Hmmmm... This is evolution, of music? Okay, sure I can understand it. this is a link that sucks the... the the out of the the the.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
who are you? it doesn't matter
persons x, y and z all have hands and this is the story of them.
person x
HANDS:
feel like: hot humid wind
taste like: an egg cooking in butter on a sidewalk
smell like: tears and sweet milk-bread
sound like: bees buzzing flowers
person y
HANDS:
feel like: a splash of burning hot oil
taste line: a strawberry grown in manure
smell like: whiskey and muddled tree sap
sound like: scratchy records
person z
HANDS:
feel like: shadows in the dark night
taste like: the best oyster shot
smell like: roses on a hot summer night
sound like: a pick on a banjo
these hands are my hands; these hands are your hands; these hands are their hands.
person x... their hands are attached to the meaning of meanings and the goal of a goal.
person y... their hands may not be attached to their mind, but they are attached to their soul.
person z... their hands are connected to their driven spirit and ultimate understating of perspective.
so which one are you?
and now you know... you can not be categorized.
person x
HANDS:
feel like: hot humid wind
taste like: an egg cooking in butter on a sidewalk
smell like: tears and sweet milk-bread
sound like: bees buzzing flowers
person y
HANDS:
feel like: a splash of burning hot oil
taste line: a strawberry grown in manure
smell like: whiskey and muddled tree sap
sound like: scratchy records
person z
HANDS:
feel like: shadows in the dark night
taste like: the best oyster shot
smell like: roses on a hot summer night
sound like: a pick on a banjo
these hands are my hands; these hands are your hands; these hands are their hands.
person x... their hands are attached to the meaning of meanings and the goal of a goal.
person y... their hands may not be attached to their mind, but they are attached to their soul.
person z... their hands are connected to their driven spirit and ultimate understating of perspective.
so which one are you?
and now you know... you can not be categorized.
this
this is becoming a task.
i'm confused about how i wan to do this.
this is austere.
this is perplex.
this is not me.
this is me waiting for my computer to die. this is me waiting for myself to die.
this particular style of prose... this is not me.
this is someone who forgot what it means to be an individual.
this is someone who questions whether or not they know what it means to be an individual.
this is a human that wonders why it is important to be an individual when loving other people and other beings and other things feels so good and so peacefully natural.
i'm confused about how i wan to do this.
this is austere.
this is perplex.
this is not me.
this is me waiting for my computer to die. this is me waiting for myself to die.
this particular style of prose... this is not me.
this is someone who forgot what it means to be an individual.
this is someone who questions whether or not they know what it means to be an individual.
this is a human that wonders why it is important to be an individual when loving other people and other beings and other things feels so good and so peacefully natural.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
...
Life and death. Both are necessary for humans. However, both are complicated and difficult to understand. Fortunately, I live in a nice town, in a nice country, where my government is not actively trying to kill me (at least to my knowledge) and so I should not complain. Right? Right.
But I'm fucking going to anyways. Or at least, I'm going to question some things... because... well, just because.
Is life more complicated than death? I think yes. But that may be because I'm alive and not dead, so I'm a bit bias. Life involves a great deal of shit. Take, for instance, having a child... or, if you can't imagine that, being a child. Think about being a child. For me this one is easy, for I am a child. I can't even imagine having a child...thats just really gross. Children should not have children. Anyways, lets get back to the point here... if you get knocked the fuck up, you presumably have to deal/love that alien forever. But what if you die? Or worse yet... what if it dies before you do? Shit sucks. No one likes a dead kid... its basically the worst. So why do it?
So why the fuck do we do the weird shit that we do?
Love. Is it love?
Hate. Is it hate?
Knowledge? Do we, as a species, even know what we want?
What do we want?
What do we want?
Its not money. That shits made up...its not real.
Do we want food and water?
Well, yes...that is essential.
What about cloths?
That depends on where you live and how cold it is.
Love.
Love is what I want and what I need to live. It's love for myself, and for you and for life.
I need a shit ton of love in my life to make life worth living.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Sea
What does a girl want... A red dress in the mail and a guy man by her side. At least thats what I thought.
What about red wine, a black sweatshirt and a deep hole? Or a cat that loves you because he presumably can not understand english... because he is a cat. Maybe cats understand more things.. more things than I do.
This girl wants her heart to stop hurting.
This girl wants to feel.
This girl wants to feel salt on her face, but never from tears.
Foods for the dead
It's 1 o'clock and I just ate a breakfast consisting of clay, cloves of garlic, panela cheese and red bull, all while sitting under an umbrella in a down pour of gods tears. Don't worry god, I'm crying too.
Love
All I can think about is Devin. How did he do it? Why did he do it? I wonder what he felt like. Sometimes I think I know. But I can't. I could never know. No one can. But I can think about it.
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