best of: October 2003 Archives

i was up all night studying the interplay of various alpha states & slow waves & gamma rays & the movement of dreams through open eyes, diligently recording my observations utilizing this revolutionary new method of visual note-taking i've developed, which has neuroscientists everywhere reaching nervously for the phone to call security and have me removed immediately. no not really. but it could happen. anything can.

ever sit up all night with your computer right next to another computer and the other computer is on the internet and the person sitting at it is playing oh i don't know like bingo or something and this goes on hour after hour after hour and then on and and and ... sitting inches from the internet with nothing but a few stray utterly disorderly brainwaves, three graphics programs and a couple of unremarkable photographs and ... next thing i know this thing happened, i'm not quite sure how, ...

... and after that, things started getting reallyreallyfuckingweird and by that i mean, you might not even wanna look. no really.

ashfallen the feeling bonebleached
beneath dirty blonde sun harsh
heat soft dry light thick
friction fills the eyes raw
silence fills the lungs slow elegant
stillness in the shape of a living
being vanishing under layer after
delicate layer shallow like skin hollow
a shell a girl torn
like a hole in her own
afterimage
after all
ashfall

~me
27oct03
(reporting live from fiery southern california)

and i asked dude next door who has the internet if i might borrow it a bit and he said no. can you imagine. pfft. doesn't he know who i am?

my daughter's not at work today no free internet there. i've already bugged mechele. weirdo noid of a neighbor. what in the name of colonel lionel p. tweezerfuck is going on here? exactly?

so i'm blogging in a notebook with a bad pen. by tomorrow i'll be blogging from the daughterhouse on some free AOL while we wait for real internet oh yeah i will be online you betcha by golly walk like a bumfuck egyptian i will be oh hell i said oh hell oh wait i mean oh fuck yeah.

i have most emphatically lost it. if you find it do not panic ok panic but don't make any sudden moves as you run for your lives it will be fine i am fine everything is just so fucking fine i could just

... oh you wish you knew what i could just do about it being so fucking fine don't you? oh wait. no you don't. i had you confused with someone else. my mistake. none of this is happening. we don't exist we eat our time something something something cayenne ok look you are gonna haveta trust me on this one k? alrighty then. assume a name any name will do flee damn you flee the state country planet whatever hurry get gone like gone was on baby now (what you're still here? fuuuuck.) go! before it's too ...

oh you wish. you wish you wished. i see how it is.
*ahem*
as you were

*nods*

point of fact :: no capital letters were typed in the making of this entry. they are all span style text transform thingys.

i was something to say made of my own language however the waves, formless from the start, have fallen into an unearthly glassy trance flatline flowing from the sensation of russian or something quite similar being spoken into a courtesy phone just over my left shoulder by someone sitting surfing the same internet i'm typing into just over his right shoulder. listening to the soft soft consonance, phrases formed on a tongue that learned entirely different phonemes throughout its formative phases, i am lost in the difference which i confess tickles something somewhere near maybe the base of my skull & could easily easily lull me drowsy into dreams describing things i've never known, tempting tempting i want to relent, to let my lids give in to the gravity the gravity is everything no no that's not right is it? it is the strongest force in the universe yes but it is certainly not everything there are other things, i just can't at the moment remember even one of them.

all my energy is spent again
but i can't remember where or when
so i crawl back where i should have been
to tell the truth it's more than energy that's being spent ...
shoulda gave it away

tired the mind says stop the hands say write the glands say fuck the rest tends to mutter & sputter some incomprehensible shit doesn't it? spent the weekend camped with life packed outside except ofcourse computer re: last-minute waiver. regret regret regret is at the moment infinite. everything. every thing. and every whatif comes complete with its own wouldbe regret wrapped innate inherent there isn't a right answer is there?

i don't want to let you down, but friend
there's something nice about the sound of drowning

in the interest of digression, an observation: recent bouts of clarity rudely intruded upon my own idealized interpretations, truths that maybe could be taken enraged at the sources but in my case the rage is taken internally (an hour or two before sunrise usually).

though you pray my soul to keep
but my conscience is a flake
now i lay me down to sleep
but i scratch myself awake ... try to keep it away

i do not regret the reason i rage. i regret everything else.

should have my head adjusted
i simply can't be trusted ...
shoulda gave it away

**sound of drowning, pinching judy

two hours so far full awake stalling. road rash raw through & through. i have wandered, i have walked through rooms like water, thick history family swirling around me, body temperature mostly but icy in places. is this giving it time to sink in or is this wallowing. i am breathing through the pain. i wonder what it is that is keeping me from screaming. it is nowhere near empty yet. if i take the vicodin i will feel less but not enough. i save it, it is maybe the only thing i can. now. a better person would sacrifice these house to herself hours & get on with it.

me?

bottle the first:
pain to ease the pain, burning to ease the searing, shivers to the illusion of warmth. if i had any fucking guts at all i'd take a needle no maybe that wouldn't be enough a scalpel but i don't have a scalpel - exacto knife? and i'd release the pressure. but i cannot bring myself to make the incision into perhaps the worst square centimeter of inflammed tissue ever to exist on my body. pain would ease the pain, but the best pain i can manage at this juncture is seventy proof and burns like peach.

bottle the second:
pain = answer. used to lick my lips too much. chapped cracked sore as hell and unattractive oh yeah fancy ugly, not just plain. insert large stainless steel barbell in tongue. walk out into the night floating on the pain and feel the tongue try to make a move on the lips. denied, courtesy of pain. dear b.f. skinner, you were right about everything, love, me.

there is no third bottle:
they were tiny bottles of course. to be honest i still struggle with bottle the second, i am not the wild irish alcoholic i once was. however who and what i am is mostly the result of various answers involving pain. punishment. rewards i take first undeserving even knowing i will turn on my self after. cycle circles around comes to rest like a knife at the base of the throat, thin line of shimmering red suggesting the worst yet to come. i do not know whether or not i ought to be struggling.

there is another answer. it involves pleasure. i will not ask.

i don't have a point. it's only a toothache.

the yellow glow spreads over the glass hazy with years of vanilla scented smoke i sit listless distant staring straight vacant into this the last of this light which hesitates and is lost on me for ever and ever and more, and - and please, please realize i never intended it to end this way i never intended any ending whatsoever, have i ever mentioned how back in the newness of this, how i wished we could live forever, just to keep loving each other and this is the loss, this innocence

is this love still inside me, dead rotten maggot ridden mass of doubts violence pathos loss? is that what this is? will it kill me

how long? even an estimate? how about a guess? oh. whatever

and what is this, this vivid almost physical craving, this ridiculous wish for a lapse in space and time and unconsciousness in sufficient quantity so i may once again awaken in the same dream i fell into in the first place and if not may i please have a moment and if so i would like one of those on the balcony on the hill and the county fair fireworks flashing over the ocean and with one voice a whisper 'life is good' yes we were this innocent once and yes we meant every word every last perfect pure infinite word

i would like to please believe love please just this one time if you could please just a moment please just the joy of that good life just one last minute of it

yes i see
i understand. yes. wait no, no i don't. but that doesn't matter yes i guess i have learned that much from this

and that is progress isn't it. of course

goodbye is a matter of days away, though the loss of love was consummated long ago, years and years ago, and it has been a long dying gasp of a last five six maybe even seven years, yes

i can already feel it, the moment i leave, leaving behind this house this home this family for what it's worth for the last time. i know goodbye as well or better than i know even my own self, which i have been known to lose on occasion, while goodbye is an always, a constant, ever perched restless ready on the tip of this tongue of mine

the water flowing, the endless river ... forever and ever

baptism by fire extinguished consumed with torrential rage & i swallow my bitter lesson poison & spiritual emetic alike & nature of course takes no chances vomits ash & stench & molten granite & iron into the clarity of the gaseous myth-ridden separation of our latter half-lives & shows you winter just like me nuclear & i stand back hold back hold on hold what i can & until i can no longer stand & laugh like bells rattle bones & confess yes this has been my most realistic simulation so far & funny thing i think i had you for a minute there i did didn't i?