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O imitatores, servum pecus...

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4/26/09 07:04 pm - Death of a journal.

It's grown pretty thick now. Reviewing the last few years here gets me a little antsy, makes me smile sometimes. But for the most part, this isn't me any more. There are pieces of me scattered throughout it, but I'm not whole here. So much of this has died, so much is new, it's just not working out, sweet sweet livejournal. I thank you all for your friendships and readings, you can all always email me at indifferentloser@gmail.com . Shalom!

Nonsensical gibberish;
Thinking what I think that maybe I shouldn't,
Weighs in
For days then,
Dies quick like Goldfish.

Ever rising to revisit me,
I pretend I'd resist but of a surety couldn't.
My aquatic specter,
My foregone protector,
I'd nearly forgotten my frailty.

Do you detest the incessant, rambling exposition of the barest intention?
Or the seeming guise of the flattering skin that clothes it?
For all words well spoken prior, it would seem a manipulative invention;
Save for the now hesitant tongue that will all but disclose it.

How could we ever make peace?
It seems tomorrow offers but enslavement by doubt.
Bearing no insecurity,
Speak to worries of impurity,
Perchance with my heart could I buy your release?

4/16/09 07:09 pm - Sharing delirium with the Method of the Wu.

Niggas is decaf, I stick em for the creeeeam.

I most likely won't be writing here any more. I've slumped off so bad it's not funny. Ask me, I'll tell you I do it to spite those that don't like random lyrics. I'm not a poet.
It's coming from the right brain, off the cuff, left field. Call it butter when it's on a roll.

My philosophy is now that there is no philosophy. It's all beautiful and contributes to what it attempts to dismantle. If either is correct it's not possible without the other and the other functions within the original as part of and an ends to. The objective is objective and it's all peace and popsicles from here. Embrace something that can embrace anything, find those things in yourself.

Being a real man to me now is what some would perhaps call a punk. What's a word for a fist fight or some shit kicking? There's not one. Not one to get it like that. There actually is, but it's never personal. If you find those buttons, don't fuck with them. What used to be a struggle to push a boy beyond the lines he'd enclosed himself in to ostracize those around him and include whom he chose to get the comfort going is now the cause for pause that pushes who is now closer to a man deep inside to find all I'd despise, and I'm thankful. I'm grateful to feel as if it's an even plane.

What is loss and gain? They both put fear in me. I feared I'd never gain and when I did I feared I'd lose it. And when I feared, I did lose it. I lost many its many times. I took it inside and inside and inside. When I attempted to convince myself I felt wronged. I love the very things that have brought me the most anguish and shown me what it's like to come down from up. I love being put in my place. It IS mine, after all. MY place. I want to stay there and fix it up a bit. Have something nice to come home to after a hard day's lesson.

The end result however, is no fear. Earnest, intense, heartfelt, and gut-wrenching considerations and gratitude to be near anything that reciprocates. No pressure to push. If I push, it felt right. If I pull, I wanted to. I can live with what happens, I will. Mistakes are part of it. It's only complicating because the truth is so often not what you'd want when you're on the other side of something. To be in control, to be a man to me now, is to control your control. Slow your roll, cowboy.

Is the man really a punk who doesn't retaliate? Is he the one who's spineless who denies what may well up inside him and drive him to do what those in earshot expect? Defend that ego and impress those who aren't interested anyway.

Talk shit and walk it or that sweet angel you've got hanging on your arm looking good and fucking you right may just toss the salad of the guy who punked you out from the passenger seat of his car as they flee the scene. Right.

Put out and obey or that perfect gentleman you've got on top of you protecting you from yourself and talking sweetly when he wants it may find another pretty face to poke and a sweeter voice to gag. Right.

Get real with it and don't sell out for a lay. If they're good, and you're good, and it's good, it will be good. Just let it be.

There's too much space in me now to be moved so far as to feel that way. "It's all love here."
Typos can be funny. It's all understanding. I've forgiven each of them, because I was so naive through it as well. I was in control when I ceased trying to control and accepted the outcome of the play, whether I ignored the calls from the sidelines or not. Whether I scored or not. He was a hero or a failure to the Friday night crowd based on the decision, he was a genius or an imbecile for denying the wisdom of the authorities. But he did it. I learn and love either way. You told me so, maybe so, but we learn for ourselves anyway, eh?

Let me know it's real son, if it's really real.

Sometimes though, by God, I want to burn things down. Sometimes I do lash back. Sometimes I forget, and sometimes I get messy. Perhaps it's part of being a man. There's a line between letting ignorance slide, and letting slyness prevail. Letting them take the inch or two, and being truly, truly taken advantage of. Being unconditional, and being a 5 for a 1 who doesn't give a 4 about it.

If war is ever just, then peace is sometimes sinful.

Though there's an acceptance of the shortcomings. There are always shortcomings. There are failures. There are my insecurities. There are biases, seen and unseen. Felt and unfelt. Deep and shallow. Narrow and wide. By God, there's imperfection in it all. But isn't it so right? Isn't it so perfect to have that imperfection? Isn't it relieving to see them for yourself? To learn about yourself from watching others? To grow? If anything is ever and was ever true, it is. If nothing was, it's still just as freeing. Hold someone dearly and laugh together in acceptance over the few cents short you are from a fairy tale. There's no happily ever after, because we know now no ever after. Happiness waxes and wanes. In real life, I seek the 'lovingly enjoined for this lifetime' ending. Let's be angry together. Let's bicker. Let's cry together. But let's love each other in it. I'm grateful to have learned. Keep teaching me.

Let's put space between. Let's rejoin. Let's talk. Let's share silence. It's too short to hate. What I once valued is meaningless. I value what values it all. Which means I value the good exponentially more than I ever did before. I didn't know what was good until I tried a few cups of sour. A man could get evil for the sweet. It's that good. But a taste is all one needs. A taste every now and then. Give me sour, remind me how blessed my tongue is when that sweetness hits. Remind me if I ever have a cup for myself every day of the old sour so that I remain grateful. Grant me that. I won't chug it all down. I won't lap at it ceaselessly. Don't ever let me grow complacent with it in hand. I want to sip slowly, unto death. I want to never finish. I want to wonder about what's left. I want to die smiling about that last little bit in the bottom of my cup, surely the sweetest of the sweet I never tasted. All the better for the mysteries of it.

Yeah there's a piece gone. If there's one, surely it belongs to itself. I can imagine it altogether, if I can get near the piece. I can conceive. I'll not have it teetering along the edges and fall unwittingly in, nor coax it. These practices are boyish brute force shoves of the square block into the circle. Give the cat the sardines even if it doesn't come over. You can watch from afar and smile. Love that moment and don't miss those smelly fish. Though your cracker is bare, its belly is full and it sits content and lazy.
Perhaps it thinks of you.
Perhaps it would have preferred a little ketchup;
but you were honest,
and offered what you had,
and it was hungry,
and (surprisingly)
not too good for your offering.
Or more fitting,
(and just as surprising)
your offering was good enough after all.

Want it raw deal son, if it's really real...

2/27/09 05:40 pm - Garbled gibberish from some unfathomable recesses of me.

There's words for anything you might dream,
though you may never write or speak them properly.
Perhaps there is a magical combination of the choicest of these seemingly infinite logos,
Forming the proper logotypes,
Which in proper order could enable anyone to
Know and to
Feel and to
Love and to
Understand for himself God's myriad wonders.
Though I could never give utterance.
Is it my tongue that lacks the tact?
Is the essence of my communication damned the moment I set out to speak it?
Far more likely that I'll never understand fully through meager words.
If some could read my looks,
and I theirs,
If they could absorb my deepest thought through my eyes,
and I theirs,
I'd have it.

Even the darkest secrets which we're afraid to let anyone know
would never be subject to the same heartless scrutiny through such an honest medium.
Selfishness would no longer be served.
The mistakes you'd made, the pain you'd felt, the humiliations you'd endured,
they'd overwhelm your judges.
To empathize would no longer be voluntary.
Your condition would not be far from anyone.
Those who'd have you condemned would fall around your neck and weep.

In forming words for your judges, you throw mice to tigers.
They insidiously hunger for your explanations.
They feel no remorse for their plight.
They paw and tear at every little one.
They chew incessantly their refutation.
It is to fill their bellies.
It is to fuel their pride.
It is to assert their power.
It is to further their control.
Do not speak then, as no defense will ever do.
There is no understanding to be found within them,
They await their turn in amusement.
If you extend your arm over the wall, if you lean out, if you hang over to reach them,
They'll pull you in.

9/26/08 12:42 pm - The ebb and flow, the wonders of the tao...

I observe how intricately, how beautifully, we spin through the world. I enjoy a great cup of coffee.

I'm pretty sure the contract binding me to my current locale is up soon, very soon. So then, where to? There's a certain appeal in waiting for the zero hour to make a decision. I can't say I'm completely without a clue, I'll more than likely head back to Hattiesburg, (Yay.), where the town sucks but the people are cool. Without someone to room with, I'll more than likely get a job to hold me down through school there, maybe I'll get into USM and begin my pursuit of an English degree. I don't want to be there long. As much as I love the people there, I've got to go somewhere new again. This place is a bust, but there's somewhere else out there I'll love. Besides, I'm young, I NEED to experience the world now, while I can pull up stakes and go wherever whenever I want. There was an article I read by a travel writer, wherein she said she wished she would have traveled the world hand to mouth with no safety net when she was young, and then came back to the states for school when she was 30 or so. I was intrigued... I'm a nomad.

9/17/08 12:36 am - Wasting time

When I'm alone it all feels like wasted time if I'm not playing my guitar or writing. Reading feels okay I guess. Any time I turn on the tv or sit down in my computer chair I have this nagging voice swelling up in the back of my head telling me its all a waste of time and I had better move my ass because I'll be dead soon. Thinking about being old is depressing... so I'll just sit around and wait for death? I don't think so. I want to be a cool old person. I'll show all the lame old people how its done. I'll rob liquor stores at gunpoint and then when the cops get there I'll open fire and act senile. Under a volley of gunfire and shattering liquor bottles I'll jump behind the vermouth shelf and yell at the fleeing hostages in a broken falsetto "WHERE AM I!?"

8/14/08 09:33 pm - Still shaking off sleep

I am beginning to truly believe that the reason I sleep so deeply or for such extended periods at times is because of the dreams I have. I slept for nearly 12 hours today (luckily there was nothing in particular I had to do) and for that entire span of time I can recall dreaming. And not a patchwork of separate random dreams, but one continuous random dream. When dreaming I sometimes get very deeply involved. I begin to experience touch, taste, or smell and I think logically to try to make sense of the whole thing from within it. I formulate thought patterns that are very similar to what I'd think in consciousness. What could my subconscious be trying to tell me?

I dream in color for the most part, though I have dreamed in black and white. I've had silent dreams as well. Once I had a dream where I could not see anything.

8/6/08 07:23 pm - I like to touch rusty spoons.

Haven't posted here in a bit. Been writing, reading, playing guitar, and eating or sleeping when I find time. The advanced AutoCAD course I'm so thrilled about taking ( is he serious? ) starts later this month. In the meantime I'm still looking for a job that will take me without it. I have applications and resumes spread out all over the place. If you'd like to employ me, please reply here! I would make a pretty decent manual laborer.

Oh... what else what else? Teddy Grahams are good, as I'm sure I've said in previous posts.

Random story snippetCollapse )

7/28/08 09:24 pm - Writer's Block: Feeling Better

What makes me feel better when I'm mad?

Tearing my face off then screaming until I regurgitate my lungs. Yeah.

2/12/08 03:39 am - Slide guitar and a head full of nothing...

I wish it was actually full of nothing... or just empty of everything.

So the quest for another job is on. I'm going to start downtown at the Mellow Mushroom (pizza + bar) and work my way back up to some book stores and music shops. After hitting all of those locations I'll begin to search for maybe coffee shops or some other laid back setting.

As cynical as I sound I think we're too tightly wound, we want so much for ourselves that we forget when one has it all then the others have none. How quickly we dub material comfort happiness and forget the sorrows of the less fortunate, the more deserving, and the innocent who suffer daily. When the planet just decides that humans suck and that something drastic has to be done, it'll be like one giant flea dip or something. Mind the tongue in the cheek.

I noted tonight watching television that there's a very very large communication gap between American citizens and politicians. Also that I'm a big fan of Jon Stewart.

Atheists seem to be displeased with deists more so than the deities themselves... Ha-cha-cha-cha.


2/8/08 04:33 pm - Dreams...

Sleep didn't come easy. There was the dream of fighting with my drunken mother which seemed to last an eternity. I get enough of that in the waking world so that was pretty lame. Maybe it was a little funny.

Then suddenly it was Halloween and I was at a party at my ex's mother's old house in Hattiesburg. I didn't recognize anyone but apparently I knew a few people there. I didn't see her at first, I was just drinking and watching some movie with people. I think there was a library somewhere in there? So, then the inside of the house looked like a bar for some reason, and ex's dad was very hammered and very loud. I stepped outside for a cigarette at some point and there were all these dogs everywhere, and they were acting very strange. There were also people outside.

Rachel eventually showed up in there, why I can't say. She looked beautiful though, it made me a little sad. She was making out with some girl, it may have been Jena. Oh, she also had partial sleeves of tattoos that went over her shoulders, it was kinda crazy. I went outside again and this enraged Halloween dog attacked me for some reason and everyone is running inside and locking doors and crying and stuff. But the dog is like, thrashing on my coat sleeve and I just grab it by the jaws and open its mouth. He/she was about the size of a full grown German Shepherd, in fact it was a German Shepherd... No, it was a black lab. It was a really big black lab with evil zombie eyes, drooly face, and a sour disposition. So anyway, I'm walking around to windows of the house showing them that I have this dog by the jaws and I'm pleading for someone to come and kill it so it doesn't have to suffer or something.

Eventually the guy who owns the dog came out and there was a scene which looked like Old Yeller if he would've been from hell. The guy just points this revolver in my (and the dog's) general direction and looks away. He's shaking and crying and stuff. So he fires a few rounds in this manner, to no avail. The dog's all jerking around and barking his fiendish bark and I'm trying to keep from getting hit by stray bullets. Finally I just lift the dog to the barrel and he hits it. So I just put it down and walk back inside.

I don't remember any more...

(There was a few seconds after I woke up that the nostalgia lingered and I wanted to talk to Rachel. It went away though.)

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