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| I'm a product of reganomics, neurotic
They sayin homage is gone up, inhaling chronic
The oddest I'm stayin honest
I really didn't want to keep the blog, but sometimes you have to force yourself, dig? http://syntheticspilling.wordpress.com/
To all who read this, probably nobody. but you can't say I fell off.
my new band http://myspace.com/thehouseoforange
Hope for the best, plan for the worst.
Peace
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| I came across some fermenting spasmodic drivel that is even more pretentious and thesaurus-driven than this sentence so I thought I'd fidget in my chair so I could be sent to the doctor for medicine.
The time of reconciliation is upon us. Let us embrace her in full form and never let go of her wings. For the strom is fierce but he who perserveres will reach the prize. the jewels beyond all human comprehension that will fill our glass above the point of pristine, above the harmony of the body, to repel deeper than the cave allows is not to forsake reason but to discover a new frontier of beauty. For even a thief and murderer has cultivated within himself new capacities. Do we condemn because of a mere deviation? May it never be! Let us breathe from a different lung that we might find her hiding in the shadows. For she needs us as much as we need her. If we can merely realize that which actualizes our deepest being. Let us not forget the shadows of our mind, the horroscope of our soul - to reflect, to be to love to feel, to engage, to see the light at the end of the road where there is rest, peace, and ultimate fulfillment.
Why do we settle? Because we are blind or because we are sitting at a tower and are well versed in the net benefits paradigm. Fuck pretensions. I just wish I could find a language free of such a restriction. Why can we not run without cramps? Does nature jab us in fun? in irony? or in good reason? For we maintain a system of thought/bias against the pure fountain of nature. Can we not shed this skin? God let me shed this skin that I might grow and rise above such cliche and vulgarity. To embrace an affluence without money, a status without rank, a popularity with no people.
The concept of currency can be thought of as a language we have to express, make clear the often confusing nature of sentiment. With any language, it's crucial to keep in mind not only its capacity to give us freedom, but also its limitation. Language can only express ideas of its kind. Music, for example often expresses ideals that are foreign to its kin: poetry. So the "currency" in my example charts the habits and impulsive behaviors enslaved to a common sentiment. The peculiar sentiment is rounded off or disregarded as a statistical anomaly. Invariably, the extraordinary complexity of human sentiment fails to be accommodated by the hotel of social convention. Confusion is then met by apparent "trancendental" behavior (compromise) and the body of our human experience develops disfigured, our health malnourished, our mind unclear. Undaunted, we are quick to rebuild, to repaint the scope of our sentiment on this new incomplete pallete of the self. New colors appear to be introduced and "discovered". Just as this writing contains poorly thought out analogies, incoherent diction, and a general irreverence for language, so is the alleged form of our being.
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I'll see you on the flipside.
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| so the mars volta and system of a down show i attended last night was
glorious. i really love system's old stuff almost exclusively. the mars
put on an amazing performance despite a lot of sound/technical
problems. you all should make an effort to see them in atlanta. it's
really something you'll have to experience for yourself.
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| I lay here on a table as you rip my skin open like a gift on christmas
morning and survey the depths of my being. You must be this tall to
enter, please sign your name here, and everyone will get to play. Play a
song of your choice from this organ. Feel free to take any fruit from
the vine but please make your final selection because we are closing-
never to open again. The babylon is drugged so you can keep your dead
presidents at the door.
Where is my beautiful Anesthesia? It's
uncharacteristic of her to be this late. I'm usually able to pull her
up by now. I've tried to repair her but these scratches won't come out.
All I get is a "Please insert another CD and try again."
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So I was listening to that Mars Volta and I thought I saw Freud
laughing on his porch as Reality tossed me into her cobra as we drag
raced Morpheus and Freddy on a road painted gold. We race through time
like a peregrine tripping acid while reading Aldous Huxley and
listening to Jim Morrison. Now the cops will get us. Silly rabbit -
dreams are for kids.
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Excerpt of poetry from Saul Williams:
Rise and shine, but how can I when I have crusty cloud configurations
pasted to my thighs? And snow covered mountains in my memories. They
peek into my daily instruction, my moments. They hide in the corners of
my smile, and in the shadows of my laughter. They've stuffed my pillows
with overexposed reels of ABC afterschool specials. And the feathers of
woodpeckers that bore hollows into the rings of time, that now ring my
eyes, and have stumped the withered trunk of who I am.
I must remember, my hands have been tied behind the back of another
day. If only I could have them long enough to dig up my feet which have
been planted in the soiled seeds of a harvest that only hate could reap.
I keep trying to forget, but I must remember. And gather the scattered
continents of a self, once whole. Before they plant flags and boundary
my destiny. Push down the watered mountains that blemish this soiled
soul before the valleys of my conscience get the best of me. I'll need
a passport just to simply reach the rest of me. A vaccination for a
lesser god's bleak history.
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