or actually exist.

i need to exercise tomorrow and pour out my heart.

i need to not feel numb anymore.

i need to write to enjoy and completely immerse myself in my new life.

i need to be HEALTHY: mentally, socially, physically, economically.

it starts on sunday, november 8.

i’ll keep ya update…not like you didnt expect it.

i love being anonymous. because i can write shitty pieces like this that show how selfish my feelings are without you judging me.  not like i care if im judged. but im human

Breathe through it, write a list of desires
Make a toast, make a wish, slash some tires
Paint a heart repeating, beating “don’t give up, don’t give up, don’t give up.”

jack london’s ecstasy

my fingers are starting to numb as the frigid european winter reaches their tips.  but somehow there is this burning that fires up my want to rebel.  the moon is full, shining its eerie light upon my hippie/alpine feather comforter.  i have found jack london’s ecstasy with my marlboro methals in my hand.  but its not the cigarettes, its not the moon, its not the cold, its this existence.  its this beautiful ability to say that i am alive! my ribs seem to be lifted out of their place and my entire being is wrenching out of this ecstasy.  i feel completely disformed and reborn at the same time.  i feel like a revolutionary of the soul, of the human being, and not just a passing movement.  my eyes are drooping in this inability to feel that i am alive.  oh but i am, i am!  philosophical ramblings are as flowing as the smoke from the tip of my burning drug.  i have no answers, i have questions.  and i am living them and sucking the marrow out of life.  exult! exult! exult! THIS IS MY SUMMIT.  AD ALTA!

“There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive.”

purity.

I

NEVER

WANT

TO

FALL

IN

LOVE

IT

IS

DISTRACTING

AND

POISON

FROM

MY

GOAL

TO

CREATE.

bursting.

i created this blog to be anonymous…and, in this case, free of the fear of judgement.  i do not fear criticism, yet i feel like sometimes my babbling is too low a level for my outward image.  enough…you see?  i’m already making excuses.

so right now i’m extremely confused/stressed/depressed/completely incapable of doing anything else but being sad.  i know…dreary, right?  i think i usually get depressed on sundays because i have nothing to do.  boredom.  my current outlet for this frustration is a particular guy named wyatt.  well, the blog is the outlet, wyatt is the subject.  he hit me at a time when i was very vulnerable..the time where i thought in my mind that i was independent and free without having a man by my side.  but he came, professing such wonderfully intellectual things that just grasped me immediately and all of a sudden many of my thoughts were devoted to him.

i dont want a distraction.  i am here to learn, learn, learn.  i think this is part of the learning experience.  but in my past experiences i have always given in to this initial knowledge of liking someone else.  i am not going to make myself easy to get.  i blocked him, by the way.  i hope ignoring him with get something into his head.  i comforted him when he spilled about all his problems, he blew me off for something i was planning for months.  that pissed me off, but i could get over that.  he pisses me off because sometimes i know he is right, but wants to be right for the sake of knowing he is wise rather than helping me.  i dont have the time to waste on such a person.  i am me, i am fine alone.

he said that i shouldn’t hold such a weight on my shoulders.  i responded by saying what if i want the weight?  what if i want to live in this struggle.  it is not misery, it is pure strife towards this wonderful ecstasy which i feel from time to time.  he then said that i should share the pain with people like my host family because i probably dont realize that i cant carry this weight.  he doesnt understand.  at all.  i dont hold things in for the sake of being miserable, i merely expose them to certain people.  only my truest friends are people who i confide in.  noone can make me tell them things i dont want to tell them.

oh yeah and when i told him about my dad in iraq and all this shit he only responded “oh my god.”  i know there is no right response to that, but could he be so full of cliche?  i think there is only one thing worse than being full of shit…being full of cliche.  if you are full of cliche you are normal…going along with human nature and the current of stereotypical human assumptions.  i want to go against human nature, be the swimmer who has no hope of achieving, yet enjoys the struggle so much that they just keep swimming.

and then about being alone.  i love being alone.  i love thinking and i love the woods and i love into the wild.  that is me!  i dont want to hear all this shit about community and everything when it is me who determines my happiness.  sure, chris mccandless said “happiness is only real when shared” when he was close to death due to starvation and poison…but happiness is something that is a choice…and if i find my happiness in this lonely struggle with a single friend by my side (lkw) then i shall life my life that way.

before his alaskan adventure chris also said: “I will miss you too, but you are wrong if you think that the joy of life comes principally from the joy of human relationships. God’s place is all around us, it is in everything and in anything we can experience. People just need to change the way they look at things.”

he didnt even believe fully in god, but uses it as a symbol.

i dont know my point.  i’m just spilling.  i like being alone.

but in all honesty………………………i just want to go home.

i sit here shivering with smoke flavored breath wondering exactly where the dry heaving of my pained body is coming from.  i feel completely incapable.  i feel like i am feeling sorry for myself and am betraying my well being and itnerest by having started to smoke and involve myself in socially “thriving” activities just to have a feeling of integration.  the truth is, i’ve never been integrated.  ive always been different, standing out.  im not sure thats where i thrive, but it is how i am.  i pity myself far too easily i believe.  oh stars help my heaving body to feel this pain so it can consume me and make me feel something.  i dont like to feel numb and like a noone i just want to release and fly and go walk in the nature in the dead of night and not think about a single thing other than the world around me in its enormous daunting serenity and overpowering , thrusting, yet effortless able to control me.  i want to give in, to be controlled, to be comforted by fear and pain itself.  i want to be in this moment fully and not have any conception of time or stress or individuality.  i want to be, i want to strive as far as i possibly can to be in this infinite moment of inspired hell.  i want to thrive in the unknown i want to thrive alone i want to cry.  i want to cry as if every ouncce of wanting to feel was streaming out of my tear ducts forming their own canyons on my crinkled up, needy face.  i am a wimp.  i really am.  i am impossibly weak when nothing is expected of me.  i am selfish.  i an unknowing, i am ignorant.

i am cold.

french lovely

i am most definitely sure that i am on some kind of drug.  some french, imaginable cigarette, sexual infusion of lovely artsy feeling and music from the diving bell and the butterfly.  the red flowers are almost within my reach and the paintbrush does seem to act as a comb through my disarayed blonde hair.  twirl me around one more time baby, just one more time.  but make it last.  make it last until the morning comes.  make it last before this infusion is gone.

I will tell you of the laughter and of troubles,
Be them somebody else’s or my own.
With my hands in my pockets and my coat collar high,
I will travel unnoticed and unknown.

-Bob Dylan

“Go about your day doing something differently”

i’m here to change it up.

variation, my dear, turns me on.

sleep with the window wide open to the snow.

sleep in my maroon conservative panties.  only my maroon conservative panties.

shower at 5 AM with a tired and hopeless body.

ridiculously hippie outfit to contrast the german grey drab.

raise my hand 3 times.  at least.  and wear my glasses the whole day to be smart.

eat clementines.  all.  day.  long.  and drink out of an oversized water bottle.

talk to the horses in a squeaky, baby, german voice.

permanent marker the condom ad at the bus stop.

pretend i am GI Jane at the gym.

take a nap at the most inconvenient time possible.

sit naked in my room doing art with the candles around me.

don’t sleep.

a dash of anthony robbins

“life will pay whatever price you ask of it”

determine your shoulds and your musts.

clarity and specificy in mind leads to success.

RPM plan:

result: what do i want? CLARITY IS POWER!  personal life, body, spiritual life, body

purpose:  why and i doing it?

massive action plan: how will i actually follow through?

frustrated.

the things i want to change in my life:

1. eating habits

2. exercise habits

3. ability to commit and have integrity

4. PRODUCE SOMETHING

5. have confidence in my beliefs after establishing them

ughhh i dont know.  ahh sleep deprivation.

i was thinking which blog to write on first, and i guess my fingers led me to this one first.  i am so happy right now.  i dont know whether it is the wine, the champagne, the cigarettes, the amazing gifts, the luxurious scarf delicately laid around my neck, the black silk nightgown, the open window, the excellent remembrance of good company, or the candles burning by my side.  perhaps it is the combination.  i am so high on life in the most garden state soundtrack meaning of the phrase.  i just want to completely let go of everything and just dance and just dance and just dance!! oh my high er power this music is just leading me on to the most inner swaying.  i am so loving everything right now and the independence of my being alone…or rather surrounded by strangers who have all of a sudden become best friends.  oh life!  exult!  oh my jack london quote, how i am exulting thee!!

THE LAST CANDLE IS BURNING AND I AM DANCING WITH A WILDFLOWER IN MY HAND AND AN ELEGANT SCARF AROUND MY NECK AND EXCLUSIVE FRENCH PERFUME ON MY WRIST AND NECK AND MY BODY IS MOVING TO THE MOST BEAUTIUFL NPR TOP LIST YOU HAVE EVER HEARD. I AM NAKE LOVE I AM NAKED LOVE I AM SKINNY LOVE I AM SKINNY LOVE.  TO THE LOVE OF LIFE AND THE EXISTENCE OF THIS DRUNKEN LOVE FOR HUMAITY.  I WANT TO THREAD THROUGH THE NEEDLE OF LIFE AND SEW AND SEW AND SEW MY PRODUCT AND MY BEAUTY.  I AM BEAUTY WITHOUT A MIRROR I AM BEAUTY WITHOUT THE EXCESS I AM THE BEAUTY WITHIN MY BLOOD JUST PUMPING, PUMPING IN MY LUNGS AND HEART AND UNDER MY FINGERNAILS.  I AM LIVING OH MAN OH MAN OH MAN!!!

my hair is falling in my face on a secondly basis.  and. i. dont. care. i. live. to. live.

burn baby, burn

after meticulously snipping fodder for the common place book, i gave it character.

this book is genius.  it is the common place book nr. 1, officially.

the twenty-two euro investment does not hold material value, it is more like a soul ready to be filled.

the flat, solid black cover is clumsily pasted with letter spelling out the title of an epic life story.

there is a, well, common man in the middle who looks arrogantly at the camera hid behind an artsy hat and tortoise shell glasses.  he’s smoking, but that’s to be expected.

underneath his bust like photo-we’ll name him “Jacque”-a German quotation is holding him up, just like depends holding an old woman’s security.

“Eine engagierte Literatur gibt es nicht.  Der Begriff ist ein Widersrpuch in sich.  Es gibt engagierte Menschen, aber keine engagierten Schriftsteller.”

basically, this glorifies the writer, not the piece of work.  that is, if i understood it correctly, but then again the importance is my personal interpretation, oder?

first page.  ad alta. b&w photo of man in flippers and angel wings on a football field.  i want to marry him.  underneath: R-E-V-I-V-E.  under, theres a black spot covering marketing techniques of the unimportant brand who made the shell of my record. upper left, burn mark.  i’ll explain it later.

left, small writing: “swing back in die 30er Jahre.” basically in denglish, that means swing back into the 30’s.  i loved it.

the first page stated clearly in penciled cursive “i always leave the first page blank.” that of course, is now ashes across my wood floor and now soiled linen pants.  i’d say a fifth remains.

next page, right side.  an explanation of the common place book as a noun and verb, fountain pen, now blurred by an emergency splash of mineral, sparkling water.

smudged using the soot from my creation: I BURN INSIDE TOO….

there are more smears of charcoal black and superglue grey around the page.

it started out as an “antique look.” oops. i almost set the house on fire.  but you know what? it makes me love it more.  oh baby, you just burn, burn, burn.  perhaps it needed to let out a puff of fire from the long shelf time in plastic wrap.  i think the book got as much adrenaline as i did.

back cover.  not to spoil the ending.  cut out letters, random yellows, blues, purples, barf greens, vibrant oranges, cracked pottery peach.

“i had a little

book

was given to me

and every page

spoke of liberty”

at the bottom there is a piece of a magazine subscription card.

[ X ] Herr   [   ] Frau   [   ] Fa.               Vorname

[ J ][ A  ][ C  ][ K  ][   ][ L  ][ O  ][ N  ][ D  ][ O  ][ N  ][   ]

the funny thing is though, its written by nick drake.  i was trying to trick you.  i’m lying to reveal the truth of my critics whose dirty unworthy hands will lay on these sacred enclosings of black, unwavering intellect and ecstasy in writing.

it begins?  oh yes, hun, it already began.

update: i am reading kafka on the shore.  i woke up this morning completely hopeless and tied up with depressed lack of product.  and then i hit a point where it changed.  i changed it. i am reading now.

by the way.  the green zone was turned over to iraqi security on january 1st so you can shut your fucking trap about no progress.  no progress my ass.  stop being uninformed, america.  we’re there and might as well make the progress so we can get the fuck out.  what many are missing is our perseverance, despite the questionable aim.  this is hope.

wipe out

this is how im getting rid of my boredom

1. i’m going vegan.

2. i’m walking.  a lot.

3. i’m playing guitar.

4. i’m thrift store shopping.

5. i’m cooking.

6. i’m reading german.

7. i’m updating more common place.

i did art. and its sexy. and i love it.

i love sleeping naked.

sometimes i wish i could do art. ok. i can do art. i’m going to do art. a wish to a verb, thats what this candlelit ritual is about.

i have a secret, though.  sometimes i imagine i’m being observed.  and it makes it…i don’t know.  different.

the wide window panes surround me as i spin and spin and spin.  i am dancing to the vibrating sound waves as the snow falls from the sky.  i feel like i am in a glass box, dancing, dancing, dancing.

i

am

obsessed

with

my

common place

book.