I feel like I am fading. I smell like mangoes. I'm melancholy, but content. I am about to wash dishes for five-ish hours. I will eat some Injera, gomen and Tofu keye wat at the blue nile. And then I will have a beer. And god, wouldn't it be nice to have an actual conversation with someone?

music: marilyn manson - apple of sodom (why? because it's awesome)

<input ... ><input ... >I love the month of October, however I have worked myself dull and haven't allowed myself to enjoy it.  Same thing can be said for August and September, except I don't love August and only really have a fancy for the last two weeks of September.  I lament the loss of this beautiful month of October.  Although it is not yet over, I fear I won't bond with the tenth month as much as I have in years past.

November should be a much calmer month for me, I hope for it to be a time where I can re-organize and rid of stress.  I quit working for James Madison University's Dining Services --Last day is Tuesday, October 27th.  Thus, relief is just a couple days away.  The anxiety that fucking place brings to me is beyond words, but I'll say it is simply morbid. 

When I work twelve hours a day for a significant period of days I tend to not really know what words are coming out of my mouth--I suspect I'm attempting to say interesting or funny things, but alas my brain seems detached from my body.  I have no time to sit and read, to find solace within myself, to create art, to write poetry, to sustain and make friendships, to cook scrumptious meals for a select few, to bicycle into the countryside...the list goes on for friendships and opportunities I've squandered or lost.  I say that it's not by my own volition, that all the work I've been doing is absolutely necessary...but it's not, and that is why I'm taking back my time.  All those hours working are simply forced movements, for what?  A buck?  Not so much in the case of the businesses I work for downtown, but moreso in the facility I don't care about(and despise and am thankfully leaving). 

I just need to recollect myself in the upcoming months.  I've worked a lot and have managed to swim myself out of a bog of utter poverty, only to sift through the roughage of my ongoing depression.  I'm not any more depressed than I've ever been before, it's just that i haven't been able to work through it...and working myself to exhaustion is certainly no answer.

In other news, I have a new blog.  specifically for poetry.  some new, some old, some more to be written: authoritativebastard.wordpress.com.  Don't mean I'm abandoning LJ, or the non-existent followers of my journal.

I'm also very into a band called Goon Moon, fronted by Jeordie White (Nine Inch Nails, A Perfect Circle, Marilyn Manson fame) and Chris Goss( QOTSA Producer, Masters of Reality).  Um, they are popular hard rock musicians in the vein I enjoy, and they make splendid tunes. Through his music/lyrics, I get the impression that Jeordie is an afflicted sweetheart.  and yesh, of course i gotsacrushonthafool. 




<input ... ><input ... ><input ... ></input><input ... >

Descendents - Suburban Home

Descendents - Hope

Descendents are a great band to listen to if you work in a kitchen, or anytime for that matter. 

I haven't had as much time to write, so this stuff was written during a period of a serious lack of creative productivity.
I've been working twelve hour days for the past month and a half.  I am not enthusiastic about it at all, and have been relatively translucent to the world which is nice.  I hate corporate environments, and hate surrendering to them just to pay the bills.  The facility I work during the day is of poor morale, and poor working standards.  I understand that an occupation is ultimately not fun, but being ordered and picked at for everything you do "wrong"(according to their standards) does not equate to any competent level of social understanding.  There is not much equality here, but more indentured servitude.  I was very naive to feel like slavery in the United States really was gone in a totality.  It's not gone, people often pay to do their jobs, as well as get caught up in the judicial system which has many faults.  There's also debt to put into consideration.  I'm not speaking about whippings and beatings, that doesn't happen so much under occupation in the United States (Not to humans, but it does Animals). There are plenty of people who brought criminal charges on themselves out of stupidity, but I am sure that there are many in the world that have been unjustifiably charged with crimes and face false consequences for long periods of time. 

I have had nil time to myself, but I have crafted a schedule where I can slow down and be stable at the same rate.   There has been little discourse with my close friends, and because of this I am saddened.  Hopefully we will restore our friendships in the near future.  For now, I am living more singularly than I ever have.  I wish to sustain friendships, and not lose them.  I am conflicted with survival, friendship, and creativity, and how to interconnect the three.  I wish that my friends would understand that I must labor to create safety for the future.  I'm not working to buy a car, or splurge on mass-production.  I am laboring for the beautiful prospect of compassion.

and god damn, you anarchist cooks, i am not a fuck-wit hippie.  but maybe a bit of a hippie.


these poems aren't well-drafted, and i haven't provided much time for creative productivity.  but here's some shit to read, in case i'm not the only one who's reading this.

  Chaos made a good man sell a heart of gold
to the pile of dirt who got paved over by a concrete road.
               Goes to show we lose what we earn.

        In the bedrock, in the cavern, in the tavern
every woman, every shaman, every honest man will be suffering
at the hand of a self-appointed master and his greedy kin
who don't know when to thank the earth for what she crafts.

Their negligence will surely pin them perpetrators of a genocidal aftermath.
--------------------------------------------------
I made so much profit today.  I made everything I needed.
  Yeah, everything I needed. 

The sirens will no longer drive me to pick at my wounds.
I won't have to dissect through the flesh of all my issues.
   Once I would have liked to always remain outside
the box we are all hammered in, but as a populus
we pretend there's no collective dream except the promise
  of money if we're willing to surrender.

Surrender all our friendships, negate every garden,
enslave the farmers, send the kids to the army,
chisel down the mountains, let privileged whites run
     the courthouse.

I made so much profit today, made everything I needed.
  Yeah, everything I needed. 
---------------------------
Who is it you're serving, and do you really want to serve them?

You got brass pennies mortared onto your face,
You got this brand new armor but no power to display
You got no will to walk out of the place that you hate,
    the steel building with windows so very wide
   wide enough for you to peer outside just to see all the pride arms
   holding lanterns which lead them into lectures about economy,
   but the sentences aren't structured on the sick ones coughing
  up the phlegm of poverty. the voices just focus on synonyms of
                             "buying and selling".
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aloe for sterile burns,
Aloe for a burning world.
---------------------------------
There is nowhere to travel,
and nothing to see.
  Everything is as plaintive
     as I aspire to be.
Barren street corners to bore us,
        profiteers to abhor us.
Resign your dreams to the T.V. babe,
         cos art simply ain't gonna pay
your way out of town; your way
        into a marvelous display
of all the lives you'd love to lead
    all the while I'm pressing autumn
  leaves onto your sweater sleeves
to depict the fragility of tight-fisted
     animosity

Loosen up your boots, kick them off to walk on gravel
Just to reach some crowd to tell 'em you've been found
by God and his disciples who speak of no such thing
            as solid ground.
 

music: the raincoats

i am getting a tattoo of a snail on the back of my neck,
 
however i think i'm going to do without the body of the snail and focus on the snail shell.  I connect with the symbolism and the snail matches my personality well enough.  I'm intentionally locating the snail in a place that i can't see. 

Lock the door, kill the light.
No one's coming home tonight.
The sun beats down and don't you know?
All our lives are growing cold, oh...
They bring news that must get through.
To build a dream for me and you,

Locked in a place where no one goes.

They ask no quarter
They have no quarter.

Lock the door, kill the light
No one's coming home tonight

It's getting colder
Locked in a place where no one goes.

Lock the door, kill the light
No one's coming home tonight

They bring news that must get through.
Dying peace in me and you

Locked in a place where no one goes.

Get Drunk by Baudelaire

One should always be drunk  That's the one thing that matters.  In order not to feel the horrible burden of Time, which breaks your shoulders and crushes you to the ground, one should be drunk without ceasing. 
  But on what?  On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as suits you.  But get drunk.

  And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace, on the green grass of a ditch, in the lonely gloom of your room, you wake up, the drunkenness already abated or completely gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that flies or groans or rolls or sings or speak, ask everything what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will answer: ''Time to get drunk.  In order not to be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk.  Get drunk ceaselessly.  On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as suits you.

I was going to post another prose work by Baudelaire, entitled "Beat Up The Poor"...or I could have posted "The Clown and the Venus"...But I don't have time to do that right now. 

I made delicious tacos consisting of whole wheat tortillas, red pepper, red onion, mushrooms, romaine lettuce, tomatoes, green chiles, and refried beans with spices....YUMM

I'm in preparation for a job interview which i'll be leaving for in a matter of minutes.  I'd be working for Aramark in correlation with James Madison University's Dining services..  apparently they have great benefits.  bleh 

I love this song...

I wrote this at work out of sheer boredom.  not sure if this is a fail.  it's strong, but it also needs a lot of work.  a first draft. 

I must be willing to open all doors,
alert intruders about the paradise they fell upon.
Thiefs are jonesing to pawn all my belongings off
for forty ounces of malt alcohol and a blunt wrap
to fill with what you could never call true euphoria.

Alert intruders, they're about to choke
on wood-stove smoke and the ammonia
spillage seeping down their rotting throats.
It's the flu they, the ones who live morbidly unaware,
are going to catch.  Police dogs will soon sniff out
the flesh of unsuspecting bandits while I am in the attic
chewing on mung beans, rolling a cigarette
  -- The fat Chesire who is forever smiling.

Alert intruders, there is no way
they will pound their feet up a spiral staircase
into this feline's lair.  All entrances may be available,
Doesn't mean any form of police going to tread on me.
They are always shouting orders at the sky,
without a clue of what the orders mean,
only knowing the outcome is effective and obscene.

Alert intruders!  Blood spattered on my attic door,
tried to silence me on my sanctuary's third floor.
The lambs were primped up in blue uniforms,
imagined they'd meet their quota if they followed
poor imitations of criminal saviors.
  And then they met me.
  And the temptation to sacrifice,
  well the temptation was overwhelming.

Alert intruders!  I am the cat!
I am the cat who ate the lamb!

If your cauldron slides under the gates
 and your coat is coat on steel poles,
Tug at the mercy you will not recieve.
 Scream primally at what strips you
               of your beliefs.

You're left to hide from all that you see.
  The world outside is gangly and tall,
like a willow whistling at you until you fall
   flat on your bruised bosom

If you sit still long enough,
 your skin will take form
of a solitary cell without
 windows to jump out of.

If you sulk and sigh all this time,
  walls will weep fungi
begging you to bash into
the cancer that claims you
as a trophy for a timeline
---------------------------------
I am crawling toward security
like some meek and servile mammal
with two eyes and a tail, no legs.
  I slither to the quarters
    of which I am sound

I am praying to be followed
to my burrow, curious what conversation
  will entail.  Will the follower release me
 of all burden or target my flaws to nail
       the floundering soul that I am
up against an altar made of wormwood,
  where the worms still prevail?
-----------------------------------
Regurgitate passions
     as they take toll
 on sweet mentalities
    you once held so close
You could smell destiny
  but you failed to lap it up

Now you're gift-wrapping monoliths
   just to crush them into tablets
Convinced they will garner evolution
   once you wake from hypnosis.
-----------------------
Our habitats hold mild similarities
and with the continuance of seasons,
  with the aggravated breadth of our age
 we wake with connectedness.

My hands reach for fresh greens
with slight apprehension, soft consolation
While you rip the lettuce from the ground
  certain we both deserve a cleansing,
  a closure for our nine feral lives

Your hands reach for a glass of hard liquid
  with the ownership of dignity in foresight,
While I fawn for a straw and take slow sips
  of a poison which restores my ability to indulge
Without thinking of terminal aftermaths,
  of outrageous ends incongruent of what I mean.
--------------------------
I am not an artist,
I am not starving.
I am no suburbanite,
I am not thriving.
I am not at war,
I am no patriot.
I am not alive to pacify,
I am kin to no dictatorship.
I am not at all hospitable,
I am not to provide a cure for your ills.
I am no nurse, no sweetheart to feed you pills.
I am not a sickling, no panting dog.
I am not struck dead by steaming suns.
I am no sailboat, not pushing you into oceans.
I am no oil, I will not fuel your urges.
I am no motivation, no waterbed for the PM.
I am no malaise, no baked couch potato.
I am no crinkling aluminum, no staticky preservation.
-----------------------
These are brief emotions.
I mustn't fly away,
     nor should I crash.

I ought to withstand these waves of friction,
  the triggering sirens of history.
Layers of manipulation built me
  with a core not dissimilar to Earth's
  (about to burst, about to burst.)

I leap onto my cobble porch,
  act out a stiff production
of readiness.  The stone quakes,

  I break a leg.

I nab at bakery baguettes
 knead intestine with theft;
run from baker's rolling pin

If I am bonked on my scalp,
  I will vomit innocence.
If I am flattened to a coin,
the raging parade performing
  on its surface
will be worth no joy.
------------------------

I have gone under water
with the city and its crimson
      brick nightgown.
My nasal passages flood
      with sewage,
  feet are steeped in
  glass puzzle pieces.
I maintain no velocity
whilst entrapped by machine.

No rope to tug on, no escape route.

The city is my coma, sets the bed
so I may snore until I sink,
until appendages crackle apart
    on step-ladders,
  limbs lost on meat slicers.

I retain no pulse, whatever vessel
  warranted for the floating world
has suffocated itself to rose red pulp.
  Tends now only to alchemy
of metal, of incisors stripped
from the jaw of ineffectual labor.

Now the vessel pops on the needle,
         the jaw chokes on the faucet.
  

Not fascinated by buzzing refrigeration machines,
sounds like the death of an imaginative dream
Not supposed to be fascinated with life, it seems
     
      Just seep in the muck of mediocrity,
     Smile as if content with the idea of property

Sub-divisions, car washes, law firms, and a taxidermy
Let's exchange individuality with irrelevant pleasantries

Inventory of the latest dumpster adventure,
I may have missed some key finds..
but this is pretty extensive.

1 bag of Oranges, which was squeezed into orange juice.
1 Grapefruit, which was squeezed along with the orange juice.
1 Papaya...that is squishy
2 Organic Green Peppers
9 Green peppers
3 Orange peppers
2 Jalepenos
2 Packages pre-sliced onions
1 large onion
5 miscellaneous peppers (I should know the varieties, but alas I fail)
1 Eggplant
FIVE AVACADOES
Grapes
Bag O' Carrots
2 half-gallons of Apple Cider
2 Bottles of Orange Juice
2 Stalks of Celery
1 Package of All Purpose Flour
A CANTELOUPE
6 Portabella Mushrooms
4 Hydroponic Greenhouse Tomatoes
3 Packages of Field Greens (Romaine, Frisee', Radicchio, Carrots)
1 Package of  "Triple Hearts" Lettuce (Romaine, Greenleaf, Sweet Butter)
1 Package of Baby Spinach
6 Packages of Mushrooms (Some presliced, others not)

AND A SHITFUCK OF TOFUTTI CUTIES (Vegan ICE CREAM SAMMICHES)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have wet laundry in the dryer.  I have honey lavender soap. and i have spinach.

i am at work and from the storefront windows i see white supremacists riding their bicycles down the street, probably on their way to visit their probation officers due to some crime they committed, a crime i certainly don't want know the details of.


Currently reading Emma Goldman's essay Minorities Versus Majorities.  I've never read any of her work, but I know many friends who love her so I thought I'd look into her work.   Here are two excerpts that I'd say ring true today as when written.

"IF I WERE to give a summary of the tendency of our times, I would say, Quantity. The multitude, the mass spirit, dominates everywhere, destroying quality. Our entire life--production, politics, and education--rests on quantity, on numbers. The worker who once took pride in the thoroughness and quality of his work, has been replaced by brainless, incompetent automatons, who turn out enormous quantities of things, valueless to themselves, and generally injurious to the rest of mankind. Thus quantity, instead of adding to life's comforts and peace, has merely increased man's burden."

"      Not because I do not feel with the oppressed, the disinherited of the earth; not because I do not know the shame, the horror, the indignity of the lives the people lead, do I repudiate the majority as a creative force for good. Oh, no, no! But because I know so well that as a compact mass it has never stood for justice or equality. It has suppressed the human voice, subdued the human spirit, chained the human body. As a mass its aim has always been to make life uniform, gray, and monotonous as the desert. As a mass it will always be the annihilator of individuality, of free initiative, of originality.
 
....in other words, the living, vital truth of social and economic well-being will become a reality only through the zeal, courage, the non-compromising determination of intelligent minorities, and not through the mass." 

I definitely feel that the pressure for me to work, to spend, to consume, and to produce without thinking much about anything else negatively affects my ability to create independently...I also recognize that my lack of faith in my own creativity has much to due with the substantial amount of plastic "life" that humanity cooks up and is fed...More than not, It seems that a product is of more importance to a person than I as a fellow human being could ever be to them.  Take the upkeep of a vehicle, for example. 

"Forget that college education, child, cuz I'm buying a new Jeep with money i don't have".

Of course, I know better than to think that a product could ever surpass the greatness of my replete omnipresent glittering majestic light of an ego.....Of course, I have better friends than products.


I'd write more but I'm feeling bland.  not stupid, but bland.

also reading Roald Dahl's The Witches and William Faulkner's Sanctuary.



"Society is a hole
it makes me lie to my friends
it's running down my street with white power sneakers
on the beautiful beat of black feet
society is a hole

it beats my friends big heads
my friends have big heads
i can understand it but i don't recommend it
you got big big hair and everybody's scared

society is a hole
it makes me lie to my friends
the assault of holy noise there's a slap in my face
my friends are girls wrapped in boys
we are living in pieces i want to live in peace
society is a hole"

music: sonic youth: society is a hole

   I was biding my time
clenching my soul like a wrench
  I was a clam behind a counter
opening up only to point out reasons

Why a stranger should purchase
  a package of a replica of a replica
    of a thousand other replicas
       with a price out of reason

You were one of those strangers
    stopping in for cigarettes
   one day you stuck around
     to notice I was suffering
     from certain sickness

This much was true,
I had become faceless
no matter to envision but cancer

I was far too bare,
so why did you linger here?
I was far too bare,
so why did you linger here?
------------------

   Wise owl flew into the sun,
determined Icarus was not the only one
who coveted all the light,
who felt designated
         to downcast nights

His jealousy deemed him a derelict
now that wise owl's attitude disparages
     every spoor on planet earth

Think of all those leaves soiled
by flea ridden four hoofed beings
such vegetation does not lead
to much of anything
    no exodus, no freedom, only folly.
--------------------------
I must depart to do what I find fitting
  for a shadow to lead a mind at work

Activities consist of surrounding myself
  with dry pages of confessional poems,

Drowning in tap water like the fly
  flapping at my lashes while I read

And attempt to interpret lives
   I have never owned.

It makes for a strong debate,
whether I would fair well with hands
of torment and acclaim,
whether such concentration is proper
  in the least.

Memories accumulate like ornamental grass
 Cerebellum's nerve endings waiver
   whether I am worthy of resolute skies.
Nerve endings are prone to end
  my illegitimate high, my frog leap toward freedom.

Every minute my confidence is reincarnated,
Every minute I strangle the embryo of such confidence
  Juices flow too quickly, unacquainted atoms
  meet and their motives crush to make rubble
                  of my riot, my jailbreak from doubt.

  in my head like a fly on a wall
is a jester with a mortel & pestal
grinding up my flesh eaten skull
no, i'm not death, nor am i metal
not as complex as the abbreviated
mandations made in a grade school
      chemistry class

not chemical, unbelievable, an ape
in dry existence on planet earth
i can't pass what i'm not worth
tests, breasts, and mortality
freaks, geeks, and good deeds
money, money's supposedly what i need
to put me back up on my feet

full-time, part-time, no time to kill
excuse the pun but i'm built to spill

legs asleep
bone are meek
   got styes
in both eyes
yet i'm the only one who can see
that patience is a false virtue
and we rarely get what we deserve
whether it be for better or worse





( more words, words words )

I really want this t-shirt, but i don't want to make silly purchases. 
However this t-shirt says nearly everything about how I feel about Motor Vehicle Cars:  http://microcosmpublishing.com/catalog/tshirts/416/

Little Birds by Neutral Milk Hotel

  

Little birds born without a mother or a father
I can watch their bodies forming in the running water
Now there is another in the middle of my mouth
A hundred altogether within me now
Little bird, little bird, come into my body

Mother, they're within me every moment I'm awaking
Bodies multiplying until they finally overtake me
Open up my mouth but all you'll ever hear is singing
Put you hand within me and you'll know what I'm feeling
I just want to swallow up and promise to protect them

Daddy, come to touch me but he seen his hands are shaking
Look into my eyes and he could see their bodies breaking
Push me to the floor and in his hands I started beating
"I don't want to hear it anymore," he kept repeating
Do you really want the burning hell that we believe in?

Did you know the burning hell it took your baby brother?
Did you see how far he fell and how he made us suffer?
Another boy in town at night he took him for his lover
And deep in sin they held each other
So I took a hammer and nearly beat his little brains in
Knowing God in heaven could have, never could forgive him
So I took a hammer and I nearly beat his brains in

Little boy born without a father of a mother
Taken to the river and then pushed into the water
And the priests are singing that the hell is getting hotter
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the only one to save him
From the thing he loves the most but we know will betray him
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the only one to save him
From the thing he loves the most but we know will betray him

And here beneath the water I can see
How the lights distort so strange
And I think this is how I would like to leave my body
And start again

so i spent way too much money today.


on housing decorations!!! i went thrifting with friends!!!, and spent about 30 dollars, ordered a pizza for friends!!!,

and just bought two awesome books that i can't wait to get in the mail.  one's a poem by maya angelou accompanied by basquiat paintings, and the other is a book written by bigfoot..hehehe. 


it feels good to treat myself and know that i'm not broke, but with the recession any amount of money i spend still makes me feel like i'm walking on ice.  blah blah dollars and cents.

I feel like i'm in a weird transitional phase that has both pros and cons, and the pros are totally awesome, and the cons are awkward but bearable. 

My friends are amazing, and i cannot reiterate this enough. 

i love marriedtothesea.com

  Who would have guessed
I'd grow to be a body
 infused by butter;
A stench collapsing each client
who dare purchase its naked product?

Suppose the best practice
  is to linger in the salt
turn to stone, wait patiently
for some sordid symbiotic bite
about to regret what it has taken

Nothing is perfect, teeth are no exception
  gums can bleed like rain
  rain can pour like tears
 tears can drop like despair

Despair is an everlasting machinery
a burner of ballrooms, waste of days,
   the metal matter-of-fact
I doubt reverence can toast
to a perspective so putrid, so flat
though, the reverent make money
  all-important
while money makes the reverent
  suboordinate
tell me, whose God is whose?


(Happy Birthday, Mr. Kurdt Cobain!)