Monday, 20 June 2016

most amazing superlative ever

superlatives are the dreariest thing i encounter over the course of my day. the best this, the greatest that, the blankety-blank of all time. since i cannot seem to dodge them, let me join the party: i must be the least interested of all fucking beings in our systemic accolade olympics. the greatest jade of merit in our meritocracy (for which the lifetime achievement award is insanity). talk radio is all talking in my head while i color my nails with lead paint. my cats sleep on surge protectors so they won’t get short-circuited by the drones sculpting into formless shape the thoughtscape of all tomorrows. my mascara has thickened and scrapes the lenses of my glasses, until i can no longer see a thing. i sacrifice my clarity into a datastream bubbling toward and then away from me. leaving me behind. i can’t remember shit. time for a selfie.

oh. there i am. looking pretty. looking pretty silly. looking pretty silly with a blog and an attitude. and a cold brew coffee to my dome.

under the influence of and blindsided by life

What is left to do but live when all the other meaning i ever thought life carried no longer holds me, no way, all is left is the life itself and whomever orchestrated this party clearly let me figure it out for myself, hey, there’s nothing can be figured by it, there is little use for an outline for a story that changes every instant, imperceptibly most of the time, punctuated by obvious dramatic incidents, unraveling in a rhythm decided by greater forces than self and self-will – whether you call it god or not, there it is showing you up all the time – and i could begin to really love it if only i could accept it, but tend to fight it all the while, not sayin’ im against change, no way, but i guess i get attached like any young fool i wanna hold on to the meaning i created and not let go, the meaning i share with you, as we unravel the way we do, pretty sometimes, funny, tragic sometimes, for i cherish it and maybe that’s what a book is to me, writing a book, capturing a sliver of cherished meaning, so we can have it, you and me, so we can know in twenty sixteen this was how it was for a hot second, glorious, tumbled off of a platform and raising dust, confused and intoxicated as life is, under many an influence, troubled and reflective, comin apart at the seams, belligerent, graceful sometimes, then colliding again with the water, the air, the earth, blindsided by the spirit, chanted away on a fallen sun, going dark again, colorful at dawn, vital, full of hope and bloodied shows we’re made of something, and – no matter the violent wannabes tryin to ruin what we got – the sure thing won’t ever change is our rising up with an ever touched fortitude to show them we can love them, too, despite themselves spun into lost causes, for we have been lost, too, and only found ourselves like old friends to embrace and move courageously into the lucid dream in precarious identities under our skin, deepening the experience only by giving and giving into. And out of my mind i go, crazy and unregimented – sometimes in ink – zigzagging under the influence of strange and unseen elements, having a grand and grainy absorption, laughin and cryin, talkin and sleepin, knowing no other way but here, but now, discardin the limited perception, struggling to make somethin of it, and so what’s made is what is, and what is is pretty damn spectacular, i mean, what is left to do but live, when all the meaning you ever made no longer holds you, no way, is that freedom or what? Whether we want it or not it’s not about what we want, is it, it’s only lived and the living never wears out, just as sure as perception has its limits, we see death when nothing ever dies, life keeps living and nothing will stop it! Not even the end of this earth, so goddamn! Whose to worry? All is left is the imperceptible ever changing, punctuated by obvious dramatic moments, spaced by space, unitive when embraced, divided when not, judged all along, fading into sunsets, risen into colors, drawn out over time, blessed by the blessings, covered in earth, supported on the back of the wind, falling like the water, breaking in a wave, bleached by the sun, suffering in darkness, and tremendously reunited, partying til dawn, siesta all day, coffee in the evening, writing at night, diving into books, driven into meaning, ¬†making use of what we’ve been given… loving every second if you are lucky and figure out how to give in: so give in, my friend, give in.

mechanic of love

Journal # 06.17.16

i may not be a geometry star, but i know how to leave the seven ball behind the eight and take your money on the nine, i might have lost our debate, but i can talk you out of getting behind the wheel, drowned in imperial pints as we are, together at last side by side in some pub, living outta memory, under overcast skies, looking in your eyes. i may not vote this time around, but that don’t mean i don’t know my rights, kid, in no swing state and we are colored blue and shaped like an ass, too. and i vote for you. i have been broken-hearted a hundred times over, but we will get her rolling again just takes a little tender love and care, ima mechanic of love, wavin’ white towel flags to your window, you see, look up in your eyes, those wild and overcast skies, you stare down at me all wonderin’ am i dangerous? will you fall for me again, will i charm you somehow from the outside in, and a bottle of gin, i might not hold a steady job, but see me beside you sunrise to sunset, holdin on to us yet, down calm like the charm, any unfortunate scenario, say, four or five alarm, seven ball behind the eight, and hopeful to disarm all that old unchallenged hate got you heavy, deep in the past where it’s buried, someone who hurt you, and so you need help, you need love, you need someone you can trust. will i be the fortunate one? can i be careful and gentle with you? acknowledge every tear fallin off your face, pushed out on to the streets hand in hand for all tomorrows, or maybe just right now. dangerous now, come here. dangerous now, me and you and there’s no other way.


GWB – Video Book 1:9:2


Cat Sleepin On A Surge Protector

idea factories and surge protectors

Incredible people are dying, some are being born, and I have to move my car across the street so I don’t get a parking ticket. What else is new. I have placed fans strategically around my living room because the circulation seems to give my Idea Factory a run. I mean my head. Like I am walking while sitting still, the air pushing around. One of my cats is sleeping on the surge protector, perhaps toward the same purpose, though he may get more than he bargained for.

matching socks to enlightenment

All that confusion in your head has an end. The secret lies hidden in plain view, in your dresser drawer. Pull on those handles. They will knock three times against the wood paneling when you let go. Now on your knees may you witness the truth in woven cottons. The spindly bastards await your efforts to reunite them with their twins. This is best done just after the latest trip to Launderland, with the big sack of fresh linens carried home on your back, opened to a flophouse of orphaned socks. You begin to lay them out side by side on the carpet, segregated by color and size. All the little ones seem smaller than they are, and some you stretch over your toes, amazed they still fit. Some have holes or are grossly disfigured or stained, and will be laid to rest. Their twins, if found at all, shall be laid beside them. Many of the pairs were adopted in a spirit of adventure; the ones with toes, the super furry ones, ¬†fluorescent ones. Look for further uses of these ones, may the adventure continue. You like to cut the toes off the toe socks, and use them for wristbands. The furry ones make for great dusters. The fluorescent ones could be tied to a bike frame. Knee highs could be fashioned into leggings. You begin to feel an extraordinary peace of mind as the painted strips of cotton alongside you begin to mate with the orphans spilling out of the sack. You ball them up and bounce them into a clean drawer with its wooden walls. Nothing like the smell of stale wood and fresh linen. You haven’t done this in years! Now all those crucial hours before work will become easier with all the pairs together at last. One last thing before you go. Be sure to take all of the remaining orphans and perhaps elastic the strips together and run them down the side at one edge of the drawer. Compassionately. This way you will still have the chance to mismatch your way to enlightenment.


GWB – Video Book 1:9:1


edge of seventeen cover