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Call me Rhye Wrust,

It’s a Wrustien thing baby.

It evolves like a lizard lapping milk.

waiting. 

The Self is on the shelf.

The thorns spread through the egg yolk and burn your palm.  The scars are moon shaped and your mother’s raised the alarm.  This is who you are.  The gelding Orca.  Ravenous and you open the shutters again honey; to enjoy the rapturous silence of mourning. 

“I know white from wrong.”  You claim.

Violence.  Tender how crucial. 

In this game of polka dot I carry intradependence in spades.  I am yearning not to be relative.  Your broken white trash teeth smile and you commit to the vanity and shame of dentistry.  I defy explanation.  I committed suicide to survive death.

“Invoke the raw and eliminate war within the self.”

I am Queen of the vampires.

Imp Inpassioned.

“God is the touch within the ripples.”  He sighs for your choice, how he created you you do not know, but it was always your choice to fall in love.  “The girl who cried rape and the sensual orgasms she inspires.”  Love is infinite and blind, a narrow mind, an obsessive compassion.

Make Love Mine:  Simple apologies.  Thanks used.  Body Jumpsuits.  Lady’s Scarves.  Empty platoons.  Ship wrecks on the bottom of the ocean.  Drug addicts.  Incestuous families.  Virgins.  Arachnaphobia.  Black ink.  Soft porn.  Lime green and candy glass orange.  Crushed velvet red that deepens as you move your hand across it.  Head doctors.  Patients.  Jackals.  Sex.  Sex.  Sex.  As if only to hold my hand.

Americar!

Dynamice ill acquainted.

Narnian Nihilists.

This is your own apocalypse.

Honestly.

“Honesty is the veil gracing truth.” 

I sin.  I Act to will redemption for myself.  I, the eyesore am mute.  “It is far more productive to tread lightly in silence along a mountain than to wreath yourself in violence at the foot of an avalanche of callousness and regret.”  Ready.  Set.  Go.

“Fray the ribbon.”

Free Will, free will I cry.  You pull the threads to watch your tapestry weave dry.  And I say Fuck the democratic liars and their unoriginal fiefdoms.   Plutocrat! Wah ha ha.  And all I got is too many pennies and a nut, from a machine that runs unstable.

One Day.

Neon outline skeleton dinosaur stood upon the frontlines of sand the lovers gripped each other tight humane embrace and pitted polka dot spiders hiss hiss until You are driven mad to suicide but you daren’t jump from the rock face itch itch you open my head to inhale the spider and twinkle into the bucket another plum and tack sitting in the lotus position until you become brave and walk away through the foliage jumping the metal fence you receive a hug from my man and it starts to pour magenta spotlight from the focus of mine eyes and you see spider webs in the shadows hide in the pools of light to save your pathetic self from terror while I become soaked and explore my foreign campus.

This is heaven.

Forgive me forgive me you cannot swear enough at the innocent amnesia and betrayal it is never enough for this shameless being to end so young and so old you seem only beginning against to see just past my notes.

In heaven the endless basketball courts seem to wait next to the chapel where everyone sings and worships in a Catholic manner.  Makes me sick.  The doorman offers me my black socks.  You steal a child’s shoes and fall from the clouds to earth as another school bus arrives full of children.  You wonder when the skies will turn blue and free this sad dreamer from her rotting tooth.  You are Catholic blood you know.  Yeah yeah but we can’t afford the attire baby.

You think like a clockwork orange.

You desecrate my Temple.
You are vulgar sweetheart.

And I have a Cock tail.

You Live Art You.

My grandmother tells me “Curiosity kills the cat but satisfaction always brings it back.”

I take the body, I take the blood.

I love you like a wilted rag doll bunny with a flower.

Satahn.

Heartache.

When you touch that beautiful doll and feel the tug of the heartbeat you stole does it remind you of me?  Does the dull thud strike uneven in your unmade mistaken mistress?  On this side of the fence the grass seems green with envy that all you are belongs to someone else’s playboy-cowboys who crucify me, lockjaw me, and hang me out with the dirty laundry I hung within my self-defense-self-demise-You are one I would want to know.

Will Power.

Never think of the devil, never speak his name, he’ll steal your tears and whitewash your sorrows until you have forgotten everything-a slave trader by day, mystic magician of bloodstain blackmail-twist and limit the body gutless fish swim through frost heartless beasts of red eyed pawns-fawns who bear fangs and claws-burden the children who dare to break all the laws of god. 

“Free Willy.”  You savant.  You squirm all willy-nilly.  You “American Beauty” you.  The plastic bag is dancing before mine eyes.

My Soul.

My soul has burned and become a ghost, my mind ruins my best intentions yet you feel most alive in the freedom of lack of doubt.  You channel the blood.  You hunger for your own touch.  When you listen to my ghost weep do you feel regret for the sinful creature I am becoming?

I, the feral doctor queen. 

I, the sane.

I, the Purple Water Lily am stranger than the weather vane.

Down home cooking.

“To err is human.”

You are the ripple that summons me home.

I now understand that if I do not understand and trust in my true nature and desires with full acceptance that I will only become corrosive in my actions and associations.  I will rust.  I burden this Brainchild and awaken this mirror.  You are watching it grow while I prune the unnecessary appendages like a dark minded surgeon. 

Coal lab whore nation.   This is an origination.

God I know I am a demon.

Boner.

I have a bone to pick with you.

This boner is wearing thin the crotch of my pants and I can barely stand.

Of all I am I stand corrected.

My father’s bastard.

My mother’s virginity and I am beautiful if not conceited.

I learn the hard way about what is white.

I learn the hard way about what is black.

And I am not the Tao.

The Haircut.

“It’s a germ baby, I don’t know if it’s a disease.”

She turned doe eyed to him and entranced him with her binding glare.

“You belong to me.”

“I belong to my Atman, my holier than thou reticent mistaken mistress.”

“But you need me.”  She pouts and stamps a foot.  “Your taste is mine and our flavors complement.”

“I need no one.”

“Asshole.  Eat your own shit then.”

When the winter wind blows and the hail falls like lice from the head of a filthy babe we are one.  And as the sun hides its shameful face behind the swarming clouds I know the Catholic castles are collecting children today. 

“God damned spiders are such a nuisance.”

“Not everyone can be a tarantula baby, we are so bless’ed.”  She mockingly reiterates her caress. 

“You need me.”

He only smiles his rogue dare and waits for her to continue her ranting stare.

“Would you like a soda sweetheart?”

“You know I would prefer a cigarette.”

“You are not allowed to smoke.”

“I am not allowed to smoke; perhaps you should remind my lighter, make you a better man.”

“Why don’t you feed me and get it over with, I am hungry.”

“You are starving.”

“I am merely insatient and missing your kisses.  Kiss me.”

“Darling you don’t deserve a kiss.  I’d rather give you a scar.”

“You make the joker look like batman and the thief look like a king.”

“But darling you know you love me, I’m the only doorbell you daren’t ring.”

She sips her caffeine black coffee and waits under the clock.  The time is slipping forward and she still hasn’t tasted his cock.  Oh how he does touch her body like it’s his only toy but this poor pathetic woman’s hands are bound and all she has is ploy.

“Release me won’t you let me free.”

“Never in a million years.”

“But don’t you love this caged bird’s wings.”

“Fuck you, cut your hair.”

Chapter 51.

This isn’t my first time.  The library is deteriorated and the books are spineless.  The doctor moves like a lizard and his face is encrusted in his glasses.  “Don’t you think that they love you?”  He asks me.  “My family, no, they simply don’t understand me.”

After all the complaints I lodge against them, they stand by me, even after I stole my grandmother’s car and drove it to the cities just to prove to her that I could.  Now, I want to prove to them that I don’t need medication but I have been court ordered, a Chapter 51 they call it, to take the medication.  I have no choice, I am a prisoner. 

As I write this my cigarette is mushy from my mouth and it droops between my teeth.  This is how I like to write, with a cigarette dangling, the smoke watering my eyes.  This is how I cry, otherwise I can’t.  Not anymore, not since the nightmares.  I once saw a giant black spider crawling along the ceiling in my bedroom at my grandmother’s house.  It was crawling out of my room but still it startled me as it disappeared behind the door. I lived with my grandparents for a summer before I stole their car and drove to the cities. I worked at Dairy Queen making milkshakes and blizzards, cleaning the bathrooms at the end of my shift.  My grandmother would let me take her car or sometimes she would pick me up.  That day that I stole her car, I was feeling anxious.  I wanted to do something anything.  I went to see the movie, ‘The Avatar’ before work.  During the movie these visceral creatures jumped among the seats and told me I was the Avatar, told me I had to find myself, perhaps even save the world. 

I was looking for any excuse, so I left the movie early, got into the car and decided to head to the cities.  I got lost on the wrong exit and had to ask for directions.  I turned around and headed back in the opposite direction.  The car phone rang, it was my grandmother.  I ignored it.  Once I got to Dinkytown, in Minneapolis, I parked the car and hid the keys in the windshield.  Then I walked around and hid in a bathroom and began taking No Doz.  One more pill should do it, and then another.  I wanted to purge all the food from my body and become lighter than air.  I started drinking water to make sure I wouldn’t become dehydrated.  Then I left and was walking past McDonald’s when my aunt drove by.  She begged me to get in the car but I refused.  I walked away from her to a little playground in the area and she had called the cops.  Two squad cars rolled up and next thing I remember is running.  Six police officers chased me down and threatened to shoot me.  I hid behind a building scared shitless and they pulled me out and sat on my back.  I screamed, “My grandfather raped me.”  They didn’t care.  It wasn’t the truth either, but I had had visions of being raped as a child and was hoping for sympathy, for some shred of understanding to explain why I am the way I am. 

When I was little, my hymen broke.  No one knew why.  I began to obsess about it now that I am older.  I thought I was raped.  I had nightmares where men would chase me and hold me down.  After all of these years it is strange that I start to think about it.  It never bothered me before but now I don’t know.

“Do I love my family?”  I know you’re thinking it.  Of course, with all my soul, but I swear they don’t understand me.  I swear no one does.  This is the cross I bear like Jesus, the founder of America.  Today, after my doctor’s appointment we went to McDonald’s and each had a milkshake, me and my nurse, Karri.  There is nothing more American than McDonald’s; the chain upon chain franchise of love that welcomes all of God’s children to feast on Angus burgers and fries.

I talked to my social worker, Brenda Huhn, today and I get to go home in two days.  My mother sounds surprised but she’ll tell my grandparents to come and get me.  I don’t remember the first time I was in a psych ward; I remember the third time, after I tried to commit suicide.  I told everyone I had fallen, but the truth was that I fell intentionally from a twelve foot wall on the midway.  I had been running from demons.  I thought the demon would steal away my light and I would die spiritually.  Suicide is physical death.  I ran into the street and tried to get hit by a car but that didn’t work.  So, I walked up the wall until I came to the right spot and had the right guts to drop.  I turned around, facing a large Menards parking lot, and spread my arms out then I stepped backwards and fell.  I struck my tailbone first then my head hit the pavement and crushed in three places.  I blacked out completely.  There was a man standing over me, holding out a water bottle.  He had called the ambulance.  I wasn’t wearing shoes or a bra.  I was in my Dairy Queen uniform with black stretch pants.  This is the psych ward I remember, in Saint Paul, it was called Regions. 

http://liveatthecube.tumblr.com

Lots of Radiohead related posts.

Note : Good luck to all in the Eastern US ordering AFP tickets today. :)

cyber space. lets go down the rabbit hole, shall we...

you are human. i am human. right!? well, i always find myself reminding ``me`` that this is just a digital version. nothing more, nothing less. simple, right.
i had been thinking about this a lot the other day, and when i read the article of "pandora's vox", posted by dejvid, it made me realize that we may all be freekishly syncronistically connected by some strange means. not that i never realized this before... and this strange means is a lot more directly shown and trackable, for me, in a place like cyber space! and with some people it is more than we consciously realise, or care to notice!

i notice it.

what i want to share now are these thoughts i had a few days before reading the article dejvid posted. coincidences like this always leave me with a big bubble in my brain that floats up from deep within my subconsciouse to the surface of my awareness and then just "POPs". sudden realization. has some one turned the lights on! all thoughts come together into a whole when that happens... and i say out loud ``YES``!!
some times reality is the most strange thing you will ever experience. but i guess that is our question here, what is reality? and what is reality in the world of cyber space?

i picture all of us in a giant white room. wires connected to our brains. i don't see anything but this white space, and blurred faces. voices come and go through the wires that transmit messages from people frozen in time. people i choose to read from. the choices of minds to enter are endless. an overwhelming mass of information and identities to hack into.

i download my mind into this white space, sifting out obviously the darker nasty parts that nobody ever really wants to know about another person, and share the parts of myself that i think give my life meaning...and there it goes, swirling away, into this white space that swallows everything, like a black hole, only it's white, endless and expanding, instead of contracting. and it remains permenent, until, or unless i choose to erase my contribution to it!

i try to remember that i'm human when i go into this white room, and i try to remember that the people on the other end of the wires are human too, but some times i forget. i forget because where human meets machine everything starts to blurrs into this indecipherable humm, like white noise, in a community like cyber space...everyone is silent. frozen. plastered. like a million different insects splattered on different window panes with their status desperatley trying to defeat the moment, become eternal.
realizing that i have spilled my gutts, poured my mind into this white blanket, to numerous blurred faces, these people at the other end of wires...that i struggle to communicate to,
a part, a small part, of the whole, my own small and seemingly insignificant perspective...that is really, in the end, just all one...thing. my experiences are original to me, but i`m sure they have happened before to somebody else and will happen again.

i picture myself in the matrix. this is the matrix, really. we are all sitting in glass incubators, bobbing like bald little babies. feeding the great machine.

i never joined cyber space communities before,like face-book, because i realized after opening a "myspace" account that this information is being used to track everybody and anything for commercial means and to control the population in a very organized master plan one world order type shit, way. it made me feel violated looking at it in that way. how could it not! not that they don't do this already anyways and through any and all information about you, such as email etc...it cannot be avoided, really. so how much cyber space communities make a difference to this at all, i`m not sure about. it just makes it faster and easier to get the information. there is no need for the FBI, or any other top secret organization, to be making profiles about people anymore, they have found a way to let the people write their very own profiles and hand it to them!
everything is exposed, nothing is secret, now. statistics are going off the charts with new information freely given every day! information is being hand fed to these fuckers through the drive of our very own...our very own.... ego's!

"hello big brother!"

if you talk about this with people they just think your nutts, or they don`t give a damn.
so i stopped. i just decided to not think about it too much and to just remain some what absent from these modern computer communities that have been growing over the years. i refused to join facebook. i still am not on facebook. like that helps anything? well it does for me at least. it preserves "me" as just simply, me, some how? instead of confirming my own existance through face-book, i prefer to be confirmed through waste! haha.
also,

i just love people's reaction when they ask me if they can add me through facebook and i say "sorry, i don't have an account on facebook!" even some grandma's have facebook! people react to this in all different ways, but generally they look at me like, "you weirdo, how can you not have facebook!" and i smile. i love it. love love love the reaction of people so much, that it has prevented me to this day from ever ever joining. don't get me wrong, i'm not a facebook hater. it's fine with me. i get it. i just don't want to be a part of it. rebel without a cause? umm, yes.

although, i know for sure i have pictures on facebook in other people's profiles. and thats the crazy part about this. even if you don't want to be on facebook, you end up there!!
i was thinking about how many other people's face book pages i could get onto, without even being on facebook. you would have to go to a lot of places and directly ask people to take pictures of you to post on their page. ask complete strangers, even! it would be fun. not having facebook yet being on everybodies page! it's like that book-game "where's waldo!"

...i imagined myself doing this wearing a black and white striped shirt, like the cartoon, so it would make it easier for people to catch on and try and pick me out. how could you go about making something like this happen? just pop up when people are taking pictures. my imagination is so crazy:) i would never do this, but it is funny thinking of somebody doing this. i picture some mexican boy, like from the movie napoleon dynamite! i loved that guy. he was my favorite.

i don't need facebook to confirm that i am real, or that i am important. does waste central do this for me in a similar way facebook must do for the masses? maybe, but it's more of a creative outlet. not a statement about who and what i am. i don't want the people in my day to day reality to know my inner world. my inner world is so abstract, and really, in day to day life, how is it possible to share that!
i like sharing it more with strangers. and that is weird! memories and experiences just happen to be the outlet to a lot of what i'm learning.

these experiences i have are really the only thing i can talk about, because it's what i know, based exactly on my own experiences! how can i have anything else to go by? it's so easy to talk about yourself when sitting in a white room, alone. although, i look at it more like, i'm talking with myself, really. looking at my thoughts like i'm looking in a mirror. observing myself like an animal in a cage. but my thoughts are free. my thoughts will always be the bird that flies outside the cage. and i know that cyber space isn`t even big enough to contain that.
at first, for some reason it really freaked me out the concept of posting pictures of myself for the world to see. no matter what you do or do not do, does not make much of a difference to the whole picture, and yet it does!! does it matter if i'm on face book or not!? probably not. and i'm a hypocrite for my opinions about it, because i use waste like a sort of facebook. only i don't use it to socialize as much as i use it as a space to organize my thoughts, and express creative energy that gets pent up inside me and needs an outlet at some point. when it comes down to it though, i have to admit, that i`m no different to anybody else. i like talking about myself, and showing pictures to reassure myself that I AM.

some people use this energy to paint a picture, take a photo, write a song...create something solid. recently i have found a lot of release just through writing, all these thoughts pouring out of me. before it wasn't like that. words didn't come so easy to me, and so i had to use more abstract means to release this energy. like through singing, or drawing....or whatever else fit the mould at the time.
but now,

i simply cannot stop writing, recently... downloading thoughts, memories, and my own limitted theories about "reality"...onto this cyber space community called w.a.s.t.e ! love that name waste.... of course if i belong to any cyber community, it would have to have a name like waste. reminds me not to waste my time. and that i do waste too much time. reminds me that time is flying buy, the bird i will never catch, never tame. never keep.
i try to keep in mind that my "space" here, is not me. it is like my online secretary that keeps track of things that are important to me. like a weird sort of memo pad. collecting lists of things i like, an electronic diary that i don't mind sharing with people who want to get inside somebody else's head for a minute.
knowing that this is all a sort of reflection of me, it is a sort of digital version of me and that this reflection changes and evolves, but yet remains static to the screen, unless i choose to say otherwise, this interests me a great deal!

it`s like the philosophy behind the question: `` if a tree falls down in the forrest and you are not there to see it, did it happen É``!!!

update the memo pad. it's strange to think about, but if i didn't choose to share, here, then i would not exist in the reality of cyber space, even though this space does not change the reality that i am real, whether i'm here or on facebook or NOT!

it keeps me at ease? to remind myself...to remind myself that i am me and this is just, this. i have to do this. i have to remind myself that this is just the drawing board. otherwise you can easily become lost to your virtual world, virtual digital self. which, lets not forget, is merely a reflection of something far bigger in all of us reaching out to one another in whatever means we can to become understood, connected...evolving...

wow, if you change the letter`s around a bit, evolving= loveing. then again i also noticed this with the word believing which =be lie ing, only with a v added! hah! words are fun.

i have thought about doing experiments online with identity, making up a totally different identity online and seeing the reactions i would get from people, as a kind of psycological study. it would be something similar to the experiments i have already done with image in my own, very real, personal life.
i realized that there was no need for me to do this, because i already understand how easy it would be, and i can guess the reaction i would get based on the personality i were to create. also, i do not like fucking with people so much. unless it's for a good cause. or to help people understand something greater. something they never looked at before. i like helping people see things from a new perspective, but i dislike fucking with them...although some times it's necessary to get the reaction you need, the understanding thats needed for some to have a realization.

i think the best thing about being "myself" on "here", is that, nobody knows who the fuck i am haha!! and there is no need to fabricate an alternate "me"...the "me" thats me is a hell of a lot more original than anything else i could ever think to make up to fuck with people's heads! i think i do a good enough job of this just being myself :)
it's a tricky when thinking how much to invest of "yourself" into "communities" like this. how much to live in this cyber realm, and how much to live in the real realm. i guess my major experience on this space has been seeing how this space can help me grow creatively and express myself in a way that makes me feel more free. it allows me to look at my own thouhts, and the thoughts of other's objectively. i guess it does sort of give me the sense of the whole. even though, in reality, waste central is probably no different than any other cyber community. i like to think that it is different.

i feel safe to share my thoughts here. i feel the illusion of safety and a sense of "importance" because music is really the only thing that really matter's to me enough to pour my gutts out to. when people make music so mind blowing and for me really, mind expanding and life changing! a part of you wants to communicate back! or at least for me...it's like that. and this space allows me the opportunity to do that and it's exciting!!
it's totally unrealistic to ever think that i could ever be able to meet radiohead in person, or lets face it, any ``famous`` people for that matter! but i can share my thoughts with them, and all people...doesn`t matter famous or not! it`s just cool knowing i can communicated with people i otherwise would never meet, never know, never talk to!..and that makes me feel important. and i think it makes other people feel like they have some importance also. otherwise, why else are we all here! haha. even though that sounds stupid, it`s the truth.

but yes, the trickiest part about these cyber communities is that they have used people's weakness, which is to have a sense of importance, a sense of self, that people want and hope will be eternal, which really is eternal, that will leave it's mark, so to speak.

but sadly, for the majority these 'officials' behind the communities, in cyber world, `they`` have taken this weakness using it to "their" advantage to further manipulate people. it's really fucking brilliant. i have to admit. it is THE master plan unfolding. and before your very fucking eyes! the way i see it, is there is a very very fine line in this world between right and wrong, that is at least, when it comes to government and how we are being mass manipulated.

but at the end of the day what do you do? haha. i sit down, maybe drink a beer, or a glass of wine, one. just one, sometimes two. don't want to get too drunk, that can go bad...haha......and then you .........basically try and forget, and pretend like you don't know whats going on.
........maybe thats all you can do? and then...of course, write a blog about it, obviously :)
umm. such an interesting subject. being as we are all, here in.................

.................. cyber space...................

thank you dejvid for posting that article! i recommend everybody reads it ! ``pandora`s vox``...wow..
i looooved reading it...and i loved that you thought of sharing that here! Brilliant :)
i love you dejvid!!

oh and i want you to know that i spent hours writing this, reading and then re-reading it, adding and subtracting different details that i missed when i would re-read it over and over and over, again. i`m only mentioning this now, here, at the end, because if i didn`t say it, you wouldn` t know about it. and i think thats interesting, because i think thats important. but, maybe it`s not! i should be doing a lot of other things right now, like cleaning the house, and buying groceries to cook dinner, but instead i wasted my time in the virtual world, doing this! and i loved writing this blog and i loved re-reading it.
i hope you enjoyed reading it, too :) i hope it`s something everyone has thought about before, and if not, i`m happy if it`s new thoughts to some people...
i have to say just one more thing: maybe a different perspective is sometimes the same perspective as everyone else. it`s just saying all the things never said out loud, or in general conversation.

I'm surrounded by men but not one is mine and all I can think is "God I'm Lonely."  This heart has been through so much and still I can't find no relief.  I don't know who you are or where you came from or what I am or where I came from but I'm here waiting for you to find me.  I'm here waiting for you to hold me.  And all night I lie awake hungry and thirsty and worn out trying to love a stranger.  This empty vessel is broken into shards.  This headache bears fangs and I'm feeling white not red.  I'm a purple dinosaur waiting to turn green and gold.  Pathetic I know.   And then sometimes all I want is a penis to play with, a boy to torture but no one lets me get that close.  This must be Karma for everything and all the hate but can I help it?  I'm waiting for the one.  I believe in true love.  I believe in true beauty.  Hopefully one day I'll meet you in person and we can celebrate finding each other because God I know I'm lonely.

Hi.

Do you dig Radiohead? Thought so.

Me and my study group at Anhembi Morumbi’s Graphic Design course are developing a collection of 5 books entirely dedicated to the discography and biography of your (potentially) favorite British band. The Radiohead Re_Vision project is part 4 artbooks aimed to communicate the ambience of the band’s discography through illustration, photography and collage. In other words, books to see while you listen (the albums are included!). And is part the most complete biography of the band revamped with new graphic and photographic treatment. The idea is explained in more detail in the following infografic.

So? What do you have to do with all this?

Well, we would appreciate if you participated in a questionnaire about you and your preferences. It’s almost entirely in multiple choice, many of its questions are facultative (and no financial question is mandatory), and should take about 5 to 10 min. to complete depending exclusively of your benevolence (and maybe connection speed). As a token of our gratitude we are willing to send you an interactive digital edition of the artbooks, complete with all illustrations and the associated discography by its completion in 30 of June.

And what if you’re not in the mood?

You sign up, we send you the artbook nonetheless. The deal here is as opensource as the band that it was inspired by.

Where do I sign in?

Here:

https://docs.google....H_Qbco/viewform

Thank you for your attention.

if i got a penny for every thought i would be more rich than the queen!
if only that were my full-time job!
yeeeeeeeeeeears ago, this girl i worked with at this coffee shop, JJ Bean, turned to me while i had been making another mistake because my head had drifted off into the clouds, she said to me really sharply,
"you know what your problem is? you think too much!"
...i realized that she was right when i started thinking way too much about what she had said!
"how is it possible to think too much!? isn't it worse if people don't think enough!?"
i got fired after not even two months of working there.
my boss didn't succeed in fucking me like he had planned...and my mind was wandering too much to work properly. i kept on fucking up people's orders. giving people tea if they ordere'd coffee and vise versa. the place was a joke, anyways, they took coffee a bit too seriously. we had to take a quiz haha on the difference between regular milk foam and micro milk foam. talk about crazy! all the baristas thought they were THE SHIT..took the job a bit too seriously for me! it's just coffee! get over it...i was always thinking!!
when my boss broke the "bad news" to me, and told me with that power-tripping-falsly-sympathetic look on his face,
"i'm sorry... but... we're going to have to let you go"
i replied,
"thank you! i'm SO happy to leave this shity job!!"
and then i gave him a big hugg and the biggest smile i could muster up to flash at his grubby mind!
i coudn't have been more happy to leave a job in my life!
you can kill this thought, if you need to. it's not worth much.

i wrote this when i was in spain. so i guess this was -2011? hah. time flies. i found this the other day in a very small book i had been carrying with me for my travels...a book i had totally forgotten about, until i found it again while moving to my new house.
small things are easy to forget and miss-place.
i had been watching this old woman struggling to walk...her spine bent over into a perfect "S"... struggling to carry her bag. i would have asked her if i could help, but i did not know the correct way to ask in spanish. if i could go back to this moment i would just have taken the bag from her, without saying a word. forcing her to let me carry it for her. but i did not. i thought if i were to do something like that then she would think i was trying to steal her groceries..so ...with that...it's better i didn't try and help. we all have to carry our own baggage, i suppose, that's life.
i only had this handbook of simple phrases in spanish to get by on... ...i'm a fool. a real don quixote.... quixotic.
i love seeing how well i can make it in a foreign place without speaking a word of the language. china taught me you can get by pretty well anywhere in the world if you follow your instincts and understand body language.
anyways this is what i wrote after observing her
~
old people are brave. old people are brave because their bodies have become so fragile and they have to live in a world thats changed so much from what they once knew when they were younger. then again, people are astoundingly adaptable! and those who cannot adapt, die young.
what do old people think about? the past? death is something very near. do they think about death a lot? maybe they have a lot of peace inside? maybe they don't. i guess it depends from person to person, just like anybody else. some people live in the past. i think that most likely a lot of old people must live in the past. constantly going through memories. maybe it's better to lose your mind completely, have no memories at all. then again, that depends on what kind of life you've lived. but i'm sure all people have memories they would gladly forget. it would be hard not to live in the past, after a life time of memories.
i wonder how old people survived at all?
will i grow old?
i think not.
i smoke too much--and i don't have money--a husband--or a family.
i wonder how i will die?
i picture myself laying on the ground--eyes open--glazed over-- head bleeding.
am i smiling?
i hope so.
i hope i see the angels and spirits come fetch me to help me find my way to that other place.
i've always wondered, how can you see with no eyes to look through~ mmm. that's a tricky question!
will daniel be there?
i hope so...
i wish i was brave enough to grow old.
but maybe i will be brave enough to die for some thing or some one?
that would make my life worth while.
i think if it was that way, then i would die smiling.
i didn't find anything special in madrid but maybe thats because i'm not looking hard enough, or i'm too blind to see it.
i found Ritiro Park, the place i dreamed about. in fact it was that dream of ritiro park that led me to come to spain despite all odds. if it weren't for that dream i wouldn't be here. first and last time i will ever have a dream about a place that really exists in reality. maybe? maybe coming here was just for that. just to see that park? for some reason ritiro is a distant memory for me. it is as familiar as a person, a close friend, a lover even. when i walked through that park it was like visiting a memory forgotten. i believe that, that park called me to it. it must have. other wise i wouldn't have had that dream. that dream i had a year before finding the park existed on planet earth! it must have called me to it, otherwise i wouldn't have dreamed about it, otherwise i wouldn't have found it.
when walking through it, i felt joy at first, but then when i walked to the center where there is that square lake, just like it was in my dream, just like the tourist video i found on the internet shortly before i booked my flight. the video that confirmed that my dream was about a real place. that lake ...that square man-made? lake!! that made me book my flight to spain!!
when i saw it there so silent, so still, it was like so much had changed, and yet remained the same. but how could i even know that? how could i know a park so well? my heart broke, and i started weeping. i will never know why that park means something to me. my heart understands things that my mind never, ever, will. i just wish i knew. i just wish i knew what that park meant for me... in a past life...
what am i missing? why did i come here? to find direction? i feel so lost! the only thing familiar to me is that fucking park and i walk through it every day as if asking it to tell me it's secrets. explain to me why~ but it is just silent. it just stares at me as i stare back at it. the only sounds i hear are the ducks in the pond, the wind through the trees. the music played for the tourists. the talking and laughter of people walking by. the park speaks in a strange way. but there are no words for it, really. it is silent. like a grave. and only my heart seems to know what my mind will never translate. did i die there in a past life? or was my heart broken there? i will never know.
the economy is fucked but so what... the whole world is fucked! what a mess we live in.
i don't have any finances to worry about. the economy being fucked really doesn't make a huge difference to me. it's not like i have any investments, a morgage or a career. i just have a highschool education and a head full of my life dillusions. i'm just a wandering fool. and yet, i guess these things have a way of affecting all of us.
i just don't feel the impact of it. or i just don't care enough to notice it. no i care, i care enough to force myself not to. to get through the day...i have to pretend that i don't care.
i try to pretend not to see what i see. people starving. doing anything possible to get a dime. protesting. angry. and rightfully so. i really was expecting bad things to happen to me here. i expected to get robbed or raped. or both. nothing bad so far. lucky.
lucie says that i am the most unlucky- lucky person she ever met...this is because she wittnessed time and time again things go wrong, and then right with me. i was always loosing things and then getting them back. my laptop i left on the airoplane, i got that back at the airport. only realized it was missing once i reached my hostel. and my camera went missing and returned to me also. yes, i am unluckily, lucky. lucie...she was my best friend in madrid.
in a way, in the deeper part of myself, i didn't mind if some thing bad happened to me. i was expected nothing less than death going to spain alone. of course at the end of the day, when it comes down to it, the will to survive is strong. human nature.
although, my trip started off as a kind of a suicide mission and another one of my very strange experiments. this has been the most dangerous experiment so far... i wanted to see if i could survive with hardly any money, not knowing anybody, or the language...literally following my dream. and...well...i survived, at least until now... that really surprised me. and i'm grateful.
i hoped to lose my life, but i keep on finding it, again. funny how that saying is true. after daniel died i really went off the deep end. going to spain was the butterfly effect of daniels death. when he died some thing in me died too...died and came back to life.
pretending that i don't care.
i feel like an asshole walking by a beggar. sometimes i have nothing to give. some times i do.
none the less it always makes me wince, and pinches at my heart.
what are we going to do?
how does the story of mankind end? well...i guess if we knew the beginning we would know the end now wouldn't we!
random thoughts--i've met so many people--some i'de keep in contact with, some not.
different people have taught me different things.
to name a couple of the many:
lucie taught me how important it is to try and understand other's no matter how different they are. that friendship is really one of the most important gifts! if it weren't for lucie's friendship i would have felt a lot more lost than i already did.
alvaro taught me how easy it is to be so dangerously miss-understood by other's and he showed me a kind of selfish hoplessness that really blew my mind. his room-mate comitted suicide after he did a monolouge about "the pillow man" which is a bed time story about death! a monolouge that personifies death speaking about how it is this nice comforting thing...like a pillow that sofly puts you to sleep...
that same night he preformed this monolouge his roomate went out to some train tracks outside the city and put his head on the tracks. his body was unidentifiable...or so alvaro told me. the room-mate did it because the girl he loved did not love him. terrible. was it alvaro's fault. no. strange coincidence. who knows? life just gets too painful for some people and they let go. alvaro's monolouge about the pillow man probably was just the last straw, tipped him off over the edge. a helpful nudge? brutal. life can be brutal. and it can be beautiful. sometimes when people intend to help, they don't.
spanish men have taught me that... they always leave!
i've gone from one empty romantic encounter to another.
but i guess to be really honest. i wouldn't have wanted any of them to stay.
i'm crazy, i know...i must be crazy.
i'm crazy because despite cruelty, dissapointment, and broken relationships i still believe in love. i believe in love like i believe in god. they are one and the same.
we don't always get what we want -- and we generally want what we don't need or are not allowed to have-- and some times the things you love the most, life demmands it back as a sacrifice. i have always had to sacrifice the things i love most. i am never allowed to keep love. it demands me to let it go...and i always do. maybe it makes the space inside for me to love bigger... i think if i could try and count the amount of how much love i have, it would be as numerous as the stars in the sky. boundless. endless. infinite. free.
one page seems so big...in a small book.
i mean that, a short story in a small book, seems bigger.
~although, i added a lot of things here, that i didn't write down originally in my small book. it reminded me to write all the things i forgot to mention before. like the dream. and the park.
the truth is, i am an old woman...i am an old woman trapped inside the body of a 27 year old girl. when i saw that old lady walking, i could feel what she felt, like it was me walking there...inside those aching feet, inside that crooked back. inside the past.
lost in thoughts.
do we all have a life dillusion that keeps us going?

I'm sure that you've seen the 6 u/s dates posted.

Do you think they'll be playing more? There is a two week gap in there from Chicago to La.

Here's hoping that they do.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYhcCTquRe4

Find more photos like this on w.a.s.t.e. central
more photos from NY on my Tumblr 

http://rabbitinmyheadlights.tumblr.com

***

Vine from Stuart Tracte  (Black Swan) 

Vine from Stuart Tracte  (Atoms For Peace)

Vine from Stuart Tracte (Default)

(*thanks tohttp://trueotterwaits.tumblr.com)

***

 Ingenue

Black Swan

Stuck together pieces

Dropped

The Eraser

Amok

Before your very eyes

S.A.D.

Unless

Harrowdown Hill

Default

***

01. Ingenue
02. Black Swan
03. Stuck Together Pieces
04. Dropped
05. Eraser
06. Amok
07. Before Your Very Eyes...

08. S.A.D.
09. Atoms For Peace
10. Unless
11. Harrowdown Hill
12. Default

this was written by Carmen Hermosillo aka humdog back in 1994 as a comment on virtual life.

pandora’s vox: on community in cyberspace

by humdog (1994)

when i went into cyberspace i went into it thinking that it was a place like any other place and that it would be a human interaction like any other human interaction. i was wrong when i thought that. it was a terrible mistake.

the very first understanding that i had that it was not a place like any place and that the interaction would be different was when people began to talk to me as though i were a man. when they wrote about me in the third person, they would say “he.” it interested me to have people think i was “he” instead of “she” and so at first i did not say anything. i grinned and let them think i was “he.” this went on for a little while and it was fun but after a while i was uncomfortable. finally i said unto them that i, humdog, was a woman and not a man. this surprised them. at that moment i realized that the dissolution of gender-category was something that was happening everywhere, and perhaps it was only just very obvious on the net. this is the extent of my homage to Gender On The Net.

i suspect that cyberspace exists because it is the purest manifestation of the mass (masse) as Jean Beaudrilliard described it. it is a black hole; it absorbs energy and personality and then re-presents it as spectacle. people tend to express their vision of the mass as a kind of imaginary parade of blue-collar workers, their muscle-bound arms raised in defiant salute. sometimes in this vision they are holding wrenches in their hands. anyway, this image has its origins in Marx and it is as Romantic as a dozen long-stemmed red roses. the mass is more like one of those faceless dolls you find in nostalgia-craft shops: limp, cute, and silent. when i say “cute” i am including its macabre and sinister aspects within my definition.

it is fashionable to suggest that cyberspace is some kind of island of the blessed where people are free to indulge and express their Individuality. some people write about cyberspace as though it were a 60′s utopia. in reality, this is not true. major online services, like compuserv and america online, regular guide and censor discourse. even some allegedly free-wheeling (albeit politically correct) boards like the WELL censor discourse. the difference is only a matter of the method and degree. what interests me about this, however, is that to the mass, the debate about freedom of expression exists only in terms of whether or not you can say fuck or look at sexually explicit pictures. i have a quaint view that makes me think that discussing the ability to write “fuck” or worrying about the ability to look at pictures of sexual acts constitutes The Least Of Our Problems surrounding freedom of expression.

western society has a problem with appearance and reality. it keeps wanting to split them off from each other, make one more real than the other, invest one with more meaning than it does the other. there are two people who have something to say about this: Nietzsche and Beaudrilliard. i invoke their names in case somebody thinks i made this up. Nietzsche thinks that the conflict over these ideas cannot be resolved. Beaudrilliard thinks that it was resolved and that this is how come some people think that communities can be virtual: we prefer simulation (simulacra) to reality. image and simulacra exert tremendous power upon culture. and it is this tension, that informs all the debates about Real and Not-Real that infect cyberspace with regards to identity, relationship, gender, discourse, and community. almost every discussion in cyberspace, about cyberspace, boils down to some sort of debate about Truth-In-Packaging.

cyberspace is a mostly a silent place. in its silence it shows itself to be an expression of the mass. one might question the idea of silence in a place where millions of user-ids parade around like angels of light, looking to see whom they might, so to speak, consume. the silence is nonetheless present and it is most present, paradoxically at the moment that the user-id speaks. when the user-id posts to a board, it does so while dwelling within an illusion that no one is present. language in cyberspace is a frozen landscape.

i have seen many people spill their guts on-line, and i did so myself until, at last, i began to see that i had commodified myself. commodification means that you turn something into a product which has a money-value. in the nineteenth century, commodities were made in factories, which karl marx called “the means of production.” capitalists were people who owned the means of production, and the commodities were made by workers who were mostly exploited. i created my interior thoughts as a means of production for the corporation that owned the board i was posting to, and that commodity was being sold to other commodity/consumer entities as entertainment. that means that i sold my soul like a tennis shoe and i derived no profit from the sale of my soul. people who post frequently on boards appear to know that they are factory equipment and tennis shoes, and sometimes trade sends and email about how their contributions are not appreciated by management.

as if this were not enough, all of my words were made immortal by means of tape backups. furthermore, i was paying two bucks an hour for the privilege of commodifying and exposing myself. worse still, i was subjecting myself to the possibility of scrutiny by such friendly folks as the FBI: they can, and have, downloaded pretty much whatever they damn well please. the rhetoric in cyberspace is liberation-speak. the reality is that cyberspace is an increasingly efficient tool of surveillance with which people have a voluntary relationship.

proponents of so-called cyber-communities rarely emphasize the economic, business-mind nature of the community: many cyber-communities are businesses that rely upon the commodification of human interaction. they market their businesses by appeal to hysterical identification and fetishism no more or less than the corporations that brought us the two hundred dollar athletic shoe. proponents of cyber- community do not often mention that these conferencing systems are rarely culturally or ethnically diverse, although they are quick to embrace the idea of cultural and ethnic diversity. they rarely address the whitebread demographics of cyberspace except when these demographics conflict with the upward-mobility concerns of white, middle class females under the rubric of orthodox academic Feminism.

the ideology of electronic community appears to contain three elements. first, the idea of the social; second, eco-greenness; and lastly, the assumption that technology equals progress in a kind of nineteenth century sense. all of these ideas break down under analysis into forms of banality.

as beaudrilliard has said, socialization is measured according to the amount of exposure to information, specifically, exposure to media. the social itself is a dinosaur: people are withdrawing into activities that are more about consumption than anything else. even the Evil Newt says that. ( i watched his class.) so-called electronic communities encourage participation in fragmented, mostly silent, microgroups who are primarily engaged in dialogues of self-congratulation. in other words, most people lurk; and the ones who post, are pleased with themselves.

eco-green is a social concept that is about making people feel good. what they feel good about is that they are getting a handle on what amounts to the trashing of planet earth by industrialists of the second industrial revolution. it is a good and desirable feeling, especially during a time where semioticists are trying to figure out how they are going to explain radiation- waste dumps to people thirty thousand years in the future. eco-green is also a way to re-package calvinistic values under a more palatable sign. americans are calvinists, i am sorry to say. they can’t help it: it arrived on the mayflower.

i also think that the idea of electronic community is a manifestation of the triumph of sign-value over worth-value. there is nothing that goes on in electronic community that is not infested with sign- value. if electronic community were anything other than exercise in sign-value, identity hacking, which is entirely about surface-sign, would be much more difficult. signs proclaiming electronic technology as green abound in cyberspace: the attitude of political correctness; the “green” computer, the “paperless” office and the illusion that identity in cyberspace can be manipulated to obscure gender, ethnicity, and other emblems of cultural diversity; the latter of course being both the most persistent and most ridiculous. both of these concepts, the social and the eco-green, are directly nourished by an idea of progress that would not have appeared unfamiliar to an industrialist in the nineteenth century.

i give you an example: the WELL, a conferencing system based in Sausalito, California, is often touted as an example of a “social cluster” in cyberspace. originally part of the Point Foundation, which is also associated with the Whole Earth Review and the Whole Earth Catalogues, the WELL occupies an interesting niche in the electronic-community marketplace. it markets itself as a conferencing system for the literate, bookish and creative individual. it markets itself as an agent for social change, and it is, in reality, calvinist and more than a little green. the WELL is also afflicted with an old fashioned hippie aura that lead to some remarkably touching ideas about society and culture. no one, by the way, should kid themselves that the WELL is any different than bigger services like America OnLine or Prodigy–all of these outfits are businesses and all of these services are owned by large corporations. the WELL is just, by reason of clunky interface, a little bit less obvious about it.

in july of 1993, in a case that received national media coverage, a man’s reputation was destroyed on the WELL, by WELLpeople, because he had dared to have a relationship with more than one woman at the same time, and because he did not conform to WELL social protocol. i will not say that he did not conform to ethical standards, because i believe that the ethic of truthfulness in cyberspace is sometimes such as to render the word ethics meaningless. in cyberspace, for example, identity can be an art-form. but the issues held within the topic, called News 1290,(now archived) were very complex and spoke to the heart of the problem of cyberspace: the desire to invest the simulacrum with the weight of reality.

the women involved in 1290 accepted the attention of the man simultaneously on several levels: most importantly, they believed in the reality of his sign and invested it with meaning. they made love to his sign and there is no doubt that the relationship affected them and that they felt pain and distress when it ended badly. at the same time it appears that the man involved did not invest their signs with the same meaning that they had his, and it is also clear that all parties did not discuss their perceptions of one another. consequently the miscommunication that occurred was ascribed to the man’s exploitation of the women he was involved with, and a conclusion was made that he had used them as sexual objects. the women, for their parts, were comfortable in the role of victim and so the games began. of the hundreds of voices heard in this topic, only a very few were astute enough to express the idea that the events had been in actuality caused more by the medium than by the persons who suffered the consequences of the events. persons of that view addressed the ideas of “missing cues” like body language, tone of voice, and physical appearance. none of this, they said, is present in cyberspace, and so people create unrealistic images of the Other. these opinions were in the minority, though. most people made suggestions that would have shocked the organizers of the Reign of Terror. even the words “thought criminal” were used and suggestions about lynching were made.

hysterical identification is a mental device that enables one person to take on the sufferings of a group of persons. it is something that until the 1880′s was considered a problem of females. in our society, many decisions about who a person is, are made through the device of hysterical identification. in many cases, this is brought about by the miracle of commercial advertising which invests products with magical qualities, making them into fetishes. buy the fetish, and the identification promised by the advertisement is yours. it is tidy, easy, and requires no investment other than money.

in october of 1994, couples topic 163 was opened. in this topic, user Z came on to discuss her marital problems, which involved a daughter who was emotionally disturbed. it began in a very ordinary way for this type of thing, with the woman asking for and receiving advice about what to do. in just a few days, though, the situation escalated, and the woman put another voice on the wire, who was alleged to be her daughter, X. the alleged daughter exposed her problems and expressed her feelings about them, and the problems appeared to be life-threatening. this seemed to set something off within the conference, and a real orgy began as voices began to appear to express their identification with the mysterious and troubled daughter X. the nature of the identifications and the tone of the posts became stranger and stranger and finally user Z set the frightening crown upon the whole situation by posting a twistedly lyrical monologue of maternal comfort and consolation directed at the virtual Inner Children who had appeared to take refuge within her soft, enveloping arms. the more that the Inner Children wept, the more that the Virtual Mommy lyricized and comforted. this spectacle, which horrified more than one trained mental health professional who read it on the WELL, went on and on for several days and was discussed privately in several places in disbelieving tones. when the topic imploded, the Virtual Mommy withdrew reluctantly insisting that only a barbarian would believe that she would commodify her own tragedy.

one of the interesting things about both of these incidents, to me, is that they were expunged from the record. News1290 exists in archive. that means that it is stored in an electronic cabinet, sort of like what the Vatican did with the transcripts of the trial of Galileo. it’s there, but you have to look for it, and mention of 1290 makes WELLpeople nervous. Couples 163 was killed. that means it was destroyed, and does not exist at all anymore, except on back- up tape or in the hard disks of those persons (like me) who downloaded it for their own reasons. what i am getting at here is that electronic community is a commercial enterprise that dovetails nicely with the increasing trend towards dehumanization in our society: it wants to commodify human interaction, enjoy the spectacle regardless of the human cost. if and when the spectacle proves incovenient or alarming, it engages in creative history like, like any good banana republic.

this, however, should not surprise anybody. aesthetically, electronic community of the kind likely to be extolled in the gentle, new-age press, contains both elements of the modernist resistance to depth and appeal to surface combined with the postmodern aesthetic of fragment. the electronic community leaves a permanent record which is open to scrutiny while maintaining an illusion of transience. in doing this, it somehow manages to satisfy the needs of the orwellian and the psycho-archeologist.

people can talk about cyberspace as a Utopian community only because it is literature, and therefore subject to editorial revision. these two events plus another where a woman’s death was choreographed as spectacle online, made me think about what electronic community was, and how it probably really did not exist, except like i said, as a kind of market for the consumption of sign-value.

increasingly, consumption is micro-managed, as the great marxists alvin and heidi toffler suggest when they talk about “de-massing.” so-called electronic community may be seen as a kind of micro-marketing of the social to a self-selected elite. this denies the possibility of human relationship, from which all authentic community proceeds. if one exists merely as sign-value, as a series of white letters, as a subset, then of course it is perfectly fine and we can talk about a community of signs, nicely boxed, categorized and inventoried, ready for consumption.

many times in cyberspace, i felt it necessary to say that i was human. once, i was told that i existed primarily as a voice in somebody’s head. lots of times, i need to see handwriting on paper or a photograph or a phone conversation to confirm the humanity of the voice, but that is the way that i am. i resist being boxed and inventoried and i guess i take william gibson seriously when he writes about machine intelligence and constructs. i do not like it. i suspect that my words have been extracted and that when this essay shows up, they will be extracted some more. when i left cyberspace, i left early one morning and forgot to take out the trash. two friends called me on the phone afterwards and said, hummie your directory is still there. and i said OH. and they knew and i knew, that it was possible that people had been entertaining themselves with the contents of my directories. the amusement never ends, as peter gabriel wrote. maybe sometime i will rant again if something interesting comes up. in the meantime, give my love to the FBI.

ok

 what was it

 i was there

 i did it
 i was looking forward to it

 then the moment was there

 somehow perfect

 all the energy focused on it
 could be free

 in Nigel Godrich's words:
 Thom's having too much fun I'm not gonna get to dj :)
 he's been waiting for months for this!

 when i read this i smiled

 i felt connected

 alive

 i danced  

 CATHARSIS

 berlin march 2013 atoms for peace

 i AM OK

ok

what was it

i was there

i did it
i was looking forward to it

then the moment was there

somehow perfect

all the energy focused on it
could be free

in Nigel Godrich's words:
Thom's having too much fun I'm not gonna get to dj :)
he's been waiting for months for this!

when i read this i smiled

i felt connected

alive

i danced 

CATHARSIS

berlin march 2013 atoms for peace

i am ok

Call me Rhye Wrust,

It’s a Wrustien thing baby.

It evolves like a lizard lapping milk.

waiting. 

The Self is on the shelf.

The thorns spread through the egg yolk and burn your palm.  The scars are moon shaped and your mother’s raised the alarm.  This is who you are.  The gelding Orca.  Ravenous and you open the shutters again honey; to enjoy the rapturous silence of mourning. 

“I know white from wrong.”  You claim.

Violence.  Tender how crucial.  You will rise. 

In this game of polka dot you carry intradependence in spades.  I am yearning not to be relative.  Your broken white trash teeth smile and you commit to the vanity of shame of dentistry.  You defy explanation.  You committed suicide to survive true love.

“Invoke the raw and release the war within the self.”

Imp Passioned.

“God is the touch within the ripples.”  He sighs for your choice, how he created you you do not know, but it was always your choice to fall in love.  “The girl who cried rape and the sensual orgasms she inspires.”  The demonic me.  Is it wise to love another more worthy than yourself?  nope. nope. nope.  Love is infinite and blind, a narrow mind, an obsessive compassion.

Make Love Mine.

White plush on a plastic backing.

Pick between your thighs.

Vodka olive.

Cranberry wine.

Forget me knots.

Fresh cut grass.

Avocado green boiled eggs from Peter cottontail.

I am putty in your hands, template broken stained glass sands.

The red hand amasses minute fears and plastic.

Americar!

Dynamice ill acquainted.

Narnian Nihilists.

All the fucking private property.  Do you own your own privates?  Anal cunt.

No taxes please.

Carthage is stronger than Rome.

This is your own apocalypse. 

These stripes are earned rich.

Ima Panther. 

Honesty.

“Honesty is the veil gracing truth.” 

Love and forgiveness for the Bible tells us so does not excuse poor behavior and poor choices.  Action is the only way to redeem oneself.  My body is wiser than my mind.  Eyesore.  “It is far more productive to tread lightly in silence along a mountain than to wreath yourself in violence at the foot of an avalanche of callousness.”   Snit.  Ready.  Set.  Go.

“Fray the ribbon.”

Feed on carbon.

“Barbie never owned a soapbox accessory.”

“Softly breaking the law.”

You are demon.  Where is your Free Will you cry.  You pull the threads to watch your tapestry weave dry.  And I say Fuck the democratic thieves with their unoriginal fiefdoms.   Plutocrat! Wah ha ha.  And all I got is too pennies and a nut, from a machine that runs unable, “slack jawed slave drivers rubion me raw.”

One Day.

Neon outline skeleton dinosaur stood upon the frontlines of sand the lovers gripped each other tight humane embrace and pitted polka dot spiders hiss hiss until You are driven mad to suicide but you daren’t jump from the rock face itch itch you open my head to inhale the spider and twinkle into the bucket another plum and tack sitting in the lotus position until you become brave and walk away through the foliage jumping the metal fence you receive a hug from my man and it starts to pour magenta spotlight from the focus of mine eyes and you see spider webs in the shadows hide in the pools of light to save your pathetic self from terror while I become soaked and explore my foreign campus.

This is heaven.

Forgive me forgive me you cannot swear enough at the innocent amnesia and betrayal it is never enough for this shameless being to end so young and so old you seem only beginning against to see just past my notes.

In heaven the endless basketball courts seem to wait next to the chapel where everyone sings and worships in a Catholic manner.  Makes me sick.  The doorman offers me my black socks.  You steal a child’s shoes and fall from the clouds to earth as another school bus arrives full of children.  You wonder when the skies will turn blue and free this sad dreamer from her rotting tooth.  You are Catholic blood you know.  Yeah yeah but we can’t afford the attire.

You think like a clockwork orange.

You desecrate my Temple.
You are vulgar sweetheart.

And I have a Cock tail.

You Live Art You.

My grandmother tells me “Curiosity kills the cat but satisfaction always brings it back.”

I take the body, I take the blood.  Noy yet buyute.

I love you wilted rag doll bunny with a flower Satahn.

Heartache.

When you touch that beautiful doll and feel the tug of the heartbeat you stole does it remind you of me?  Does the dull thud strike uneven in your unmade mistaken mistress?  On this side of the fence the grass seems green with envy that all you are belongs to someone else’s playboy-cowboys who crucify me, lockjaw me, and hang me out with the dirty laundry you hung within my self-defense-self-demise-You are one I would want to know.

Will Power.

Never think of the devil, never speak his name, he’ll steal your tears and whitewash your sorrows until you have forgotten everything-a slave trader by day, mystic magician of bloodstain blackmail-twist and limit the body gutless fish swim through frost heartless beasts of red eyed pawns-fawns who bear fangs and claws-burden the children who dare to break all the laws of God. 

Free Willy.

You are a savant.

You squirm all willy-nilly.

You American ugly you.

This is public masturbation, kudos to Vito.

My Soul.

My soul has burned and become a ghost, my mind ruins my best intentions yet you feel most alive in the freedom of lack of doubt.  You channel the blood.  You hunger for your own touch.  When you listen to my ghost weep do you feel regret for the sinful creature you are becoming?

I, the Feral dog got clean. 

I, the sane.

I, the Purple Water Lily am stranger than the vane.

Down home cooking turns my tummy tickled.

Gawd damn Vampire.

You are the ripple that summons me home.

I now understand that if I do not understand and trust in my true nature and desires with full acceptance that I will only become corrosive in my actions and associations.  I burden this Brainchild and awaken this mirror.  You are watching it grow while I prune the unnecessary appendages like a dark minded surgeon. 

Coal lab whore nation?, no dear sirs, this is an origination.

I wonder a new Radiohead song, mabye songs?

(Cuando pierdes a quien amas y Radiohead es lo único que te queda)

No despiertes

No te despiertes mi niña
duerme bien, duerme mal, duerme niña, duerme linda
creías que tenías un rompecabezas eterno muy armado.

Duerme amiga porque yo no se, yo no se, ya no se
que es lo que va a pasar cuando amanezca.
Pero si entra un zancudo o un ladrido de perro
yo lo detendré antes que despiertes
(o al menos hasta que sea el momento).

Tenemos cigarrillos y botellas vacías
que llenamos con el licor de nuestras lágrimas
y paseos eufóricos por las calles, y caricias y llamadas
y llamadas que aunque no se contesten
no son perdidas ¡No son perdidas!

Tenemos cigarrillos y botellas llenas que no se pueden vaciar
en una casa que se cae a pedazos
y que sentimos linda, sentimos música en como se cae
apretas cosas para que no suenen, quieres que yo no escuche
barres allá, barres acá, pero,
el polvo de los corazones no se barre fácil, no se barre...

En una casa que se cae y que se llena de cosas intangibles
yo te cuidaré, cuidaré
no soy quien quieres, pero me quieres mejor que a nadie,
pero soy mejor, mejor que lo que buscas,
te juro que si los sujeto; ningún clavo,
ninguna tabla se caerá, ni crujirá
nada niña caerá, mientras no despiertes
nada crujirá, ni caerá, ni sonará
para cuidar tu sueño
(al menos hasta que despiertes sola).

Tu madre llora cuando te ve
las madres siempre lloran
pero ella no sabe que duermes
que duermes bien, o un poco bien, o algo bien, o al menos no sola.

Sufres por papeles que tienen sellos
sellos de agua, pero son papeles, al fin y al cabo
sellos y timbres que necesitas, que son parte de la vida
y que necesitas igual.

No importan lobos, o pumas o chiguaguas asesinos
que te asustan o te enrabian o te hacen llorar
tu siempre hablas aunque no debieras
nunca sabes cuando callar, nunca paras
por eso te quiero, porque nunca paras
de luchar.

No importan los chiguaguas mi niña
nadie te va a despertar. "¡Shhhht!" ¡nada!
nada, nada. Lo sé porque yo estoy aqui.

Y en la mañana nos vamos a apurar...
y en la mañana nos vamos a reir...
Al desayuno nos vamos a comer el mundo.

Y si te siento llorar al desayuno
no te quitaré el sufrimiento porque no se cómo,
pero sabrás que nunca te dormiste sola
y que no despertaste.

Ambos estamos parados de pie, parados al frente
con el cerebro en "stop", parados
con el corazón metido en el congelador.

Caminamos por un precipicio Apocalíptico,
pero es el fin del mundo
y nos encontrará lleno de botellas,
llenas de risa y cigarrillos
y nos reiremos de todos y de todo
lo que fue!

Para mi amiga PDD

Feliz Cumpleaños Yo

Y aqui estoy dando la lucha todos los días un nuevo amanecer.

Tragándome la llave que abre la caja del botón de autodestrucción una y otra vez.

Es una forma (distinta) de ser, una característica o condición... que

es parte de mi Core, me hace pensar y sentir como yo; de hecho, es Yo.

Y como soy me encanta.

¡No me cambiaría por nada

¡No quiero ser nadie más que quien he sido siempre!

¡El Yo!

¡Bon compleanno!

Un pequeño universo

Crece débil, engorda

no gastes vida en pensar

no tienes caminos

no tienes delante ni atras.

Sírvenos, no sientas

no gastes energia en pensar

respira, come y bebe

verás la luz que querramos segun la agenda.

Yo acelero, yo Creo, yo manejo.

No te odio, no eres digno.

Te voy a matar, te voy a matar, te voy a matar, te voy a matar, te voy a matar...

No te preocupes por ser feo,

por ser gay,

por ser rubio,

hombre, mujer o deformidad,

subnormal, negro

¿Crees en Dios? está bien

todos me sirven

(aunque algunos no)

Me gusta el monopolio de sus cuerpos

¡INSIGNIFICANTES VIDAS!

Cama de dolor y odio

Las balas de Aspirina más duras no rompen esta cáscara de dolor en la que estoy encerrado

un huevo de tristeza en el que crezco y trato en vano de golpear sin poder romperlo.

Dentro hay una cama disfrazada de comodidad y tibieza

de ella salen brazos tiernos, maternales;

terroríficos que no me van a soltar jamás.

Los puedo vencer a veces, pero

cuesta sudor, cuesta lágrimas, cuesta gritos que no se escuchan.

Un superhéroe de un planeta interno me ayuda.

Él soy yo, a veces... Sólo a veces...

Punto de luz

No se lo que quiero encontrar,

puedes ser todo.

Eres un caleidoscopio de confusiones en mi pecho

amor, miedo, pasión,  ternura...

¡ansiedad!

No quiero caer

No quiero caer

No veo un punto de luz

o no lo quiero ver

¡los fantasmas! ¡las brujas!

no quiero abrir los ojos para no ver lo que me hace daño

Debes darme tiempo

para sanar...

Pero siento un lugar en tu hombro para mi corazón

en ese útero crecerá y dormirá como un niño

y consumirá con ternura tu amor

hasta que sea fuerte y te inyectará amor a ti otra vez

en una mezcla de amores que nos hará dos, pero uno.

Sin alas

Soy un ángel sin alas

camino y no me ven.

En la cama del Hospital

soy el que no será visitado.

No tengo la gracia de un accidente genético.

No soy un árbol, ni una flor.

No soy valioso como una gema

soy una piedra que no fue preciosa.

No te puedes perder en mis ojos

No te dan ganas de cerrar los ojos si te beso.

Si me encuentras caminando en la noche, avanzando hacia ti

tu primer impulso sera dar la vuelta y correr.

Red Cortada

Me queda muy poco del resto de mi vida

la muerte me puede quedar bien.

Quiero vivir en blanco y negro

no quiero colores que no se explicar.

La que quebró el quarzo en mi

me llama por varios canales.

Antes habría abierto mis sentidos,

pero hoy es el primer día desde que mi vida se detuvo

y no quiero contestar.

Sácame los cables que me conectan a los recuerdos

sácame los cables invisibles de mis sueños

porque están en mi cabeza, esclavizándome.

(Pero no odio a La Red).

Borré tu nombre, borré, borré

tu pelo, tu voz, tos ojos, tu risa, tu sueño, tu tristeza

borré los días y los sueños

corté cables hasta sangrar y poder ver solo huesos

pero aunque yo dé la espalda,

los cables siguen buscando sus extremos (otra vez).

Una foto una NO una película

Ojos almendrados

Delineados azules

Pelo negro azabache, de virutilla.

Ese único olor tuyo en la piel

Tu risa,

Tu forma de decir "si"

Tu honestidad

Tu ingenuidad

(Una boleta, una canción, todo...)

Te agradezco por haber pasado por aquí.

A veces el amor verdadero

Es una fotografía instantánea

De un momento que viven dos

y solo ellos dos fuimos "culpables" (nosotros).

No tenemos la culpa de que

haya sido una foto y no una película

(pero eso no significa que no fueron sentimientos verdaderos).

Gracias por haberte detenido,

buscarme para tomar nuestra foto juntos.

(No necesita estar en un álbum

se atesora la imagen en el corazón).

Ansiedad de separación

Ahi está vomitando... vomitará hasta vomitar todos los pedazos de su corazón
se prenderá fuego en el pecho para quemar las vísceras de ahi dentro
y tragará veneno para matar hasta lo último que esté vivo y amando...
y le rogará a toda la energía que lo rodea para que no le vuelva a crecer otro corazón
hará un pacto de cualquier consecuencia, con cualquier fuerza que le prometa que nunca más necesitará sentir...
Desde hoy vivirá aterrado de las ventanas en su camino...
y caminará hacia una montaña desconocida, a beber agua, comer raices y escuchar.
A fin de cuentas sus oidos son lo único con lo que comenzó y con lo único que siempre se keda
(deberían estar dentro de su pecho, en lugar de su cabeza).

(Para: PTH).

Dame Tiempo

No se lo que quiero encontar

Puedes ser todo

no se, es dificil pensar (en ti)

No quiero caer (ya he caido)

No veo un punto de luz

No puedo o No Quiero verlo

Pero veo un lugar en tu hombro izquierdo

Para mi corazón.

Debes darme TIEMPO...

(Para: YAY).

Por Ti Tocaría Arañas

Por ti cruzaría desiertos (De Cierto/Desiertos)
Tocaría arañas
Llegaría donde quienes, no nos quisieran... Sólo por tenerte
(no por ser tu dueño, sólo tenerte, en tu máxima expresion)
Llegaría donde quienes...
Si hubieran arañas
Las tocaría...
Por que se... detras de ellas
Si las toco ellas sabrian de mi miedo
Me entenderían, te entienden a ti...
me dejarían
pasar, pasar, pasar, pasar...
E incluso poseerlas
Por que detrás de ellas estás tu ¡!!

(Para: PTH).

Hermosa Sumisión

Me tienes comiendo de tu mano

y nunca había probado

algo tan dulce y tranquilizador

como lo que tu me das.

Sólo quiero que me trates otra vez

como tu mascota amada

como tu lindo cachorro

que me cuides mientras duermo.

Te recuerdo que tu empezaste todo esto

Tu me metiste en esto

Era ignorante y feliz antes de ti

Ahora soy sabio y triste...

(sacame de aquí, quiero ser feliz, no me importan los conocimientos).

Tu eres más fuerte que yo

tu me cuidas a mi,

pero cuando tu seas débil

(cuando el tiempo te haga débil)

Yo me haré un GIGANTE 

y nada...

nada...

te pasará mi amor...

nada...

(Para: YAY)

La Deuda

Si piensas que me debes algo
no llevo las cuentas
las cuentas siempre las llevabas tu
yo siempre confié en ti
no tengo porqué desconfiar

Si crees que me debes algo
k sea un recuerdo sin dolor
si me quieres pagar algo
dame algo que valga lo mismo que sentí... ¡!!
con tus ojos de alivio mientras me alejaba

Si tenemos alguna diferencia
entre lo dado y lo recibido
que quede en el olvido
sacar las cuentas solo traerá dolor
y nunca cortar el cordón.

Sólo una cosa me debes
porque el silencio de conformidad
cuando te dije ke me iba
el karma cobra más que yo amor :'(
el karma cobra más que yo :'(
prefiero que me lo debas a mi
no se lo debas al cosmos
te amo tanto que no quiero
que llegues a sufrir por deberme a mi
renuncio a toda paga y todo interés
sólo karma no le hagas nada...
por favor cambia de nombre e identidad

Los impuestos son como sangre derramada
y tu a mi me debes impuestos
no mi amor, no mi amor, no mi amor ¡!!
te van a venir a cobrar ¡!!
te van a venir a cobrar ¡!!
y no estas preparada para pagar...
no estas preparada para!!!

Juro que Renuncio a toda dueda
renuncio a todo dolor
prometo ser feliz, en parte por ti, en parte por mi
te deseo amor...
te deseo amor
las deudas están saldadas entre los dos...

Metamorfosis

Soy un angel Sin alas
Camino y no me ven
En la cama del hospital
Soy el k no será visitado

No tengo la gracia de un accidente genético
No soy hermoso como una flor
no soy valioso como una gema
soy una piedra k no fue preciosa

No te puedes perder en mis ojos
No te dan ganas de cerrar los ojos si te beso
Si me encuentras caminando en la noche
avanzando hacia ti tu primer impulso será correr...
CORRER!

Ok so I'm on a bit of a recipe kick this week, which is fun and a good thing I think. And this recipe is for home-made vegan ice cream! For this recipe you need a few ingredients that you might not have in your cupboard but you can find em in health food store I guess probably. So you'll need unsweetened almond milk, which is easy to find. Truvia, I don't know how hard that is to find, glucomannan powder, (to thicken it) and vanilla! Oh and also ice cube trays.

Alrighty! lets begin

Get out a blender and put 4 cups of almond milk in it. Put 5-6 teaspoons of truvia in it too. Then and one teaspoon of the glucomannan powder to that, and 4 teaspoons of vanilla. Now blend it all up for 30-60 seconds. Then pour the mixture into the ice cube trays. This'll fill 3 trays. Put them in the freezer! When the cubes are all frozen get out you food processor, and grind em up! If its to powdery and more almond milk. 

There yah have it. Maybe this is only good to the people who haven't had real sugar or milk for a very long time.....It doesn't actually take that long, and if you really like ice cream but don't like what it does to you then make this stuff!