2009 2 May :: 10.40 am
We came across a conclusion of bifurcation in his cranial aporia. Scattered cognitive dissonance, unlike contrasting audible syntax, can lead to no beauty.
The collusion of the two works something like bent nails and unplugged television sets. "Two heads are better than one, though." I am sorry, but this binary efficiency motto was not created with situations such as dissociative identity disorder in mind.
And so we stumble upon this desert, this jungle again. Why must we always land here? I step onto a train of thought and I never arrive where I expect. I should start looking at the destinations, or mapping them myself.
2009 30 April :: 2.01 am
Propagate these cultures;
and claim the deserved respect. - - - - -. - - - - [it's allegiance, or it's vengeance,
in a honorably sclerotic society - - - - - - .. ---. - with the vengeful somehow justified
where does one turn? - - -- - - - -- - - - - -- - - - .- by the allegiance they forced upon us]
for truth in roots ripped from tooths by soothsayers. deracinate the evidence from gums and fill each cavity with cement. (aw fuck, just flood that entire gaping hole.)
these lies will not be spread;
like butter with tongues as knives.
like the legs of whores for a price.
2009 5 April :: 2.41 am
Opticcipital or Optical Apocalypse
The distinct edges and hard lines are blurring. They pulsate and quiver with an unquenchable need to escape their dimensional restraints. To shift, to fluctuate in size and shape. To annoy and drive the eyes insane*.
Their movements are subtly unmistakable.
They are tired of defining only the objects they envelop, and wish to be seen as entities themselves. They are sick of being the outlining structure that holds everything together and inside.
To inundate, and to invade
Messages on optic nerves
To flood them and to persuade
Chemicals to make it worse
Every rod and cone there is
Each retinal layer and lens
Will rot and finally perish
As my acuity descends
2 comments |
2009 21 March :: 2.45 am
If time heals all wounds, maybe I need a stronger dose. Fill that second-hand syringe and leave me comatose.
I know this is not what I chose, but what else do you propose?
2 comments |
2009 15 March :: 12.50 am
Pretentious and Trite Reasoning for a Tattoo
Everything is connected. Our actions have effects that we cannot conceive. We are gears in a machine, but we do not know how this machine is put together. If we did, or if we could look at the schematics, we could see every possible course that our energy output could take. We would see the end result, and we would know before we acted what the exact consequences would be. However, we don't have that capability. We may be able see this on a smaller scale, but we can never have the whole picture. Too many other gears are constantly interfering, ones of which we are completely unaware. Communication is key. If we could all work together coherently and efficiently, the possibilities would be endless. We are all parts in this machine and our actions decide the outcome and the product it generates. Synchronization. Collaboration.
The gear would be a symbol of the realization that my actions have effects on everything around me. It would serve as a reminder to question more thoroughly the things I do before I do them. It would keep me aware of a larger universe than just the one I inhabit in my mind.
My ideas are a result of the culture in which I was brought up. They are a product of all the information I've ever taken in. The gear is a symbol for the continuity of time. This is the reason for the twelve cogs, representing a clock. The past controls the present controls the future controls the limitless possibilities of time.
The endless circular motion represents the cycle that every atom on the planet is a part of. It is a realization of death as not the end, but as just another turn of the gear. Renewal.
The inner gear with ridges pointing inward symbolizes the fact that though I realize I am part of a larger entity, I cannot forget about my self. I cannot forgo completely my own goals, feelings, needs. I must weigh the two against each other and make my decisions.
3 comments |
2009 14 March :: 11.40 am
An alter ego
They call me a mason, because I make you shit bricks
I'm known as an illness, cuz my rhymes are fucking sick
I am a magician, the way I make you turn tricks
I'm like a narcotic and you gotta get your fix
2009 11 March :: 2.40 am
My favorite poem. I want this read at my funeral.
2009 23 February :: 12.39 am
A collage of cartilaginous contusions
and what everyone usually just assumes is
painted, peeling black lacquered
barrels connecting bullets to the haggard
2008 30 December :: 4.32 am
:: Music: Isaac Marion's Moon Colony
I spit sacrilege through gritted teeth.
I am disconnecting from... reality. From consciousness. From tangibility. From dimensional restraints.
Thread by thread, I am tearing each stitch. Finding solvent for the glue, I pry each nail from its hole. I exhume screws from their cylindrical tombs. I am plucking staples and cutting ropes. I will deracinate the roots that attach me to the ground and degauss the magnets that are holding me down.
I am burning to be released in smoke. My name is Phlogiston.
I am the view from within a raindrop. I am the collision it has with your skin.
1 comment |
2008 26 October :: 4.49 pm
:: Mood: determined
:: Music: Manchester Orchestra
I will indulge in every whim and woman that I meet.