And I erase what I had before because I was not prepared not prepared for a blank screen like this, courier type like that, and a keyboard that wants to Interpret my types the way it wants. What is this, am I writing or is it something else writing with me? Can we be on the same page, something else? I think I like, more or less, what I planned to write, and so it throws me off when you just offer up something in there I just never thought of. Of course, maybe it can be amusing to look up and later see what came out, I'll try that project another day, for now I want it to work out for me. I want to see the words flow out and think pride think hey those things were strung together by this brain, that mad thing, look what it had for y'all. It is not often that I speak in positives about this kind of project, normally I disparage when I just think of writing for the ether, but I think I should change on that front. Not that I've so changed really, it's more just a mental state thing. I was going to say that it was because this world sure has its share of mediocre writers, but actually I am not trying to measure myself up against them, I'm just looking to make myself happy, pass my own critique, move myself along here. But there's no way ill move along really if I keep being down on myself. So I should be critical, why not, this is fine and necessary, but so is positivity and optimism that things will look up and there will be a gem to be found in a rubbish heap of words.

limbering up

feeling not quite ready i stretch out each finger like so, so I won't embarrass myself, won't show a little toomuch skin ! what if... I am betrayed by these true words. No, craft it should be, just so, just so we stay covered and safe but lonely no doubt. this is good. get it all out here and forget sincerity in those other words, they can be a little coiffed, a little trimmed and fine. it can't be any other way, at least not for now, I am not ready to reveal

constricted sighs

a slate slab lies heavy, one piece cold and square
a crushing heavy so I cannot breathe
cold crushes down, seeping and spreading
and cold becomes numb, a confusing curious nothing.

it lies for so long, the chest becomes accustomed to quick breaths
the weight instead a stony sheath,
hard discouraging uncompromising surface
a small burden for impermeability

it was a time,
and I was poised, waiting
so proud of my imminent declaration.
and instead a cold wind rolled through
lazily sitting on my shoulders, goosebumps rising half the speed;
so the realization came later, ego holding strong
what a faltering fool I stood ready to honor him with my love:
mattered not where next we went, a feeling felt should be a feeling expressed--
but the end told me tears and wisdom, worth and confidence.
end it was, oh end it was.

a shot of perk

wow, all is not desolation, like a DCFC CD,
but the last entries of this blog read exactly so.
lest you shy away thinking I'm writing from teenage angst, I've a word of solace for you! in fact, I am well into my 20s. so it's later in life angst, but i think that word's a little harsh anyhow. why not something more charitable, musings or vignettes perhaps. Thoughts spun off in the frenzy of emotion. Of course there is a reason for this post, as with all others, some rankling feeling that bursts out a hurly mess. In the moment it seems so tangible, moving. Cause for a post on the blog! And a year later, there is barely a recollection of what could possibly have been the source of that unsightly collection of words. oof.
ha! I guess I'm not doing so well to keep up with my aspirational title. perk i prescribed and instead i give snark...no I didn't mean for that to be a catchy rhyme-ish thing, just be quiet.
well, i guess I don't quite know what perk means. if it means subject matter fit for a self-help book, then I may as well erase that title, I don't want to be accused of misrepresentation or anything. And even if I tried to live up to the aspiration that I envisioned in that title (not words of inspiration or motivational things), I don't know how sincere the so-called perk could be in my words. I mean, yes. I find people to be incredibly resilient, I marvel at how there are people who go in and out of relationships over and over and over again, and still move on to find love. Me, for myself, I can't imagine myself going through this again. It's about strength, and there are many people who show it after multiple unsuccessful runs, but I feel I don't have it in me to do it again.

thank you for keeping me here

would i not have been gone long ago
if not for the bienvenue of cold wires and metal plates...?
better than the heaving chests and red eyed stares of warm bodies

but this is not what we speak of today.
today is for despair
puzzlement, frustration
screams emitting from tapping fingers
a;lksdhj;alskdhaoerihg;lrkasngalsknhowhigqworihn'raknas'kdgnw'epgsirgh
that's it! that is the way it goes. how else? no other way.
the neighbors would hear.
i'd scratch my voice.
my face would turn red.
i'd feel a fool.

and so,
the recourse is this, mediocre may it sound
there's no room for thinking about mediocrity now, it is desperation it is a reaching out for nothing a clawing at the air beyond, give it back give it back give me back my equanimity.
but that was never there, it was always a lil this a lil that.
how do people deal with it? so fragile we seem, crumbling in our shells
we are powder but appear stone, full and firm and formed and permanent
-seeming
i can go with that...

sssh..shhh..sssshhhhOUT

oh lord oh lord
what emptiness,
all that length from the floor up
and over the edge of the well.

I cast up my voice,
imagine it distorted by the stale air upon which it floats
coming out a dissonant croak, an ugly hurl
up
and the passersby turn their shoulders in disgust
or bewilderment,
let's get away from that leper's song
before it catches in our nesty ears
and echoes whispers of despair
what we fear the most
the truth,
one
lone
solitude.

never hold a thing in your hands, much less heart.

a breath of love blown,
the petals begin their curl, closing in on themselves
indignant, withering
altering their weight in anticipation of the next gust
to float on the winds
to disperse their seeds in new fields, to
come to rest in new and unfamiliar grounds.

the inhalation presages loss
imperceptible, the retraction, but for a strange metaphysical discomfort
heave, what was given is gone,
never to be reclaimed not even in cover
even as the act was being carried out sacrifice tinged it
and yet.
intransigent fatalism,
ever the prey of impulse, praying to be figured favorably (thought that requires skirting convention)
pushed and pushed and out it came.
just go then. go.

foray back into fiction awakens the fingers to their trade.
producing, producing, cobwebs flicked away with energy gleaned by self-disgust.
pock-marked and scratched, there is the evidence of what an eternity of inertia
a day
has wrought on a body reaching for action
surmounting mediocrity, creeping against the odds that fling you back into obscurity.

and if i were to stop writing about writing it's like, there goes my muse! a funny kind of muse to have indeed; a lecherous old painter might find a beautiful young flower to be his muse but me, i'll just take my bad writing of yore and make that fodder for more. yes, this is something to be ashamed about, but you know how you feel more secure when you call out your faults before anyone else can call them out on you? that's what I'm doing.

it's not even that there's been an absence of translucent yellow-red leaves in light inspiring, it's that there's something wrong with the conversion, like the information goes in, chemicals move, awe-like appreciation emotion is expressed, but then it's there the function breaks down. the function, like y(x)=a beautiful vignette, is broke! It was not supposed to be like this.

All times adverse, that is, all times of adversity, should never be able to surmount the power of the word!

And yet.

a leaf quivers on fibers three
a premature abscission, with green veins perplexed
could it be that the connection has worn thin without notice?
the weather the negligence the urge to fly away...?
but now that separation is imminent, the hunger builds
it builds foolishly;
a blustery day is death indeed.

it's about time

about time.
wrong time.
right time?
no time.
no matter the combination a dyad with "time" boggles the mind. who knows what the writer is thinking from the most trite to the deepest baffling statement EVER. wow. i tried to eschew superlatives there and failed miserably, only to revel in my superlative misery.

friends don't think this is an attempt at profundity I am merely skimming off the skin of my immediate thoughts. and if any of y'all have had indian chai or some hot milky drink that's sat for a few seconds, you'd know that this skin is not too pleasant. much like what you see above. so i don't want to hear any harsh judgment, leave me be.

besides, I'm rusty. you read that date down there, it's ages ago. i've got creaky joints and an empty oil can. no can at all actually. maybe that means i shouldn't bother to pick up pen and put readers through this misery but guess what secret solace I have! No one reads my blog. How comforting.

You know what drives me to this again? By the likes of my writing you'll not be surprised: the utterly dry and barren expanse of legal writing I am forced to read just so I get that piece of paper that will lend me power. not in the Brain of Pinky and the Brain sense of power, but some other nice kind.

and I've already defeated myself. ah. until tomorrow. bear with the creaks friends.

oh yes

of course friends. Happy New Year. I should like to think this something of a change to turn a new leaf towards more frequent and better quality readings but hey, perhaps tis not to be. You judge friends, you judge.

new year hey. are we to believe that this is some kind of nth chance to get it right? how might i do a year right...2005? Dunno if I did that one wrong. There were things I did wrong, judging by the blog, many things indeed and lessons were there to be had but I can't say I actually learned them. They were just had and like those sessions of 6th grade history class when you're trying to scope out the next kid's umbro shorts and hypercolor, those lessons don't frigging sink.

And so does this mean I'm going to make the same mistakes in 2006 as I did in 2005 as I did in 2004........? Well it cannot be a mistake but in retrospect accompanied by feelings of regret and remorse, which I've resolved to root out of my new life in 2006. So I'm thinking no mistakes will be made this year, that's a prediction of what my reflection will be in the young days of 2007. If this blog still exists then I'll let you know what happens, misty-eyed and nostalgic after sifting thru my post-filled blog with all the great insights of 2006 therein. Just watch friends! Those things will come. There is more wisdom to be imparted, I'd almost promise except for this insurance-type complex that's been seeping since personal injury lawyers made their debuts on daytime tv for kids...

for recognition

i whirled away from it and gave away the recipe; never did I think when shoulder turned back to see lo, before me steaming and sweet that thing. So I drank with all pretensions pointing away from hedonism and thinking that sincerity was indeed the order of the day when it was grand delusion because I noticed not until much later that the never before delivered cup held way too much honey. Was the conveyor or the writer wrong...?

Here's my tongue now, buzzing, not from burning but sweet sweet and that which I licked forever before since memories held was now unthinkable, shelved and regarded askance...or no, just redoubtable and standing, how new, question marks rising material, immaterial.

a bit of advertising

OK well many a passerby has hit up the comments section of this thing to post their adverts. Thas ok, we all gotta get by somehow. But here's my little pitch for y'all passing by, please do take a look:

http://www.sudandivestment.com/divesting.html

Therein's a list of companies still giving money to the Khartoum gov't in Sudan, that possibly helps fuel the current conflict there (which has yet to see some good days). There was an urge to use the idiom it has seen better days but I think those days were at least a couple decades back and I can't myself harken back to those times so I won't ask you to either. We'll focus on the future and hope that better days will come.

Anyhow, check that site out because if you're invested in any of those companies, I encourage you to take your money out. And if you like to use their products, think again perhaps because we all want to be socially responsible consumers I know. I would make a note on the number of companies coming from particular regions but perhaps that would affect some people who might be quick to be offended by those kinds of things. But of course, you can't judge a person by her country's government...

Good. I will tune in again for more interesting things, hopefully sooner than two months past the last post.

how funny

the only people who comment on this are advertisers for their own sites and then someone referring me to date match. Do I really need date match? I'd only be adding to my stress, relying upon the computer to decide better than I myself which person would be best for me. Of course, it's not only the computer that's deciding, I guess I have some role in that mess, but the computer's the matchmaker between really. You can picture it great, it's maybe like that Dr. Seuss machine, if you know what I mean.

I suppose I give off airs of patheticism and self-deprecation, especially since I think [know] not a soul would sift thru this nonsense and mull over this fact quite often. But now the good thing is that the friends I've told have now long forgotten the existence of this thing, as I've neglected it for a month too many, and so I can again enjoy the freedom of anonymity on the web and publish whatever nonsense I feel fit for the day. That I like indeed.

That said, I dunno if productivity will really have increased by anything at all, seeing as I've got a couple leeches sucking at the most central veins, that is to say I have no time.

kinks in the shady grey way

so you smell the air at the start of spring and believe you can discern all the intricacies of the summer events to come, all mysteries solved like 5th chapter puzzle-piecing together...and then?

you find yourself sliding down scree on your ass, looking for something to grab for just a moment to get your bearings once again--scramble to your feet, look bewildered at the unexpected bruises, and resume the path flatter more promising and somewhat familiar...resolve to keep to this, but hey there's a mottled green gleaming beneath grandpa-warm great trees in the distance, why not go there? Off that path you stray and shit, there the leg goes down into one of those pitfall-esque booby trap leaf covered holes, gotta hold on to the boulder beside, or you'll fall into that thing, likely asp-ridden and nary an indiana jones in the vicinity to execute that rescue you'd be gasping for from those depths...

Adrenaline-fed determination aids that escape, close call yah, and you emerge disoriented and wearily look around for that patch of legend-forest you'd spotted before--no longer believing it to be reality and jarred by the unexpected near-fatal obstacle you barely managed to shuffle out of...

All lights on, you're looking squinty-eyed at the path directly before you, no looking up for long-distance matters given the last episode, and what now? You're lost...?

oh the pot of squash soup has dried to a dirty orange crust and so my friends a half month passes with no word from me...our friend fatty though has instilled some faith once again, however, that readership hasn't fallen away entirely and there is an inquiring mind, pimp may he be, looking to inject life once again into this thing...

So let me talk of some lessons that I learned and wish to impart to all y'all:

if law firms make you a hater, it's time to step away
if you identify a hater either hating too much, hating with a smiling facade or hating on you, it's time to get him/her out of your life
if you move move move and wish to stop, remember your stomach cramps when you run your marathon and then park it on the bench straightaway--walk friend, walk for some time
an atheist revelling in religious rituals is no bad thing

those are those that come to mind right away...the only other lesson is if it don't come easy, don't force it

on that note, i take my leave...good night friends

he would touch with his finger grotesquely contorted and knew that he revelled in the ugliness that ultimately served his ego as the touched thing cracked into pieces and he danced on the shards

it is impossible now to write without feeling pretentious; knowing or believing that this one time may be read by a friend makes me feel ridiculous in writing it, ah, why? Because I know that I am writing not for myself anymore and yet write such things in a public forum--but for some odd reason the written journal is not proving to be tempting recourse...

my tao alone

now I don't think this should be a problem, as I doubt those whom I informed would return to check on the happenings of the blog, but I find now after running my PR loop about minddontrest that the legs have tired and I would like to return to the safety of my deep-woods gnarled tree to ruminate by my solitary self...

already the words have acquired the red dust of corrosion from exposure to air, and thoughts sincere I am sheepish to post now that it seems I will lay bare my curious insecurities about life...

Shall I take to politics? Blog disparagement? Mini-stories of human rights abuse gore that makes us all feel guilty for yelling at our luke-warm coffees?

I guess the bottom line is that I'm scared of criticism, the friend who will come by and say, please keep this nonsense off the net...

But one more thing, before I go off to cry in my sleeve, see this thing that I stole from a friend's blog because I think it's a worthy thing to do:

www.nwtrcc.org

And go on to the phone tax resistance part--you'll save a couple bucks a month if nothing else draws you to it! Cheers

and I thought I was clairvoyant

"Should any political party attempt to abolish social security, unemployment insurance, and eliminate labor laws and farm programs, you would not hear of that party again in our political history. There is a tiny splinter group, of course, that believes that you can do these things. Among them are a few Texas oil millionaires, and an occasional politician or businessman from other areas. Their number is negligible and they are stupid."


Dwight Eisenhower, 1952

Implications?
Stupids are running this place
Stupids, though few in number, have all the power
Stupidity doesn't preclude influence over other stupids
Stupids fooled Americans, so Americans are stupid too

kerouac's technique don't work a bit

yo i don't find things any more lucid or succinct or pithy for that matter when there's another substance in play; rather it affects more the mechanical parts of the job (ie, typing) than the creative parts, which can really do better without anything at all--I mean, come on, there's nothing more coherent and clever expounded in this post than there is in any past post that came from the same brain, same business...

So it would seem mr. huxley's premise applies not to me...

Epic Days...

Yah the days have been so packed these last few that I can hardly remember the effort I'd exerted to post that last, with thoughts which I seemed to have thought ages ago--and what's new for these days? Well I wonder, business perhaps stunts the capacity to flow em out good and cohesive, smart and witty (thought I needed another dyad but I cannot be either of course, we shall concur on that one friends)--

here's an image for you friends: I do not purport to be an kind of proxy thereof, but envision friends the Goddess Lakshmi with gold coins flowing from her hand--then apply that image to my new york city spending and you will get an accurate picture of my current situation and my anxiety as a result, considering that I am going to school in a few! It must stop! But it cannot, I value money not enough to keep it in the computers in the black...

Red, I am doomed to the red...

a late night offering

what's there to offer tonight except glimpses into the inner workings of the lives of the metroriders, the contemplative birkenstock wearing activist girl, the evening shift maintenance guatemalan off to his modest rooms in mid-bklyn, the drunk couple headed home from an evening of pabsts and miller lites on tap, a lawyerly type serious with his wsj, the couple of latinas with talk of que chulo es su culo or some shit, and me the observant fool who looks like some kind of smiling discerning maddie to the rest who are making their own speculations about my life (or not, as I'm not the center of this world of course)

and disclaimer friends: these glimpses are all speculations based on the facial expressions of the metroriders, so they are by no means reflective of the real roilings in the lives of these subjects...good night friends

the reject

Ah man, looks like even after invitations the thing is not attractive enough to entice the friends to comment--I suppose there's nothing to comment when all I've been doing is ragging on blogs and writing about myself...though I am inclined to promise that it will get better, I dunno if that's a pure lie or what, seeing as my tendencies towards self-absorption these days have done nothing but intensify as of late, a veritable microphone of Meenatalk I have become, and clearly it's not getting any better...

it was his body

For any friend who once read this unfortunate verse, I have deleted it for embarrassment and I am sure that even the nicest of you will not say you miss it one bit...

I will steer clear of the poetry friends, don't worry--no others will have to suffer thru such badness again...

morning stint

quick one as my eye flutters tired fatigue out the gray window masking 3 o'clock afternoontime from 7.30 amtime...the squash vine that creeps in the yard behind is of an abnormally large size as I see the pumpkins will be large this year and the kiddies will have a fine halloween

walking out of the grave

resurrection better phrased but trite all the same...you know you're really in a writer's bind when all that flows through gets the trite stamp and flung aside into the pile of rejects along with the self-appointed title of writer itself...besides the fact that nary a creative word has poured forth from this mind since last I wrote, the complete failure to recall the existence of this blog as a worthy thing to attend to is a testament to the fact that writing has fallen to a low rung on my ladder of priorities and man while my mind was attempting some tumbles to figure a better word than the common old ladder to make that analogy, there was no chance it was getting anywhere past a mere hop on the trampoline for that one...so much for creativity I say but let's stop with the self-deprecation...

I've failed miserably in my goal to stop talking about this blog, so I'll abandon the goal and embrace my apparent need to use it as the subject of all these rantings...today's bend on the topic is my consideration, and it's a big step I say to consider, to tell people about the blog...well, why not have a forum? When there's a person or two who will bother to check in and throw a couple cents this way, there's no reason not to...and then perhaps there will be more interesting subjects besides my inability to write and my surprise about this blog despite its month's age...

I'll leave on that note, but I will not forget this consideration; I will consider who to invite as well, why not?

looking down

the grass grew between the toes and i stood there like ages hoping to tip over in petrification and thud to the floor so that the shockgreen blades would bend and there'd be some change of scenery...of course in a courtyard full of hardened bodies one toppled piece would leif be noticed but for me in particular relative to the happenings of my life, it would be a great thing indeed...

change of perspective and a glance up at the towering structures of the others, that's a thing to be seen in one's life--they imposing, the life from below on level with the grovellers crawling upon the earth, claustrophobic in the fear of being trampled or, understandably so, the anxiety that another will tumble to the ground out of boredom and land just on the small of your back and separate hips from torso in one clean crack

dishonesty some

so even a blog is not enough to impel me to write on a regular basis...the mind is burnt and I continue to hold the flame to it, perhaps approach it closer even, and so if mediocrity is all that will pour from this mind, better not post it to the web and sign off like some proud aspiring writer...

But I already said I wouldn't talk of this anymore, so I should really move off the topic to better things like my obsession, or not obsession, but my unbridled urge to consume consume...it's all indulgence and very unnecessary, but what is to be done? A very fundamental change must happen, entailing the development of some kind of physical aversion to the acquisition of more shit--slowly happening, but more in the form of post-consumption guilt, or a diffused general feeling that you shouldn't be consuming so much all the while consuming without abandon...

bypass oh bypass

I guess there's nothing much to this to woo the surfers to even read one word of what's in here, particularly as I've gone thru no sorts of pains to change the generic backdrop nor have plans to; my profile i could care less to provide to the zero people reading this blog (i do know enough about myself and have no desire to look at my own picture on the web)--thus, the overwhelming uselessness of this thing m'a frappe encore, particulierement ce matin pendant que je mangeais mon porridge de petit dejeuner, pas savoureux a la personne saine, and I wondered what compelled me to do it...

But futility aside, I must say that perhaps I am happy to have done it, as it forces me to write something, hopefully daily, to fight back that feeling that there was no point to creating the thing...the more I write the more I render the thing functional, functional perhaps only for my own sanity, because I doubt any of these thoughts do anything eye opening for the random blog scroller and I don't foresee myself disclosing germane truths regularly couched in brilliant diction and clever twists of language...

And this has nothing to do with humility at all, because there is a little squeak emerging from the recesses of my consciousness, telling me that there is an audience, potential or imagined, and I am writing with that in mind...why else write? why else did I find this blog such a ridiculous whim I decided to entertain for some impulsive reason? Not that it's serious as all that, if it really did rankle then I'd leave off doing it without a regret, but there's something about starting something without facing the consequences that has a distasteful side to it...

I think this French playing in my ear is affecting my ability to write something coherent here...and especially because we've moved from les actualites to les sports and football, there really is no reason to have that playing anymore...but I guess there really is no reason to go on writing this nonsense either...so perhaps I'll end the two at once, and off to something a little more fruitful...

(I hope I will leave off the censure of this blog in the next post; ya no voy a odiar)

The first one

What am I doing. I dunno even what these things are but it's a reason not to crack open the books or give my mind its much needed rest. I'm embarrassed to even tell people about this thing, so maybe it's just a pretext to write but not necessarily for naught. It's going somewhere, not the deadend somewhere of your imac desktop but the avenue opening somewhere of a random website where encouraging prospects abound and...

and nothing more maybe. Ah well...
I'm so overwhelmed by the mere fact that I collected my energies to even create this thing that I've completely exhausted my supply of good quality thoughts and now I'm churning out thoughts of a rather mediocre sort. Another few minutes will have me turning circles in my language and writing unintelligible nonsense. Or rather just bad writing. Bad writing can be intelligible, but perhaps not tolerable, so I won't try and put anyone thru that.

Ah but a thought: perhaps this thing is good because it's like writing an email, a mass one, if you will, but you are not really obliging anyone to reply or respond to the nonsense and you don't need to feel bad about filling the whole thing with meaningless drivel because it has no purpose. Good, good.