Skip navigation

  and yet. the mayan chalenday has seemed to effect my life. Telling goodness and remarking why the struggle has been worth it . a moment in the sun yuo way, i do not a top of the universe as upper and lower are refeared to.. more devine than a soul mate. there ouuld only be self mate. an neutrimmos registers it own thorughts , tho think we can secape out a window. metaphysics.. replaceing what was once refereered to as faiith. y idenifications, so inside the telling of defeated sel maybe, where i maa once was as now is. 

  walking braver b

  i have a new taplit i have a new way to write and see the summer pass  out side on a rock, a bench , like always, the winters have never leat enough action . at four in the morning, small towns and idele dreams. 

 we do not expect and all around us we create the pains if only to look , glassy eyed alittle. cruel for private fun, and violent if thoughts mattered. the innocense of a spoiled child with harboring guilts. end me before the morings. please i can not yet any more. to excape gives wisdom long beyond you. what father and mother a philosopyic whole. a mentioning in the dark what lies we lye on.. 

  against the meta grasp.. 

   and eyt.. 

 from ghost to a quatum physics. the i of unit and timed bristh. the i of energy thorugh water. the i  that fillal feels all he has said he would feel. where joy meets the possible and the comusmed enough to live fro every free. 

forever free. .. and i am love and fuckit and fight, folly with folly , i have seen my fool.  ashamed and called homeward because the edge and giving. and nothing can top what doesn’t matter. 

    nothingin streaming thorugh airs heirs, aires,   there is motions fo thought i hav enot travelsed and wonder on that, persona darkly thougths extremes of untold  metamophsis, the dead butterflyes  all purpole than thin lineds morark, 

SUNP0002first time for sun on

the west north west,

first time for hope

the street filling,

the asking donations,

and yet i found  clay

this monning

in the car

heated

it molds easy.

 

I hav enothing to say the rumors of excistance shifting thorugh..  the anger at relations becasue i am alone to qwuek what i wont say in reality, here to freely shed the ways of ediquette when it is just to touch,, and never worry.. she will someday never come back and i let myself pretend .. other wise. the stars alined. so in glorious.

i can not even , face the reason for intimacy,, a desisive lier i am ,, such that to myself i lie,, it is a way of not being mad,, like an animal. not screeching into the bezzy of incontroversial accounts and predestineation. for acitons behind the secrets are lies sometimes to the now.   and i have always denied I write fiction.. for each try ends up a crumbled mess.. and only the illusion really wants to , yet that is what an ego is.. and determined to get its way if it has to drag the rest of the cells with it..

Cells.

funny how the prison alight a reasoning.. I am made of cell.. i am cold soul-d.i might have made plstice models for a living, if once was , would have..  in the remembrance of idealism.. its plastic dolls head over there behind journalistic integrity, a rumor in a bar. or hope in a crowed room. the burn lasting on its mouth since it was fed a sauder gun, to represent retailation and combat. the simple use of fire.. formed plastic forever to stare.

 

Touch my chin loveingly.
Rose Carmikel

 

Romance.. the inflicted harm of never to touch again. Image

and yet prewritten . as you newly listen.
To ironize.
a trueday.

what merryness
made a moment,
shared scared
of a daze
To have someone understand.
Stillness .

Empty. the street fades into nothing,
Illusion of a flower
in hard thin black lines

There are Hands moving over keyboards in the still darkness. Hands moving under the shadow of street lamps. Automaticly moving from drawing pens to clay schulptures to paint brushes. Hands offering self awareness through the intrinsic form of human nature. Hands yet, pained for their progress: the more inventive the more out of society. Tired hands worn caloused, climbing into amiguity of Wake, work, sleep, love. Trying on all changes to face awareness,.to seperate from what has been. To Accepting another in a process of growth, and left again, until quiet and all accepting. no change needed for the goal has gone away, there is no need to adapt, for the system has stopped. we are not changing we have become stranded by the people who want stablity in an animals awareness, and are getting it. if we owe we cant think. we are desprit.
Hands that have held and waited to be asked for, tendarly feeling a slow motion reach, touch air. Waitng for someone to hold them and care for the human tendarness missing from system and government. these are the private, the torn from birth , these are the hands of dominate nights and masturbation. Self fullfiling where no one else can, when they are missing, when the cuase isnt answered and when frustration pulls the taffy of understanding through isometric shaking.
To love fully is never answered in a world of “profit motives” symbolism of true greed . The reasons for soceity all broken. While we wait for culture to realize, the yet Unpublished and undocumented culture waits. Waiting for peace to be an agreement instead of a sided arguement. Frustrated that people can not feel the future. through the being of now. though the use of technological response our minds are ready to accept. Mediation for Healthcare, Yoga for pain, Releived of food additives, and educational limitation. Waiting for the natural to heal what buisness and corporations have accepted.
Waiting for another to hold out what is the action of the fingers. the micro in the battle of nertrons. well bred servants to the ecclxclizial movement in demostration of a “Yet is “ holding on to some form of inner spirituality in the face of common economics and disgruntled attentions, Pinky, thumb, forefinger, ring ;matched. Hand to hand, the look of preyer, argueing the obvious.
Hands which say
“ I but one penny make” for one to get through, to mass awareness, to the video day, seventy five million try daily. Bound as we are to conspiracies of depression and schophenia, Bound to unemployment, poverty, and corporate lead ill-education. Bound as we are to the past of family , Dna, and gravitation waves, meanings demostrated against thinking freely. Bound ,as we are as if by time,to corporate control, to profits and radioactive particals. Bound as we are to rising rent, utiliities Liscenses, and left over taxes. Climaxes risings and schroka relieved, by infor mercials of seductions we can only by products to achieve. We are love less, smelly,trained to live in a box. of televsions, trained to bind our insticts, or will to fight back for the sacke of government and peace, but then peace isnt ever promised only Proper Blindness gets us through. but the glass as they get bigger dont seem to work. and so again we turn to art. the most whipish resort we are yet allowed, like the free expressions are our last remaining resort. and we dont hope for money Medici doesnt look for us. and Medici doest buy truth just more confusion.
The pen flys , the drawing festers, oil paints get bought up in mass. Clay water everywhere, while hands work frantic against the end, or against the begining. After the world is remade, after the pains of realizing we must change, after the motions of our brains evolve from cultural ruin as the Innocense of ego screamed superiority instead of acknowledgeing this is not peace.
Instead of a republic eye god major Old testimont devotion to destroying government soverity for credit Market equality.. what difference if there is no difience.
Each finger is an element. to my tablet to redo to digitalisxed, the same drawing the video, the three d poser, the publishing house, only then to distance to internet to street scene of multiple characters understanding humanity non-physical, like training for an underground experience, hidden in fall out shelters.
These same hands then come to rest on a keyboard in a merry circle. day in and out..Each purpose. Stumbling, by ease of explaination. Simplicity in blurrs and intentions. Always learning the ever explaination of feeling Useless.
Finally rests, to write, to pound keys to prepare for a vision, some amassing conflagation. Surreally forced from the hip the act of the muse. The spirtual self involvemnt , the egotictic innocense. the creation, the Kata the dance of a martial art, , like a bow, unexpressed to individuality except in rooms of education and pompos porcreations.
Alwasy to the classic image of repetive stories.
boy girl man women nature. Nature commands more than can be understood, quickly. To Write the Muse through slow pathway of questions and answers from the ideal to the innocent. , and feel and live with an attection to see more and more, Each by-way the chance to reclaim the micro.
the “Spirts” view. So Advance to document feelings of a once was ,,,an anicent within.
Unstoppable Undisputable Plant type reasons.
And then comes Technology perminate within psycological self determination and domination. until you can no longer.. dominate, the pains become so great, you only look for angles at health and peace.. watching the animal create a definition a path of hope.
Hours and hours of coffee house excistance. Artist coldly bordering the others there, or talking strickly to yourself. , until you decided, to release, but somehow you are never alone any more with the internet on. and the difference seems like a change of food. This automatic cosideration of a once was… Literture, Law, Knowledge and Biblical Ruin writing. There is no more concern with the human line of an art prasticed like craft. And all are the clever. with misgivings of humanity they do not face. like it is outside of civility to remember feelings. for story line.
Minutes pass
where hours
should , days
accumlate
and it makes do difference..
I wanted to be perfect
, i was , dismayed,
there is no perfect
its is all just shades of gray.
. An ease of communication , but yet without for the expressed has to read with the same intent as the writing.. such that often meaning is mislaid.
what comes through the hands asked for supervision, which demands idea. Writing in all its turns, for correct is repair, is a danceing or pracited incantation of religious or occult purposes. with pen and paper, with hopes splendid. When before so many words flitting through raw space, we forget how new and devoid of president, as words litter every feeling. we never would have considered before. , when before seems so long ago. . when to chat on line was an adiction, a looked down on verdic of others. You can not talk to your nieghbor, and so the world gets smaller. more consise, less accurate.
and so we have forgotten how to hear. so writing is also lost, it is only for contracts and ambiguities called laws. Next to me my brother lies in the sweat and acke of his troubles , so i forget and email a friend who is only by referance, more important that suffering along side of my family. Sad what truth lies in the solutiude we feel the longing of the over the border, the other side of the fence, It was years ago we noticed american society not caring for its own published authors, there was no more realism, all had truned to fantasy for which Readers would consume, the reality gone from american acceptance, such that we had to read from poorer cultures, cause we couldnt believe we had changes yet to face. we collect the indigious peoples thoughts for they still have spines, or do they , for they only want the freedom amercia represents a sufferance inforced by corporate laws.
Hands pound keyborads the world over, some how we have learned to write maybe it was just to say we are literate, so that we can sign our lives over. Slavery doesnt work, cause ownership means maintance. they would have to feed us. and now they pay us little and expect us to get by on it. no matter.

 

 

astep01What is in Crimea they don’t want us to see amoung the retired, and retiredeezzs. Send me a tartar and some fish from the sea.. florida for bulshevacs, and you or western bound. three wars your attractions bound, four ,five, disciplining your irony freedom and legacy, corporate diversion and povertys sodemy for being. your fault you didnt attend, starched shirts and “treadmaster” arms, legs, thieghs achieved in pill pusher rooms, whiles sweat greets the warming sky. Only, labor and free air.. trying to kill the midle class expanding all to average wage.. average against the Chinese, the top hears only we can send globally our children to die, only we can balence an economic status but we is a media representation. on the streets children walk in bad clothes and stressed faces, addicted un consciouly, streamed into a salmons run to sex and family. to a larger fantasy as balence we cry .. americna avearge, bought and financed brainwahing and romanced independant of humaniity, Rusia worked this all out before hand, they told the major powers, I know because the pope cam out with some big ones,, (statement to the press t capture media) the Plane is still missing ( to capture the media) , Rockets Into Isrealia (from who wasnt announced as i heard it) The stock market eases up..
SAll because Ukraine changes banks.. but really ,, the oldest plow in the bood is ,, my enemy enemy is my frriend,, and it isnt being acted all that well.. but imagine a party ,, saying to another party if i cause war with you everyone will come to help you.. never mind my gas pipelines are there.. and we have been wanting to expand the secondary route but no money there.. and the enviromental restrictions.. damn ,, all that will change , you call yourself a new government like russia did,, (Hail Urkrane) and all dbts will be forgiven,, and you start a new,, spring chicken.. mean while everyone is investing and money is streaming in , everyone wins an no one looses,, in fact we willl play with a new part of russia which never left,, lol nice.. play chess more often. lol this is as good as the time magazine cover of Oswald,, and time magazine was create by the Dostovsky brothers 1861. thank you this has been a patties day rant thank you for listening ,,, oh wait reading..

myamericaSo here we are: a different way
a different day.
When taken to the heart,
man is to know self and love
mixed into a vat of flesh and wounds.

To tell. I live in a car. It is coarse; yet raw-ly becoming. One because it is true; the other: from negative representation of an attitude, and a mingling. As I am doing with insanity or true comfort which makes Homelessness, Gypsy, Transient, I guess even white trash, except I have it easy, for I drink little and run from addiction in general. Even as I fall prey to Art, eating and love.
.
I can afford this. Like Stienbeck and his Diablo,( don Cervaneyotas servant friend) mine is a red toyota called Tara. A home from rain and thieves, though the protection is Buddhaistic. (a good bat ,a lonely road and your in) I keep a safe glance and a prayer, as a trusted security for the celebration, the calling of my gypsy.

The sky is blue like always, the earth turns on it’s axis. By accepting to live without the guilt of bills I live my art.. And so homelessness is no longer the raging bull of insecure economics. for all my life I have written. The life style of creation is yet only in moments un-guilty. So , I repeat, I afford my life and am happy. .
All successful life seems a divorce from apprehension. Where thought comes in-Lue of power for completion of an idea. What is strength? but endurance. The tortoise and the hare race, except unlike the story the tortoise and hare really have no bodies and spiritual strength is easier to measure, tolerate, and respect. For it is a strength to feel. To Not buy , or rent or lease, but to own. ,and not to casually give away the living love of trees. Walls complain of middle managed situations and a rising interest in violence nationally and locally,, the buildings becon the lonely tales of man’s inner cruelity of statistics and bottom lines.. The bootstrap makers, win all the time, as they tell you to pull them up.. It is only because they are pulling them down
and I am not one to wear clothing if I don’t have to. Minding that skin cleans easier than all the fashions of spring.
Yet it does tear.
I watched three minutes of television in the car. I had to buy one to complain about it. It seems like complaining. But it is criticism Television is part of environment and a major player in consciousness. It was Fox news I watched. A Televised child’s game at Six on a Boston Affiliate. A foolish sight of no research. and I am done, but I wanted to see Micheal Moore. the now famous name, not un-helping the cause of the “Film” maker gone patriot.
Let it show; the most common among us is alive.
But I have not seen the movie yet. And it seems oxcymoronic to mention The National New, from this latest American Media Giant who has found the brand of philosophic choices rather than good journalism , and reaps well, to report only sensationalism, and high school orientated criticism, backed against a common man’s media.
I will say what I know. The documentary in our time is changing into a individual realism of inner commonness. Our society is also feeling very useless and wants as much information as the Democratic foundations of one human, one vote. We are driven to pay attention to everything, and the world is changing faster than us. no never accepting, we must. yet accept that intelligence binds us. And now you know, what do you do.
IF I say hello to you on the street and you turn me away, I look for other forms of connection , of course one came before the other. She stands with dog, she is small breasted with a baby blue jogging sweat shirt with a zipper on the front , stretch beautifully, the redundancy is killing me. Her oval face pouts. Walking a medium large white Husky, but she stops. Just where she faces out of view, as i sit in a park and look around while writing.
Or I should say, I look at women passing,
Being without love, and kindness seems criminal. All this seems corroded by doubt. . and so as the study of living continues, I am to love from distances. Maybe I see the energy of my dreams the wrong way, but i just live it. and it is alternate and yet it is natural.
The questions taken back to Adam and Eve, the fig leaf for the usage of the god’s light they felt but given bodies as an escape from heaven’s determined control and aloof ness they like them yet knew only guilt from doing so as the child is to it parent. While the body ackes and moans, while the body knows pain and balances the physical will.
Have it heaven , to , and reality, for, one to exist. It must be part of everything and now. Then , and Forever. Like true science.
And with these questions answered, as such, we make history.
Yet history is the cowards controlling. for where do you think your doubt will leave accept in fantasy, or reason with only limited applications, for what else has been the entirety of philosophy, (for which i know Nothing about) but to argue while such to me explained must be lived, and then trained, if you will, to what is felt.
But it is the separation of feelings that technology tells. It is self gratification while a hundred years passes by.
It is the man over god complex, or it is the technology which fuels the spiritual as Pre- Thorey-itics.

The chill in the air is the time. I may move soon, I may watch television again.

I didn’t mention it but it is the time of American Politics, and the start of the Democratic Convention 2004.
John Kerry is the intended, having won most of the primary votes , and tonight starts the creation of sides.
the ludiacracy is that there are sides. while the quiet majority has the weapons and is never elected.
so is always in power. and there we laugh hideously that a star trek episode might have been right.
How would you introduce Aliens as a fact, except to have global power through consciousness first, that is by creation, the wicked to fight against; to have peace as a rule of law and contribution.
Will Kerry Pay Back United Nations Debt. Equalize schooling and make the statement that the “MISION OF DEmocracy is world peace through self sufficient governing. “
Realizing our hands are drawn tight with each passing day of humanity, here where we cup our hands to provide, we let the remains of that in our commerce, our products leave a residue of Americanism. and where the indigenous are replaced we apologize but yet our fun loving media, and Advertising culture, makes People think, that is all American, but it is just corporate business.
It is dealing to a market that is free enough to choice what to spend on.
A market that is not hungry, or over populated. It is not SMALL. For it has been reproduced on for only two THOUSAND and so years, that humanity has walked the planet. These are the years of conscious change.
As a collection of independent states, American has achieve the ability to exist alone, and within our bourders, but even our Peace has been debated in battle. But through this all we are still standing from sea to shining sea, but we are, truthfully, the representation of cooperation and resolution achieving an equality with spirt through the intermixture and the acceptance of other cultures, . in what ever form our cultures push us.
I have a new computer but you couldn’t know.

Living in a car, for the freedom of America. for the freedom of my artistic impulses, with the equality of my heart. and here like in all my writings. It is easier to write outside, sometimes the fulfillment is an equality of the technological idea and muse. In trees sometimes like Now in Boston’s Jamacia plains park system. Behind me I hear voices in some type of Spanish, i don’t have to even look around. I don’t know BUT the question and answers sound like married men escaping into some sort of game. I could look around and it could be about cars, I am interested now, and they are throwing around a baseball. I can feel the laughter I hear from them.
I started to think about other people’s stories about cars and writing. I always though it was interesting to tell about what has happened instead of what is happening, the story uncreated , or sometimes it is created as the answer to stories created. Funny that, i feel this way because of stories and sights. my Prejudice such, willingly or not. The stories are feelings. taken and left to survive, the lack of observation engroving a meritless reaction, like our hands move in reaction learned sometime long ago and they escape time by redoing the practices taught then, but not always just the hands to move, and more expected and explained are the emotions that work that way, the response stimuli, the natural unobserved path.
when the natural observed path gives voice.
strength is endurance.

July 24, i am guessing.
So here i am again. telling of the day and of life , mostly because as right now sits, i have little else to do. truthfully i feel i am questioning my sanity while living what i can of life, I should be happy , I was given a car on credit, i can pay back eventually, i should be happy people love me , making me pay eight hundred for a car that needs and needs again. i am going to the doctor soon. tonight actually, and little problems are all superficial. i have more of a problem because i haven’t painted the rest of the hubcaps. one is red. sort of because i stopped when it came to getting red on the tires, though that wouldn’t stop them from working..but still i haven’t painted the rest. so one hubcap is red.
What am i doing. I really can only say the truth, I have alot of “want to be” doings.
the car is filled with my toys, a video camera for the flim’s i am thinking about(with only limited action) The guitar, for which sits in the back and i don’t feel able to play it. My hands hurt to play when I am working construction. and my voice is raw from cigerettes and coffee, and at present, disuse. there is also a Clarient, and a keyboard, but last night i bought a television, this life of indirection is starting to take a toll.
It was to easy to come back to Jamacia Plains. back to the problems i am creating and have created without knowledge. People who don’t call, saying they missed me. Someone even thanked me for coming back. but then i am Thank full for the work , but the rest is the rest , i don’t really miss many of them. unleast I really think about it, then the truth has always been i like people like i like pets really. i like to make them smile, mostly. I have just enough weed to make the stumbling with the words an action when truth is i am very tired and have body lice.
It is funny how a problem like body lice can create the same inner guilt I have always felt , sorted and sublime, like all my problems. I can tell no one, they couldn’t want to talk to me then. I can not face the problem correctly. i am not able to combine washing my clothing and spraying the bedding sufficiently and cleaning myself, combing out the eggs and doing it all over again a week later. So I sit and feel badly that I am giving lice to other people, and even as it is just a problem it will create bad blood for all around me. Maybe because i gave them the lice , or that I didn’t tell them I had lice. It is hard loving and losing, my needs are not answered with any kind of love I can accept , I am alone, and now i want more and can not , the door is over there out side of my reach because the childhood thoughts subconsciously coming to action quicker than thought. or feeling.

later in the night,
I know that the rest of the world is outside of these doors and walls. I know it is alive outside and there inside of an adjustment of common ness, I have left a reality, for reality and I want to know should i talk, escaping a mountain of disbelief and only one moment true insanity for the truth of perspective. how I see is how i am. there inside of being alive, i stand around inside of desire, while lingering around nessecity. changing fulfillment with will and emotional responce.
and there we change and examine more. so i am to look at my life to notice the change nessecary. while wandering around inside of why to change, there my heart examines happyness, power, my inner soul revolves around the exploration of emotions, but i watch many “emotions” being only a continuation of some past learning while trained out of truama.
Should i speak should I care. for to speak marks me, and i am alive to the thought you are not to talk about yourself. but so many years pass with history taking a mark only from the stories writers create. where are the understandings of living. i can tell tales about me, yes that would be life, the fantasy talking. but love drives me to tell my own story. without fantasy, and without a story tellers moral or fragmentations of the why. Characters act out symbolism. but i can only see the pschological actions extended to interaction. This person i am sees the commoness of change, and i want to identify what i can because of the observation.

july 28th,2005
Almost gone is summer. the day fading . another year , another summer, where tide create the unknown i have only lived this summer with the simple and known. I have no money so i work, i have no car to get money so i now have a car, i have no home so i live in the car, the price of living I can afford , and i am yet wondering what is next with winter coming, and the thought of going to the south, my art projects suffer obscurity. and yet the day is all artistically equaling, but i am not suffering like i would have wanted from my summer, the suffering of poverty , for music and it’s performance, so i am here with money and no music. the guitar gathering dust, and my head is cloudy with the smoke, daily i delay my feelings with, i could never really understand them,
Did i ever tell about the voices which tell me to shut up every time i play guitar. I am preoccupied by them and avoid playing anywhere where i might see different from life in general. but even as my goals slowly find completion i am without focus enough to go with the dialogue. a creation outside of the self which wants to hid and have, instead of playing and feeling good. but still everything is in storage. and the nights are streaming together in some casual way of proclaiming i am alive but without the gaols i would see. here is the chance to be alive into the next step. but for the voices. and the distractions of need. I have no real love and wonder on my chances for such without a home this time. but basically a sense of self still deemed by inner thought facing my own feelings, am i alone in that. have we all taken whatever we could from life to such a point that we don’t even understand why we have not the dream we wanted, love and gave in the past for.
It would be easier to love being carpenter and forget outside. for get what surprised smiles have accompanied my words; sung or written. like once i felt for a women , a statement of departure from the child for love, fullfilled innocently. why did i want to be such a man who would reach for truth and yet not for real love the mixture being alive in my self respect and being.

Hello.
So the direct tale is not enough they say, but then i read and everyone is telling direct tales mixed with story to entertain i guess because it is not enough to just live, we must eloborate the call with the prejudices of extreams the colors of man. So i will remain myself and walk that way..
what is today, today is the first hours after leaving jail. I was arrested I drank wiskey, and i was a fool who drove blind into a cop storm of the Democratic convention, A bar with the most beautiful flirting bar-women in the world I have ever been in, it is a good thing i only started to feel alive to my emotions enough to enjoy the good times because if i would have seen this kind of commercialism well before, i might not be alive to tell now.. but what is alive now after
, after driving blind drunk , waking up pulling over to blue lights i did not even argue, i blew into a tube which said i was way drunk , but then i went into a jail and felt the world fade with all my possessions in a car that was being towed away, with a life lived to forget again.. but wait then i walked into a cell in a real jail, with all the problems of the uneducated with all the unforgiven, thinking the end for my life was the being of my death, holding on to the material i need that is in the car that was towed. but knowing i am one of these people except i am white, and i am middle class, and i am an artist, for whcih even as that saves me it also condemes me for my inactivity to save myself . I am living the reality of the outsider, without the crimes of most except poverty, and my heartlessness. It has only been of late that i really have felt for my own emotions and desires. the middle of the story will have to be filled in later, for six days i sat in a cell , one alone and five with a crack dealer who was busted for a gun charge. and i read like always when i have been in jail , i will have to eloborate later. i fear the battery in my computer will run out ,
the last hours in the cell , yes i read,, but i meditated, and for all the trust of life one puts into the hope of prayer, i mediated on the image and promise of the Green tara, a part of buddism i learned last year, a part which gave me the hope to grab my car before i was sentence to time for which may come on thrusday, for which i will try to accomadate tomorrow to save the progress of materialism i have now.. i was just about to go to sleep when the jailer came and said i could go. and here i sit in the car having rescued it from the tow yard, for what i thought was a lot cheaper than i thought, but it was god’s will and my hope without me, for i had given up on coming out before the court date. Now i will be free to accept what ever the day demands knowing hopefully i will be covered for what ever the system wants from me, but i know this was the only way things would work. God is giving me a chance to change,, and i am going to start with the cigerettes and i will have finished with the alcohol. i know the depression of my childhood is why i started to drink, and why my sexual apitite has been so amazed and my love so fouled. i must remember these words are not just something to prove to myself that the muse is alive in the world but that i am creating , a voice for the unvoiced. the injuried and the maligned. the enertial call is going to be a reality one day.. after i get around this present disadvantage of my depression. my boss has been more than a boss, he has been my only support with his help i was able to see the full extent of the beautiful life i live , for after he helped i was able to reach out to the rest of the friends i have, and i have alot if i can stay alive long enough to be alive for them , i missed all of them so much , that it is for them that i must stay on the course i am to live. with hope and faith. I have had seven days without any drugs, my drivers liscense is important and alive right now, but more importantly i feel alive as i write this , the effects of my confusion have limited me all my life and i don’t feel that way now , i feel intelligent and focused and that is away this last year has been to me, my life is still intact. tomorrow is another day. later.

So here we are another day. I am more rested and I am calm today.
Another day. most of the day i was off and on crying.
Now i am watching televsion and listening to music and watching my own video. today I felt again the facts of my own depression, watching the crying from outside, as in i stopped three seconds after there was no one to listen.
on televsion is a Televsion documentray of Christ. where prime time televsion is talking about Mary magadelene, in a time where we are hearing about moslums, and the holy war, and here we are on televsion with christ. AND WE WONDER WHY NOT TO WATCH TELEVSION.
WHY NOT MUSLUM HISTORY, WHY NOT SLOVIC HISTORY, TO KNOW YOUR ENEMY SHOULD EQUALIZE. YOU DONT SEE THE OTHER SIDE, AND NO ONE WANTS TO SHOW YOU. SHOULDNT A DEMOCRACY REACH TO EXPLAIN SO AS NOT TO CREATE SIDES. OR ARE WE CREATING A SOCIETY WHICH FUNTIONS ON AN “US and THEM” CONFLICT ECOMOMICS. AND TO ADMIT A COMMONALITY A UNITY. CREATES PEACE AND COMMUNITY, WHICH MAKES INHERENT DEMAND. FOR THE COMMON UNITY.
THE MORE WE LISTEN, THE MORE WE DIVIDe THE CLOSER WE COME TO THE UNITY,, SO SOCIETY WILL ENENTUALLY. BUT ALSO WE WILL EVENTUAL UNite IN A COMMON SPIRITUALITY, FOR WHICH I HAVE BEEN FEELING ALL MY LIFE, WHICH I HAVE SAID IS CONSCIOUNESS.
IT IS THE TRUE KNOWLEDGE OF LIFE THAT WE ARE SPIRITUAL NON PHYSICAL PHYSICAL ENITYIES. WE ARE ENERGY.. AND THAT CAN ONLY BE PROVEN BY LIVING..
i HAVE GIVEN UP LIVING WITHIN THE SYSTEM.. I MIGHT bE GOING BACK TO JAIL. TOMORROW..
MAYBE.. I MIGHT BE CAST INTO A DETOX. FOR FEELING.. FOR FEELING I AM UNINTELLITUAL. FOR FEELING I AM A PSYCO. WATCH AS SANITY CHANGES,, THE WORLD WAS ONCE flat by unanimous vote.

i guess i have already told you but i am in trouble. i am confused as to what i want to do next and if i don’t descide the world will be chosen for me, i could run.. no i can not. i did not go to work today, becasue i was and am to mentally tired. i need to rest and have a pleasant day before going back, but maybe i will not have a job when i do. i am not sure, it is likely that i will but it only settles the money thing, then there is the facts of no home , and the stress i am feeling living in the car is huge,, but last night i remembered how to live in the car, that one has to Put the seat , the front seat into the forward posistion in order to get enough room to lay all the way out. this car is alot biger than the last one , though it feels alot alike.. the whole moving the front seat forwards was a discovery.. ( I did it before and just forgot).
the curtain , it is grey , it is supported by a long thin peice of metal rail normally used for the ends of mesh fencing, good and strong , i cut it close to over length and bent it in.. then made the curtain, by placing key rings through the fabric. each end of the material is wedged onto either end of the rail, and the rings hold up the middle. it is cool , and last night was its first,, I spent two hours fixing up the car yesterday,, painted two windows. so no one could directly see in the back while i am sleeping or while the car is parked,,
but all this is secondary,, i am confused and lost,,
living in the car is not so bad,,it is how everything gets handled.. that becomes the matter at first, i was only to be up in boston for a little while , now , with the criminal charges which are going to take my licence. i am again stuck. at least inside my depression if nothing else,, and i have to choose what to do. do i stay here without a licence for enough time to get the hardship liscense, which my lawyer says i can get right after i settle with the state ,, that means when i am on probation. and nothing is more stressful than an unseen enemy..
but here we are. i am still in the reality of depression more than anything, i get to work and get so tired i am nothing when i get off, i forget everything and hope becomes the love from a women. That is a normal workers life, but it is not an artists, and i am trying to hold onto the art i have, for my sanity and soul. but i can not tell you what comes first money or normal mentality, for one i have given the other. and the reverse, i have lived on the streets and played guitar all day and was happy with enough for coffee and cigerettes,, but i couldn’t afford a place. So i went to work getting a small job dishwashing. which didn;t work out i wanted more money, and i started to drink with a girlfriend ( who became my all and my loss when she left) I Went off the civil scales. Retreated to my room and left lies which i knew were lies take over for hope. on that front.next month he said i would be working,, ok i will beleive, and did. then the month passed and the real word came in “no work”. and the man saying that walked away. And i walked back home oweing rent and bills and life. i became depressed and could think of no way out and then i started to go to therapy, Three months after i was kicked out of the apartment the state gave me money to help survival, which i stilll am getting.
Therapy started, and i was happy, that i was doing something about my depression, it is a chemical depression, and i can not just get over it. but i do beleive in the facts of talking out what is .. as in ,, i started to really think about my life, and how alone i have always been, and the love that has been in my life. the reason i am alone now . and the reason i am in my car. and faced with the problems of this time.. I was with a friend i thought the night i was drinking.. i left alone and blind drunk. i forget alot when i am alone, my whole summer will have to go to the state for the fines so much that if i can get the probation taken to northampton i may have to do the time because i can not afford the fines.. like today i did not go to work and i would rather be unemployed and taking care of the life i cherish, than trying to save money for a life i can never have , i will never have peace without art.. i am going to take a nap ..now.

So i did.
the dreams were like all future type dreams for which if you ever knew me you might have been told i sometimes dream in future situation i lived later.. this was one of those dreams. i was on a construction job which turned wrong, i was being fired by someone who was not the boss.. that is all i remember..
So here we are again. Last week a friend said write about a futrue you want and then go live it..
a future i want , what is that to a man who believes in timelessness. the future is dreams only the self is alone in physicalness. and there by i have never lived for a futrue that was really undetermined during the now.
I am an artist. words and visuals are my arts. i have developed only these really though i do paint also. but the remaindar of my life has been trying to figure out my mental problems. that has taken me into drugs and away from drugs,, into the negative and into preceptional changes of life, I merely started to take the good and celebrate that,, life now.. when the air is a blessing on a hot afternoon in june. when i get to watch a man play with his dog. and mind his very young child in a stroller.. all the dog wants is the thrown ball. the man must have a house where to go home to , maybe a wife. my view is the jamacia plains pond, a resurvior for the people of this area. many people come here on the week ends , and my shoes are off. a purple colored weed springs up by the edge of the man made pond which use to be a place to collect ice long ago. the weed is visited by bees, and the man is talking to his son, who only understands the dogs smile, and the inprisonment of the stroller..

I feel at peace. but tomorrow i will to work and strength and tireness, tomorrow is will to batttle the traffic and my own confusions at what ever job is am presented to do. to night i will worry wherather the car is parked on a street where no one will bother my sleep, but i found a new spot away from traffic and away from people , I think i want to move to a small town when i am finally sentenced for the drunk driving thang. . I can only love the trees and the nature of man wihout the nature of man involved in socialization of the same, the less man concumes nature the less he cares.. trees are caring.. they are cover for the weak human flesh, that is why people from the desert would first need religion. and civilization. they needed to have hope for the nature was/is a killer to them and god opressive. where the other cultures did not achieve as fast on that level. most of civilization that develop war fare became the leaders of civiization, because they need to civilize and create homes, the rest could live with minor attentions untill those warrior races showed up trying to kill them, then they to started to organize. or at least so it seems.
Humanity now again is facing nature, for our civilization is creating the need to over come human nature in its basic consciousness, we can not kill to get what we need so those who are strong in physical strenght are used for that, are created for that and self create for that,, as in all of our need to be answered,, but civilization is falling to a level where we are unsure about the future, our creations have left us to question our thoughts, because our thoughts do not align with civilization, to be civil is to have peace, but peace is not giving up our basic needs for the survival of economic reasonings. Maybe i am being in this vine american.. for americans are the youngest to hve a peacefull civilization,,but peace used in this way is peace without inner harmony.. for the american system is created around the abuse of man’s labors. and the subjective concerns of our psychological attitudes. it is this attitude for which i need to face, seeing as i am distracted into my world of harms, my unloved excistance created from my unloving american system. and at present ruled by the texas warlord of george w bush. not to give him the responciblity of my birth, no that was american.
that was the labors birth, that was the offspring of alcoholics who are given the drug to ease the pain of the unresponcive nature they must up hold in order to be alive, you can not look to far if you are a laborer.. you must look to self feelings and the elimination of those feelings to get through your day.. I deny that the wieght is to heavy. so i lift it.. i deny that a bullet should end my life and that fear is apart of me, to fight. i denied i had a terrible child hood of abuse and silence and tryed to love no matter. Personal choise has not been apart of my life untill the last two years. and now i am homeless because i accept the voice of the love i feel. I like my art, and without a job i am clamly driven to the art and to the peace for which humanity should be alive to. but it has been a change of consciouness. and a love for mental strenght untold to the laborer. unwelcomed even in the boss worker relationship.
but i am not without my ides. and for them this is all good. traffic passes without a tellling to the gases emitted. but each one would tell you the painfull effects someday, of our love of cars.
the speed of life is now subsonic but it is speeding up. the only way for civilization to go forward is the calm readjustment of our loves and our focus, for which the humanities would project, we must be greate people to be a civil earth. and for that our animals must learn what they have learned.
I stand on that journey with thought. for my smallness is the greatest teacher, and i am responcible only to that , so as to be free enough to change readily and enjoy the transition with the celebration of words and the projection of ideas into stories, and into these journals and such is why i write, for the future is left to be dreamed , the now is the living path.
I was wounded from the most important characteristic a man can have, the element of his trust and the loveing of himself. most working types would face the same, most who need to deny the artistic impulse to survive need to deny change for it might stop what path has been created from misunderstandings. and lives are at stake for them. children created without attention to love’s true importance.these children become like they’re parents other wise, I would hope to give a starting ground to the change someone needs to find peace in self control and harmony,, but the battery will run out for today very soon, i need to remmber what i am daily,, is all i can say quickly..

So here we are with everything in the car. and me sitting in another house owned by another person. A women divorced with children. She loves to have me . and yet nothing is real again. I want to be alone with my clay and pens. but to believe i can get ahead is the hardest part. but to see beyond this moment is the hardest, the television spills out the tale of the titanic, and i watch with attention to what is not me, I wonder weather i would be the same morally if i was not depressed most of the time. the fog of my thoughts the uncherishness of my dreams. without joys to lead me and only extrvagant actions to entail life, my music my art. there where should be common happyness with the colors, the love of the women. and the high of being alive solely. it should be enough. but then i look. the rain came down for three seconds when it was to rain all day. Sore loss the day for the prediction.
and there we stand to know what is to be, by forcast.
I watch the movie go. playing rich against poor, love against ease and or nessecity. here where i am playing sanity, when we are walking the thoughts equality. Be practical and loose a sence of self fullfillment.
and yet i have had every whim and luxury of poverty. from drugs to fantasy, but i am apart only of my dreams. i take days where the rain comes and goes away quickly. life is a thing ancient for whcih give memories eterally romantic and dear.. so i am to see life and my escapes. even though i know a person can not escape fully. but then i don’t really want to. it is life for which i need to be alive within my dream, the guitar. it is in the car. waiting for its usefull day. my dreams alive within it.
Today will be over soon, and yet i want to know what i have taken from today.
august 13th.
I have to describe the days i will be spending while i am on suspension because of the unfortuate drink event which caused it. So here we go..
I have no liscense as of tomorrow morning at tweleve which for all it is worth is enough to say i have no liscense right now. If i go anywhere to sleep it will be tomorrow by the time i am to wake and then i wouldn’t ,by law, be able to move the car.. Wrong.. can not risk the morning without car being safe so i have parked it on the street in front of Olivar house, my present employer.
Olivar figures into alot of the story of the last months. Seeing how to come here i have no where to stay here as well as northampton where i was previous. I was, am, homeless, transient, with an alcoholic and depressive nature. Nature being quite creul in that my father committed suicide at twenty three, and i was raised by my mother and a visious over lord of a step father who abused and degraded my childhood. and of which revolves the reason for my presnet state. you may be able to here Tomas Mann in my words right now .. I am reading Doctor Fautus.
so i descide to write the facts of the time spent in “suspention” an analegy for most of my life Suspended from a sort of humanness found in happiness. Suspended from the joy of spiritual excistance. and right now again for it has been many times Suspended from the security of a permenate shelter.
It is my own story i tell , and always have. i could remove my self. and give faulty names and generious and mostly ignorant elborations for my character but that is not me.. and i feel being true revolves the enviroment and evolution of mankind in a different way so that others are not to discount what is said as being facts of invention. though one could . I am trying not to make an error that would invovle a more sybolic cleverness than the truth for which i seek as a personal and world evolutionary motive.
It is funny but the liscense has only been mine for a few weeks but still i fell right in line with a life of travel and adventure. for whcih i had not previous but must have unconsciously dreamed of.. To travel was so much fun. i like to drive, enough to wake it to the country and the shore in that short time. for research of clubs. and a discovery of street scenes. I almost even made it to my first rave for which I want dearly to research as part of the modren culture of america. So lossing the liscense effects the speed of my life.
it is funny through becasue one of the problems of modren life is also the speed of life. I sped around town without meeting anyone such that i could not have the commoner conversations i would have walking.. there also was not real connection with the streets I passed over. so that their problems were only theirs and i could not understand them.. One of the other elements i will miss will be watching women pass by. Craning my neck to such an extent that the speed made the action almost tragic from attentions demanded of the road. A car is also a quick suicide everyday to be aware of.
But without the car as i am describing, I can not go anywhere fast.. to walk accrossed town is a hour journey. and one i didn’t do much of just for that reason. before. with the liscense i was doing favors for people and expanding the attentions i gave to friends. I felt confident to go through the next steps of my own personal journey. but now i am stuck again. but i refuse to loose the effects of the nontravel time. to write more and follow the journey to the mental designs i have been following before i got the car.
Slowing down the speed of my arising but now i know i will have the car again soon so as to plan for that day.
and yet when can a day come as a feeling that isn’t already here? I am to find the morning unworking. No money to be made no hope for the ultimate just day thinking when i should not, or yet, reason would have to be at the end of a long rope where the ground is below anywhere would not be fullfilling heaven as above, comeing down seems the oppisite but grounding is the need a calling to earth, the majesty of which is untold but unthought is the excisance of shelter in our mondern world. the simple is forgotten sometimes when we follow thoughts so complex and retarded from a common nature.. and so i wake.
last night stolen from the car , i laid in an apartment woned by my employer who knew not but will find out becasue i was seen I waved even as the paying person screamed “don’t smoke in there” without even a hello. Funny the hatred of smokers by the non smoker. I guess that was a general theme growing in my late teens at home in pa. mother hated smoking.. all my friends smoke. but then my frineds often number the people who tried to commit suicide. and generally are activist in there thoughts and actions. but not regarding smoking as a front.. when even I know it is.. but there are so many we get lost to which ever way we choose.
Nature has its own demands.. as we avoid it, grow weak to civilization which often stands in the way like an egotist. Western Education and the Elimination of Meditation from an over all understanding of body mecanics, Private property and the desprite flux for the working class to afford life and home. World culture and the dogmatic historis which litter it’s ablity for invention. Just to name a few. but the demands of the spirit of the man the individual can not be over looked. Each time reason and linearness unpersonalize us We loss. I can feel the conclusions of medatitional life, but i can not tell you or you may stop competeing? might stop being materialists? why? becasue you might connect medition with budda, and forget it is prayer mixed with visualization. And yet it is realizing change on one level, knowing that enlightenment is not of you, but that you are a student of change as humility and evolution requires. is definity a reverse of egotism. One must have a study of personal history to know. I have long been away and then when i come closer the facts make me sad and i want change. So i freed myself a number of years ago to the concept of change enough that i but my life in storage. in order to recreate a life based around music. and performance. or living and writing as an occupation and not just a hobby, For that i had to understand and accept One that i am a writer and a musician. i am not happpy without those action controling my life. the seperate peace of understanding nature individual nature. and accepting it. becasue i was alway insecure about making a living at art.. and still am,, for there is no real art without audience. and sometimes it is hard to even get the stage never the less say what needs to be said with so many in reverse to change,, the mud is thick with gold and only the suffering wish for change.
so be it. and yet the spirit suffers the acceptance and rejection of commoness. and understanding, for we deny personal experience to go on , we forget the wiegh is heavy,and isolate those feelings, until a part of us just dies under the wieght, and gets the name maturity,

but what is the thoughts of death to the man who is missing alot of life, bechetts character inNausea,, or i am not sure if it is that book or not,, the characer was calling out its depression, six stones off sucking. a clean empty pocket for each, for there was only four pockets. bound to the thoughts of the sucked stones. and i to get only what i can from the stabliity the rock.
a aliveness whcih includes of and others. with spiritual respect to self. to take credit for a nature whcih is develped slowly becoming the light plant . as if physcis has a predestination of realization awaiting it.
Like to see at all is blinding. Faith as sanity? throiugh scientic analizs, but not in common ear, the media so abundant. A personal acceptance of what can not be denied. Do world problems lead me to that? is a story questions to inspire or harras, my blue collor, and turbulant growth, for as time errodes into Psycological responce, such the evolution of ideas is.

but yet to write the mosaic, as living what care a man has to, a haman facing the self uncerated but taken from training. seeing the training like to se what would be health in responce, inventing against the images which come to frightne sometimes, palying the guitar the a neighbor i heraa yells shut up , when they realize i am going to play and thats what i like to do streaching always the first ten minute after the yell, heard above or below depenidng on mine heardings. It was me , Always and i don’t know , the sufffering of queistness whixh explained shild hood , that procliamed a trailor , and middle class cares,, no learning except from my mothers eyes who always inspire me,
It is somethig you take , like the ifrst wink for anyone, so attenion and beyond in caual, eye language,
yet it makes no difference these words sometimes going ove what is kown,. and some times, left behhind to settle cures of civivlation, i am animal when i need money, just slightly more organized , the fist of hammers, the on target. and expansion’s construct. give me somewhere to go Tara.
please oh tara dear preacios god budda. .
it rains alittle.
most lof the time seitting here i do not think of plot except how the reminder of plot is the historic portayial of self. here seeing what yet is whay it the calll of himan defiintion. I have walked out on sanity, sleeping with the double edged knife to realize the power of having a life, the connection spoken cause no one believes what they feel enough, know one.
Like peaching it falls from the tongue the fingers, oh what is the difference, experience the thiryt word aminute thought.
a drunken haze only.
and so…

lets us enter what is next of the world to conscious understanding , and
I sit writing. I sit while i listen to two men put up a ladder, i listne , the hellos from people , short spnaishconversations, a dielece of Nicrogaw. or , no not snasaliveaodorean, but it is after a full day i know, they did what they had to and down came the ladder,, or no , they are still just putting it up, the ladder is dull aluminium the otowo carribean looking men, a tone to the stin like dust before dark red-brown. the ladder stands for a while before the rope is pulled to place, now , the fact is to repalce the light , as i went out, and saw they were having problems controling the ladder, wings you know , for them that don’t do it.
they have already worked a full day, the elements is tireness in this case could lead to safty mistakes, the longer. I sit here and don’t do anything, then i go and help them, almost like they would need the help, by i figure they are tired, but they should lower it.
. ok ay, I stood up and gave assitance, the world of brother is big enough for all the rest.

So anthorer day another house, this one should i tell of should i admit how much love has come back iinto my life for the leaving of it. Leaving love, walking away form what i should of always held, so much love is life to be to again see it and live with it.
not as some held up rummer i have to seach out and claim my life in it is the celebration and kindness. it is huge from attractive women, long and deep, with the health sex appeal and the unimportance for the hug is strong and tenderly attractive to touch.
the night was good as i will also suspend drinking for now again, because i have something to loose, the longing for personal contact without the imprisoning demanded world attention ito what is alone. like ask the congurantion for the priests thoughts. or asing a million to tell you your conncection to god. as self is survival, and wihou all i have done , i respect sertain parts of life , and for them i will go on. sleepy
So here we come and i must write as quickly as i can in fact it isn’t even worth while sitting here waisting moments but yet just to exert, the infinite the push in space, the smallness against the amass of vacum.ng for what .. there is no waiting, there is only time to see , sight with good eyes for the good awaiting, sight wihtout for the bad eventualities. but would a moment make cres and tears, one would say so much where it does not mean for any but one , and yet one is the listeners, with an oversagae of words, and emotions communicated untill , such speed whips clean form and folly, see as one things yet is another, waiting , stand to define and elborate the differences of perspective and times passage, we can forget the moment sof the moment goes into the depth of it techonogical instantaiousness. a preception only but the small is yet all to. and Crimes we have made of the desions, as one is all, but yet why individual difference yet to show the measurelessness. while there excists agreement on a measurelessness.. hard about conscious and metaphycial spiritualities common applications.
a moment waiting seems like all moments mixed to gether for an eventural out come, wait .

the last is done the next is never really known so as to not delay further with human intent.. as without merit are meritous, for there is no exsercion.

it is the end of the day when I have done little again but sleep, I am afraid as i was last week, htat i have wrecked the employment i had, and now have to find more, but yet to day is not to be the day, it is late and i am in the car waitng out the night to come , I hat ehtenight every street turns to a horror the day would not allow. Even as i park in a rich almost remote side of town i am chilled in the evening, for i am not the only one to get spoooked, the people who live here are my worry, yes they could call the police to investigate the car. I could be left here alone facing blue lights and shiny questions of the purity of law. the difference of aruguablity. there is no law for the innocent. but i wait the time. through this suspension with bumps on my head and sleep. I wait for what ecomonics would give to the surviver. I have grown long into unemployment and not noticed for the music and emotins the weekend gave me. I was very low untill i smoked and then i was numb and that was equal to being directed, and then involved in anothers life, the interests and actions i took from being directed gave me enough to get through two days. but today without work. I slept and read. and will again but i turned on this computer and realized i should write something to keep the flow of words and the acknowledgement of the exterior world at large.
so what to write with no time. the elements of life come back to haunt or just relieve themselves. A love called last night to ask me to send her a copy of the one act play we create together, as in create for stage and a play that created her love for me. but like myself she lost touch with the elements that made us great with the youth in her veins which forsees enjoyments rather than any formula of partnering.
Should i tell of her when Sweet cheat gone has already been written. It is funny how a character type can go on and on, without attention really paid to the troubles of the incest victum. the drug victum. it was that which the play was about.
the play was called “sort-of”and i wrote it to tell about the thoughts which plague common man and the spirit which reacts to the thoughts. It was funny because i did not lead in to the plot, there was no plot, it has a character whcih was alive, basicly in solique, talked of the arising of a consciousness for which the whole of life is stemming from, the character talks of a said difference between civilization and the hope of civil thoughts; IE spiritualism and a return to calming human nature.
While a left and right , male and female consciousness spole of the physical attitude barriors each has to face to be alive.

Later-
So the day proceeded it its way. slowly boring, spreading water over a roof to stop the leaks by finding them. i only found one , and can not wait until the real work starts that which drives the day into the past with hours accomplished against the labors demand. It was a day i could not really understand spending eight hours spreading water to find an invisible roof leak, I couldn’t understand what i was doing makeing the day a feat of uncomfortable thoughts, Am i doning anything?
but now i am not at work and i want only to sit back and think. but it is troubles that reach first. moving my car when i am without a liscense. parking to sleep in it , worried over the police coming because the nieghborhood is rich and calls at the slightest whim. but i can not just leave the car and find a place to live just because i lost my liscense, i don’t want to go to the shelter. So i am filled with answerless questions. but one thought sticks, and it it a resolve for the future. I will be forty next year. I have no real profession, and i am basically very poor what am i to do . what am i writing for. was not this supposed to be my life. published and achieved, while my hands still remain in construction. and my thoughts still are contained wihtin depressions goallessness, and unloveing society. And yet if it wasn’t for the criminal charges i am facing i would be ahead of the game. i would of had my computer by now , and ready to go somewhere else. I really would like to find a place forever, i have a good twenty years left. what should i do with them. write more plays and act. play my guitar, and preform. The truth is i would like to come up with a good idea for a book, but i can never stay to an idea. just one.. so i keep trying to wrap my life within these writing tryingg to tell of my evolution.
I have not smoked in two days, I will try for a week. but i have already made up my thoughts for the meeting of peoople who will get me stoned over the weekend. My job will be paying me on friday. i will have to save the money. i will have to live cheap by working this weekend, and i will have to save what i can for the court.. a pity, i could be working for the computer. working for the enertialcall but for now i will have to deal. i hate it. i also hate that i am without humor. and i got invoved with another women i can not stand when she is yelling at me for no reason. she made me want to hit her.. and i am not violent, or haven’t been throughout my life , because of smoking.. i also have been creative, becasue of smoking.. that is one of the reasons i can not quit or get some placement becasue i smoke and play alot.

August 19th thursday five or at least ten minutes before..

so here we are again, the park, by the pond, I give a squirrel a fig, and the car is air out, but i have it in sight and a cople of more figs for the stupid birds. I spent a couple of momments before writing to think, while looking at the animals , some with two legs some with four , the same looks on the faces, the same fear, and run awayness, I often wonder about. a women was close and i felt she was going to say hello but did not .
A second fig , and i get a squirrel standing on it’s hind legs as a thankyou i would want to understand , as such , he was just checking me out to see if i was going to move seeing how i am in front of a large oak tree , i think, at least (the leaves are the give away). He stops. Rises with his fig cookie between his claws and bounces over behind me and i guess up the tree.
I like to watch as people pass, noticing mostly how we don’t say hello. a backwardness of civilization in new England. a northren thing no one acknowledges. why are we scared. and then i remember last night,
I remeber my terror watch the driver of a car i was in , speed up and cut people off, as exclimatin point to the power she wielded understanding her own life, the tears scared me. the promise of her definition making all life seem worthless to live for the conclusions she knew, and i could hear in voice. sacred because i have had the same thoughts years agaoo, and i was scared of myself then, as i still am, but now it is a fear i reconize. and the resonce of living the realness of my life, i am trying alot more to have about me as focus.
A spent part of fig hit my keyboard right then: giveing me a start. I look up and the squirrel is above me. Look crazily down , maybe wondering where his fig went. maybe he was telling me it is all right to know and feel, i guess he is saying what i want it is my stoy after all. should i watch people if i am not going to talk to them, I like the way people interact and do not. a man on an horizontal bar, leg lifts for a second and leaves, never even saying hello to the young boy playing right in front of him, we are so unaware. or at least we like to pretend we are, While the subconscious plays with the scenarios and lead us to believe . Even while it invents where it can not know. and usually will not seek.
she stared at the road like it had a definition written between the seventy mile an hour close cut speed. she stared into the family leading to her moments of crying right then. the family she holds without understanding what she is in it. we look at the plot so easily from the passenger’s side.
I throw to figs out in front of me and wait for what will happen , a squirrel is behind me. yet does not come . yet.
People are funny , how we claim control , how we give it up, how we suffer. how we reason. Reasoning to hid our suffering. suffering to hid our reason. Funny how easy that comes a switched phrase. all true, we won’t accept reality until we are ready to , and that was my thinking before i started to write, how poverty is the lacking of emotional balance and wealth ,the truth of knowledge, but then to know does not change feelings automatically, i guess we have to refuse for a while letting life pass according to some subconscious reasoning system that has become nature. repeating the process driven into us, responced into us, lived into us, us, the un able to see, us the normal. who are barely able to rise out of the moments we live, we who get consumed by the representation of our constant dis-reasoning. A women gets pained into the feelings as guilt for the faults of her life, because the faults are responses. this particular women is at fault for wanting a boyfriend and going to many great length of personal denial to have someone, because for the first time in her forty years she is alone, her symbolism is my understanding , a man changing with the flow; understanding demands of himself. My guilt I can not understand so well either. But we are diffferent, men and women , but we answer so many questions of attention the same, and security, ,but while she expects certain reality, she rarely gets them. Expectation out wieghing observations. in other words she doesn’t’ see what is in front of her, and as i am in the passenger’s seat going seventy, i can only play the part. and try to understand the truama i would just attribute to inexperience and immaturity. Like my last bout with drinking. the suspension of emotion for which our subconscious deals out with negative reasoning. It is the difference between poverty and wealth, .
i think it is funny people jog and walk around the pond, trying to have some health with strenious activity becasue the must sit in offices, all day long, I work doing streious activity, and am stronger then most who pass, so i do the oppiste of my work, for leasure, , it is funny what we do to be inshape, health and strong. other definti ons of weatlth, the spent gold of feelings and balence.
but all this comes to the next thought, to live within the understanding of the moment , the worry the guilt is an increadible place to be. when do we get to understand life on the linear groughds so mixed with philosophy and generalized true thought, we seperate from our worlds emotions to have thought, or is it the emoitions must find balence in happyness and mior sucess, like i get from my writing, and music, but it is an event some people never get.. it is an arising, but at times i have thought of it as an escape and without merit, for maybe i just want to be a great man so that the living i have lived can be justified, or the attention my child needs can be realized though the “great” works i have done. or would want to be respected for. In other words my characterization instead of actualization. a man jogging has maybe many false reasons so doing so. He may think it is a good way to find a girlfriend, so many beautiful women jogging, but then his lack of real happiness shows in his approach and he is falsely involved in his actions, and is seen so. he may think his physical body is glorious and he is emotional mixed up with himself to such an extent he can see no one else. he is being a charaterization. , he may feel his strength will protect him but even that is a land of falseness the insecurity i know being a violently abused child. but his drive fails to see the women looking at him , and he never lets one in to the insecurity for he feels weakened by it, and works even harder, He may, like the women who insecurity make for the attentions of men to be sought with flirting eye she gives to the ever present whore moans to the single male, so characterized insecurities. so may characers, where comes in the wealth. actualization is a singlual affair that pays attention to the needs of a living balenced nature, . i need someone to share with, but yet, my fear often leads me to sistuation where i feel i am needed, falsely, letting my need over come my attentions. fasening the seat belt tighter around my waist. needidng the free fig bar, and doing my little dance, I pretend to be involved with her out of fear, and she just wants me and never asks me a thing about me, just tells the tale which is her love making, to see it i will listen, for she has little much else to say, she hasne’t read a book in years, hasent even fullfilled herself for very long without looking for the opinion of others or diverting herself for come caring which is life occuping. Maybe this is the only actualization is will ever get,,

Parts ..
here we start a rain storm whcih would look like the charily of a hurricane threatened last week, but it has been only fifteen minutes, and yet it cools out, the first moments of a nother thurderstorm, and the idea, of newengland to celebrate the wrongs. and the unclear, where would we consume the thoguhts of the negative, and sisturationalin our educational bias.
and the tellingof of emitons and now , the tide of kindness never telling the obscene af what is seen, oh help the heart imagined and not see, the use of a moment , the unkindness i must inflict for a person to respect themselves, i only do to women,
my pause is a realization. maybe, my care of clings like a virus , spoiling what i self reconize. it is a respect for being, to acknowledge self understanding. but i stay alone alot. and when i reach into a women who i don’t respect because i have pity for them, Mostly only living what i already known, their lives based in “love” so form of scarifce for others that goes beyond patience, and return. Oh i let a sistution happen only New enlgland would imagine, no..
new england is just where i am and maybe that lends in the telling some, no it has nothing to do with the emotional preoccupation of man without feeling for the preoccupation of all. for mostly i see emitions being fullfilled with tears and violence, ho. Showing and i am to transend.
What forces the innocents soul decides. I carry my life on a string. and there, others can not hang. for the demands of the conscious is an self understanding, my pain inflicted is the relance on feelings. with all the cursing of externalisms that go on. is that others to see my be others you see.i will explain later.. when later is know to me,
And so we go, what is the quietness, of truth in nohitng. in tides of mornings telling the physical of a last night and a world of away, i am not here the answers , but then, do you hear, the social the communicaton, that which i feel un able to have social sanity is not.
the talk of the tables. at makes my head spin.
Bush carry.
we spell, out the war, fare.
with weapons, energy and , adn connections of bushes to wwII, mercury to hitler. oh , tht, a mais a slow useage of time and tickle the nose like bad cheese and the nakedness, it is on with a grey sports top , and the welcomeing of being alive, the wellcomeing of being beyond, and he stinks.
it
what is hard of flow, a man comes up, with the look of our systems, making , with an up came. voice from soncers. the homeless man, but not the respresetation of half way, he id try to say hello. what land of time to crete it self, the changes which as for time to eveove, a man sits with paper, a couple form indiana, it was pease full and then , it was polotics, and it was agreement and on with life, the strong.
the bush ..
if i am to publish this there could be no ellection, of choise always desicded in back door politics, the freeing wasnt to control and are doing such , there are silences tha kill and voices tha unity from there mutual emotions, so standing our lead is for one,
to stand without the manidtroy ness of a past but the acceptance of the moment , and the descision, to care , the descion of time, it is allone on the froces to car,. and responciblity of a democracy it to world love, first as it is born by the childrnen and enviroment we create and invibe through slefl created wholes. i am without time to allow consciously understanding chage, and awareness. I am interior and subjected to those demands. a solotide vision, in the hayper zone to call home natures, decsicions, and nothing is not without , and muse can not be explained, and all is a part of knowledge and lesson taught, if not just to concieve, and evolve, the concept involves definion, and eachto this is a telling of all , as one, the telling of naurttral peace and mulitude desire.
Oh , loong goes the interests awasy like devistational evil, through materialisms, and ask a spquirrel to run and jump, and it wont
under
stand.
but now as i would ask the askings are amazing , we can not tell enoiugh ourselfves to the world , and have sanity to go along quietly, sanity is a lost term as i comprehend, for i feel i am insanity. I watch the interest fad and grow , i watch the world come and go , but i have to admit it is with my temperment to please mostly, ,

Sanity is what I think, when it comes to thinking,
is that, sanity is how I feel I should amend.
How I reason the rain fall, and clairvointly
find my romance and hope in nature.
Standing, as a sparrow is by a table
investigating the possibility of food,
around the out side.

of the ice cream place I have been writing at, the flow of words. like oil paints, the sloch, and ingorance of my words, like to be witoutout me, i sit, it is to describe and inhalle, .
the battery is not good enough to save,

narrotor
There is a boundry of time. it , an excistance, to tell life to infinites, to tell grand nature to its own, and escape the boundrie’s enviroment, and the killing of heart through emotionally pained acceptance. we are alone in cold momments.

character one.. ( sitting in the audience )
Or you dont understand.

narrator
I have no idea where this is going, I want to tell of timeless concepts, my depth strained from the first momments of thinking , and there we go …. and medite, and gradually accept the other side as leading in its excisitance and more. and harping to a voice becond seems peace, there for flow a mass of excistance,
a laugh most time here follows.
and
next i would say world peace to a flicker of grin, and here ismism, what is this rooom with walls of concept and remorse, or pains in the hands of the creators, and smiles from the owners, in showers of champange at it creation, but the mediium should be not just entertainment but maybe inter-attain-meant, a main focus meant by nature and symbolism, mostly to be engulfed in sheer inspriation. or some folly of aclcohol. it is to give home to heart in massive denial out of a fear to excist.

character one.
imagine the supression of wants and desires, for anothers will,imgine, the accepted fasisim of our own live to give, and give untill, we know oly the giveing, and slowly man is a waken from god,

narrotor,
no longer a manipulation of cruses from the overlord, and at the age of fourteen i found out tielessness control. and was abandoned to the desions, alone at fourteen yo0u are really amazed at life.
it is all bight lights, in come barson, to tellings later, which never were, i would alone consume the world in drink and others suggeston. and there you go , like, it followed after that many years, listening to another suggestion, and consumming that control that slavery , that humility, .
a perfrct rock and a reminders of sparrows looking for food,the cememnt tables. , and shade aginst a sunny day, as the rays seem to chanfe of my eyes are going,
we can’t excist without charator one

charatoer one
you and i and anyone here, that had a mind to. could go to a protest , and sit ,, with signs , saying we are scared.

one person comes down each else, and gives out ,
sqare cardboard signs,

a play about really nothing so far. but the freedom. true freedom .

but now today, today is another day of waiting waiting for the judgement of thrusday. I am wieghed for drinking and driving, i am wieghed for being blind drunk and getting caught . it will be funny that i will just accept the vertic wihtou so much as a negative shaking of my head. I just hope i ma not sent to jail. this of course bring up a subject. my drinking, the reason for which would be covered in the addictions and avoidance common with many but the abuse of so few, the same reasons i wan not hold a common realtion ship and spend a majority of my life writing in this little book , this little computer, for which i find mostly at a lost to explain in editting.
To face a mental emotion mutation. one must have sobriety, and then there is the pain of ever realy having the fullness to answer myself. I palinly that night let someone ele rule my life, sitting like normal in anothers control , i watch my life excist like that , and only of the last few months have come to realize that character planning. I watch as my love becomes a obsession. for a full life seems answering the call to care for another. but when do we care for ourselves, and when am i to realize the infulence of subconsciousness, but alsa only with fine work do i ever get the hint. the flow is like i have said subconscious and hard to change. I am working abgain and feel the job taking the roles seriously so much so that i have not played my guitar in three weeks. of course it is hard to play in the car. even through i like the vechile , i am missing the freedom of space, to paint and play and shulpt.
but i am realizing the need for an understanding outside of myself again. but i am in gross compliznce, and have my drug dealer telling me what is wright and wrong, telling me whe doesn’t want to hear about the good time i had drinking because it was just drinking after all, and her voice grow weary and sad at the throughts. but she drinks and has no problem. she smokes daily and has no problem. she wants to play mother and i have one already, a form of caring outside of understanding. critcal and fascist. and one of the main resons i left my mother behinde. i couldnt stand to have someone be judgementsl without listening to the happytness it inspired.
I am agin in the park, around the resuvoir for Jamacia plains with the joggers jogging , andmyself soing what i need to to to exersise. i need to write to excersise my mind, where the day, lacked the much thought.but i have to admit i am not that tired. I played a computer day between drying rubber peices.
a gam that is fun , a sinereio on the computer which replays wwtwo. . but here we are to face the rest of the life, i am confussed by myself. i watch the women go by wanting some knowing i am not mentally healthy. But what am i so alone that nothing matters in that right, and i watch womne go by and am preoccupied by the effects, here in boston i can make a living, it is off the charts for econmomics. it is a job i can call in si,k and no one is taking a count, except when it is a important time, and when it is for a longer vatcion that a day, the week off is to much and my boss can not schedule wrok like that. so i am here living in the car and creating the next step but will i take it, even thought i would like to . will i . i felt freer in the country to create a life. to recreate what i am mostly becaue no one expected me to be anyway, it is what the alcoholics call geography change, and it doesnt work really. and then i get difficult to have funn, it always has been that way , most of my entertainment has beome an art form, where i anaylse and create some power of explaination behind it, beomeing eabstract as i am. and there we are, the abstract is life to be understood. but it is junny how good i was living before. i was trying and attending therapy. and ther i am cast back into the self doubt i have always felt. the drinking has taken some of the focus out of life. and it will be apain to get back.
i was drinking with a software desighner who stands on top of the bill for the most part. i can drink as much as he buys and he acts so fucked up there is no getting really drunk for fear of himcausing something really dangerious or life threatening. i would never get blind with him, icare about him whil we drink. and there is that caring again throwing away one life for another , scared i will miss out .
but the nights mostly stand out with him mentioning something that will help me,, last time it was a place to stay for the winter. and a fee of working off the rent. like it wold be a way that he could drink and get something done. but the truth is it is not a friend ship but a sponcership , he doesn’t share with me his life, he is lonely with his girl friend off in los angles. a girl friend shich is a prize to be putting up with him, and yet it was all for the cash that she succumbed. with a weaving eye no one talks about unless they known the both of tem for more than a moment. i am feeling trpped again and want only to escape , thrusday is a timed ground which tells how long or what i have to do to move bck to northapton. or even if i to go to northampton, maybe i should just get lost in new york wher ei coul ddo alot of auditions and could write like an artist and feel instep with my life, instead of here where i just feel homeless, or really just loveless. but if i can get a drivers liscense for the next three or more months, a day liscense which will allow me to look for work i can leave . but i dont know awhat to do really , i can feel no plan right now. I can feel nothing more than a reaction to my condition which advnces slowly , last week drinking, this week waiting for the next occasion, my life following paths unspoken but lived many times before, a coldness,
they say happiness is a chemical. and from the time we are old enough to feel it we must feel it , or we do not know how to feel it, and it is a fact i feel now, but i like dogs , and yet i dont like haveing to walk them, i like to dance but am to old to have a profession at it. i like playing hakysak , but mostly it is a achievenem of comfort in coordiation. i thnk i mostly like to get lost inanother eyes, in the idea of love, a fact i can not really feel for myself. and one i was trying to live though befor ei came here into the lonely ness i create of my society. but it will be a cold night and i will be happy sleeping in the car, i will not sweat and sleep.
but you know what is funny , is that alot of people excist with teh same problems, and yet never see them, and live there life with a faultless reasoning of superiority, and importance, which they carry with anger, and pretention. until some major event makes them look at themselves, and then they give up. and humble themselves, to there real charcters, and can not change. or dont even think of chnge. . i seem to want change and yet not be able to. i can queit drinking , but want to drink just because i am addicted to the escape. for i am confused about emoitns and pain, i wish i could care for another like other people . i feel even my caring stems toward abuse. iam not soft in it I am hard like my training has always been. and my survival has been my hardness, and i feel closer to inadiment objecs. closer to god, that normal people who are apart of this world. . I have to develp myself, and plan for a better life someday, like i was trying to before. i wish it was something yhou could really take a pill for but i don’t trust pills, i would rather smoke weed the rest of my life than suffer the hidden effects of long term psyco drugs. It is getting dark, and soon the coputer will turn off , out of power for another night, maybe i will go and charge and paly my compter game, maybe i don’t know , maybe i will go back to the car and dream of the love i can only really feel in sex. and maybe i will get lonely and try for asome connection by going to the icecream store, i dont’ know i wish i woul djust go to sleep, holding a pretty girls hand knowing i was part of something. knowing i have love, maybe i need a cat. or atleast a frog..

no frog or cat but court.

So here we are a day after i have been reviewed and judged. I am a bad person for driving drunk, but i am worse off unemployed and in poverty. Yes , for the hour i still have employment, i still have the job i am bound to without self concern for it is without me that i work at all. but listen , the courts have made having a job, the worst of evils for my state. for to them i will pay as long as i am working. for they have decided i must pay them lots of money, the money comes in the form of punishment for drinking and driving. but i had no way really out. i was blind drunk, and for all the worry over dead people landing under the bumper of my light fast Tara, I am to give a majority of my money earned from that “accursid job” to the Mass. government. and they give me occupation at the alcoholics anomomis. So i can spend another year saying nothing for one hour five days long during the week. saying nothing becasue i am not to talk for the norm in that world , i am not to see the crimes of my life drinking over and over again. i live for now, and i have already stopped drinking. now i am to stop smoking weed. and go to classes for the alcoholic driver. cost sixtyfive dollar for the privledge of probation. per visit. demanding of the state for money, just that alone is 1560 if i only go once a month with isn’t going to happen. no they will want to see me twice at least a month. and then the classes. for at least fifty dollars a month, leading into another thousand..
but lead all this is me. here in the thoughts of truth i am left holding the bag of my depression like it is not to be told. i am holding myself back with my reliance on marijuana. and yet the pains are to deep to tell, self to cure. I am alone with the pain i am really starting to understand. the past linked into a soul which doesn’t sleep and for all our denial, understands everything, it is the beast which reactively learns. and the seperation we must come to understand.
should we tlak of the cort room, filled like a playground with barely old enough defendance and depression’s victums. we who can not speck the names of good lives and happyness, we who steal what we need , like vaction is a chemical high, like we fuck and like we do the drugs the elite says are illegal. some elite who drink and have chaffers. who fuck their children and beat with uncaring. these elite who hid behid their corporations while they make temporal a world already so through the law of change, through elimination of natural defenses from the atmosphere with there bombs, and the mental clause of uncaring and a non loving common acceptance. the world of ” thats the way it is” so binding our world to the willless elite, there is no will without love. no hope when feeling is forcefully denied. and such is the state of civilization. when we see that we are more then will to destroy it and start again. like that can be.. no so we sufffer with the limits of change money will allow. but not inside our minds. and so not inside of art. even theough it is money which supports the cultural acceptance of art. but not the muse of the artist. and so we stand always without and with.
i am trying to think , and though these practises of writing do not help the progress. i do like to tell of what i am thinking, as my teeth grow long, and my life seems not to change intellectually. Emotionally i am to grow all my years. I grow becasue i was stunted and in that i am aware, but it is nothing a education would have created, no that would have given me just more denial, and elitist reasonings to blind even that small part that yet feels. for the oppisite of feeling creates true insanity, and that which reasoning seems to make more common. so i am happy i have chaoosen this path, for the common man barely ever reconzizes himself. and so we are,, to see i can not be more than common neess. it is only the ways of communication which seperate the elites, and the majority, in that art must hold. like the statement of the communist that the common man must stand, so here i am withthe observatces of the normal.
the money is almost to much , the time required of me to much, the chemicals i have to be tested for is maybe to much and most of all the restrains to mass are to much. i do not want to stay in this state. and i do not want to remain working construction. the limits of my thoughts. are such that i can not think about art, and money except the sumic, and for that has been the mission for the last few years.. i am still to think it over.. i have a couple of days to report for probation and i will soon, it would just suck to do all this and then get sent to jail anyway.. but i smoke weed and have never been able to quit. and don’t want to ,, it is the only time i can think allone and with hope and creativity , though most ofwhat i create i have only one sided ness with, i amcreating, so i am happy, it gives me live. but what is yet it that i wanted to quit smoking. but then my anger comes,, i start feeling my reality, for which i am an abused child, i have no care for my physical, for all the years of denial, in order notto go insane while anohter beat me and tortured my childhood out of me, the vengance of those years is in my fists. which have been broken five times over the years punching walls and beating myself to the face, i have even gotten in fights with people who could kill me and i have laughed at them wiht my misshappend face spitting blood but never giving up, but also i never fought back but once.. and those times scared me more. for i feel if i was not a passifist, i would be a murderer.. laughing for what life has been create into is so uncaring it does not purmote caring. so my vengance would be and has been only against those who are paid to die. the police.. who i would galdly kill and end my civil exicistance. but it would be for nought , the paid price will just be paid again, police are just uniforms, and guns, the people who instruct them and the voices those people hear, (the without blame people) the elites, should all die.. and they will with the democratic way,, numbers are the only hope.

the morning flows on, but it is bumpy with little stones. and sided with sheer cliffs of the earth that times wear on. to look up is the thick strain of blue, light hurting the eyes for it clairity.
A girl on a bench tells me of the home she is ging to next of the life she lives now. all in thiree seconds of hello lasting ten minutes before her work. a full lengh woolen sweater, and a turquis blue flurry dress, not formed, but calm in the turbulants of her time, she is twenty,
I of course, thnk what a moment , she is going to life in a homes closes to my heart in a distant day, i did not know her before, and so natrually i think of god. And feel attached to her. maybe i could help here in the future, adapt to earth, for being so young she smiles like life happens if to do it. and i am helped just by that in youths. I am still young myself. and do not care to get old, and forced into my suppression, such that even words that pile on word , do not mean a literary tradition or occupation. and the paints that amass, keep and costing, collect visons of oly the pasing flys, watch mildew grow on the paper, of boxes and specker cabinits.

to:
your honor the majestrate
of criminal court
such and such a time and such and such a date..

i lied, i am not an alcohol, i am depressed. but mostly i am stoned.. and mostly i am alive. The maujania is smoke is for the betterment of my life. you question that and call me criminal. You will throw me in jail like all the others( ). but i have not killed and don’t steal, I found my way through coke and herion, and do not consume them, and i view the criminization of those substances just for they more affect the general heath, even through i feel the committment of crime on them should be Mental hositpitals not jails.
Is what could be a human is covered by black robes? Is the time of judgement on the judge worn cold and unbaringly simple, in the facts of mental condition? (there own and those they face.) for ,what could be ascribed as punishment, leads only to mass treatment. Programs do not work for everyone.
From the time i have spent in the “Room”, for the faterity, and fellowship, i have also endured the simplest converstion of “reality” are made important in the dialogue of alcoholic , they are true invalids, and should be shot for thier blantant misleadings of the soul. for the games they call personal excistance. most do not create and find heart lived, they find just more shelter and denial and dramatic negativiity.
I am not such a man.
I would choose to live outside than to suffer the guilt of my human instablity. called civilization. I have not the money to afford living, the textbook , “realitstate” money involvment. no untilities, excpet my cell phone, no oil but my car, Plainly saying ; i live in my car, because of private property which demands i not set up a shelter without money. and i refuse to let the system control me. I am my own man and it is only dealings with government and corporate buisness for where i am suppressed.
My depression was not mentioned ,and in that, i was wronged. for my words, can not be heard if i don’t speak them, and i did not say enough and landed in the wrong path of legalesse and punishment. the punishment for my error is extreme and unwarntting the creation of a better citizen from an unjust world.
to be further cast down, by taking away the only means i have of rising above. which for me, means merely “getting on my feet” and money.
i am not a bad person. you would have to acknowledge the agrueage reality of the events of each infraction on the record you had infront of you, you would have to review each case, and hear what was never said, becasue of depression and the victumization i have become accustomed to, still drives me to silence when the violence of other is so sheer in authortarian faces. you would have to understand the pain of a child who was scared enough to realize death was a word out of place, a stand unstood, a meaning displaced by memory. You would have to realized the creation of depression through truama and the mental “condiition” of a chemically depressed genetics. Doctors have stated it, for i was trying to get help and the state government has said it by giving me help. Even my bank account is free because i am unable to survive on my own. and need assistance. I am disabled. and and can prove it by getting my therapist or doctor, or state medical records.

I read the last line and think about the condition. i am facing, do I feel it all the time? yes, is it a condition for which i should stay on top of more. I have often fallen off the focus. When i have been in love. when i am in criminal trouble with the treat of jail. and when i am tired alot. also when i drink and when i smoke, when i don’t eat, and when i am homeless. I have learned this. and i have suffered less, when i was in therapy i learned i am very confused so much that i needed someone to go with me to collect state disiblity. but this is an off shoot of the childhood i lived. it was a silent childhood, and now i have trouble specking.
after being raised with fear of speaking,after twenty years ago.I found therapy important.

but as important as mediation. as important as my own philosophies.

sSo we have another day talking to suspension. talking about my punishment for being a depressed drunk, for which the first was never brought up in court. Was never mentioned, even as it is the full reason withut looking for all, But let us memorizs the frustration with the self and never the enviroment. wheather it be inpoliticas or the media. wheather it be in the eyes looking for life whenthere can be only the dealing with life, without natural caring, for the natural reasoning would ask or demand peace and yet civility onlly asks for more conflict inorder to see. moire profit, it is like the romans times but we don’t even fight over gold coiins no we fight for shoes. and we love, throuw a pretty women into the flow and she is the coin, and she learns to face off against all the attackers. all at once, by never loving , learning to deny , forgetting to be alive for a moment isto long. and yet, it it suspension we are talking here. how much can we assume civility in the name of progress and forget being at one with nature.
but it rains to much to write, so i must stop tempting my self. or am i , for i will write until it would ruin the computer, i will write , like the forces for which drinve me and have driven me are fullfillled, which becasue of the over working instinct of my birth will never be.
but let me first tell of the day, the reality without symbolism, if that is bossible, is that i owe, four full weeks of work to the government, and even as i hate the idea of drunk driving. i did do , it and i am to pay , but it is extreme for the government to ask one of it’s weakest elements to give away my life, my blood, but the truth is they didn’t know , for america would never hear the truth , never hear i am living in my car , and working. that i had to move back to boston because i couldn’t find work in little town northampton. that moving here dirrupted all the work i was doing for my depressed mind with thereapy and economic help from the government. enough that i was , learning to feel. with some help. with some focus. But it was very slow to have the economic resourse. doing this writing for my head , making art and playing guitar, but again resl soon, do i wait untill after i pay off for the liscense, do i forget that our system demands me to cope with the travel and the material ism, i need to create a life of art, do i forget that i want to create a larger medium that everyone can use. that fullfills the attitudes. of progrssive change,
the system of naturae and techonogy mixed. where we give up the petty differences, and remove the slangerious calling of the greedy. who say what ever , and do whatever is good for them.
some how then we belong in there work if we bow to that good. , and forget the rest of sanity of why we would want to have power. if you are not a direct blood line you are controled , and like the title of this suspendended from power.
but now i am sitting at half battery, and what was a talk of the government giveing me tho thousand dollars worth of fines. when i don’t have a house and live in my car, when i am depressed enokugh to have free health care for which doctors have assessed because of the childhood, and my inablities to have a house or a job. For living in the country i needed a car and a drivers liscense, but can not have my brian while i am tired, because of my depression.
a situation alot are facing, inspired by government, and fullfilled government. a truely american legacy,. enough that i am wihtout audience from all the years of suspension of self love.
and yet, iintellectually i feel i am joe average. but there was something else i was going to talk about . i dont remember what it was,
i could talk about it being day four. without majijuana. and i tried to visit my dealer, he wasn’t home. i tried to go for the reason of picking something else up , and i know i want to smoke, and have never gone this long wihout, and i feel, differerent , and it is not good, i feel, slowlly it is geting stronger, i am not happy, i can not remember what i am living for, i feel like killing myself. and drove around witha suspended liscense. and just felt righiousness, and hatred of the system that makes me stay where they put me, and my father, , with the uncaring corporate capitolism, for which leads our nation into fascism. and more control. If i smoke i will go to jail. and yet , i do not feel happy , it also has been a very hard day,
the battery is almost done. and my back hurts from the sex i have been having with a womne of convienance. but she should not read this , even thiugh i am at such a state that i can not lie, i am not in love with her, and feel guilty for it. i do not tell her i am in love, i sing about it to her like a tease, for the act is almost leading me there but it would be a love out of pity, she doesnt know i have body lice, and that i have infected everyone, thank god there is a cure, but her lust was to easy, and i am in need of running awyafrom my problems. so i let her have me,, while i touch her spongy, flaccid flesh and taste her alcoholic lips, and shutter. her face looks older than it is from the booze, and pills. her voice is high pitched and she complians about the past, and the present, and only hears the negative reflcting off the future. and i sit to forget myself in her company, because it is a turn on to her and it is a turn off to me, this understanding of why people come together, bothers me, but life is not roses unless you equal the intuition and love faith. through self love and respect. I watch the night come along.
august 30th tuesday.

and the day lead down roads of depression, and Lets get up anyway, with momments of almost tears, with time of raw joy, from the baseball game when in the first inning there was three runs, against an equal team. and there was the mention of a home for me, in an empty , to be sold house, on the darker side of town, which basically meeans it takes a real spieit to buy , such taht i might be able to stay for a little while. A baby and the sights of a dog, the cool air reminding of fall, and the ease of a night in the car. It is the time of love for me, i have almost always become romanctic in fall, and more myself for the celebration of another year on earth, it is funny my birthday reminding me that i love life enough to want to fall in love again. but i can not settle . and watch women who’s beauty makes me want except i am driven father beyond that right now, liking about , the reports laterly of my own beauty, of the feelins coming to the surface easier, birthday, and less smoking. Except last night. when the moon was full and the reflection of the pond gave memories flight against the present lonely ness. her a long time away, and always the most important of life. She an angel before i knew i was depressed , before i would ever love anyone. I loved her, and in that opond before my eyes , we made love and knew love forever, even while i was living for me, even while i was trying, i was in love with her, She did not chid me for my seventy dollar a month loft, withoout shower, with only the peice of writing and drawing and the shultpure i was trying of glass and metal, and playdo. Without education to guide i fell aside sort of. she knew even less than i how to get ahead , how to create the love i have for money. for to drive my self to believe myself, Even now it is that to face, that “I know Me” and this is what i should do. but what, the rest of my life is every moment after this one, this one where i sit watching women passing. lesbain, or straight, it is all forms for i can not say hello, people always look so occupied. And i seem to only get the ones who i can see like me, and the showyness of that is hard to refuse. but when i look further into most of them it is lost voices reaching for an idea, and not me. so there we are to find me, to live me without loosing me, there is the world , and the night is cool and i will be able to sleep alright. maybe tomorrow i wil look at a new house, and i will stash the car with a parking space, uncontested.
this while the republican fasist gather and the reportsw of media , reach through the pretended equal rights of a republic attitude. hate and fear are the calls of stregth, and economic subserviance. i fear the american public is becoming a lond of fasists, where we all fear righious walking our prejudices, and telling life to others. swo many women remind me of Jeasica, the last women i loved. the body the glasses, i will call to explain why i have not sent her the play i wrote and she acted in. i am having trouble getting it off the computer, it maybe just a clean disk i need. but i should send her a new one, but i need some more clean time to get the feeling. one minute until a free phone who will i call first..
i don’t know,
i can only see a womn passing right now in a pink top , and god my ending thirties are really getting desprite. I guess it is alot apart of the early years so unloved, self ishly,, then the years, of falling in love without a clue, the replacement i always was looking for matchiing my despair with romance. and so here we are now.
watching love pass, the love of others i will never touch becasue to touch myself is the truth, and i am invisible when i am stoned. the vampires mirror. our evil unseen.
and the police pass blue lights flashing reminding more , of the jail i am facing to streach through the year. and i can think no more tonight, i can feel the air, cool and dry , i feel sleepy and want sleep hoping it comes while iam still drinking coffee. and sitting up right. later.
sept 2,2004
last night the intake to a program manidtory for the suspension. the intake , the take in , but they didn’t why ? because i told them a vesion of the truth , i told them of the programs i have before i came to boston. the therapy which was leading to ssi , to federal disablity, to my homelessness, and my chemical depression. from my father , from the intricate motions of life against me since i have started life, but yet the fact have been less then the intellectgence whcih survives. and i know i am yet in the fray of loveing. they have assigned me to the fellowship of aa, and from my view, that is wrong the group depresses me. and i avoid depression, so i am not drinking but i am now suppose to not smoke. an so i will not. it is easy to avoid during the week but the week end is the problem. but we shall see.
I must have some good reasons for not smoking weed, i like the escape, but to feel, reality is fun, especially when i am playing and creating.. but i have always felt unable to paint when not stoned , oh my , idon’t know what to do. this year is going to be hard,, maybe if i get locked up i can get it over with faster, pay my guilt to society, a society which has done very little for me, unless i consider the people who have helped me. then i can feel guilty oover the facts of what could of happened, what if someone would have stepped in front of me while driving. instint would have said i would have missed them becasue awake or not i am a good driver.. i don’t know what they are going to do , i have to get intouch with the probation officer today..

That just reminderd me that you who are reading may not even know the government of mass. and the criminal system, here. the probation department has the power to put me in jail. and so they are to make a mental evaluation of me for the “ssafty of the public” which i will add goes to extremes instead of really handling the case. but i have to be smarter when dealling with them, my theapy should be for me period. my cure will never come from the state. as i am processed. and controled. what is really funny is that it has taken me years to admit how i feel and now they hold it against me, when a majoyrity of people dont say what they feel so the normal people are walking the earth without a real adherance tothe spiritual emotions they feel. So now having admitted the truth to the government the highter consciousness of feeling could lead me into jail or a mental hospital. it is funny really.
mean while the republican national converntion is going on , reports come back of arrests in the streets, of “limited violence”, of protests amounting to hundred equalling in the end over a thousand. As group try and bring attentin to the government of george bush being a faulty government, one which is thrusting the first of corporate control and and laying the money to friends of bush. for which wheather it can be provern or not seems to be the truth enough to impeach , while it is about oil and he , bush is an oil president, having enough money to hid the facts of what money he is earning, it is a farce, that the people who are make the oil in america are going over to run the oil from iraq, it is funny because
..
another second of words, idle mumbling from incomplete sorces, for iam and alive, if i not see, life, lived in intuition and spiritualisms made tangible, the increadible focus a muse without though direction except what is naturally felt, letting said feeling manipulate and control. I would where. i go , and expect no less. so meet the stars and have excess and graduar, but slowly know the knowledge is not ones own.
there is what is health and consiousness. there where is health to self and knowledge in doing what you have to , doing what comes nature even as nature would be push. Constude behind fleshy commericals, in our american leaning to lean, but wait while the tempations are lived comes the ablity to live. the flesh is only one wanting , one level of nature. and comprehension expands faster than physical compliance because it is metally health for granting a measure of peace untold except in the peace of now, and the need for world thought consciousness, as is individually applicaple.
Oh and i do yet stare with lustfull eyes and do laugh at my “artitry” but one day i went beyond the irony and sculpted, and one day i went beyond my lust and drew, and fair pen gave me peace. fo rit was spirts i watnched moveing in tree like form, my attactemnt a meditation. my joy the lions pride, and yet another can not usually be in my world which asks for muse , and exterior balence of time, even as i hear rumors of change needing symbols.
I sit on the city street where it is not so city, with trees making borders between houses. and nature has a face and a name where it is human nature so to impassion the regards of urben life, it is flowers of humans, with tales , like the rings of trees, pebbles in still ponds told slowly, in footsteps and dress, an power is the idenifacation of soul food. with eloborate interests and social graces. it is heere the urban leage of pretentions sometimes and the extremes of everyone knows and nothing is said. my hear of urban landscapes and semi queit streets,
one tone bostons JP.
but here is me who has traveled through the came in other parts. who has romanced on the loss , individually to the splender that i met. cold children , mostly and
oh here comes a beautiful mother and i am remindered of lust, the first sign of chemistry , oh yes being single is the conversation of lititure.. what granteed chemicals from antohers presents.
d right now i am contrmplaiting a love, make hard and forstered out of nesscity. what evil i would think in the motion and yet, human the leaning , human to touch and botherover, when i know it is an addiction and love should mke connection. should i go find erin.. I met here and she is twenty. a fuller life i would want to be beside, me, a fuller world of interests and help, evenn , one which knows life is not yet but the dreams we live. like i was with anna, and jessica, each with the beauty to follow politcs and postive preformance art. isit that what visions i get off another, for here i am distractred by my own actions.
wanting drive, i set off to equalize the thoughts of civilization. these must haves, becasue i must have. I am tired of living on the edge and to expalin is to tell what i have done, to be free of the turns which say you do or did. and yet i don’t know if i ever will. the moments giving only vsions past. reliving i still , can not really explain except with the same philsophies which explained last actions. but i have almost killed agian with those actins.
almost agin becasue i am now talking about the indidualism of alcohol, and the chestry of drugs, maybe with starting out with love, and focusing on what is real and the line which grants freedoms. ungained by civility.
but to say i am coming down would be alive to normalcy, and the binding forces of that. my hunger right now , and only do i want a breakfast.

So here we are another day. The kind of which is that it is raining, and i am without the controls of my old job, a one which i have been very rescued by and very remorseful over. But one that lead me to verify that i am an alcolholic and one that says i wasn’t good enough.
But maybe that is me,
but for the reality, it is 2004 and the world is caught in an american fasism for which these writing are important and freeing in the limited power of one. I want to write , about the world and how consciousness comes to greet the forces of life. But i will not right now , i will only say what musing i can get to my fingers as the day is going to be construction. And the night was to be an open mike. But even that is going to change, tonight i am again going to start aa.. Not becasue i need it.. Unlittle i do.. I can not stand it a lot of the time.. But now it is clear to me that i have to face the smoke. Marijuana..and what it is going to take to get over the facdts that i am attached to it. I have been scared of quitting.. I am scared that i have worse problems than i ever imagined that i get violently angry, for which i never have. I am scared the depression would be to bad, and that my life would feel lifeless. If i stopped. But so is the cliams leaving the miind , but i remember also, that there is a periord with all drugs where when not having them a daily even weekly part of the life you live , changes things. You get mental disiblities that you just have to live through when getting off said chemicals. The effect makes you think it is you you are facing ,, that you are all your worst problems. And that the natural is that whcih is effecting you. It is a natural i have not faced in a long time. And wonder how to get beyond it. But that has always been my drive to get over the effects of the past and my own inactivivty. To live and report. The process is the information whcih can change a world becasue it is natural. So much of my life has been left to the gods. So much has been feed to me, and which i have reacted to instead of controling even when it has been possible to control , i have not stepped up to lead, and that seems the only real altrunitive.
Oh these words are not for the general public seemingly, even as i know the facts are a definite postion within life. To document it to foster a consciousness in the reader, and here as in no where else, the exposure is the matter. Even as i am afraid of becomeing that whcih i have avoided, how much of my reality is true.
Like have i been merely dreaming i can write. Have i been dreaming i can play music. And sing.. Have i been dreaming about being an artist. For even with all the work in history laid before me by my hand produced, am i a writer. It takes security of self to know life. And for there there is a boundry i have not crossed, without drinking i am more secure. Without getting stoned? I have never gone more than three days without it.
it is days later the roaming off invited by the new,
Ashelter of borrowed wood and mortar. waiting sale on the free market. lots of empty spaces of the realitors joys and shelterlesss misery, answer , a firm policy of the homeless to create in every open house they touch. how about a foundation which creates homeless shelters out of houses, but they are working class shelters. you must have a bosses note. how abokut nothing i am boiunding of the keys again , i like the heart but the day is wronged,
here at last the computer to do the magazine and i sit wondering where to get writers, should i make it all alone again. i must create it. should i find a Painter who would for free, participate with the endeavor that wold rank as a good bet , only once. Or not as often as a painter might want.. Oh to reach out o the world again. internet. people around. i should…..
i will work some now.

Another day.
It is funny , i am thinking about my day, I have again started to go to the fellowship of alcoholics anomoymous. . It is part of the suspension. It is funny what i have to do to follow the court orders. Sit in a room of hopeless alcoholics. I am not hopeless and i will not spend the rest of my years worrying over alcohol. The drugs and it is all me. So here we are i am not stoned and i go and get angry on the way to the store. Because a man asked me for money. That was all . And i go really made, and felt like telling the world and did, I told the cashier. But the feeling bothered me , I have not dealt with my anger. Or , i haven’t learned to deal with life. I am not sure, but i hate feeling that beast inside. That common man i have always avoided. I haven’t smoked for one day. And i am to scared to smoke for the next two days, somehow the fear of jail is making me quit. I am scared. But the reverse is scaring me also. It is like i can not control myself and i am scared of what i will do someday. I carry a knife. I want to kill somewhere inside me. And what am i to expect. After being hit from very early in life, i expect to be really crazy, but i don’t have the time to drop my life and escape into understanding anew. So a balence must come, and i am lost to the suspension.
But then there is the fellowship , these people who i am to trust , and i cna not i do not trust their intelligence to be apart of my life. I do not accept them. Mostly they are ugly and i feel the stupidity that is rampant in america. The common acceptance of “its my fault”. One can not separate the economic, political and education develpment that rules life. We can not just accept our limits without the creation of infinites. Does that make sense. Am i making sense.
All i can think of is the waste of a summer this has become again. I am now working for the system, i am starving for life becasue of the system, i am scared to live because of the system , and i am scared of myself like i have always been. But last summer i was really happy.
But who am i kidding i am still in the shit. The car is my home, the home i am in is temporary, and i am not even free of bills, with the system clamping down on me for getting drunk and driving. I was blind drunk yes , but i was also not granted a voice in the court to ask for some reduction of fines, or any explaination of my life, for which punishment must equal. If i wasn’t working right now i would be in jail. And i might yet. So the rest of my idea, my freedom to find the music. My equality with the mental effects of my growth is suspended, i can not leave boston. But like i have learned what are the good points, i am working for more money, and that is going well enough, though today, i had trouble with the lastest employee who took two breaks while only working four hours. And what do i say. I was to be incharge enough to keep people working , but mostly i don’t have to do anything. My to bark is not my style, i would have just had him fired. I can feel he will be a slaker. And if i don’t tell the boss, i am screwed.
But the thoughts are wanting to leave behind these problems, I want to run away. But can i . I would lose my liscense, then i would loose all the material i need for my real goals.

here septimber 15th.
boston. the world is around walking talking, but mostly silent. mostly yelling out troubles, mostly confused by their civility, i feel, there is a pretty women and she is gone, there is a gone women thinking she is beautiful. walkinging with the drunken love of sluts, lazy and slow. mid shit revealing a fat layer. but behind me a sleeping drunk spits up , and the smell is in the air somewhere just beynd but i cna still smell it.
I remember this area, this place i once bought joints at, here, was the connect for ten dollar joints good enough to be stems and seeds crushed to take the place of the real weed buds. but i was criminal for buying it, and it felt alive to be against the system, as even now to be crimininal is the rumor about me if you readd my rap sheet. to be against only my self. for no great cause was served, and i am still sitting here. with the trin vibrating my feet, and the high just leaving me, I am tired agaisnt the day. .
i remember being on the front page of the city section and was so proud, playing jadysak in the lequidless fountain, no one to tell then , no reason to call home, I was maybe homeless I don’t remember. that is what these streets remind me of. and the children , worn and looking to strech their street habits, of the steal and switch. Pale children fighting off the invisible familyI guess while the fountain looked on.
. Getting the next of a histoy of tragic termalisms.
those were the days when the streets scared me, and i would go to shelters when i was without house, before shelters reminded me of death, while i experienced the urine smells and true insanity. Crreate by the system. cast out into the world, to empty the sytems reality, no more help for them, only the end, in a world that spends a billion dollars ,years over, on taking over a country, will not spend what is needed to care for its own, and Captiolism works, Right.
but is it to look at the worst , those who would not fit in any system, the beaten the abused, , those with truams they have never been able to deal with , and finally sucome to. as i watch the homeless around, walk slow, wanting everything. needing as much and only getting what they desire to cast them further into the comforts a beast calls living. more drugs, and less notice. , you must just know the best homeless poeple have homes, the best becasue they are drug affected insanity stricken people , they are systemsatic ly supported, so the best are hidden away and consume eough to be perminately disabled but not really, they are the one who go to the system, the truely insane are not good homeless people, and begg because that is the closes they come to affording cigerettes . but as i sit here i wonder how much one man can have to say, every system is wrong and bad on a percentage of people. it makes me wonder if i am just still being stuborn and want to find fault, even while what i hear is about the capitol system, producing the effects of global warming, killing the chances of the small buisness, and making laws to insure this is the norm through a slew of hoops through which a small buisness must jump, from liscense to insurance, the rich are just getting theres out of the small mans mouth, and less and less is the equality of who is being served and the validity of the system holding out.. the less people who are included in the dream the worse the grading of capitalism, but wait there is more , for there are alot of people who believe on must suck up to the rich to become rich , there’s is a special place in the American public, like the up and coming clerk in russian communism, bow and scrape to the correct side and you get part of the prize, so we have a bull public, say the system is cool and avoides its demerits. i have often referred to the american system as the apple before the cart, a ridious sytem which tempts but in the end doesn’t give.. there by we don’t waste the apple. and funny that,, for when the apple starts to rot, and will serve no one, we cast it to the side, for a new apple , oh i am sorry , they say, did you want to eat that, the lies in the american system, ..
Free people should not have to give up human concern to have a systme that works, notice the facts of sucess in america, the ones we listen to are the ones who lie and cheat and steal , as long as they have the slight of hand , and other look at this tricks going on. and maybe yet this is just me,, falling to see my part of the grand picture, my way of fucking the sytem enough to be beyond dealing with what is created as humanity., maybe..

it later.
I had a moment. I listened while a discussion went on about abuse. Saying abuse victims abuse others. While the teacher in the “class” spoke in defense saying victums have to face their violence. I am starting to feel real angry at times. It is not good , and i want to face it. Later.

here today is another day.
Oh listen as i describe the last of the night here wherre i smoke and let the fingers go like they are mine and not, like what is created is only a tale of the abscense. Maybe a tale of humanity, of love, of the self which looks for each, and must separate one from the other like maturity would ask. For it is through my eyes that i look and describe, not characters, which for all the symbolism are the mutations of the personal, and these reports are everychanging and come to onllyt the reports them selves , as in to write the truth. Like that way i felt from a hug, from an ex, holding her from but a moment. Feeling exactly the inspiration i felt each time i was a one with her, the transportation of my soul , to a moment. With her living me, awaken if only for a moment , as in our age is the collective of exacies in to true joy, and maybe decadance, but as that is to a hungry man and a dinners leftover sitting in a plastic container on the street. The loveless make for love when there is only remembrance .
There once was a joy which was. And to touch her as she leaves only a purple spot on the floor of my life, that sercophague, like a four dimensional room, with glass shelves and nick-nacks of quiet days in love for which to stare longingly at.. Even while the past is the intoxicant of the depressed and mentally retardant, the future the hope and focus to be adventure to create even more knick nakes, but those you’ll stare at in death to rejoices for a next coming you may not remember.
And so the reasons are recieved and my life are my own, and smallness finds symbolism without even the intention of presenting. If i would love anout she maybe near. My birthday has always been a day of reckoning with feelings. Where i actually feel and the day is always interesting. But cause someone has entered my life so willingly to be a present from gods. And a one night stand in ever rested love. Where i never want to stand again for i still believe in the twining of lights, and the relevance of emptyness when there is no one to love, and the half sided peace without sexual and spiritual intimates in one person.
And she who rises in this , was a hug, and she was, many words. At once. Spewed into the Past..
She was instantly the texture of her sex and the peace of togetherness untainted and so maybe unequaled. But it was a time form giving away control and accepting the visions. When the envisioned would by making their life without me, because i am … because they are,, it makes what to accuse but it is chemistry. Soul-ly. a lived attraction.

Another day .
The love was lived and gone.. Now I am thinking about other things. Lets see what is today. Kerry and Bush are starting to really get to me, the Domestic issues, are getting no notice. The rise in the crime rate,, and we should research that. The rise in the deficit. We should research that. The fallout from the rise in the deficit. We should research that. The weight of the low taxes on the populus. Through education, the welfare system, and social security.

Letter to one lost lover but never as a shade of your voice reaches ears waiting.

And you have just let the phone go , as a stumble of speech delays just yet to the next moment. No goodbye. Just heart into the folds of a lonely life. Which found who he could love forever. Oh just how the spirit comes gleamed into my eyes from a voice on microwaves.
She is larger than my heart it was the moments the chemistry.the hights. Of quietness for which another could not support. And no one has ever inspiritered in me. Putting my life in place and the heat to the focus. Here we are … another day.
Her last words “Wait fifteen minutes.”

As the line goes dead , the world I live in comes into the gasping wounds that are right now. Simple use and be used, and it is again boring me, no truth. All lies and demeaning voices. I can not stand in this….

Osho. ? India “Guru”…..

So here we are another day to see as it pastes, the names are not important even as only mine i knowable for what i leave out, but the cases are everyone , the nature of man easily absorbed but normally denied or accepted.
So i had a work day.. Forty feet up in the air camly, but for the times i was scared, placeing a ladder so that i could walk on it. Fourty five feet in the air. Lite aluminium that wasn’t moving. But i was shaking.

The rest of the day for which went with the first like the jumble of living. From painting in the air to lessons on alcohol. To thinking about intimacy, to sitting on a main street in jamamcia plains, to taking the bus, to walking home , getting salad, and petting a shitsu and talking to a pretty , shaply, women who needs , pet help and someone to talk to about anything, someone to see her as a women with all the mystery and girlish notority a mother, daughter is made to hold inside waiting for someone special if not rich. Or that is the short version.
The first sights of a women are mostly an appreciation of form. Her breasts. For which if we started to explain i would tell of the beauty, the flesh, for which has attracted me before, for i was working down the street from her two months ago. She was a longing as i watched her wait with her son for the school bus. But i didn’t think of that, I saw her with a tight thin sweater, Her breates making the shaplyness i love to draw , the curves which give me a start. But after i had the rest of the day. Some how it just mixes with the mess of life. The beauty of purple in a mass of lines in green and pink and orange with washes of thick black and red.
I guess i can not really say anything about the day, i would like to tell of the day but i have the televsion on. It is interesting.
Sideshow bob is running for mayor. And winnes, the interesting thing is that a press conferance bob talks of his opponent as flip flopping on the issues, it is the first attack on the encombant mayor. Where just earlier a list of evil republicans from the mouth of Lisa Simpton. But the cartoon is proven for the good guys win in the end.
I have to sleep. The next few week are the last i will loose from these words. But i have to achieve those material items on my list of needs.
I am yet tired. ..

So here we are ,, i have gained money again from the infamious use of labors. Does one equal the other ? Can i find peace with the Green when never is any enough and with just some the expenditures look like hills of happiness when they are only waiting tides of more expenditures. I smoke another pack of cigarettes and know the words are slow to come here right now , I am again very tired and waiting for some resolve i can not measure up to , and yet i know i will have to save this time like never before. But my hands hurt. And age is creeping on me. I can turn no where soon and the effects of thinking about another life, are slowly fading. This is my life, this place i dreamed about this land of writing and thinking like a seconds decision made life so long ago. This is life. And here i am, I have turned thirty nine with a phone call from my mother.

What am i to do with the rest of this life, being pushed to understand and live so fast i still have not caught up to the speed, the lonelyness the heart acke of watching so many fears become forced survival.
To ketch up the reader , if i have not of late and i don’t remember. I am living in boston, but not , for my heart is still in northampton mass. I am living in a house, and not for my perminate life is in my car, and free of bills, for shelter. Only my things have shelter.. Only my hopes for the future i am still uncertain about are safe,, i am on probation again.. And know the forces of that can send me to jail at anytime during this next year,, but i still can not plan , much of anything,, there is a certain insecurity i have lived since childhood and still live. The insecurity has been of personal welfare all my life, but where it was once the abusive father, and the timid mother, it is now just me and my reasonings. The subconsciouness we live and call life. Followed with reasonings. And faustered by blindness. Even of ourselves, such that to look makes the denial more relevant and the intelligence more to blame,, but when blaming ourselves we find change the remorse of being human,, like “no Exit”. So confirmed me must change and never knowing really how. Short of living our dreams,,
And you may not see this in me,, but i am trying to do just that.. This computer is a hand me down,, but the goal was a new computer,, i guess when you wish you have to be very specific, for i still believe in the Mystic, and the help of faith and correctness, of self to intuition and love. Even though i know the forces which would disevolve me,, for once i learned to create mental adventures, i used the power to fantrasize, and have always done so. (For which i know is the way the subconsious has ruled . Keeping me safe from the fears one intimacy. For i have dreamed lovers, instead of being hurt by my giving. ) and here i sit, knowing all this and yet, what good does it do, like i know the president of the united states is my enemy. He wouldn’t like me , and neither i him, but yet it makes no difference, we are both restricted by the power of human law to be our subconscious equals. And no more. Not to say change can not occur but one has to face and change ,, not just let change occur with the normalacy of other changes. I must direct myself, to face the future by living closer to the present.. I have turned thirty nine.

I started to think about the Enertial Call Idea. Through a sub idea which fits into inter-net concept of the media and societial concept. You see the Enertialcall was once a Magazine I Published. We did seven issues in five years.. The sixty four page magazine was filled with Art. Visual and Literary art. But the written Art was the edge or the symbolism of writing. And I wrote a lot of it, with contributions from Friends, even one who helped me make the magazine on the computer. But the idea was first a creation of love between me and my then girlfriend, anna Wareham, who i loved and feared would leave me if i did not try and do something with my writing. For i have never been success orientated. Ambition and art i never thought mixed so it wasn’t my goal. I have always just wanted to create and create better, so i made a life style not a career. Art , for me is something one can not just forget and move away from.
So the magazine was made, but without organization and without a profit. So the years have passed. And i have thought of the idea from a lot of angles since. I have thought about the power responciblity and creative possiblities of making a magazine.
Art is a balance of discipline, moral reasonings, and metaphysical faith.
So the idea changed with the times. I started to think that a paper magazine doesn’t fullfill the future. So years ago i started to think about a cd rom magazine, with features of Computer animation artists, and video artists. With creative ways to incorporate writing. Like streaming words which people can speed up or slow down to meet their reading speed.

It is a day later. The idea for the enertialcall never leaves but getting a full amount of time to write it out is the problem. Or more the problem is that i can never stop long enough to tell it. I like to talk about the day , i come up with different ideas from the day. Different topics , more immediate topics, the day is always yeilding. Something.
So i have been trying to think of a story line for a book. A first novel. Tonight i thought about more actions to a story i started before for the magazine. It was about a homeless man , a transient who choise to be so. To escape civilization. It would revolve around my major conflict that civilization is driving us away from a haromonious human nature which capitiolism denies and yet revolves around. Captiolist need peacebut yet need conflict inorder to sell the products which create conflict and class seperation.
But it is most important in the ways we think. The meaning of consciousness could be the only way the world will discover peace and every society must realize the importance of the ways we think. And react in this materialism must become secondary. But politics conforms enviroment so we must find a way to introduce consciousness into education and intellectual thought, IE literture. Am i making any sence here, i wonder. Yes i am but it is scattered. And it is late.
Tomorrow is another day. .

The debate the first debate between bush and Kerry is over,, and the words from that hour and a half, I here type.
I Might be dieing
age crepts, but my faults
have come to grap.
But yet to feel the truth.
Lets me .
Feel the inspiration
and the faith.
So the yers have moved me
to reach beyond the statistics of my birth
and upbringing , as that has been
torn and disrupted,
but yet i must have courage and faith.
I am feeling the change of time..
Finally We are seeing what could happen if America is lead by the rich fasists of the Corporate republican imorral minorty of the powerfull corporate interests .
We now have proof.
But welcome the new age.. Where we come to define America’s resolve as a World orientated Government. And yet , if bush wins, We will see the real plan behind Mr. Bush with regard to Cororate buisness! If he stays , we will finally learn the Big picture in regard to Personal Freedom. We will see the final plan of Republicn Leadership for education and social welfare.
When schools are hard pressed to stay open and funtional, becasue of budget cuts decause of a definsite, which makes state cut budgets , which makes a city cut budgets, We will finally find out that the world with irrated Muslems first, but many others to follow, rises to dispute the image of our present leadership. Bush and fastist money orietate republicans are not america. Amercia is jazz.. And mutually supportive and freely creative and createing the scope of the future not the overlord image we are threatened with because of the terroristic government of a electorial fruad.
We will see the proof in the rise in crime because education is failing to train change people for the better .
So What’s up? Who cares We will eventually learn the truth and deal with it!
Welcome to the world ..
Topic – Bush and Kerry
Meaning – No matter who wins, we will Win.. “We” is you and I, standing on one Earth. We as Americans, We as the defintion of peacefully mixed cultures religions and races. “We” is a mixture of every country.
We is a straight unified voice for “we” Americans are the world. “We are not in question of being a world population. We don’t walk very far to notice the difference and commonalities of Multible-cultures, races and religions, who all live in a maintained peace
a clam land only caused to violence from the corporat efastist pulling away from the concerns of the poor . Restricting our evolution and We are Poor. ( 99% has only 57% of the “American Wealth” with 1% with 43%) But we have 99% who can agree!
We need Domestic Change!
We need to remember how we looked aside with the 911 attack, looked away from the WTO. Forgot we were fighting the government just before with one of the larges riots since the sixties in Seattle.
And i will not even go into the Election Fraud in Florida, with the attack on new york seeming to be a personal attack on bush and the agenda he represents. I blame 911 on republican politics. And thats whats up
I feel like i am dieing so i have the heart to state what my last words would want to say before,, maybe i am a coward because of it maybe i have wasted my life with distance and escape but for the last moments written here, and heard everywhere.
..

So it is another night.. The day spent after another night , but one i spent drinking. It is October second.

I stood with the real drunks i once knew daily. I talked and felt love or romance looking into anothers eyes. The same lonely love i have felt many times. A sheering emotion streaching my humanity to exclude myself . Reaching into a storm, watching another walk away forgetting me , and i ,really, them. But the moment was enough laughing at myself while i turn into the face of a previousness which haunts me when i with the drink. I watch while love becomes a escape. And i fall over and over again wondering who will love me. As i fall over any set of friendly eyes which don’t turn away while most do not even see me. While i have no concept really of anyone else but myself. And it is a space child with nothing else to do but look for that one who would change my lonelyness into family and hope, but i am wrong to think that way,, even though most of the world would know one side of that longing. The long to love. But another side of this pentagram are the loveless who could understand what lacking is the soul without love.. Some are the criminals locked behind bars, some are the abused from long longly childhoods fighting off fears of freedoms, for choice is panic. Some are the abusers of drugs, and alcohol. Who’s lives have become the lonely affairs with insanity. Cold and coarsing through despondent emotions. These fantasizers who avoid what they can not be close to; themselves and stare with romantics at any possibility of being really alive. If only for a moment and if only with sheer pretending. So that was the night, spending as much money as i would going home and to sleep with little to recall. Except the stupidity of my position, as i gave my number to a women that hated me.. And i could see as hating me still, while yet her glasses reminded me of another , but with reality that other i should hate, but no that when the other loved me i loved her and when she passed by i was left alone again, and loveing her still. So i felt her, and gave away the phone number each would have and never use, but what ..
So i awaoke with a natural alarm clock waking me in time for work never remembering i slept with my clothing on and went to work again in them, only to suffer the day with a sickness and an ill feeling. Of the starved, like always after i drink. I wish i could really fall in love with someone who i can share my life with and would accept me for being kenny.

So here we are another day.

What was today.. Another in the line of scrapping a house. The middle back hurting. The mornings are getting cold and i am trying to have faith about where i will go for the winter.. I have saved nine hundred dollars. But it will mean very little without more work and without focus. I have the money for the new computer,, and next is to get it,, but after that is to make the web site to go with the magaizine and the ultimate society idea.
Even today at a break i started to outline the idea to the painting crew the idea of world consciousness the meaning of peace being the accepted unity of a world cultural movement. This is the motive of the Enertialcall Society when and if i can get it going before my death.. And yes i have been thinking about death,, the mixutrue of lead paint and cigerettes, the trails of crime and the pains of my trainsients. I will have to find a new place soon tolive , and my car is going to be the winter for i am not sure what i am going to do for work.. I know i want to make a movie yet and write another play,, and write more and more.. Plus sculpture.. But i still want so much and feel now i can really do very little. As far as doing things alone.
I want to type from a new journal i started last night.

“Another journal”
“ October 2004″
“ these pages are empty as I sit in a house not mine. An address i will leave when they kick me out.
But i haven’t paid rent since May, and the present is only a house sitting, but A driver liscence , a car, the couputer, but now where will i get the money for the next thing. But wait, you should know it all, I wasted my summer the same way i wasted many years, now, I drand alcohol and got caught drinving blind drunkand i am waiting to be told i must go to jail. It sounds silly to be waiting for jail. , but i figure i will pay off my storage for a year. I have that long to wiat. I am on probation untill August 26th So if i get in trouble which i less expect, but for breaking probation which i already have many times. Jail would be an answer to get of winter!
It would eliminate fee’s to the corts! But it would get inthe way of my life! This road i hae been on to change ! But i am trying stay focused . I want yet to play my music more, write a novel and some plays and to sculpt some! But i also would like to figure out what is wrong with me !
Today I was a bastard at work. Trying to rraise a pole for a scafolding. I yelled and cursed at a friend. Adding anohter to the list of “ i know and don’t” but it rampant amony everyone I’ve ever met. For a while they like me, then i get depressed or i just get bored of them. I was never someone to give a shit, when i souldn’t in it for me/ (is that true) no I often cared but people turned away from me. Or i never spoke out about how much i cared, or never told my friends when they were really being stupid. But i never felt it was my place and each I lost that way I’ve never really gotton back. “

that is what i wrote yesterday..
And it is funny, but only a day has passed and i am not thinking about that today,, so what is the conclusion. I have trouble thinking about things two days running.. Yes,, so .. Let try again,, why don’t i have friends.. I am constantly changing my mind,, about things. No thats not it,, i am always trying to write and have always been alone,, it has been almost a code of honor for me,, to be alone i have the strength to live my on way,, for which means i can read when i want ,, i can go to what movies i want to. I can feel the faith and intuition others might not have the endurance to live out what they feel, i can talk to new people wihtout the criticism of my frineds. I am not stuck.. But then i am lonely and only want to streach my thoughts toward the next evolution of myself. That means i have to start to have real frined and only there will i find myself in others… for their must be people who thing of the evolution of personality as the meaning of life,, to understand life.. Maybe i have to go to college. Oh what is the name of this self analize i am going through ,, Kenny land.. He he he..

It is Saturday night , and a clear day was and gone. I have not smoked in eight days, and so i am for the first time in a long time without a system i am sober. I feel alittle different but only as the changes would have made me otherwise with smoke. I watched televsion and went to a meeting of alcohol anoynmous. And sat with another person who has been forced through the defects of the body to quit drinking, not to take away from the sobriety but my change is for a better futurre and a more focused mind. I am doing this for the reality of consciousness.
I have talked before of the abuse. The way the child faced off the violence, was the way the man faced himself in doubt and ill feelings. I guess i have escape and that was life. But escape is the natural beauty of the muse, and escape as in the blessings of creativity and the magic of concentration. But it has replaced love and trust in my life. The mixture of outer and inner. For which i have not been able to balence. But that must change. But the achievements of the outer has not been mine just thought has not been mine and that must change with production. In the future my ideas for projects must not get lost behind the haze of drugs. And the insucurity of a constant attention to my work and artistic habits. I am naturally creative, and maybe that was a responce to the inner life i created to respnd to the abuse, i will take it and run for that is me now. And forever..
I have immediate problems and future goals i have been dreaming for many years. But through all this i must find the most important discoveries for me which is the complex resolution of my self analysis. And for that i am very scared.

the last few days i have been off work. The days have been filled with television. And as i could comment on the air waves being shown to our children, for i mostly watched cartoons. I would to comment more on the chemicals i have not used for a week. I have not smoked weed. And unlike quitting alcohol i am not really feeling any different and i am feeling quite out of it. I have not much to think about and less inspiration to think about anything. I have been dreaming though. About weed and about jail. Although last night i dreamed about a large underground world. I am not thinking about much of anything, I have taken care of the problems transfering writing from one computer or another. I have lost a lot of writing over the years. But i am not thinking i lost any great work but it could be.
I thought i could get a handle on my life better with the drugs gone, and maybe this is only the beginning. But i only feel the numbness for which i think my brother and mother always feel. So here we go. What is the answer? Am I depressed? Are we all depressed my mother and brother. I haven’t played guitar today. But i did paint, the pictures are childish almost except that each has a womens body. One with here back to the viewer and an illusional set of wings. The other is a mosh of red and purple, and white and like a finger drawing of a very young Pollack, two bodies entwined make the pictures obvious form. I can justify the picture by saying the creation of love is an art out of nothing, we dream we know but the facts are from nothing comes the hold of what life is. Not the other was around. When you look at first you can not see the form and i like that , it is to show an abstract can have an asatictic wholeness without material representation. Such as the misleading of symbols, but then you look and see a form of two people making love.

October 14th, 2004
As I listen to the news. I type from a journal..

Oct 2nd,2004
“One month away from America picking a new President, while the one in office has made a more fascist America with the Iraq War, radical republicanism and all while still in Afganistan. While creating a five trillion dollar deficte. After giving the one percent a very large tax break and i worry about not having any frinds. I guess that is the large and small of it. Of life. I want to figure out how to have better relationships, while my country seeks an idenity with it’s president.
It’s very confusing, Even if my choise wins does that mean anything to me. Personally . Maybe my world will feel a little different to have the top power to be somone I regard as trust worthy. Have I been trust worth to my friends? Even if power is missused a lot in life, Have i missed used my power? Is that why I have no one! I often have backed away from conflict, seen from the outside as i closed up and again tried to think of myself. I can not say what i have done wrong! But I know I’ve tried to be true to my love and continue to be true ,. But for that i walk endlessly.
When do you accept life, live your intelligence and follow your path? I guess when you take the balence as a whole I have not suffer other’s enough. So I do not have many friends. I do not let the wicked into my life truning a blind eye to their inhumanity, greed or lazyness. In short i don’t use people, but yet I often have for weed , mostly , it is day four without smoke, I feel the urge only because i feel bad from the day. I feel loney but also feel lifeless.
Oct 4th, 2004
I read from my journal on the subway. I liked it. Filled with sensitive insite and decoritive elements o the day and longing. But yet now it is waiting for my class to start at five thirty and I sit at a coffee house off boston’s downtown. People , of course pass. More than world in a whole day in northampton, mass It is exciting comparibly.
No one knows me, and i am peacefully enjoying my pen. If not the sitting posture. It has been another day, on my feet scrapping a very old paint job off a roof. I am smoking cigarette calmly. Waiting for a certain look which I will then draw. But even as i do. I can not help but notice. The street faces, looks on people, , bot on for defense of city life, charging dramatically, when they meet a loved one. Or answer their cell phones. But it is getting cold and I must put on my leather jacket to stay in the comfort. I like the difference in street faces, when they look at people , never right at them, but to the side. Or just beyond , but at them all the same.
Street faces are interesting, Most represent what the experience or knowledge. Some are really defensive and you would want to meet them, and so the face works limits to who would disturb them. Most seem to have a protective but searching look, or determined dragging look, People rarely smile alone, Men with more challenging looks. Women with “I’ve seen it all” roaming eyes. These types’s look longer as milli-seconds are measured. There are the frightened bird looks, or the arrogant down the nose staring, there are even the “I got nothing” looks. But if I was to count I haven’t seen one person walking alone with a smile on their lips, and few with a smile in the eyes.
Some looks are just “ bored “ dragging from one place to another, but no matter what look, if eyes are met, even in the minor milli-second, people blind. Or being that I am a man , If the women i am seeing is a pretty young women, there comes the “I am not looking at you” Look.
I like the pretty women with the “I don’t have time to stop” which breaks off with a self determined air. Womenkind turns from a curiosity they inspire for a man sometimes.
So it is five and almost on the instant the church bells ringing people seem to flow heavier, moved into free thoughts , away from mechanism with a last push to go home , or maybe like i to school. But it is so fun , to see one smile , you must smile with them, knowing the ease of celebration, comes simply. “

Oct 12th, 2004
“I have only a couple of minutes. But i sit on BoylstonSt. No. Tremont in the middle of october.before a class and i think about what i like about the city. I like , the millions of people, it is a rush, like television. Or more to say, like advertistion, Each a look, where i have commented before about each a tenderness, a changling to what they really are. But the looks are fun, It humers me to remember what I like about the city though at times, the noise and the people like televsion bother me. But in the streets I never really feel alone, and I like the speed, the changing, the offers of a million loves in a second, three more minutes and I have to go. But and my chances of meeting beeter intellgence , of taking a long trip, My movemnets seem infinite, if to only say helloand be present with anyone like my country stays in my soul! I must go….”

Yes those where the pages from my newest journal. While the radio speaks of presidential debates and Iraq. A bombing in the Green zone, A section of Bagdad with walls and multiple check points. A story of a killed American solider who’s mother cries. Saying she doesn’t know why we are there. While the stock market goes down. And a new recording of shopenhauser and depressing poetry sung in german.

It is later in the world. I was with a women. She scares me for her insanity for which is normal, the stress of society. But she wanted me and without having anything to talk about expect problems , her’s for i felt stupid talking to her because she is caught in the “i know and your right” motherly fathomlessness of crazy women. The one that would buy you crack instead of telling you to get your own. And then yell about how much she’s done for you. So she comes in and i did miss her until she started to lay all over me the second she got in. And then we started having sex. And finished I came quick and was depressed afterward because i don’t like her, for her craziness. Because she is old and we can not talk about anything. I feel like i cheapen myself, then i feel sleazy.
So then she asks what is wrongand all i can think is how much we are not in love and i feel like shit for even letting her in. So then all i can say is i hate the way she complains all the time. Even while i am thinking she is kind of gross in that she is old even though she is only a year older than me , but combined with drinking her skin is flabby and her lips are weak. And it is all a replacement for her. She loves me for the music and art. Even so much she bought me some brushes. I guess it is human nature to need but i am so lonely without a women. There have been enough to know what a real lover is , and i can not go back to letting someone in who is just looking for a fantasy of me. And someone i can not talk to. Personal choice is not something i have been really able to feel. It was the past, I am changing. But i have to start instead of having these moments.

This Sunday, I have lived the day. I have worked, and the day is done. Since coming home i have thought about sex, food, and alittle cleaning. I am becomeing sterotypic, and i am afraind there is little i can do about it. I have smoked cigerettes, but i want to paint and i can not get myself away from the televsion which plays while i type. Again.
I look for the women , i look for visions to use in my masturbation. While I have body lice. Which in the last few days have become worst than just last week. The small bites are constant again while i am not occupied. I at least notice then. So here i sit without any drugs in my system. I am sober.. And i am bored, or not really , i am different. Alittle. I want just to have a wormn , forgetting all the other interests, or at least that is how i presently feel. I want to go out and look at women i want to touch and love again. But with that love must much come sanity, and loyality. Must come commonness between me and my love, and must some the ultimate sex through equality and freedom. She must be incredible attractive and ultimately intoxicated to start a life that with have children and hope for the future iwth the hope we make between ourselves and change.
I have to get my new computer. I will work on finding the women of my dreams on the internet. I will join a personal site. It is common technology. And common sense for me to want to meet a women on the internet, but that revolves around a women being truthful.
Now to want the rest of my life. The enertialcall must rise from the ashes for humanity. We can be saved from the prejudices of cultures and opinions by accepting what is. There is a spiritual excistance. And for a future we must look toward an explaination. Of the human connection with non physical excistance. We must not be afraid of what we do not know, except to know that we already know. We live these connections, we love, and that is a power. We coiuld control the world by just agreeing . And that would be no more that having peace through acceptance. To announce to the world “simplity makes the future”.

23, October.2004.
I have not written most of the week. I have been mostly alone and sober. And tired and reading David Copperfield. It is amazing the life Dickens wrote about. A life, if not like mine, close enough to look at mine. Fatherless and used as a child. Though the torments of ten years old were still in the stepfathers claws, and when i went into the work force i was still supported by my mother. It could have been worse. And is still for many children in the world. But it is a must read for me. And so i am to finish the fivehundred and so pages before i come back to words maybe..
I have to leave the Residence i am in , and like all the partings of home and security i am distraught and distracted. Buttotady i cleaned the car, and tomorrow i will go to work and then get things packed , for i am doing laundry while i write. It is funny that i am thinking about what to write. But more i am thinking about the soberity i am living, the telling of time and agony. Of seperation, and addiction. What am i without those fenses. Even asi was confident with them. What confidence humanity excists in while the truth of civilization is the action of ignorance of future truth. Once the world was round and then it is not. The limitedness of humanities thoughts have retarded us. And yet knowing this we have to go on. But i feel so crazy now. I don’t know what to do. I feel hopeless and unartistic and stupid and lost. I have to find a place to live but i don’t know where to go. I have no choise but to go to my car. In the winter, and i am, still, infested by body lice. I am watching televesion to look at life, for whcih i feel so far from and afraid of really. I am so lost and hopeless. Just like i did when i was young. I just want to smoke , and ever one i call is just another way of getting stoned. I spent so many years getting stoned, infact when i first did i felt it was the right thing to do. I was not violent. I had ideas, i could think. Even now i know feeling, i can not seem to think. I can not get my self around a project or a goal. But i thought or think i am trying this to find out what is really wrong with me,
October twenty fiveth or so.
So here we are the world is inside my head as the world is without drugs , and with the one who controls my self , me.. It is interesting to say i am in control. It is funny to think because we know the world is incontrol. I still have to work and yet i don’t mind that much, I look forward to haveing things, and know my dreams are my things, my drrrreams like these words, but the future is a reality show. I have painted some this weekend, two pictures. One called Green Tara, with a women looking left with all kinds of seeming vines coming out here haed and back. And the other is a mixture of red and organge in a colage with suggests two flowers comming out of a heart. I am trying to find a balence between thrown paint and suggestive form. The idea is to have the point of the attraction to a meaninglessness, while presenting a theme which asks the audience to find their artist inside. Which is the point to live the alturntive. It is funny. I am watching a reality show. Which is a show which spends money not on actors or writers, but real people having their lives changed. With big money , in surgury, or new houses these people all are being changed by money. Money none of us really have. It is again the worship of the beauty and riches of the unavailable. It is humorous to think i am going through my own changings. To be an addict, i was in repressed doubt. But i feel the confidence moving into my blood, while i also feel the depression but in a lighter form. So the change is taking the steps. I still want to folow through with the rest of the developments ,
But here we sit the facts of life is that most are not able to see what could change them. And the world is forced to stay the same while enviroment is changing and civilizzation demands change. We must represent the world we want. And it is an inner change to become the peace of the future, and so yet i wish the world would understand the evils apon them, with the facts of the chemicals, the facts of the education. Both have only to celebrate poverty. And stare into the life we need to feel to live ourselves.
I have not touch my guitar much. But i know the next step. But what is next i have to move thrusday. . and i still don’t have enough money to ease up. I have to keep working to get the saving enough to buy the computer. And learn the things i need to learn.

So what is another day. I have rested from the termoil, passing over any direct comment. But yet here we are. I read a mail out to “present Resident” there would be an attack by alkida. Spelled wrong.
I read there was to be an election, after a world series, right after hollween and i will thanks giveing in pa, maybe.
Maybe it is this all, of holidays which makes seek, again , shelter, this casting back to the finite and hiprocracy, Because i have learn how interesting it all is .. Live, and giving and recieving on such an iddediatcy of life. Frogiving and hurting , but only ever to save yourself. I live in a room , distupting crininal punishment and how saver.. As in i have come into a room for three month maybe, for i have to give it a test run. But here we are.. In Jamacia Plains . Living where i wanted to alittle. In the hill over looking the symbolic of structures. Flowing with human nature and chance encounters, sometimes,,
al wyas i have wanted to just say hello to what ever women I really want.but no feel “ less than becuase of the civil “responciblities” of thought and equality of peace and time.
It is two in the moring and i have to work at six. Bye..
So much more to say.. Later.

This test of time ,
where stand is the amount
you get with luxury
to think.
With looking out a window
to watch nature pass

and as i stretch my working , and desires, as we stretch , our civility to get it right. Oh, then to only see deeper what i should deny, and peaceful, free and unencumbered.

But no i sit at small hours and prastice this ever practice. The sqquirrel bones of freedom, S what can i live, but the frugality of character. The doubted questions, where answers lye not in pressed feet, and yet no speirt can not. So walk and be,
Dreams and spirits, and ghosts, and aliens, so much to feel and gererate in responce.
That alone we feel odd. What mean you to tell of non time. You who are so detined to forget,, you addicted soul lieing to evern its, sences, , Oh cur and lost dog. , aking with feet at eighteen, Like you should be.. Directing your life, like a man.. Simple excistance, and wealth of living, but a dream you thought, a dream where you wake to find desertion

I hear a vision , asking to create and what down the beginning mean but creation, where i write words for a video. A Film,, a visual perfromance peice, but the actor is only a reader, telling in a straight voice, the crimes of the present as he seas them, and reaction..
The reastion of the silent and waiting ,, and the day shall be at peace with future. No more to encroach on the people trails of government, when the ….

The meaning of this mommment after working physical labors, I stand to work again. With only thoughts. And the like.. Where emotions come to lead and mercy the care given spot..
Yet heart the lonely, and mind the nature, mind the given and lent, the incredible changing machine to view and reveiw,, ,, yes it is the minnd for which many horrors are formed and then asked to erase, when horror is past tense, and the nature of now is a-livin. So what ,, so i am seeing like the addict does with hightened deadening.. To reap from the sown I must in naute have, for the waste of the life worth living is living. The dead sickly venture of abnormality and tramatic cause. Do i stand in the nature known to you, oh ever silent wave.
So Lacally , i have trouble haveing seen it. Like a ghost which rides my back with something to say ,
my drive and deseperite.sillyness.
For maybe , i found a light unusaual.. Escape was as easy as being, and i could not see anything but that When i first left to the world. It was all niw and i expected the wood work to yell at me, and sometimes did, the induendos, silent scene observation, the tint of light of a dirt window, the empty stree and a sudden shadow movement un bodied. I thought i was alive, the echoeing of magic in a youth skull., I thought i was feeling, but the thought somewhere became stronger than feelings. Or the depth of the feeling echoed off wasx envroment dictated for the younger me,, a me that fofund peace with silence and hope in feeling, free.
So in that hope of achievement, i ventured into a world of no choices, and all voiced interest seem insane for the path at my head, living my feet hoping my heart. I enstrangeeed and dove in relations which were not normanzied. Interest we talked and forgotten. I was never in love with the person i was, or the one in front of me, I loved the image and voic of the hopes and enjoyed a fantasy because i had never felt enough to live mutual equality, My love became the surroundedness, you are there but i am not .. I am trying and there is no enlightenment in trying.. When so natural a concept.
I have asked you to come to my bed side, I have asked without a reason, i may not die in the next ten years but i might all the same, in this regret is also drive, the cristal clear image of having the right to live, for life is shorter than the frost it grows over.
So those things being said, and i am stealling lines like there is an invention to it. When i am just running around a topic, the voice of myown, telling me i am an addict but this time i really feel it, and it is the soberity for which has given me, emitions and balenced reasoning, and even some sore regret.. But i am still having a hard time. I am longing to get high , i dream it, and i know the sprit is far from it, drugs have opened a door i would have never seen maybe, becasue i would have been living my hope,, but wait that is what i did..
I think i would like to write things larger,
addictions are killing what could be my life, for the numbed and tired equality of class. You can watch me squirm out of incredible sistuations , inner ly with the care of a doctor, craving out the endless “Responces” and re clairifcation, the itemization of character, the seperation of will and knowledge. For there to run away can never live, the eqaulity of a free sober delight. Though i have found myself going a bit crazy over sporting events.
The excitement of a world seris champion in boston, and i was routing. And felt like i was there, helping the ball glide higher, the batter could hear me say swing batter. From a seat in a american diner where it takes forty minutes to enjoy a meal and that’s before you touch it..
It is to say i am falling behind in seeing again, herre now. My sight is clouded by my fears maybe, soemtimes i thnk it is the waking of man to his form, which scares me most, this thing i would to get rid of but for the fear of being without it, to lean where the road get boring, from lack of partispation. The world always outside, and i want the interior to create vacations.
I guess that would be a reason for writing.. So there where we read, (in the quite and spiritual) we are algiven like no where else. Transported from what is real to what is real , from place and ablitiy to uderstanding, or just here.. Where there is the following of here.. For the sake of the same,, a moment.

It has been a good week since i have written. A good week is a figure of speech for the has been normal for the worker type i have again assumed. And if i don’t look for ways out i will be forever. I told of taking a room, and iver mentioned the quitting of smoke , yes to the one and the other seems to be in the way again. I long to quit like i long to stop working both seem about as hard. It is one of the hardest things to do , to quit something it took years to aquire. This addiction is tantalizing. But i lose hours i can not afford when i do it i hope to be what i want yet, at the descending age.
The battery is half full. I am stoned and my life of responciblibity and incoherant civility attack at al kinds of angles.
Hands make from troubles long established from smoking.. Small clogged nerve endings. And , sight cloves of animal skin, long over dried.
Motives. Like answering god’s calling . And nature so apart and instant. And i watch television, the world seris, and elections and it is the holiday, next after holloween we have an election, and then give thanks – giving. Our reward for another year without rebellion. The best way to get the house to yourself. Is to have a party..
then give it all away , in decorated little packetages. With red for the blood and green for the half assed peace of nature. Or should I say the Red for blood and the green for photo generational cell. The plant blood. Things i only remember to say with occasions. Talents i forget for the normalcy of thought under the influence, but once the zone is clear, the avenues (dis) un covered, you are human and concept. Feels, which have been made to be seperated from actionare more upon nature for being nature and leading in peace and mental health normalacy.
In other words, i feel like i leaving the complecations of being.
And is there some wrong in not wanting to be , the child of this , or the cultural fact of that,, the addiction to. The use of , the left out few, like irony is a more peacefull truth. That which is the word is never said,,
i hear somewherre,, i can only feel it is felt
so there is where to i step. This innocense of understanding, flying ,like the death to face is yet just a concept of the life we lead. And there to find again a moment out to many for knowing and when. it isnt the knowledge for which kills,
but the responce at the end of t he fall.

And yet why to know at all.

At the same time i sit , i watch a movie.

The entrance to this maze is what an age would mean.. If visual confusion could be equalled in paint. Mental follow through is a now, which is heavier than any past.. So what do we say. We are walking the quick lightening sinaps. Transfering emotions to dictation. So here is the wisdom. Wherre are my faulure cast about like dice.
For i am human and human is the innocense proposed by god.
The now energy symbol. Literal and linear.

But to ask sence , is to scream into the past until future takes precedent. But then even that can not be whole. Until the past and future meet in a now. For the eternal sense never leaves. Such that past and future are only keys of sight to what is now.
So , if each plot and story could be intersperced into televised visuals, appearing colaged, blurry, if we are let without emotions to direct, the joy of being.
Which anything that can remove , this joy, is seen eventually.
A tree leaves
of age.

You asked me a question. When before reaching for the computer for which you are so devoted, and curse by. So eroaded itinto the manufestation of point and comment, but yet so long from the comment are you, eqaulling sides, to listen and foce full dialougures, inspired by remorse,
you who so kindly unequals himself to become with humanity, and off feelings, while he wants to see feelings, and when not stoned do. But here the commotion of illusions, the depressives maufest and indocrination of excess, of the passion of escape. Let call what you will. I am here.. And the tlae yet goes, on.. The story of the one, the illusion of control, the respect of not being, the escape of love,, .. ‘ herre the illusion is a mental conditioning, to realize how large the now can be , in lonely walks and idle trendings,
here where i am not bound to the hammer, or the corn for whcih it raises, here i whave come nothing and like it as long as no won comes home, and here is the peaced remarked apon by gods greater , the poe, the harwtrone, the hope that words had some reason. To devulge the lesssons of thought, of human utility, of relization. In side small comments, and over all tone.
Here where change makes the removal of stagnace and Morals.
You come, oh past ones, at me with a knife,
but i come with a gun,,
you have taught me to shoot
and given me lessons
on the reverse.
Little humility lesson
like you go nothing
and deal with it.
Laugh gold rings invisible
so the gun is poverty is the only purity.. Except wait..
What am i talking about.. The flow of emotins make unheard. And is unheard as i wite this , a loss of memory , a telling of stories, no , for the create of such would resolve around what you already know. And strerero types which create a farse, when the depth of people is so much more, the depth,,
and there in idle words and caustic tales of living,, the one only who could write the only only,, for the uglyness of my most pleasuable momment could only be mine,, the analisis complete and unadorn for literture is my martyered god..
This remainder of bones in script, and blood of line.
To emasculate or defeat..
I love the way a misspelling proposes .. For i have thought on words
and reproduced another,, for the winner knows to effect is a unknown for humanity takes and leaves.. So there is no reality to me, my working hands fighting with my follow through of a dream.. Known in the self defeat of a blue collar micro chip.
As once again the look of the wording.. Blue chip.. A tested intellect. The self defeat and the knowledge of it..
Oh i wonder what awaking can yet see light,,
My hands untired and type through movies..
But working i can do.
I make a painting today.. Ti is a women looking up , like up is a thing, her arm is raised, the other reaching down behind her.
The first you can not see as only the breast protray the movement, the edge of the canvas removes the rest of the arm. Most of the body is abstract lines of the four colors used when i was trying to make a plant scene.
I called it “ the connection” for the muse litter the final ness , the acceptance is the suggestion but not the picture all will see as they each look for something different.
But that is not what i was going to write, and i wonder how far i wil go ,, the changes are intellectually there , the changes of mentaol creation,, the drugs make me feell paranoid all the time, thinking people are paying attention to me,, when i am out in the stone of it.. All is fantasy and i wonder who knows, i ask a lot of questions and generally do not interact with life,, aroud me,, and in my heard i am thinking about the interaction, lke when i am stoneed at work and i thing about the plots going on around me, being insuecure when i know inside i do not have to worry and yet , let my thoughts go instead of .. The freedom, i am without all the vices.

so here is again. Another day without phyiscal work. Watching a movie. So what is the verdtic. Must i judge, am I capible, she lost her short time ,memory. And the family is not a different. ‘
I have lost the movie. And i have been watching,, as she is blond girl.
Nad yet as the pasting is of time, I wonder on health and relations, such would be not a greateness to be lost , for what comes wihtout calling is therre , what has come up through the genertrtive forrest relates intimately with Sciense, even with knowlsege which is leading.. There is feelings to make a man into himsself only wise, and yet wisdom, comes around form innerter, for it is how you live, . Walls are slavery..
Clamor —

so again it is left to the day , here maybe picking up all the peices. Only to throw them down again in some understandable arrangment. My apins of body asking question of whys and the innocents of sight grindes me into explotive tendances easily understood, and as i live them feel small.
Of smallness is a major reason for not feel. I would to say that feeling is more than just emotions as the roll takes on may movements after. And so the self is the exporue and knowledge we know, the wisom maybe is regarding how far aways from a point that we life.
And making that so i am to look where i am stumbling , and how to stublle is life, and yet, knowing you are stumbling an interestin tide of slow moving change that the final days feel like the first descion. I have been stumbling again, and i will to want ot shake off the symbloic words for the truth.. Staring into my bank account while thanksgiving finds me trembling before a live feed with an internet call girl. Telling her how i would make love.
In strange fortunes, i loved,, and then remembered time was costing. So i cam and it was over.. I have stryed into the cost of a singular anger. And vengence agaisn me,, fro you i can not get to. Except with wrods which willnot be read to the addresser,, only that there was the threat. Of exposure,,
I want his time to be understood to myself, maybe, i have often said i had only to write something down and i would remember it. Well here i am to again try what we can never do well enough ,, see myself.
I am a loner. Not by natureal chiose. But sistuation.. I have always wanted to be in the group but to know me once was only to hear about the non physical and all it’s containd leading up to me saying god is energy. Energy is natural. But our observace has only been in religion and laugher took all other ways of communication and expression. Funny yet that Civilization is fighting Civility and moral object.
I bring up my computer and sitt talking to the phone line , i hear the voices saying you must lean about yourself, and yet the dramatic is the escape and i am emoitns wihtou involvment.
It would be for me only to tell of myself. How many games a mind plays in understanding self evolution,, here it is presented as exposure.. A sciense look at a life. I would sy from soberiety i can know how each episode felt.. I hold on to a non physical medation as a proof of god, and i accept the movements of myself. Sometimes when it lums under intuitions guidings.
Intuition is the road i call when you would just say it made you happy, a man one time said do be to much yourself on the page,, like there was a difference our self getting through no matter the writers intentions, and getting personal and exploritor , guides the change into channels , let to be ,, known. After years of creating run offs. Letting go has be given answer in being a part of.
And why exposure of even the simplist innocents of voice. Could matter , our mosaic is only furthered by the singluar image nature.
So we excist.. Here i have never started.. Here , letting go ,, here knowing i have to quit something i have been useing to stay in dream land.. Further and further into a built up conspriacy against myself. With hook from angles of fantasy, and self engrandicement, while the weather was against a warm jacket. And one set of foot prints were to be taken from the wet cityness off te blue road. Alone is like god, walking to the ends of the earth just for the one thought along the way that might make sense, and be useful. Or staring down an idea , with semi-seconds of placement,, here why ,, there ,, reason acceptance,, step acceptance , guilt, acceptance, as i look at a head created from smoking ,, an addiction of mine since high school..
I could and will tell you why.. As if that was the matter,, a full look at faith , and a moment is yet a fleeing to understand the either.. Or a knowledge of and mute,, as if a reason is needed to change the world with the science to change ourselves for the interest of history.

. The hisoty of your life is only as long as the heavens,. the either, is old. The moment is the enlightenment because nature does’t care abouthe past..

dec 5th, 2004
what walking in exposure you have never really seen me tell it like it is . Not really, for what is in a trillion words, more than i can ever write fast enough to keep , up,,
i am thinking through, i am thinking about aduses, i am thinking about my drugs, and the slow steady fall, i have been agian living, this tedium of what was always normalacy before,
funny how a raised head can change element., i being the eleement.
You want know my day.. I masturbated at work, thinking of a women i met who is a video chat host, with a body for whcih dreams are made of in isolation. , she equals a love,
and you are saddened by me, and i am only being natural, only being the place i was draw to . A place of seduction and i want to be seduced.. I want you to want me, and the song say. I am so cast out of family, that i don’t feel really wrong for looking for someone to care, even at four dollars a minute, at least there is no failures. I am only a client. And yet she did seduce me in the way that just listens. I the need, being fullfiled, the need to love . And isolation grows farther into me, while i have been smoking again daily, and even drank last week, the same hopes of love and surrender, the same “I can deal” and the Same ‘ I am not trusting myself” or the me drunk.
Even now it is lat an yet i want to lsmoke the head tripping marijuana. Even though it condense my life not to achievements and goals, but to the moment. The absolute, but it is foul. And i am starting to see, it.. One month ago i was sober for the first time in my life,
Funny how far you can go when you don’t remember you last few minites, a recalling of timeless hints of life only , the distraction. And disarray of conclusion, , this for that,,
i am writing stoned,, and not really for i am coming down again… this time of giving in letting the spirit be tired, and it is a place of my lust and obsession. It is a place of my paranoia, and controling hidden ill consciousness.
I know why now, maybe,, for a door opened, as to why i would go from alcohol to marijuana, to coffee and cigerettes, and all mixtures inbetween, a why ,, there can only be stimulants. I was created to froget for the pain came from every angle, first the suffering of child abuse, as it is called. The horrors of emotions surrounding the child not even knowing why he had done so wrong to make his step father hit him with a two by four. For whcih he couldnever seem to get it right enough to have a normal life..
Why’s are yet the changes between reason and inacting change.. For just because you know you have to make it a part of your life.. Not avoid why it is in your life. But i am starting to see the cycle. I was never really trusting becasue of that,, adding my brother’s pettiness and my mothers avoidance. Anyone holding any love for me, was enough i forgot to care why i loved them. Because i didn’t i ran around all kinds of worlds just looking to be accepted,, i never really though of it that way till right now. It is funny, but i would have paranoid episodes with friends. I would always see the worst, and i felt like hell all the time. But it was an inner tiredness i couldn’t really discribe.
And it took years before i realized my mental state had something to do with my childhood. That when i went to the therapist the first time , i couldn’t talk about my life without crying,, i have seen days away from that life,, and don’t want it back.. The terror when to the pain , when to the control and the inner rebellion i would not be kicked, or force to do anything any more, i would find al the truths false or just faithless. Not that i could say as much,
but i went in for adveture, though then and now, where is then,, you might not be at,, i am thinking in theyears. Of childhood, and the adventrues, werre taking life, and living what i could. They were letting the old men fondle me as long as i could see what i could steal. And yet didn’t take much.. It was like someone wanted me, and yet,, i could only think of how they looked at me, with smiles, and tendarness i had never know from anyone,, except my mother a couple of times…
I guess that is how we alll start letting go.. The naure is rising from its ashes, balencing,,
i didn’t know the word need , then. I , didn’t excist. We are only how we think , and i left the world as a child,, left to avoid the pan, and sometimes i never reallly came back..
Maybe that is it. So close to what an innocent would think of death , so often,, and like all good thought without word , on a 3 month old face.
Because i am convinced i was hit early. And inner escape became replaced with outer “adventure” i didn’t consider myself so i would consider the world and just take anything that keeps up the escape.. For feeling hurt. And pain is the answer to reaction.. Volience is the answer never spoken, so all of life becme violent,, without bloody hands,, but wrecking lives around me,, with uncaring,, i think i have taught a trillion people that the streets can come to your door. Without meaning to ,, it would just wear off me like a noblity i would carry, “looking you directly in the eye” my voice , innerly , sumed you up and gave away only what it wanted..
That is a thought from early twenties to late teens.
I had escaped to the living on the streets in boson. Leaving the one stop light town, for my brothers first ex-wifes house, thinking i was going to stay there,, but there turned out to be far away,, from boston,, and for somereason, i could see anything but Boston.
On the train , with that one way ticket, it was all going to be alright i told myself. Looking at hat sad man in the glass it was dar then, he, had such a look of crying , wringing his face to see the other side of creation to see some light at the end. But i wasn’t miine to see. I could onlly cry and the tears were hidden by dark glasses, and the fact is no one would care. So crind in public can get you arrested. That is one of the reasons for my writing being a certain way,, always tring to avoid the judgement of others. Carfully stating things round about,, as of the laast few yers have no soul to rest on kow what is to be known wihtout times innocents arrogance.
The train pulled in , i took a ride. I slept at that house for four days, on the fifth, i found an ex preast who let me sleep on his floor.
And all the time i was just drinking and smoking and working, partieng till the day awoke its self with sun. and city star lamp when slowly away, and again i would see the reflection of tear reddened vien, untold to anyone.
As then, was so; is. now..
So now
the nature more yet known
to feel.

And starts anthoer day, slow processing, action asking questions. Answering like a conversation of two halves but not of the same whole.
For satement i want yet to discribe the flow to booston like i want to write this or that,, as i want to put together some mometns to write, and live,, i must get my realistate liscense, i must anwswer the world with subject, waht am i talking about , I am tell of universal personality throgh a transision of reasoning until able to feel.
So intranced am i ,, and addicted,, and i am only starting to see it, like the harboriing of an ill ness, i am still in the crawl space whaich could be a reality for me, i t is agian drugs and jail., on
dec, 5 or so.. The life is lived and left,, tonight i talked to crystal. She is a girl in bulgaria. I spent sixty or more dollars to talk to her,, guess some would call me stupid,, but from that sixty dollars i found a life of telling. It is good to have someone to talk to she is a young girl and i guess learning life from the pretending that a cam date means. I just want to love , and i can not be so appezed by the lack luster of most women. I only like the most sexually active, and sexually attractive. I am goin to go to bed now , tomorrow i will write for a while also.. Later
It is six or seven in the morning , a time i love the cearing sky from the darkness , sppilling throughthe world to reveal the colors and art of the world as it is. Coffee and cigerettes, and the day. The televsion plays a movie, on cable. Ech commerical tell of the progress of americn fnatasy, and i think of a women in bulgaria, and my addictions. I have always believed in the exposure of mankind. The exposurre of my inner thoughts to resolve the conflicts of mans peace caused by his evils. I am to think of my life as an experiment in change and reason. So we come to this point. I am here at thirtynine. I am here after spending much of my life hidding in drugs, for the facts come that since i was abused growing i learned not to talk and it is hard to have a life when you can’t talk. But it is funny becasue i always though peace could be only a matter of communcation. “If all men would focus on the world we want accknowledgeing the world we are in” the definitions of each are the matters.. So yet as all of humanity is the polar opposite of the individual’s peace it is the same question can i communicate to myself for peace. But i can only tell you so much at a time. The images of lifekeep flashing as far as importance to the thoughts i would right now focus on sexual need that have made me. Because i am thinking of Crystal, which might not even be her name but I spent sixty dollar on her last night. We talked i spent the money to get her to speck to me alone. And yet she is worth it, so beautiful and when we talk i feel like i am making love to her. I feel something for someone, becuase even as i love trees and the sun , houses and color, i have no one to love, just a world of hollow images, for no one loves me. And i know i am not alone, because even as we are loved we are loved with limits, if you break the bounds of others morals you are alone.
But yet morals are created around Religions. And the morality of our upbringings often brings us down. Hidden desires and fouled innocents. Greed and materialism confuse us, until some of us accept the Negative statements of humanity, though inside we have the peace of god. The “faith” which has sustain civilization but with religion to guard the “gates of heaven” a power stands between our lives and peace. A culture of hatred hids behind the “moral” so i have eliminated that confession. I have stepped between the wrold of sex. And found i am in love with loving and yet i have not been fully degenerated. But by breaking the facts of cultural learning, i have opened up my mind. Seperated my culture from my knowledge. I didn’t do it on purpose, no explaination came as a reasoning. But i found out about life. For whcih we all face.
Like there are a lot more closet bi-sexual then openly homosexual.. My point is not even sexual but that the secrets of mankind are killing us. And only open exposure and acceptance can save mankind.. This is the duty of anyone in search of truth.. We must accept what man is.. But each individual is a separated into history and knowledge. So most people are trained to think by the school system.. But to really suceed you must overcome what you are,, so religion was create, almost to secure what is “magic”

Oh step along kindly the jungle amissed the turning.
Here tides are knowledge and being amazes the
walking.

Oh memory of trees
stumbles of righteous
spirit sake.
Kinder goddess.
I would escape my love for timing ,
to give and know again
perminance.
Like
never have i liked. Or is that wrong, the tortures, of life are our own, hearing water marks . From the following foolishness.
I have been wrong through laxiness, stepping steps to lay responce in anothers golden hands,, Saying you could help me, like the answer was to look for love and trusting.
I notice when i get high.
I hear voices asking questions
of your motives.
Truely feeling in sane
like to hear the essence of self.
And it doubting.
And ego.
And faith.
We memorize what makes us
slowly maybe
so drug to forget and are forgotten.
Like the ages to environment.
And history,
to consciousness,
small controlling populus
to the functionary of culture.
In technological mentality.

I hear talking in my head where i am separate from heart . As in the one is not home and split sides are drugged and drugged , a place where , without really feeliing , for the thought s gettto run around and ideas come as qauick as birds like from the being wihtout concern, the physical world ,that pallce i have come to complian about,
Violence acompanied average days, Any work could get the final verdict of a spoon or A two by Four at later ages.
I hear voices when i am stoned, but only as though lead themselves, the absence of human panic. I like Smoke. But..
Some doubt can kill. If we are untold. Be yourself be strong and bold. Remember you do know how you feel. Though prejudice would to get you down , there are only the beings to know anything,
Turning the camera to you..Dear Reader. There with you. The lighting of the tree in tides of brievment as i write this , ti is the beginning of the Crist must season in america.
As i want to not go to work anymore,
and stay at home and write,
get on disiblity again. And quit smoking and drinking. For the love of art.
I feel more fullifilled when i am growing in my doing.

And here we are another word another fact another forgetting?
I watch the wrods spinn by, and feel life gone to the venum of weakness.
I am poor and getting poorer,
i am man wishing for station .and waiting for wealth. A misguided fool for intelligence is not a matter when lies and disreasonableness rules.
I watch a vamprise movie in hollywoods claiming. The sybolisms of the grave digger insiting the mob to kill . , we of poorism economics are not allowed to think on bush and haliburton.
Here i am only to worry about the civilization of being a
good citeisin.
But i oly want to smoke and forget.. I want to stare at the breast of women, and foul my heart with the lust i must replace for love has become a unstanding of definition of comforts and not a spiritual connection. I take my truth through fantasy for it is a spiritual binding. I would with the connection try and uderstand you . And all. Through that connection as my form of loveing..
And i have no thought to these matter i am to prepose, i am blindly writing trying to understand what is natural about communication. Maybe , or i am just filling my time on earth like most , i have a endeavor. And i endeavor.
I write like other take drugs,, oh yes i smoke weed and write.. Or i should say type, what do you do. I type a lot. “just for the sence of typing” yes,,
it is just to do it, like the excerside is the figuring of joints. And muscles. The many points i consider are disjointed and for that matter i feel , the resprestation of spiritual intoxication. And it is fear.
My fear to say anything , that lurks in my frightful heart. Absent of me, with me in a corner of the mind, a sloppy corner with ticks from dropping frigded water, cold tears, i guess,
Oh and not alone, excetp it is only one to split into such deformities of one. Acking against what a reality can do. And what worse the misunderstanding of reality can do. Splitting into a defensive possition. And a rebellion of abuse. The victum feels the victum. There seems to be law that goes with it.. One is never change. For Change is giving in.
Victums are insane. Sanity becomes a civil Issue, and Reason asks for value. While back sliding in order not to force Reality into reason. Reason is vicutum. And the circle widens.

and here i sit with the day at my disposal watching a moive.
Watching what is movies in the 2001century, what is the beginning of entertainment. For wherre we will go on, to tell of common conscious and ablitiy to change? Or waith i am fooling myself and writing to write.
I am sick. I am tired and the body resists boing to construction work. And wants only to sit here, quiet listening to the purifier as i smoe to manycigerettes. And i am smokeing. And trying to find coffee. Though i don’t want to go down to the shop. . and sit here in all my stupidity, waiting for the truth to come to my fingers knowing no one will ever read these words and less does it matter.

So like everyday today is a new one, today I went alcoholics anonomous. And i feel good. I feel supported where once i was alone. But the road is only a reminder of the path i was on before i came to boston. My head was clearer before i started to drink again, and now i am going to add.

So what is today, a path an adventure gone wrong. A call to the obtuse.
I fear i hv
so it is another day..
I have not been writing that much of late, the world moving me into my worker moded mind. Home , clean, wait for Friday, Pay, and then Pay somemore, Happiness , is the first concern , so i have again been drinking and smoking,, I hae to mix the two becasue as i didnt in the past i have found one makes me distant and confused as the other,, leading me to forget why of my life and actions, So here we are,, I have to go to the “fellowship” again..forced by the courts,, and i wil not even talk about that, being forced into a volutary organization. But it is the case,, an if you really think aobut it , it is interesting to find people who don’t do drugs,, look around yoiu who doesn’t drink, who is so sober,, the firs answer always is are your people on the right drugs, and as it ia a maer of life, so the hought of not doing drugs is funny, bu ha is mankind , floundering in ignorance because it is profitable.
I have an hour or so before i have o go o the mmetting as as i have not been writing here i am to do so.. I should go outside but it is cold.
I don really want to write right now, but i have been falling off what gave me life all these years i must seek through the pain and misunderstanding,,
A couple of weeks ago i think i realized i was an addict. I guess you cna look up the description to find out what i mean.. For my own terms it is someone who is in need of drugs.. In need as far as what i have done with my life,, the friends who claim me , offer me drugs often fro free. Until i start to want more than they are out,, but it is the case of being in side an avoidance?I guess from my childhood on i was in avodance of how i felt . I guess i never thought i could be a writer,, and so inorder to wrtite i had to feel uphoric, i had to dream beyond the keyboard, and feel outside of myself.
But to much , to many kyesrs, and i forget myself constantly. Walking inside a body which rarely listens to it’s self. Now once again i am facing jail. I am in a living sistuation that takes me away from my art, and for that i am sad, and my emotins are cast away into the hard hands and a harder depressed attitude accompaning alcohol. Yes i have only drank maybe ten beers in three different sistuation. But it is enough < I have not been a whole day sober from marijuana, in about a month. I took most of November off and yet i did nothing to have any support , I sat at home scared i could go no where do nothing. It is to be forgotten , self frogotten for the inspriation to forget. My goals are large but they always have been. What makes them worse is inaction.. And the desprite sacrifice of life for them even while they ae no getting done..
Sounds funny right,, i work to raise theo money i neer can get. Winter has come and i cna not live in my car, but just might before the end of winer, becasue i may no be able o survive and pay the money i have to incase i go to jail. I will be able to keep everything if. I can pay off my storage in norhtampton. I could send the money to my mother and have her. Pay the bill.
A person i find boring has just enterde he coffee store i am in,, i sit writing ou sdie becasue i like he reminder of being homeless and devoted o my words. And here yet is life passing,, and if they would just pass that would be one things, but
\ I know he eog of being seen writing has always run through the firs saement , the inspriation has many impulses.
Because right after my boring friend,, who has left me with a peice sign and gone,, thank god, was a women who looked dead at me as she came into view, and shyed away when i held the view.
She made me think of the ego. As women are often to ,,
I remember last year when i wroe the paly there was a certain challenge of what a play should be inside, me,, It is funny that even now , i have the same running because i have been researching other places to ener plays,, but there is nothing like taking your concept from start to finish. Casting acting. Making costumes, but making the statemen plain in front of there eeyse the audience. Bt as the really is , My paly was barely understood, and even my own mother didnt understand it.. It is funny i thought it was so plain. Each artical of he play was representational of what i was trying to say,, from the division of character into a male and female consciousness.
It is funny but to make it more revealed,, maybe i should of had them get up from the bed,, i had them standing behind,, maybe if hey would have left the bed at the beinging i coulld have show they were apart of the main. Character. In the play i tryd to show the different fialures life forces us into to misguide our conscious. And yet , even the misunderstandings from little amount of press we recieved. Was slightly tinged with a respect,, i hadnt expected, I hadn’t expected to have the most beautiful cast out of all the other plays,, that was intriguign.. We also but the show together in one month,, i could have done more,,
and there we are to do the next..
And that is what i am trying to focus. On .. What is next. I am glad i came out,, i can think when i am away from the facts of home and housing,, it is so seemingly mediocre and bland to have a house,, i liked the feeling of inprove living in the car.. I liked the calmness of taking care of the car as apossed to the conditions of the apartment i am expected to pay for , for which if it was mine, i would fix up..
At least with my car it is easy to clean it , or fix something that is wrong,, and with only a car,, you have to be inventive. Your comforts are a daily thing. Not like in the huse where your comforts are laying everywhere waiting for you to clean up the vast amount of un used space people can spread themselves out in..
It is funny but in the house i even made sure i had the larger room in order that i woldn’t feel cramped, but now i am more comfortable in my car.
It is funny
as i sit waiting for a fellowship to start. I am also thinking of how to make an office of the back of my car. For i have everything i need in the car without all the excess. Five channels of television are just as mind numbing as two hundred. The space in the car is though limited, was just as comfortable as the house even though i couldn’t have guests.
I was offered a sleeping arrangment with a women, but the sistuation didn’t apeaze me. She was to old, and was a complainer who just made her life worst with the complining, but she got involved with everything around her and did know when to put on a good face.. We were in court,, oh yes she went to court with me,, and through i wasnt looking she involved herself with a women who had two children, she , apparently yelled at the women , I think the judge saw her. And i was given five aa’s a week for the outburst.. I think he thought i wanted to be assigned five aa’s , i have been having trouble atending one a week..
That is why i have been thinking i am going to jail, for I don’t know how long,,, my whole life could be really messed with again becasue of the drinking and driving.. And yet.. It is funny , because i have fought and lost so many times the challenge is more interesting then if everything was going normal.. I don’t want normal , never did, but i am to try and understand who i am, and i don’t accpetthe eaier answers, even though they ae presented as answers with question.. For even if i am to wrap up my life in the millions of way i could the answers to the next , what do i do about it , are only the questions that come. I have ninteen minutes, until the meeting.. Sitting here Now in the car, i am comfortable, smoking with coffee to my side, jazz on the stero. It is mine , and for a while i am free, typing to know i am alive, and seeing a peice i knew all summer.. To bad i had to get depressed and pay all that money for rent.. It is stupid.. Just becasue i was afraid of the cold. In the morning, because i know the car would hold the heat until i go to sleep. I have a portable clock. And a memeber ship at a gym.
But as each day is a new day.
I cna think about the possible next statements. Actions and reasons..
There is a women who might come up for christmas, as a present from the past. She will like the apartment. More than me lving in my car, but the truth is that i could have saved enough money to get a hotel room for the couple of days she would have been around. But lets face it.. I will have ninehundred tomorrow from work.. And then i will work next week. I have to work four days to get rent.. So the plan must again be to save,, but will i make sure i don’t spend extra money..
What did i spend it on.. Oh the facts of life.. My lust.. Lust ingeneral,, i have not been able to have a relationship since anna left, so that has been almost seven years. It is me , the way i have dealt with life, it is not easy just living when you were abused for so many years. I can still feel the fear of people. Waiting for them to be violent . I only feel safe with people i know , but i am guarded agaisnt everyone, hurting me,, it is silly and maybe just part of the drugs.
But i know that even without drugs i am still to face the paranoia subconscious in my system. And my first love was a desaster. I remember her nmae though,, kris keener.. I rememeber how we would make out in the movies, she had large breasts, and always smelled like a girl, i have to go in.. Writing without purpose without plan is a great way to spend some time..

So there we are looking the other way , while point and purpose take our hand.
It is late midnight to the six am rise. I didn’t finish my work. With three sheets of paper. I need. I have give the night to joy. For i only had joy in all i did . It is like i have crossed over , and even if everything goes wrong tomorrow, i will be alright..
There on my heart are , the troubles that have been , and in my head the future to make all the past alive with unseen progress, wisdom for duty.a
nother day like the ones past except to make a confusion of what has past is to see today. Like the mention of the present is doubt, like we should only live understanding the past or preposing the future. While today is only to remain alooft

another day..
And time wishes and finds. Remains true and falls alittle. Remains alive looking at the joke of yesterdays commonplace. Except it wasn’t like today. To day when again i see with the eyes of jesting flirted loving. What motions anothe make sof ones self. Absent and alone , to here and now. Your smile wakes innocents. A martyr it seems to the un gaurded negativity. What hope the absence we see and feel escapeing on anothers eyes with knowledge and experiences shining through, my love of the form my hope in thiegh and breats touching. My joy in a known moment awakened long dormit.
And so yestereday a day changes all
the romance of isolations merit, and understandings innocense , registered from old eyes, in seeking. Classic the redition , time and alotments. And i am .. Here to sit after, to think with soul with hours spent understanding others, and working like a gear within the maze.
I scamper around , computer here, with energies, amassed behind the ether. And longly wait to a gain care, for we have made laws of caring. Once and for all.
As simple is the knowledge.

So another day to babble to the waves of thought. Like separate unites to the actions of man. For which they are Used by this attention limitedly. Today i thought , yes i did, for about thirty seconds out opf theday. And there was even a moment in the morning where i found my thoughts disaggeeable and i staged an interprotest complete with banners, saying “quit work Now” and others that we into the fantasy,, “If this were my job, I would…” And still others that just wanted to scream out the facts of Just realign them all. Before we was a task of beam, and woods motive for straightness,, of course there isn’t one, and all hangs on the rules of nature being forced into what it isn’t.. Our confounded tries of cuting and entering it with metal ( an eternal enemy). Makes the aligning a wall difficult, especially if you see a way,, and yet, we told another way… the wood really won the battle.
The older beams beamed. Bemuseded by the human , a counterpart to it genes, many separate treed common house teamed to watch, the walking talking new born acting cocky, burring more metal Peices in Place. Torturing the wear- or pain. Which turns to a sigh eventrually, the nails. We there before, the only effect the is different is that it is different, the air.
Cars, are larger since the last day was sniffed. Since the last moment was given and behind,
The day the light left, when i was sufficated,
the walls ul, you said a satisphingly.

and here i sist talkking to a fifteen year old. And she is on a lot, i watch, the screen ,,
flickinging radiation. I watch myself. Having nothing to say anyone will hear, or yet..silence is satifaction.
I am on the air. Listening as i think of the spirit on the other side. What to say.. She is a young girl, who barely understands a word, i will adjust her viewing..
I guess it is the second fact of messenagering< a movement of communication. You can meet and leave, with a button…
Am i what,, i stare at the scene , and look for meaning . I want food and havent made it ,, i am cold again in a room i pay for..

So here again i sit waiting as life is , a wonderful life spent waiting.a wonderful waste, i am helpless to whim and only reget community unfulfilled , as i suffer, and can not see around me, the blinders perminate, and hard to displace aceppt in acting, Where once thelean is known, i face that way alittle at a time, and no more pretend but live in a complex fantasy, until , i am only a wantabe, and then an adept, never knowing ranking but slow personal daily grow.
But once i have grown so far and elcipsed the thoughts of my bringings, that blood which shows what we would expect from strangers in love.
Forget for they haven’t changed
and still figure death, as end.
Where wonder this life
to take so few hours
to a day in touch.
To mourn is greedy, holding materially what is inherently not. Oh the strength in the woods.
And time Waiting is what time is , that being nothing.
To be nothing is the ether. And an enemy without form.
While else is tide.
Oh the classics that would to talk on the loneliness of crying. Of blurred eyed vision.of countless times of not expecting, and thr road without is even harder, as no one helps the panicing stranger, unless they are getting paid, and we
can’t get couaght crying, to much work time lost, to many hours deep into forgetting. The forgotten thang. Having heart to find head, and knowing no difference.
what have i to say,,

i donot pay attention to the words written, these floundering of a mind half aware and half blind, these ruminations. While my eeyse see eles.
A trapped soul, a free soul, the same , from systems that can not be controlled and imprisoned, to free people who live in a world without response to aliments because of the ailments of power.. Or do we not understand the movements of money as the first unity in power.
So telling i am watching Gensis Kahn, creep into the wasteland of mongols facing mongols.
Belief in the sprits of the wind
there can be no answer , but what is ..
Do we play roles in the path of mankind.
Blindly with sight

and i need make no point
the movie made in sixty five.
The art created of rebellion, the civil right feat. .
Spirit magic god given natural right for the speaking
the power of all.
Against the hours history answered by the moment.
With mercy heart knows friend. By consideration we know loves.
Our worlds
the euphoria of love tapped into the magic of all.
And yet we question when the sights of the world are our own.
Without question we accept the wind. And path. Though slavery under the greed for its mis merit.
And of corse , the plot of the movie, is a blond . In Mongolia.
With clear running stream water,
scenes from western mass. Or maybe Brazil. Do with clothering which saved money.
Then the scenes in ?turkey? But now we go to the play sex scene, the ripping of the body, the rape. Of gensis cons wife.

Into the room the house mate walks slow looking at the mess of the dishes,
he says good morning, annoyed ,
and power is leaving what powerlessness we hold unconfidently..
Watching the killing of another tribe by khan as he takes a wife.
And now the Chinese meet Genghis,
played by the English man, and equaled of the Saudis. With an AMERICAN wife
gensis leads, with Telle Salvalas into Chinese proper.
Then the explanation of the great wall. Is to protect the art and culture of china.

and then there is another day.. It is late,, the computer is not turned on.. And i am wondering why i try i understand life. Why really do i write,, and what cam i covering iwth the absurd creations i call an understanding of myself..
Because mostly i am just rambling hopeing a couple of words will stick together, and make sense,, as i stare off into the distance. Like over at a painting or toward the street light like now in the late hours of night. Staring like the scene is so constant but yet who see. The blantant referances of thought as complosed to the symbolisms they create..
How common to see the street light,, but so old and layered is the grime on it. And the scene around it,, some tree, small are lined beneath this light on which i look. I am so tired i can not think.. So i am denied culture. So i stay awake to try and get alittle more from life.. Streaching the hours like the body can , to get one more momment alive, in this scave of economic slavery,,
so here we are talk typing what ever we would to call this .. I am feeling very uncreative,, and un idealistic.. Is it just age ketching up to me,, the inverted fall of achieved knowledge as we rise so do we fall in our own self appreciation.. For i am not a child who lives on a dream any more ,, the reality make me want more..than i have,, and really the desk i type at is not a deak at all. But a folding cchair, for whci is comfortable, but not supportive for my arms, I am caught in the forces of living where age creeps in to tell me the dreams are fantasies. While maybe i am jsut suffering form to little love,, as love is inspriation. And action is inspiration
i have loved people who don’t love and found little love for myself all along . The way.. Without really knowing what i was doing. Even now.. I am causght up in a quasi emprisonment. As i owe the court of mass and can not really leave the state.. And i am cuaght up with an apartment and all the trappings without any of the real positives of groups i was involved with and stimulations i have been use to these last years.. The youth i was surrounded by gave me hope beyond me,, and recognition. And i am tired a lot again,, and my hands hurt.. And i am a statictic
or i can fight further.
Which is what I will ave to do.
The day is a differnt onethen last..
An hour of being might not affect everyone, bout one can.. And often we change and have no recollection, but sometimes we she , and are astoniched by the ideas, a moment lends.
So moment s for the day..
Car drinving to work thinking..
“ a book ?? Does it starte with a statement..
Like we do we descide what we are going to asay and then,, form either plot or abstraction , accordingly. Like ee cummins Five..
Or Becketts beckettnausea..
,, “ and th
there i come to realize,, i don’t know if the book , i am refering to is Becketts,, it was an exisitential novel?? ,,

But that i used the words
which came so nautural
without knowing what they meant.
To you..
To knowledge,, and shared common civility,, to talk in words, read and understood. , i was referring to my feels while i read these two works,,
to explain is to read them.
Except without conversation.. To read them, like the art.. And the att is and the art.. In
Spewing radicals, and assorted mirths in orgarge and black , the color of my mothers second wedding.. How could anyone get married on a holloween. And not expect there child to dive into esperitos scato…
There werer we allow our minglings with psycontice, and santurary. Where we might be right and smile with budda.
Or consoul ourselves the we are all god.
But the redefinition
marks the world as a prespective. And an insight into , a feeling of,,,,
but It marks on experimentation. And remedial reading, and slandering self with out recorse, it is to fly and forget flying.
And it is all, you . Me , and what we make it..
Responciblity on a energy
is silly..
Folk lore and maybe truths,,, of a time. But a feeling is all time,, and faith but a shared momment.. Faith as a common sense , and not definition.. If definition seperates it is not a defintion.
So we feel self.

The car, dringin,, a story must //// stoping ,,
must ,, a force supremiscy.. An after math of violence and subserviance. So calling a must,, is alienating the flow… what must ,, be ,,, but nature,, and with that denied all else are but plottings, and imposed prejudice. The Right is now with a left,, and not a wrong.
Something sucks in denmark..
So clearly ,, walking a plank, un believed and un ready.. The cost of plottings.. When a moment is lived,, as the last is Questions of death.
Who will publish my rage ,, the rag is alive
again. In me

and there we go again..
Here is truth ,, i have been feeling like shit, survival is ketching up to me and my addictions, and i am treading on the ground other people have walked so that it is smooth and downhill.
I sit with no work again to day,, and rent is a moment away,, last night i told a women i loved her,,
Love,, can without reason.. Like maybe love is vengance,, for ai love a women who treated me saddly, firt, fuck love,, and gone.
And yes i listened felt pity for her, wanted her lie i have not wanted in a long time, but it is a wanting for the sex and freedom, it is the answer to a pain,, i guess ,, she has had me and she is young and on some other road, than i ,, even if that road is only a fantasy away from life,,it is my road also that i see.. My road away from feelings over and over, we are the same ,, and she pretends in love,, and i love without reality,, liek she is away and never close,, and i am loving a ghost,, for that has been love,, parents away,, and never close, brother away ,, and never close myself,, i cna only question as far as being close
.. So this is today,,
today,, the hours go by like the pain of a tooth pulled ,, slow hours,, feelng the tiredness in my viens, and the crazy stress building up.. I am stating to feel equaled by the addiction of alcohol and marjuana,, and i am getting tired of being tired.
But what tragedy is a smoke,, but the tiredness we don’t notice after so many years.. It is feelings missing and you are glad they are gone,, no one to answer to and no expected answers of loyality. It is coldness and heart acke. Waking to romance and reason. The battle endless to regain sanity, of innocents before i watch all innocents run away.. When the nights grew cold and i stared at the open road and knew no one care where i ws,.. Like the night my mother dropped me off in washington dc,, in a hotel hell, lookng at cockroaches, and hearing old men jacking off to the sounds of traffic noises,, maybe then was when it left,, and i realized it was just me alone.. And from there we only want heaven.. And that was a drink or a drug,, somewhere where everything seemed to lead to thinking more securely and without truama.. There where i din’t care weather i was loved..
Creating a land of reason which seemed for a time to replace feeling with facts.. The sort which keep a mental together even if they are only words.. Like my childhood doesn’t matter to the total history of an infinite spiritual design.. For which timelessness seem a question of fact.. Un refutible and natural
so in that i could stemm off any clairty of feeling.. And add to the number of items i have forgotten..
Left to lye a a pit of consciousness.. But then we are all feelings,, and reasons ,, then more feelings.. It is what we understand , and what we use,,
It is a conscious, and it is the wealth,,
i would say ,, it is freedom..
Not what i own.
But what i own up to.
The connection of sof seefl righ t again is addiction ,, as i sit in a day,, wasted with pressures on my thoughts,, the stress telling me to be aware.. With natural desiaster the world comunity is equalized.
Our first effect is how we breath..
I breath with smoke , and like a cartoon character my head sometimes explodes.. Casting brain matter to any matter,, and thinking not to write a world of a page..
And no time to answer what is felt… no time to allow for the learners feelings.. For now in education so,, i am to another side,, the civilization getting in the way.. And answerering cast of duty..
The writer to his hopes..
Or the addicted on to a style,, a motif,, an escape well and naturally known.. Hid as will the truth seeker,, for once you know what do you do.. When you realize your not the only one,, and technological child answering,, the adaptation ,, through liberty of thought.. Feelings and causes domestic and natural..
But what is yet,,, just feeling self.. Through change and preceptive experiments.. And dream trials.

so it is later. I have watched television. To story of three sons in the oklahoma prarie one finds a love brings her home and goes off to war, one dies inside from a love of the brothers lover.
And it is story and that which i can not know better of myself.. It is plot and rung from the destination mankind has always reach to say it the end. .. And my road in that i am human also. My violence is so deep even i can not see it rise… and it does against all without the forcast of reason,, or so it would seem as stresses teach me as chemical lean me..
There is another in another room aside me,, preoccupied with my stress i have a hard time talking this week and a hard time thinking.. For as i think are the predestined voices of a negative paranoia so long in my soul from birth that the lie is getting bigger.. And i cna not lie anymore,, even as the moral code is not broken but the fact swerve for supporting action. And i am alone and uninteresting, switching from this to that to stay occupied.. The apartment is not big enough for another. I see that now,,
or is it that i have so short sighted right now.. I am with smoke agaian at the second buy more i am with money running out and pressurs mounting..
And opinion and tolerance collide.. Such that i think of my own way to surrvive.
I hate to have someone so close at my door that i can hear them talk on the phone. But it is a question of comfort? Or a question of change? It is a question of quality? Or a secret mans hidden explanations.. I care not to listen in to another life..
Which i will do. Lie i hear the ocean , like i regard the air to my musical ears,, i hear the life beyond the wall. And invision they hear me. And so paranoia sets in somewhere in the fantastic tale of a shyness, and often repeated family abuses ,, inside an aged head,, yo cna not have another understand you life, for each agreement with choise is a agruement of conscious.
Working on a modeling clay schulpture, which will be on a video when finished, i made these hands that rot.. That are really bad right now,, i will make more,, maybe,, put they are to hard to fashion right now. And the willy’s of art is when you realize how bad you are ,, and that talent is only as good as how you preceive.. Strenghten one and the talent gets rated where before it was just the muse in simplicity..
Argue for abstractions un able to explain.
I have time until i actually go to sleep.. I have time for the celabration. One word in place seems enough to push hours of sleep off.
And the other day i started a topic.. Thinking about a book,, and on what would i write it,, and a agruement for a “plotless” freedom.
But even as i write,, i know i have directed myself to write very little. The pen in hands is only the tears fitting the page. Like the sweat off the flying fingers. Which pound mechanically,, i am stumbling over ideas,, and using words like idea, without one,, or i am remarking extroverted publication and a group. For which magically comes to mind when i am stoned..
A Group of artist,,, (as in; all are) incorporate , in a joint buying capacity ( as in a portion of all sales from the Group Market [group market refrees to a web marketing,, the society picks the disturbuters .) would go into the Group fund) to fund “conscious raising “ world art. This Group would, if sucessful( with one hundred members , become a society,, which it would be call the Enertialcall society.

The enertialcall society ‘s goal would be to send underprivileged children,, mostly orphans or the most intelligent, to prep schools and colleges.
Further goals of the society would be to provide the fund raising and programs for “free schools” A live in kind of school where children could ( of any walk of life) become housed and provided for through enertialcall society “
Our shared ideas and the strenght of the cultural movement , will provide many idea such that we can promote through the enertialcall media, and through society web space,,
these ideas will be spelled out in the products of the Enerticalcall society,, and enertialcall media, but will alway have a grounding in world cultural relivance which enters faith as a common agreement, and with that the energy of god and the human sense of emotions.
Holistics as a reliever of medical tyranny
, meditation and relaxation technics taught in early education.
the Teaching of “consciousness” and prespective relational changes..
The simple explaination for contries and warfare with a no agression policy. And a humanitairn world equality, in sewage and water upgrades of thier choisen communities.
World parks and a world freeze on trees in five years after this publication.
We would honor diverse fuels and governmental patent overrides for evolutionary inventions.
But we are a society would also rut for mandatory voting.. Carried computers,, one person one vote,, at home.. The machines are just computer,, light and portable,, one person to carry the computer,, and one to guard the computer and person..
Then everyone votes.. And is idenfied.
These are a few of the angles the Media of the Enerticall will use to introduce the concept of a group mental reasoning for what is missing in the jouralistic lie..
We will not give time or space to idea we don’t agree with ,, and we will not be swishy washy that much..

( orphanages ) and art projects.
Now in order that this idea becomes a birth. It is to be accompanied by another Grouping ,, except this one is controled by an idea of art and presonal culture growth),, and applies all capitol directly back into its coffers, to be reaplied to the company.. Minding saleries.. Eventually..
It is one of a media sorce..

it is one and i must sleep.

But it is today..
Last days of decemember.. The first days of warmth in a couple of weeks, i am reminded of spring.. And yet.. The house is closing in around me,, my paranoia coming out in quiet normalacy’s of dramatic reactions. I am apauled by the surprises of cleanlyness. And dumbfounded when i cna not understand why ia am reaction in a certian way,,.. But then stress, and the little world controls we have to live out, and yet do not..
I stood at the door way understanding my self obervered Freak out,, a thing i cna only do alone,, tell the world house, listning are chairs an couches,, tendarly patting my back and saying i understand, are the light fixtures, and fancy door knows , i will steal when i leave,,,
and i appraise my self in sanity.. To be insane. I watch myself, kick a couch and knook over the vicr, and talpe, scattering my books, and screamming at no one, wondering why i am talking at all. Why ,, is there an effect happening to me,, life this, while my head flys into obsessions of stricter plots, adverse mixed cunningly to control. And i see the fall against me,, and no it is why i am to go down.. Back into the flailing tunnel the lonely face,, like residents without leases. And Prejudies inflicted against you , for the other side lets you be dumb.. And encorages numbness, and shallowly aligns holiday greets ,, and the real reason poets kill themselves,, the absence of heaven from science. But there is no line,, Intuition tells its stories. I have learned to listen.. But not all voices are believed, some are echoes of past experience.. And inner resolution to avoid.. For when you feel one way it is a safer way then trying for the trillionth time to look straight in the eyes of a tormenter.. The arrogance of power which walks straight with a knife to a motionless body and dives the knife to hilt. While telling the tale of a donkey masturbation, smiling jokingly,, pretending to whip the knife clean of your blood.. For the donkey was in public. And the teller of the tale watched from a distance,, rubbing hard but pointing out the immoral ass.

You are blamed for my sickness.
i will be sick no more
with you blameless.
We do create our own enemies.
From tales one only tells ,
one on one.
The back door whispers of the impotent.

And yet,, i am lead to believe one thing, from those voices, a hint,, i refuse to hear.. For my is not powerless, and sheer violence i laugh for ,, to defend,, and yet.. As the temperature rises and I am feeling immortally sane. I stop and look , at the body which fullfills its destiny, by dreams. The life which cast asunder the wreckage fo fourteen years of daily fear. For the realization of a moments timelessness.
And awake from the beast,, the carrier of vice and murderous passion.
And see the paranoia, and feel the criminal thoughts implanted like a victum quiet look in a courtroom. I am a dog of wars,, freely responding for my justice is my loneliness and vengeance on the sinners.. Evil is secretive and quiet ,, and unreasonable to truth and fairness.. Evil makes friends with drugs , and sex with uses.. Evil is cunning and blantant,, and in that stupid,, but innocent.. For not many can feel the spirit so well as to hate the implication of the numbness they feel. Flailing arms to the wind and soul to desires. For to feel is a human touch and a high, of useful forgetting.. And abstractions which win aruguments with law. As a immoral majoity. For tender understanding goes further to the fallen.

It is hot in the house,, i think it was me who left on the ninty degree heat,, by mistake.. The mistake of a stoner.. The hope of a troll..
But besides critic ing myself. I am starting to feel spring. And my mountains in nevada..
I am for the hope in me is the trust i share with others.. And there is the sharing self.. And how comfortable are you about saying and living you mind..
As me ,, i have faced that as a side light to the idea of creation.. What others think after they see your are.. Is it me confused and stumbleing to think is is my confusion ,, not left for the interests of others. But began.. As the smybol of not being alone.
I wait by the side of the road of self.. Am i alone,, the calls of a nature so pronuunced inside me that i quake to enhale the false illusion.. I picture a forever sky line.. And the mind peaceful to see it.. And then shift into second and make the light dreamily..
Passing i am a head leaning out into the wind.. For my twenty minutes accrossed town at eight am.
And it is me.. Looking off and some how driving,, taking the bullet of steel careflly aroudn fleshy objects..
Humans have survived the ice age that is how we got here..
Going to slavery is a lost of living. and living is, yet, what we mix with slavery
minding freedom as a mentality..

it is another day,, and the moment is one of rest.. Friday,, the two day escape,, the two day ease and recuperate , these hours we get to call out own,, for some and for others they are the party
Here we are writing from a journal

The night after the poetry reading

It is one of those times
when you met your fantasy
head on/ making choices of
life’s road planning on
not planning.
The social plans.

And not to mar
a momment
I didn’t mean the truth
didn’t happen here
half way between
boston and new york,
Hills make you seem
hidden.
A cavernous heart.
But that’s only a symbol
save and move away.

I heard, about a poet
who was one for cover.
art movement about
masks.
And never the mirror
hides.
For “characters”
our stresses, comments, concerns
and insecurities
are split level spirituality

and as my hand caress
i can only love
by
how i was loved.
“Wrong”
or and
Write for now.
Steps, little girls know,
are steps; and forget
walt whitman
for jim morrison
and dylan.
And the sheer buoyancy.

forget the act
with a knife
to your throat.
I have been locked up
enough to say
I’ll get over
my depression.
yet.
cell doors.

and it is another day. The question of money was answered by work tomorrow at ….what ever…
And so it goes,, it is yet tomorrow that i will see restful work as far as my hands,, the mind must make life threatening descions i will be driving for the next couple of ??weeks.
There are reasons to like driving, straight forward constant problem solving,, the harmony of traffic, a million contract, that make up a city mile. Asking for a break and if not getting it you get it from the next car. Or the next.. But it is agreement and association without messy hellos. And cordial goodbyes.. A flicked finger is almost as good a stress reliever, as an accident.
But surpirsing how many people don’t, even entertain the crash as a stress reduction technique, road warriors we are not ,, yet.. And as long as we don’t globally equal out money,,, then we have enough.. Unless we are going to blame the transporational industry for the global warming trends, we like our ablities to be off screne , as the motor will logde us everywhere..
Equally, i let you go first becausue you have traffic approaching ,, then somewhere you let me back up,, or out of the wrong turn. three stooges movie i have goten into. As traffic is funny.
I wish we could as plainly see the danger coming from another and do our part to just sit and do nothing. so that the other can have the personal space to turn. To move out of the speed trap. On coming cars.
Kind ness is repeated by others. And vengance more swift for the destroyers.
the carseats are hydrolic and i again with my gear head on will fade into the night light smokeladen lanps, to see the envelope of light infront of me, sybolically feeling all the oter drives lone tided, waitng for the fair, which never is fully, fair..
We don’t see thedriver,, and time scatteres into the arms of a personality where all we really want to travel. And private peace. Undertand me by leaving me alone.. Yes i will be the driver..
And nothing.. Like all the plotish characters,, of people who either want to tell you everything , or don’t want to tell yo a thing.. The later grunts hello. And constantly looks at his shoes, which are of a cheaper fabric and more well worn than yours,
leave it to the msers, to inherent the world. You wouldn’t need money if you weren’t just trying to live with your privacy.
Even as that is what is gerally known. To puy the private.. So scared are we ,, and reightly for what people are put therough to survie any knind of dream,, what debased proactises mans slavery of thought. For vivil luxuries.
I am paid for my silence.

Writings for the video review

So i sit and watch, television. And it is alive with commercials. Commercials which begin and end with me owning money to a soulless god and jealous desire. I stink, and kill others with germs. I am an ugly, impotant and need this ,, i am stuffed up with shit and need that. I have bad joints , and i want you ,, you pretty thing , you champanion sports player,, i want a perfection like one of the elite.. Shading teeth white, with only a little loss of enamel.
Oh, an wanting you , I feel myself hardening. I see life a little less brighter, until i get the lastest cleaner, i feel my pimples gow larger, and my hemoriods swell. I look at my wife that would rather have a human dildo. And at myself that i would rather not feel the third world depression and the wars of first world ignorance. So take a pill and join party lines, for a group has to be right.

but then what consideration do have for my mother who watches and finds a life without love for me,, i am separate from the glory of the clean remark and the catchy line,, hope and love without pain,, I am pain , birthed, and smiled at and left to the streets at eighteen, forgotten like, no one is watching why do anything?
Or like the government Everyone’s attention is over there.. So we are safe here.
So television blanks me to humanity,, calls prejudices with scripts and levity to the criminal.
So for diversion. I find movies. That celebrated chemical reaction between silver crystals and other stuff. But what do i know.. The endless of my inner child is appeased with colors and distances.. Angles and well captured acting.. The childs simplicity leaves me to be remorsing with saddness, and happy at love,, shocked with action cuts, jumpy at a horros tensions and release.. I am alive to be taken away.
So my modernness leaves me to find more,, and more color and visions aflared ,more incredible space shots, and inner layoffs into a visionary means.The way our movies are progressing it seems like we are learning evolution beyond brainwashing by using it. A planned hope naturally arrived at through the cultural desires of the world conscious medium of film.
But I can only know by what i am seeing, and to procliam the avete guard in moving pictures i know i am not seeing enough and so We start together. I am not the film file i would like to be. So together we will make this section. I will start out with what i can remember,, and by the end we will come up with a list of one hundred films “You gotta see”, for everyone in the Enertialcall listening area.
So the case being made for the substainal influence, we can only go to the next step,, a mentioning of the movies,,those we take a certain schorok balence , and a balence to the crimes history is amassing. Our visions must call to intoxicates ,and invested logic.
Let us,, first, say our choises of right now are the choices of a light in the distance,, but a light all the same,, the Movie i will mention first is,, “What the bleep do we know” not for the visual ,although (check the microscopic water crystals). This film is about Particle physics and spirituality.
It is a docudrama.
So that is that,,
but onward.
Prospecto books, for visual , and in-depth plots, historic revenge,, 1984, for the dramatic shadings, and great acting, and the notion of literature as a documentation of philosophy , like a remake of Crime and Punishment.
But with gods forced conclusion eliminated, and it remains man verse mankind, moving on to Brazil. (Another clarity of color and planning,, with De Niro in a supporting role.

So here we go again.. Change , i am a different form of work. The long drawn out body of time for which this job is . Stands with other events of personal adaptation. A three peice suit If i could afford it. But a suit all the same, the car,, a lincon, with hydralic seat and air, power windows. And did i mention the suit,,
but a feeling.
To be in that image , and think those thoughts.. How insane am i ,, the basic levels of socialization being so linear, and contriving.. I know this is not what i will do for long,, it is to step into the unlaborer world,, hard living,, but i make my life harder by forgetting to let up fo a good thing, so paranoid someone will diswaid me from the arts, with negative judgements maybe,, yes i could see it ,, subxonsciousness over ruling reasoning,, for we are are accepted if we accept.. Like walking into a glallery with a portfolio. Or collecting my work like a book could involve.
The censuring , of thought ,, to produce some words for a peice, a feature of the mag.. Which is the movie section.
The re-reiw.

And that was the last time here,, oh wonder and merith the arrival of life forgotten, all a headed full, we ask the martyrdom, hi pride rised by the mispoken. We are a island of imperfection.

Ragged rules to keep us together. I should be sleeping, as tara grands all, becasue we are .

I am specking in ideas, to fast for the page,, every now and again to look up, my flashing news lines from the web sight, and find If i was suffently slow , this could be televsion..
I wrote a play it wass a man watching television.. Except the announcer and other ideas ,, once played on the televsion.

By K.a.Ambrose

Now this could happen a bunch of ways..
The point is to create a televsion.. As in a small box of cardboard with dials drawn in // or to an actual televsion Linked up to an off stage camera and scene set up. ( it would be really interesting if the camera “scene” area is in front of the people , just an idea of where you can go with the three acts..)
Warerobe,, the clothing wore by the televsion people is the same as Main and Equal.. Now when the “style “ changes Main and Equal are wearing the old clothes. And every chance we get we introduce new clothing through the annoucer first.

First Act– main and equal get ready for work—–Voice from the television just under as they talk..
Go to work.. Come back. Watch a movie go to a party come home, kiss
inn(t)er mission.
Prepareations for reentring the theater for the sudience who will BE ASKED TO LEAVE FOR THE FULL EFFECT OF THE PREFORMACNE..
THE THREATER WILL BE FILLED WITH EIGHT MEMEBER OF THE DEAD WILL BE HALF TO FULL LOTUS AROUND THE SIDES OF THE ROOM WHEN PEOPLE ENTER, THESE DEAD WILL NOT TALK OR ACCKNOWLEGE THE AUDIENCE. BUT THEIR EYES MUST BE HALF OPEN .

Characters
the Survivers

Main (male)

Equal (women)
Annocucer man and female and alturnate.

The Dead
about thirty people or really

Act one.

Note on Wardrobe
the Announcer— must be ready to change clothing in fact he or she, we want the part to be androgonous,, and can be played by two or three people even, But for the comody of it,, we will use all two or three sizes of fruit,, it is to be a running gag even,, and even at some pooint of the play . The actors could fumble the breast and quickly retrieve it.. But the charcter will be changing the Channel. And the Annocuncer stay with it,,
while instantly changing costumes.
While in the televsion.. For after the first act,, the televsion leaves,, and the announcer mainly stays where the televsion was..
In the second scene,, the watching of televsion.. Takes on a new meaning,,

Announcer

Today in lizard county (Curtain) the discovery of twenty bodies dampen the out doors for a class from Leizard view Day care,, the toddlers were out for a nature walk when they came apon a pile of rotting corpses. The twenty bodies have been linked to the lastest in a string of slayings authorities are asking for your help. Only Last week five bodies, were found at a moblie home park the other side of Jacksonveiw. If you have any information please call. 555-4847

Main
(walking on stage)

The movie is tonight.

Equal

i know , but i am not sure why we have to watch it again… and again,, it is like the movie is always playing and our only function is to watch it..
Announcer

now live on the scene ,,is Grace Merrysmitherfuckme.

Merrysmitherfuckme

As you can see. Jack . The cold lifeless remains of human bodies don’t really make for a complete eseatic program. so we must ketch this killer. Each child who saw these bodies will given x boxes and the lastest games to ease there minds back to the development before they knew what death was. so proven in this graphic repessetation of the maddness and uncleanlyness of some sick , fricken soul.. Who freicken should be strung up with his own intestines and ripped screaming and kicking from the human race..(Merrismitherfuckme’s spot goes out)… Now back to you Ted..
Main
It is a ritual,, and i like when we snuggle.
Equal
so do i. (M and E kiss)

four seconds

.

_____________________________________________________________________

I LISTEN to some friends as they prastise music. The rock and roll , the chemical mixture with freedom, and i have not been playing enough watching as a disimualr voice encroaches.
The living of determination takes fantasy as the hold one has on life.

Today,, to remark of mankind in self,, the humanity coming throough as myparanoia is alive,, and mystical the content as a moment content..
I sat on a windows edge and watched an “our” pass. Street with adjoining intersection a cross road with wires and hung lights. Car slochingly through departing snow as summer comes in the green house sun spot , where i sit. For a time together with fantasy.
And what escape is to telll of the path, am i escaping,, so siting i am with couple of women, with meaning i am palying attention to them,, and one seems really alive,, and i am inlove. Her face is squarish and her pant made like skin, and the animal is to the animal to be.. But blamefaced i looked away,, one day,, i will for another hour go and ride.. The middle of the day in union square somerville.
It is many hours later and the plots forom then have been resolved , thought the tales are old and evergoing,, the tale of one knowlsege of life, and intuitional adjustments to a self reliance.
For that seat was the first in a while in sun ,, nice uncaring but to do another movement in the ways of doing.. But i am tired,
again.. Now,
then
then, long like ten hours ago..
I sate under the wieght of some act of responce , from years ago,, as far as a time of four months. A person gave me attitude,, and back without even thinking i was all about it. I gave it back ,, but a different kind for the first was shyness and prejudice, and the second was a misplaced confusion of what was going on in reality,, a complete shut down of sanity,, and why because one can never explain prejudice to the prejudicial. Argue the woven nature of god.. All you want it is still just natural.
But my actions in this case have to have some reason ,, and that is the only one i can come up with.. ..
So the even i speak of without saying anything,, only invovled feelings and igdignations, pride , nstant and savage, like yet ony just faceing what is inside,, and never did i look out,,
yet the person has a possessor who will decribe freedom on your forehead if only in bold language,, not to make light.. But the familar culture demands familial respect. And someones i “disrespected” but some line is drawn for me to say,, the responce was a mirrored mannor, for which i am adjusted to ,, the instant change to make native the soul to those faced..
You can watch yourself to see if you do it at your leisure.
So i sit and think,, and it is the thoghts of the unfocused for the feelngs are over massing,, and what is it to be flight or flight. And why is it either. The real meance if not seen,, and i am no good at accepting the thrid ,, and realizing that i work on it, and i am getting better hearing the fvoices, which demand the words fate be reality. So i prey,, and cast the mothing to infinites,, and sit in the picture window , in union square
looking at the pretty women who are there
and what else gets my time,, but there is also a radion station apon the site,, up above where i will yet reach, on which i want a show to introduce a more solid breech of electric mental demands. For of one theculture becomes, rolling crystal delicacies again of faith science love. From whence it was known it will come to be a sight allow and determined.

The insanity left me for the moment was unconnected.. Plugged yet . And forever and strong . To know the day is alive if only i live it.

Media
You want me gone
i bet you do
fighting flying
across the room
your torment i feel not.

Oh the internet,, and day alive
and yet not..
Half the population thinking one way
about reality,,
half thinking what ever they are told
about reality,
one point seven three just feeling the burn
of policy.
Alan Hinic.
We walk into time with our heads known?
We walk into time with the sky above?
The space beyond?
We are equal in nothing ness
alone.
It is humorious to see
comprehension immediately
What walks in the wind of words.
More spoken.
We are wealthy in knowledge.
Alone.

I start with a poem. Not good but there all the same, with the walk i have been taking today. Watch the internet. Watch television..
Where do you go and when Self programming..
Oh but it snows and i grow into debt and martyr soul for rent. Think i do not , think of your own scheduling. So realizing the cat lives my ideal life,, and i am glad the energy excises, my own god Buddha., which assumes neither male or female, god goddess, mercy verses strengthyet is wholeness.
I walk the internet,, not for a job which has been the case, though i must tell of the insanity,, i have been feeling,, the i don’t want to leave the house nature of winter, and lazyness, outside is a subtle trauma waiting. Insane of me and i understand you not knwoing what i am saying,, better not then say yes,, for the echoes inside you heart might lead to repetitive motion such as my own,, i am not wealth and the hours taken are stolen from a life need ,, for creativinty has not remark into money and alone i am not.
But feel for the unproductive. Give hope for the poor who would with mind and seekings fullfil themselves. To day tomorrow i eat,,
i am american,, food on every cornor, if you look, if you call, if you need to, you can even go to the government. Once or twice.. For the longer you know them the more you are shuffled and forgotten,, you do make the census. But Ihave been so blessed in the past. That the internet is still in the house,, and there.. I walk this morning..

March, 4th 2005
The day is another chapter? Or just another smallerize section of the live we survive to report. And maybe that is all a day is, the thoughts that can make hope out of slavery. I have quit another job, I could stand being yelled at so much that today it got to me enough to recognize how over the top it was.. And what was it.. It was only the employers wanting to make me quit, i was getting more money than he thought i was worth. I don’t think i miss represented myself. But a man can be so blind to themselves, that they can not see what other know of me.. I am a hard intelligent worker, but i don’t take shit,, and will suffer my poverty accordingly.
But what made me leave might not have been the obnoxious use of employer power, but the fever my soul felt when i started to get mad back.. I started to stand up for myself and for a child like me that is a hard thing to do.. Because i start to feel crazy and know I am thinking of the worse thing i could do to him. My head gets cloudy and my life with all it delicate motion gets lost to a moments reaction. And i am whole in animal for a moment, but always i have walked away, it is only with what i hold so dear as love, that has made me stare into the rage others have pushed me to ,, and it is always that way; others and the push.. There is life. For the evil are lords of the temporary and a small security is that to the waking day. But yet their nights are troubled and made harsh with images of the consious uncreated and over powering. They walk with the fear of god, as they slander during the day. And death will come slow for them, slow, long and painful, and so be it. The name of tara shall gain where it is commanded, in private circles.
I am to say i did the right thing, but hard ecomonics will be again mine enemy, or i should rejoice for the living further where excess could lead one to a moment which can change a life to an imprisonment. I would rather be free in silent wind and listening ears, to the solitude of morning than to lie in bed with a full wallet and no dreams.
I was going to start a Book again, this time it was to be around the concept of why go homeless. Why do we accept the shelter as our only choice. We choose where we want to live and watch as every part of our lives becomes linear and devoted to ungained chooses, as in the house i am living in is not my own. My Standards of civilization are maintained on my back which bends for the stress and constantly grows weary. While the bar is raised and i am told how much I am worth from the greedy who will only care about themselves further and further until decency is cost. And power is an arrogant slaughter , who looks to find the weak and suppressed. Until he abdicates his own kin and finds existence to be repulsive to him and so goes the culture he promotes. Those questioner of a spirit, and teacher of power can not stand nature so much that they never see themselves, and are never true power.

So here we are the rest of the day..on
What tortures the paranoid mind reaches,, or was it the prey-er (prayer), for i am weak enough to reach for strengh. The powers did not try to fuck me, the nature is one with the whole, and i am escaping to a voice inside, watching people pass the window. Watch people insist, two children talk with their mother, cat stevens on the music, a women behind me talking comfortably, the day, sinking into the buildings which are the horizen, and me dancing away at a lap top..
Watching, , It is a wonder to spend hours this way, even through the computer only takes that to drain, and sometimes i go before it, the limits of techonogy.
The trails of the day tested the grip. The storming Tortured ignorance disposesing reason, except that is a dag against mass and hatefull, gutteral yelling for clainity. without the fault of my own to take me the rest of the way, the rent will be late, the hours i shall work next. I don’t know and so i will not give all the money to rent. I will hold on to some. But it is another force recognition of my inablitiy to survie well. I have fallen behind again. So what is next , the days will tell and i will make some phone calls.
So I gave uup a day to the anger that is alive in mankind, Mine alittle. But his more this time, I couldn’t get yelled at like that, i would be risking so much to work like that.
And yet the truth is funny , the reality of not enough money is making me weary. Looking at the future, I only rely on faith , and that is whole with my strenghts being used. , but i am a fool, so today, i dropped off a cd. To try the longer road or the shortest way,, because i only have to do what i have been secretly planning, enactiong where there was a audience, a forgotten reminder of being, and there we are. .
Clouds slowly tell of being around a world , and drift slowly to the left, the parking sign has a curve painted with magic marker, so it say barking. , I face a firse house with symblos of old fire trucks. And the traffic is continious, with patches where people walk accrossed the street, and a sober looking women hanfs off the street sign, the clerk who gave me the coffee cleans the countrer, the pretty blond girl sound uptight taking about brama, . And i just sit , maybe i am just t ired fromthe day, and there will be no real writing here,, but ,, i will not stop just because i am not writing, i am [utting words on a conputer,, to write is to telll a tale, but i am in a tale, and she crosses the street with cordory pants and boots, under a winter beany, who just went into the bank. , so it is alive, and i can say anything, . But right now i can not think of what to say to ease the stresses the system but on me,, and i put on myself. One time you could smoke in these coffee houses, on day,, was.. Now it is nice i guess not to smell smoke like it is a way of purifing life, slowly changed through laws,, how much more repression is allowed. And is that just balking at change..

The Abuse page

and so it becomes another day.. March something in 2005, and a computer is in front of me like words are judge and delicacies can be so spoilt by exposure.. And yet , I ponder on morality, and tenancies inspired by it’s definitions. For as fluid ,as it is, in agruement, the leanings and the actions. I took away an over all core that still seems observed in the private of the human soul.. While i lived through moralities controls and found the chians to be fettering self explaination.
Why should i not let the foul wind of apitite makes marks on the road of learning. Letting my age , at one time rule, what offers the outer world interests to supply. gifts of alcohol while they talented my sex and let me to orgasm in there mouths, or bodies naked, high school hard-on for whiskey and drugs.
And yet, the separation began, I was no longer out of the loop. The world was lude and wanted me,, i asked no one for fees or bindings. I wasn’t really the naked exposed , ill abused,, because i had always been abused no one asked about that either. What tellings the future,, while i self explained the present a philosophical now, for morality and Law was against the actions I had experienced. But yet,, the more it happened the more I saw of life, with equally tranquil-ed eyes, by proof of action. (As was the Me-isms of the eighties,, and seventies.) So this breaking of morals , this unspeakable, was the actions of life,, and we all hid.

Oh, but let us not condemn the whole for the parts, but the hole is the part. Playing on the kings were the queens and accomplices, there on the reason to expand the world was the furs to keep the skin of one empirise and empire soft and without marks of dryness or over work. And to our sexs we added the rites,, Magically, like we could control our inateness, while keeping the secrets firstly to avoid the stake, as homosexuals were hung, with a delight of crowds. Name symbolisms, and could generalize like the term Witch.. And if i let a man suck my cock, I am a homosexual but i have purged social convention which would call such as immoral.
But it is just non-reproductive. I didn’t desire it, i wasn’t looking in the men’s rooms for a bigger dick to have in my lovely ass, no I was chasing your daughter,, drinking them under the table and hopefully following, and i was free of caring about the relationship. For none were offered,, I was alone with only god to talk to , and god answers in cloud movements, and high and low tides to prayer. And the body ,, if there is spirituality at all, is non-physical, and in that, it cares not for titles..
But in the actions of a mental mind. Finding you did not die facing morals, it made me wonder what i have learned that changed me for the better.. So i was more concerned with life , as a real object and less a statement of others doings, and in my subjugation. I found freedom as seperation.. And maybe that is what i did need. A destitution of love and drugs. .
The first question of sexuality comes right after we decide death is a definition; one approaches in faith. For definitions we turn to a simple philospohy, for faith with defintion becomes simpler yet, but with layers, we learn,, so the question and answer period is eternal , but the first answers supreme.

Death is a non Physical state, and spriit would be that which is non physically aligned, so sex is a product of life from the reproductive, and yet a schocra orientated knowledge of life if done in love. Sexuality is spirituality, but one might need to research all extravagances, but remember they are only reminders of everyone’s knowledge, and a short stand if not with love, one of our connection to spirituality, but easier to teach..
Lesson, Isn’t sex better in love,, but possesion must not be checked. We don’t own nature. But must choose to share it.
So the exposure of animal bassness must come to be grasped in any cosideration of mondern culture.
Why am i so unfullfilled, and is morality effecting my self security?
Because i willngly fuck video images,, and imagine the women and the plottings of getting one into my bed.. When it is not to do like that and never have i ,, so I get no love, accordingly.. I want to make movies. With my lover,, and yet she must be able to tell me who Poe was , or Gram Green, ,, and so i don’t have here, and visions, help me create the illusion enough to cheapen the orgasam but unshelter my thought enough to keep living the intellectual whole I have cherished of life. I would rather be alone then wishing i was.
Oh but then the outer world sits inside , and i go looking, staring at wormn wondering how to say hello, when i know i am not complete, almost because i can not accept my completeness, and so..
Am never.
Our roads are fouled by thought and action. And i am torn between what i want and who i am. For there is no love for the wanting, i want with a mind alone, and never accknowledge my wantings , for i only want a clean mind.
And that only comes from the divorced resonciblities of home and utilities, the escapeing from rat races and social pretentions, where i lowermy voice to hear. It is funny how our voices are so important and yet, so told by us to keep quiet, no waves the slowness of evolution to a plant.
And i turn on the televsion and escape ,, or do i ,, maybe i turn on the televsion and get trauma and that is life, enteratinment in some granious way i can live subconsciously,, i am the doctor shoosing the blade to use , the killer making images reality in subnocturnal lusting , i am ,, without leaving my seat, until the commerical comes on ,, and i switch gears.. And now i am different , like media is toruturing us under lights flashing the statements to release us from the interogation. Which we memorize so that the confession will be believeable when the interogation is over..
I know that was me becuase you told me so.

March 5th 2005, Ant June and Lemon.
And another day arises, and sets, i am releavieved becasue i found immediate work for next week, someone that lets me play carpenter. Without much hassle, or little enough that i don’t mind his ablities of customer service, for which i am little at, now,, those years are passed, i was even kicked out of a role, in Anut June and lemon. For having an idea, to strong for the direc
tor to personalized,, over acted.. I was just a maniupulation and couldn’t take ty genrocity,I could have been Oh strain, and lose,,
So that is done , and now i know where i will be in the red that way,, but life continuos,, last nights dreams , a black suv, a kid who had to much stuff, and was relying on my geneousros
icty,.
A dream and left, like the pain , that tells it lesf whaen to jusmp and where, to participate, come change change is media. We have to show the change represent and all will even out. So to even out i sit. out side. And feel the wind chill my hands as i type, yes lut i guess i loved my snoppy so much , i don’t want to part,, oh no..
me, it is preposerious, ove , it is a physical thing but a smaller women filles yet to understand is all about tone,
where there would be heart, i see lust , maybe from to many house, and beautiful flowers, A Women passed like i would and that is my preformance art, and it is my muse, there to stand with head held where i is secure, the muse is a heart, spewing to the wind without point for point is inherent, to comprehension.

and so we stand another day..
I have wrk coming , so this is a good time to do other work, the facts of which revolve around the cover to the cd, and trying to get more of a cover,, as in what bio???

March 7th or so 2005
Here is what happened today, I saw two movies, i talked and played poker with roomates and roomates band mates,, i would say one was a friend, or one is, but there we are going to classifications, and who do you really know, and once you know what do you repeat. My Friend is a sorted one long ago sighted to be for himself and fuck everyone else, Gotta cigertett, and you are insane to have been nice. Storeys about people are funny, You can tell who someone is ,, but the story is how they affected you. His little side comments of yesteryear, have diminished as age creeps into his curls, but the side slapping from long ago, still comes out his defaming Jokes, and subtle control, until you let yourself be maniuplated in or not. But without serving a material function his plastic shows.
The scene would be dramatic, If i lied. Hollywooded, or cast illusions to my own grandious rightiouness. But it was just three people sitting , watcing a mvie that suck, and wondering what is going on, they all came at a certian hour, lets say it was three, for a prostice, which never started,, and the televsion draughted on, listening to what they did have to say about each other, comments around how the girl , who is the lead singer should act. I was writing on the couch in front of a very bad movie before they came in ,so the intrusions was something of bother,, but that aside, I watch or i should say litened to his mani uplation , and saw her eyes how her offence , but not at him but side looks at her feet. The Friend was telling how she should tell a tale. She is kind of shy, but more she doesn’t stand up for herself.. So I listen, my remarks are taken as jokes until i stop talking, then I stopped listening,, alwasy around him it is his boring control. I don’t like people who can not just say what they are saying, but take all day to say something simple and then may never say it after all that.
It makes me think of the bad paragraphs i write sometimes,,
oh , well, he is still a friend , because I know how far he is in my life.. And there is another subject and one that goes hand in hands, with this friend.
And maybe giving me some plot to center around instead of the immediate, Where I would talk of the third band mate of the roommate,, the girl women i have just mentioned, and for there,, i am feeling a move to move her, like i like her, I heard her voice change, letting out the independent women she is ,, she is playing with submissive attitude, she is ,, maybe never to know, but the sight is alright , an though i would , I think want more of hours with her, They may never come,
The only way to really know anyone might be to make love to them,
and with her i would like to be her man. That would be cool, failing the illusions that I am twenty years older, there eyes that would not be smiling just to smile, eyes that would smile from connection i saw in her, or I am looking for inspiration and will take any.
No ,, no , the age of my reasoning is the balance to what is out of control for me, watching the future get spent in tide without connection. The connection being over wrought for the shallow resolve..
Funny that , when you see the brainwashed subconscious and look at your self looking. A line i took from a documentary on particle physics and spirituality through evolution of the same.
And yes

So the world goes.What is shown,

Screen Play
by Kenneth A. .Ambrose

either..VISION
Flashes of advertising with statements after, or on them, like a Deodorant ad, and YOU STINK, A Dishwasher ad, and Your Lazy.
You get the drift.

VISION 2
it is important to remember the order,, it will be like let the audience back to its regularly scheduled program.
Poeverty streets,, this is the beginning of a long walk from downtown to up town,, some big cities, Boston, portland, mikel, southrean target, not auston (it is a shorter walk) and the camera looks for art.

VISION 3
Just art, from begining to end, either Classic abstracts work with few lines for there is no straight line in physical nature. If all else fails use my work.the work of KADA ambrosvich

VISION 4
hand held shot of Narrator sunny day walking in the hills

VISION 5
a nature walk looking for natural framing, up-closes that eixict because they are.

NARRATION

“ So the world goes., So the system, made of well worn tracks in sand.
Like you could see the earth below supporting it.
But not really,
They , Who ever they are, and I guess, it is the opposite of self, Would say, this is reality.
This.. What is shown,
and I guess, they are the arguement, the flat people against the round earthers,
They , are the gathering of fascist, like we learned from the wars, that the one with evangelical fanatics wins, but a conscious can only regard controls for so long, and reaches beyond the facts of one time to the truths without time. Just as revenge for our silence.

Camera flase of VISION 4
but discounting, this film and a hand full of very powerful film, Media is still in love with being rich. There is a legacy of discourse, also, and as the human mind also loves it’s mosaic, it has been represented. Though not really since the invention of televison. ever time the human artistic heart has explained it’s own existence, the title of a movement is surpplanted on it. not
…… a step in the world conscious evolution of cultured opinion, The Next elevation in human consciousness. A closer definition of Spirituality and God.
No, it is a weakened moment waiting for history to ketch up ,, it is a second of looking at ourselves and savoring the motioning.
As art representing the time it is in.

Narration two.
Top New story on War.

Narration three
top new on aids

narration four
top news on Priests

VISION 6
Religious relics images.. A flashing sort of thing, every kind except Cathloic or anything american.
Narrator one

so another day.. It is Sunday and as a day when i normally remember to write this is another one,, what should i tell of the conduct i have committed, waging thoughts against what legalities, and moralisms by the elightenment of knowledge, or the foolishiness of escape. For here we are and can not spilt excistance, what secrets the spirit knows, is it failure to tell. Or failure to know. I am human, and like animal i came full scale in my regret of action,
but there excist the pain of others to use to spoil your looking life. If i see your vision beyond my own, say in assuming the troubles of another. Am i unrewarded? For tempory relaivance of the exchange, the i help you for the temporay relivance of the exchange. For as witness, i see no usefulness in another who has no friends. I guess that is why i have tried to be of little use to people , for once the role is assumed, it is reintroduced commonly.
To tell the truth , i am asshamed , for my humaness, I am lecherous like the addict, and fail my own goals of a moral life accordingly, and see life in that love hate battle, as so often is the case in addicted lives. The don’t really know but follow a chemical-ism, and expect the following of same, Playing chess in wind and rain, the pieces falling in the mud, cleaning and replacing them to the board. When the board moves ,and the squares have diagonals, being flashes ever falling.
It takes a while to sit peacefully again.

But yet with kindness , cleanlyness, and a positive acceptance of self assumity. I see the air with trees and stars agian. From whence we are not under the rain. The air clears between the ears, the tired ness melts and spring is the action of the dawn.
I defiled another , drunk and insecure, i was staying away from world like a adventure from places i have been and know so often , that even chaos is boring and repetious, like the aruguments from the last of the party,, stoned stupid and longing. We fight among ourselves.

It is argueing with myself. That wakes my head to an awakening. It is seeing the empty ness i hold , the unloved spoiling of others. Or the loving alone which recks me.
Or is this thing i am talking not love at all, but the remorse for so many years dealing with the off chance of my birth. While i learn to live with it.
But when i make it my own, I get hard and foiled to any logical reason to stay peaceful, seeing as what i own is a telling of what has been done to me. A spraying of truths , while half doubting what i would call the effects,, for one has to give to them to have them,, these feelings , for which i am talking,, for love is one side of denial, It is the private side of what can not be taken away, but what , never given , kills. I so not feel so apart of life. I live in the excesses of others. This on excessing with violence, this one with mediocrity. Or at least the qualities of the suffer. Our perfection , our crime,
It is only natural to make symbolisms. This abused child is forever the structure of humanity facing what is lives in captiolism, if you are in the wrong court..and the king is waiting on the jester to be funny, and he is not.

So off with his head,, i think its been said.
And there is no reason to the smoke , or to the sitting,,, it is just here ,, here, here,,
here the final hours in an apartment for which i knes i was going to leave but can help remorsefully approaching the time to go. And here the moment when i am giving away money , for shelter, in the summer. Becasue i want to shower,, or i would like , make my own dinner,,
both facts of a Walled sisutation , with doors and locks, and windows, though i see more from the car.. And i feel the wind more in the living under a sky that does not change for personality, though god talks , we imagine , sometimes with the wind. Nature is equal and un egotistic, I does not treaten unless it means it and is giving you time to react,, those momments are not thumping the chest, not pracing around in distraction to the eventural. It rain or it doesn’t , but the clouds have no opinion or care about which is done..
As there are of all , they are also, the barriers of the chill we feel to get wet,, The plan ruiners. The damp feet and joint creaks.it is the suffering that creates our emotions,, such that i am distant to the wet, even though my ankle is getting sore from walling all the time,, and my head is getting weak from being surrounded by myself.
I hear the nature i am running from and am called back by it,, i am called to react sometimes, and even through morality says that conduct must be rightious, to be violent.. Our laws say we can not be violent,, oh that is right. Laws talk of national security, where i kick you for a reason,, through reason can be construde to fit round pegs into square wholes..
And there we go ,, for yet, reason is a writers force,, the edge of the two handed pen.
And as i do ,, understand,, so i am to understand self ,as the symbolism of nature’s reasoning..
Am i to think the individual un-valid,, as in to be philisophic? We must be able to explain without direct personal response.. For personal reason is not fact.. But there we butter both sides of the bread. And forget we are making a sandwich. For the feelings of life are to be left to others.?? that Phisophy cares not for feelings? Yet the next step to the individual is the simularity in spirituality as a common conscious defintion,, that Faith is a Sense. No matter how turn…

So the day is different ,, the call the same , but with accents of morality in location. For such change.. Is manidotory, my listening to common law in residence,, the house mate ship i have embarked on for Again I have moved..
Did I tell the end of the last,, the hours of pus h pull with violent over intent. House stares of the loner against,, an unknow,, but rumored, aggressor. A voice match to tones i have heard,, and literture has rarely accknowledge, so full of snouty snouts raised to the wind , and beyond there own stench.. Breathing , as they say in the trough, Higher Air.
And where and wear, and worn.
So leftover are to pick through, of human story,,the righting of the macho criminal with collar tie.. Superiority,because he knows he is plotting, and he thinks only him is plotting,, Arguing from the couch.. Lazy, with other peoples wisdom and self serving, living and an enchanted fate of the preditor.
Do you know what that is Are you street?
Then ,, when the hours come where you are faced with the truth,, and your conspiracy with it if you don’t stand,,
like you see the pickpocket and so you say nothing,, like feeling a murderer < for thsi shame is cowardly, and uses weapons when another has none. Or gang fighting..of gang fighting
and i can even rember what i was saying,, the anarky of the small to the complete power organsm.. Of the ever evident.. The roomate cruelity ,, responding with no responce no conversation,, I am right and you are stupid,, Reason escapes like Law for Fetuses.. A body is alive when it crys,,,
A spirit doesn’t die..
Ever pertenat the realities of humanism..

And so another day, mixed into the last.. Where i found the night that was waiting for me,, the dream of old fullfilled, and still more ,, to come reminding me of the ablitiy to see future through dreams.
And there we smile..
For the night cast wisdom to the ways of vocalization. And the medodies. Ask of time nothing as it was all time. An electric guitar. And a crowd,, the backing of a bass, and rythem guitar, such that i could play lead, and sing.
Moments seen long ago, about five to three years ago. That i remember from the slow waking periord . ,
I have moved and the new house is apart of it, with perfect walls for whowing work, and the smile from a womens eyes following me.
For as i come into the house, I fiind, the girlfriend of my last roomate.
I used to be with teddy, she says,, smiles,, and walks out her beauty composed,, i don’t know weather she will be a freind of mine..
But i would love to try her.. And teaching is the way of sex.. And i love young women,, it is a heartlessness maybe,, for the flesh is spongy and soft,, the eyes smile easily and reveal passion delicate and wild.
But lets us remember I am just comeing back into the boston wild life,, the art and the artistic pleasures.. Let us roam where thoughts have been so many times. To the lust for a lover.. When i have no one.
And Raw is truth..
What option have
to tell of self…..
I am
what i think
i am
and then..
Thought is never enough without actions,,and truth asks of actions to remember consequence. To remember what future did. Is a little foreshadowing,, and cautious, or paranoid and / or a side effect of low self esteem. Have you ever know relief,, as in ,, you were tortured for a number of years,, and then one day you awoke,, and life was different,, the normal fears that ecisted , have gone,, the american and russian forces finally coming to germany in the second world war.. Relief..
And so as i write this , I smoke,, A patent to my day,,
and i am wrong for doing it,, and i am sorry for anyone that thought i was going to achieve in the physical realm,, for i have done that to my own regards. My achievement has been to know my achievement.. Where Down goes, the surviver knows.. And achievenment is surviving at all.
Or as the growth is ,, even that becomes the question still,, what is survived…

and it is after work on April 8th or so 2005

what the day,, Insulation on walls,, reprocessed to be more money than paid,, and so it goes,, realistate devaluates,,giving me a job.. But i know in my heart i am treading water,, feeling so far away from life,, like it is over there,, There with the people smiling and holdout arms to greet another,, it is you walking with the dog,, and you jogging,, it is anything other than the temporary hole i am again in,, money,, and drugs,, drugs to keep me going for money,, and drugs.. Spiral..
I had stopped, hoping i was stronger,,and more secure it the devotion to music,, enogh to sleep in my car again to get the next thing i need..
But what need?? My dreams are achievements.. To still fight to hold on to a personally approved project of independence, and progressiveness. But so outside of my day in construction.. Except to the abstract.. Then philosophy curtails the difference,, the planning ,, the tolerance, the devotion to quality,, the nessecity for quality.. Life leasons learned to reapply but time for my progressive buisness thoughts and actions;nill.
So here when i get home,, i am to react,, willingly through these pages.. Lonely from reader,, like my loveless life,, it is here that i know the most of my nothing.. And smoke my joint and watch the sun go down an hour after i am let go..
The sun sinks slowly , thoughts roam my head driving home,, what if i didnt smoke? would the time be more fullfilling,, like when i quit drinking.. . the change purely balencing,, then whiened out.. For i have no energy to think,, and the world is a place i pass while going to work and home,, and yet to quit again, is to see that i am stuck.. And must have great freedom inorder to achieve.. I must not get stuck,, and this has been the last nine months. In August,, i will be free of probations.. With the correct lies,, and gratitudes. ,, that is why i am stuck right now.
The courts,, and my breaking of law,,
i had been mentioned earlier,, i have already done some of the dancing i was told to.. It was interesting ,, to have a meeting to go to i could call school.. It was of course,, drunk driving school.. Oh yes i am not a lawfull man,, i have broken the rules,, of society,, and have paid,, but they make rules agaisnt being human,, and some characteristic you can only try to control them.. I think it is funny..
The control part.. For the worst always seem to get away. The best characteristic are not acknowledged enough. And we all know the nice person is often the last to win anything. Humility is not american any more.. Humility is a lost characteristic of nobility.
But where to myself does that apply,, you see i am in flux of the ways of life and the path of kenneth a ambrose.. Maybe i realize myself so much that the forces i have faced make me feel almost retired to the fight. Even while i yearn to leave this foster system this slavery and master,, where the slaves crawl on the dead bodies of each other to be masters.
I just want warmth to a bed, and solice to a nights sleep. I want the day to be of sunshine, and the hours long to consider the ebb and flow of life. .. But in all this, I want to be able to think,, it is a drem, where you can think for yourself.. While i waste years thinking to help my master. I would to give to all, as a writer,, my slavery to thoughts, and produced self examination.
But it is time i am after,, time away from the hourly,, that is where i need to go. And will again soon,, i know but it has to be peace full and not forced,, I know i want to leave boston,, in September if nothing is going on.. But what do we make go on,,
right now i am thinking of ways to get out ,, of the boredom I am in,, i have yet to finish my room.
I moved and that is one thing..

April ten, 2005
And so the day has past.
The hours gone never to relive.but yet not far from the repeatioous Yesterday. And agian I write.. Wonder why I would even.. Though not to let the evil in of depression. I would wonder onlly why we do anything,, such as Have a life, for it seems outside of self to live. And a life is alone in importance mostly.
Some times I can feel that so distinctly.. The air almost tells me on shadowy magical days when mind and body seem to have seperations.. Those times when all around seem off in their peaceful world and yours is hard and tramatic. All are hard and truamtic,, but the lesser or greater is composed in our ablitity or disablity of sight.
I sit talking to someone,, listening more than talking,, this person is off aobut this project they are doing,, and by the telling they are furthering that thought to themselves,, but we fromoutside look at the play of two people and see the conversation doesn’t match,, the one is nt really interested in future goals.. What is now,, he seems to scream,, what are we loosing for remembering tomorrow. Liek the plans of men,, are and gone,,
the now,, the now.. And it is to see, and seek future the love of .. The second…. raw and without rival. It is that same second we argue over,, you telling me,, me,,
and I ,,
and this is the problem.. I am only hearing me,, though you are speaking the words,, you never mention us,, you are so formal and social.. Your actions, like a play, are manipulative,, which you make stick with concerns you lack.. ,,
those moments when I can not say,, what is this now,, you speak of us waiting through.. My present is only as important,, as who I am.. Now..
And now is the changing of how,, you are known,, to yourself,, in your peices, which never fit together well enough to sum up quickly,, You ooze out,, unless you are demanding.. Then you splash.. And get everywhere so much that it is hard to find yourself accept bit and peices you whip off tooth and jowal.
April 13th,
last night what held of heart again was lent away.
Eyes entering and tales levied estime for understanding
where I maybe did not.
So affixed with a lover,,
her black hair and well shapped face. For which to see smile , Proclaimed for me a world peace, and a sight of love sounght after ending. For against the indisputed agony of contact, acceptance, rejection,, I was attracted and followed I was interested and lived.. But no gian is gained, no prize for the contested.. She is away into computerland. And controled by the Provider.. My big brother who lets me have a real life of interest.. Where floating to goal .mentions the call of forms. .Old testiments and certianites. As loves giving makes of doubt and hard heartedness. An yet innocents, prevailed,
and I am cast to today without her magic Ravenshadow..
We are not to be indecicieve today,, are not to let the small litter a path hurried to death. Today, to the silent we are in love.
But temptations borders, the analizis of all that I am not able to see. For love with the free is love of all in mediation.. And so the day shouldn’t change and yet.. I feel I want to be possessed again. Tides moving in and out , up and down, the radical sobriety of intuition, or the blinding voice of paranoia, not of love,, for in that vien, I am fighting against, not the being but the living in fantasy,,
Oh to hold back. Waiting for more moments to tell,, I have to listen,, I have to remember, I really feel in love, and must not saturate the idea with the ideal. For the stain glass makes rainbows slanting the afternoon sun and breaks easily

enertialcall.com presents
an Open Mike speak

At the Poet’s corner of the
WAKE UP THE EARTH DAY
Jamacia Plain , Massucettues ,USA.
Your town..

Sat. May 7th, 2005

Check this!
As an enertialcall.com production We refuse to do anything without some classic guidance..So the classic are asking to be read out loud and once an hour. So this is what we are going to do..
We are looking for readers, to read classic poets. Actors , Other Entertainers and Literary Professionals, are asked to Email the Enertialcall, ( to schedule a ten minute time slot so their favorite classic poet call be hear to help create the environment and community of words in Jamacia Plain, and there by the world, for another year.

Plot plan..

Scheduled activities. Ten minute Poetic Reading, thrity minutes of Open Mike Enertianer of all sorts,, from comadians to songwriters, to jugglers and assorted stage clowns , YOU, are asked to come preform for fifteen minutes ( sign up during the open reading).

Reason-
The active artist in writing rarely get to speak their work to the general public,, Even with internet and other publishing option, a written artist is mostly cloistered in a room with computers and a animal of their choise, But this creates a social vacuum. (We actually think we are talking to god,, because the clouds move a certain way but don’t tell anyone.)
A vacuem of ideas, and a society which is generally reluctant to talk. So here at the Open mike speck. We , the writers, ( songwriter, Poets, fiction writers) in all of us, do our part for the divistiy of society, which doesn’t wait for the establishment to gold stamp us which basically create a gag order by becoming Puchased entertainment.

So it is another day to the life of one so betook by creation that fourties years have passed just trying to recognize the planned insult I have lived against myself. Have you seen the fault of your own. Casting doubt on the unity of life lived without concentration, I guess happiness is a declared escape. And when blindness comes to light where do we stand seeing the knife in our own hands. Or the choke hold as our own.
Have you seen that,, where you studied yourself, and found fault.
And for which we can not it seems avoid. Where words work reason. Instead of the passion of singularity and beastial civility. The dog with a suit instead of skin. A blue suit of flesh, cast without bone, I speak to stumble , for stumbling hits on the stone relavance, the sublime elimination of president, or the exceleration of it.
I am never sure, twenty years of this,, casting thoughts to a thoughtless muse, where uncontrol is released and the thoughts are not, if words are action. Casting into the silence a trillion strong,
Maybe yet, only because the word is provided.
Nothing to do with me, where nature is no matter,
tech this!
Extreme views are the only ones left.. To many answers left to rot,, to many thoughts not given to flow. We deny to survive,, and scream “get use to it” and
look to sponscer the messenger
and kill them..

so another day..
Work over, smoke in system, the night runs befoe me like I can never get enough time just alone enough to think. In peace with civilization enough to think, or is that to feel. I am never sure,
here I will show you,, for today, quickly I passed a girl. I know this girl from an attraction mutual and private, no one will know. No one does, know , I saw here today..
She was as special as I remember a slim body with propotion which tease, but I remembered her lips, cool and soft, a slick carese with a small thin tongue. And a moment passed between us,, her a private escape from her present mate,, as she cast off a date to stay late at a chirstmas party, I would to find a love on such days, where we try with all our heart to remember traditions, and we most always remember what we did on those days,
to touched her eyes, when a boyfrined, replacment , was boring the shit out of her,, and Ego ,, I guess , a speak little say less, .kind of recomodation. To the talk a lot about things you don’t know.
That are grandious, and ill fitting a social occasion.
I saw her and was tranfixed, standing guilty for my visual replacements for my fears,, I have grown so morose, It has been two years, since love found me,, it has been just yesterday that I have found the visual my only opprotunity, to feel , my wish for sharing , I carry a burden few want to think about,, becasue the thought is the action , and it is rebellion. True and simple,, to have faith..
Now I am relieng on that word to give the chill expected with a statement of statements..
For dogmatic connection are the control and so the next asks ,, religious faith. And there one comes to what study you are of. .. And seperates from simplicity. The opiate of faith is to be regard some day , as a common human sence,,
these are the roads of mental evolution. And dice cast to understand space,, and to divine commoness… for which it is only the excistance. In peace and postitves…………. politics are after facts of desisions.
We stumble till we make it.
I have been considering these lines for many years,, the idylic state of escapism, focus.

This Is the second time I have written today,, the first ,, while sitting with coffee after work, watch women ,, watching what I would like to be sitting over on the chair there. But no.. ,, so yes is the leading of our desires.
Sitting writing would be the only way I could want to be “picked up” but I am a man,,
that is what I was writing about..
But for the mention of the head of a nail. And the small concerns to the larger, and so say my fingers, and a complete second.
I wondered about death , early in my life, being one of the millions effected by three mile island, a nuclear reactor in pennslyvania which in eighty something Release nuclear waste straight into the susquahana river.
So I learned to think about death,, white winter,, but apon the racks. The calling of alien eyes, the habits of animals,, the warm touch of sex , song, drugs, and meditation.. The faith of man surrounding deaths definition,,,, where patince would tell that death is a reactive experience, and subjective,, but what of the transerance,
such that the death is a representation of creativity, where we ask ourselves weather we have been true,, and living the moment like just demanded,,
where we hung,, and stopped,, where we spent hours and hours…….
What a worth whiled peace.
Different day, romantics are not so. Left leing to the wind.
Set stance, and broken.
Where our freedom travel we do and do not.
The latter a part of supression, and or civility. The definition seems costly. Civilization is te gear of life,, it is also a cost forthose out side ,, a cost to live inside the bubble of plenty, eating from garbage is not so bad as the price..
And a peice of humility… but what a worth whiled peice, (and by the way it is not your garbage I would pick. DD’s or stop and shop,) No moneys was paid in the mention.
Could someone get on that..
So I am asking to leave in side of thought the echoes, of diversion. A nice day and I should be able to relax,, but work,, wrighting..
Left overs of the past it seems sometimes. Here to talk withoiut conversation one sided and alone, what a morose venting.. ? maybe,, I would to have someone to hold ,, and so I coume out here,, but the sun is touching my armm. And I am getting scared of the sun,, becasue I am a paranoid , and becasue I have sen to many moviees. Which once made us scared to the future,, and now,, we just are presented with the desprite battle like media has political social motivation. But there we go to ask the call, of inside love and devotion.. What desprit battle comeing to the home and social, there standing on a bridge amist call victums..
And noting but the wind for I am not thinking,, .. But to stare at the white specks of ducks or such, on the lake in front.
People ,, are around alittle. A girl in a black and white top. And trees fro which I think are the reason for the comfort.
A sole reason of there are there,, like I am to feel ,, this place of knowledge, the wind is picking up speed, and I am feeling a little sick, I could of heaten but I forgot.. And yet, with the bases of the trees cut off byt the hill above it and which I am on, the trees are fantasies, and we dream of the grounding,,
As I walked up I thoght, there is a place to die,, without much eles but what I have,, and who would off my dead body take, to new stries, and the truama of a mommetn of need, for who would without ,, and what move would it promote, to talke of objects. ..
The line of the other side of the pond, seems to fram out what I would see of it, little sniper targets accrossed the way , if I was in a video game,, funny that,, the intermixing of techonogical training and the raw evolution of human thought caused by it,, the movtive without know able results. .. A distant shr seem much of life,, there over to be alive and sittig ,,
the girl attracted my eye,
a momment gone, I will not .. For the motive is I am always stoned,, and no one would want me,, and there we go. I smile ,, larger thatn life and feel at one with the trees,, drunk till dawwn has proven after life,, and now the trees are more alive than whiskey.
But still.

who is this for these words,, am I getting closer to telling you anything.. I know I have nothing to tak about now , after so many years, of see what is said , but yet,, I don’t feel I have to say much,, the idea, of trying reflects and creatively that is enough ,, but who would take with holding axes,, our stripped sod. Abandoned, and there still one roatates around the earth, speeding everysecond, and now toys are getting just as fast,, .. We stand to know ouselves better , from a himan lived if only through gestures,

John Burns..
And where apon the stool and step. Does this house arise,
against a moon of happen chest, and sirens to the lyre.
We call ourselves to rest and vent ,, the criminal in our minds,,
but peace and love are heaven sdt to know the day devine.

As jon sits ,, in among large fallen trees carved for there seats, wide enough for the arms to be free to write, and abbeys work was everywhere, she had gone to work in the early morning, draming he found his waking hard,
what attributes to instant knowing, where you ust look around and you feee home, , to rest and no a travel is welcome, and true. One doesn’t know as we move and talk ,, as we explain and hever really listen..

On.
“ I see in past and subscript
iion. .
Therre it is criminal , to think, helpng against the thoughts, ablaxze from thought, blazing.
We run our innocents aroun . Flaming descision. To suffer the burden, corporate and scandel ridden, but not my home ,, no ,, pure as the ego is long. Telling visons the outside of being true,, when inside out full stomach is a maker, and a easy head our high,, here to digard, such that calmor to be reconized, a german pope,
and I would to litter, with conspiracy thatns, and
I would to ..
See the boat house read brick with a gasebo.. It is like comewhere else. German alittle. And the plot thickens. ..
And here I am agin,,
for a couple of moments lets tell how we got here,, sitting with the type writer, asking for nonthing, becasue no one to ask, theshear ego of standing with head plastered into a laptope, wondering weather it is all worth whileand it I s a calling to himanity, observing the observeing self.
I resdend in the car last year,, dduing this time,, the early summer, sool ness and an exacy of change from snow , and the ugly, we can not talk about politics, and we feel it,, we don’t want to ,, only wanting the day to go on,, and no nuclear bombs drop,, but you know it is one of those days, that you really could care about even the next moment for it seems a long way off.
Then it is not so with a ranger,, car with light, come in.. My perfect sin..
To feel at all .
I am not saying anything right now. The page will slip by with me typing,

john burns”
enter the dragon materialism, wieghed to be acceptance or dejected subjagation. Of middle management ,, and god as controller,, with our hands on the machine. Staring nightly in to a farce ever and ever deepening.. Until escape is manidortory, and justified,, to think is enough if oony to get time to do it..
Where the structure imposed on the free spirit, the denial that has broken our trusts enough to lie cold agaisnt the earth,, when we have a good idea, for th challenge to be it ,, for foles have already been defined, . Some how ,, the escdape is natural part of change, to burn part of the recreation. .
Upsetting what morlasi have remained with, for the actions are the cancer, not the thoughts, I have the cancer,, I am not whole,, touching my beatial, remain human, and scared from the battle with sexual loveing,, scare witih deiase and with usage,, as a man become the fool of.. Oh yes , and even that is the prossess path and estigma to learning anything, I followed my intition for the reason of forgettng all else, thelife is how in the living.
Simple told stated,, where the living is no longer a question , beodmes the way to moment , ,, and as the apinting gives not,, a second full body is a camera,
..
So here we are,, I have moved so you know or don’t now is different,, five males in an apartment, I am the old man , and unapproachable,, becasue I have always been, or new england has hurt me with the narrowing of focus, the tell who you are with a look,, or express yourself with the school you are in,, and the need you hardly ever get to the surface for the amount of conversation it truely getts,, thing Night is young with the eyes of the mvement, the telling of saints vestages,, the marytr of blood and sin that directs shadow hours.
But as these writing are directed and as life is producing tonight is alive, with the conversation we will not remember in the morning, but the hours we will smile. the testament of our escape,, the giggling of getting to other side from a matter of monents flirting with dehydration. What Gods children will do to peek at death. .

April late almost over
2005..
Shall we just watch the children
go further into a confusion
sponsered by government, media, and the usages there of.

While I listen for the shrieking.
Asking why now.. ?
Asking what will replace?
Asking why are you representing me..

And invasion should be ..
With a lot of people and quietly.

I would to tell you everything,, and the effect of self to see it..
As I would write very fast for everything is in constant flux,,
and if everything includes time, it is the decision of tomorrow today..
And it is now more than it is feelings.
Enter the cliche,, Life is what happens while you are doing other things.
What if everything is personal and universal,
, the reactions a common sense of faith
are so complex yet simple,, like hygiene.
I feel badly about this so I reach to change it,,
that is sanity, or so a therapist has said.
But to think we can divide the issues,, is the fault of know one..
Spiritual Knowledge and self perseverance,,
create separation..
You are over there coming toward the bread..
In my hunger I lurch forward,,
emiting the territorial nature of animal man,
, thinking is there no more..
.starvation is around the corner..
Using this as a call to arms,,
seems what I am use to (amused to) as an American,,
Did I get it wrong.. And even if I did,
we feel to know anything..
Such that we really don’t reason…
… and are explained, without thought for thin skin,,
so like the approaching of Geodesic domes for cities,
we are caught between ourselves,, and ourselves.
For as I grab for the bread
so are my people fed
, so is my government known
,, and nationality indulged..

While I listen for the sheriking.
Asking why now.. ?
Asking what will replace?
Asking why are you representing me..

And invasion should be ..
With a lot of people and quietly.

Like the Chinese everywhere..
Such until we know no boundaries, and taxing systems.
So my friends.
Crowd Proud and the rich should never be Baseless..
So able to reach from distances unheard of popularly.
Yet
Green Tara, a neo-historic pride should be the government..
Responsible to people,
whole and in that,
, beyond people’s favoritism,,
for an agreed on higher law,,
the law of truth .
removing veils of egoistic
western knowledge and it’s exclusions.
Leanings which create doubt
and permeated spiritual thoughts and feelings
destroying the natural whole
as it can be shared
through the affecting Greed ,
as a commercial object,
hoarding fashion and fascism.,
and the mirror
Every leader should explain there actions against the god, of future for all.
In the explanation of god as self. energy
with the responsibility of non-physical existence at stake.
Which is known by action.
And the mirror
yet shown through the eyes
in all.
And an invasion should be ..
With a lot of people and quietly.
And global conquest is inner peace.

I think I deleted a file..
Oh well
,, tonight I sit wondering why I write,, the first mistake of the page was ,,
“tonight I sit wondering what I write”.. And first is the last to consider though I should..
I write this,, these words somethime I enter a field of understanding. I would to say self understanding ,, and then societial for which one is the other,, and the more we strive for individuality the less likely we are to achieve it.. Though even in that I am side tract to realize,, we have to reach for individuality to know anything ,, of our desires.. For there in smallnesses,, and there are a trillion.. We are unique,, except that we all desire…
And in that we shake our heads,, and run to the nearist mirror.. And clean the blemish. With the glance. Remove discover for how it offend for the accepted giggleing beastial obnoxiousness disreasonablly floating our world to hell. With governments and wasted humility.. On a side of the world a man begs for coins,,,, in all sides of the world,, and even with the system change there will still be that man,, when there is plenty,, there are broken rules,, and cast out are created,, from there they find just resolve to understand humility as sufffering to balence. The egotistic idealology of brainwashing cancerism..
And from there to survive the invalids history ,, for what these ages will be come know as,, imagine mankind fighting nature ,, yet,, through his refusal to evolve,, A refusal I think is not blantant,, such that we are unerringly simple and would rather stay that way,, but yet , ,the thoughts are only complex untill you feel them,, or, the thoughts are yours,, and you know what I am talking about,, but do you know why,,
and if you know why,, are you talking ,,, to..
We should with out heart create a future for love and hope,, but that is admitting,, and it is self and what or society,, It is of self. alone,,
and the small,, power of the individual.. To feel.
Nature is not based with conversation in mind
it escapes us only because we are it..
It takes a real long time to understand the ego tronic,
it has nothing but acknowledgment .. To understand a non time state,,
and out of body ,,
ness.
I guess I write because I want to know if I am insane or not.
Basing the escape again and again.
Living the lying knowing we are living,,
lying.
Yet calmness removes being and contribution. To being
and contribution,, road .. What a person can speck and no good or bad , makes gestures to the street,, in long and short forms..
I am lost.. Smoked and lived this way from years,, am I fighting off the insanity I want to live ,, or living the inner child experience,, over and over,, the clairvoyant guilt and wieghts impotent passion,,, a decision,,
in past was a life threatening experience,, and
so there we find ,, death,,
the subject and the calling of natures peacefullness, though I would not want to die,, but yet,, the killers are out there,, some a screaming what we should be,, and others,, are caring about who we are,
and then, there are also the saved people, who can not equal anyterms with themselves and commit suicide.
.. And I leave for the train..

May 8th 2005 some here we are again, you and I unknown to each other searching for what we share.

I want to expose my self , I am a pervert ,, or a scientist,, I prefer the later,, but what can I say,, I think love has left me ill. And nature is to see, so I am trained to want this ,, so that you will know the experiment of life , one doesn’t end,, and to ,, adds evolutions to thought innerly,, where physcologist are suppose to lead us,, we learn then to lead ourselves,, Though, my answers may not be right,, I am not looking ofr morla right or wrong , just reporting while even through my intellectual ablitiy to hid,, I refuse, and so it with a greate homor, and a civil guilt,, that I report from here, with little idea about how you will take this,,
and if all my words are left for nothing,, then I would imagine, I am not alone.
Writing on the Sunday,, the Sunday,, like the end of time would , in just one moment, make this the Sunday, or something. It is mothers day,, and I have an aswering maching ,, so has been my life,, but who started hurting who first,, I can not remember,, I was to young. J
and so there we are left witout that one element for which might have changed my whole life Would I have believede the reality proeposed at me,, The childish rebellion still persistant,, the doubt , there to , but with limited effect as an adult knows it is not a right or wrong world it, is do ,, or deny.
In , little twon of pennslvania , I don’t think I could recognize art , as a child,, I saw rececord covers,, Elton John,, Yellow brick road,,
the time of the surrealist copieng dali,, and doali, remining a study of egg heads.. ,, We watch limited televsion , but even televsion was less concerned with mental evolution , thatn it is now, ,,
and I would make the mark of mental evolution as been a staticcal technonogy,, in media .. And not the other,, if the other excists..
Wheile to acknowledge it , it is live it,, but that is the adventrue limited people take.
And their we smile.
For the adventrue is in reverse of the steady and “real” system, ,, America is a constant fight with System, without true debate on the concept of it orginality,, and is the vison of the fore fathers to remove the evolution of that vision. For idealism and never reality,, and democracy is an idealism,, until there is one person one vote,, As the only law of the land..
Every citizen must vote..
How does this come back.. The land of exposure , the Sunday afternoon, and cancerous success of my present venture,, success,, I am proud to feel, which it still is not secure,, and when secure ,, it is only the happiness to be ,, that is cliaming it own,.
You wait for years to feel the truth of years,,
accepted for who you want ,, yet proof of want is in the giving.

So now another day… fphone calls and the desk is not set. The work area, spred everywhere,,
Thoughts while accepting a challenage.. And veeding to make phone calls.
Must here report while it is to report,, I have made enertialcall.com into a portal of art and consciousness. Asked people to join but left no sign up.. And I don’t know if I will. To be apart of life is to introduce,, not to fullfill. Unless , the evolution of self seems trinad for such,,
oh I have mail , let us check.
So here is the life of being.. I am watching.. And waiting. ..
So I started the enertial call..
The road has lead to the INTERNET,, and there are a lot more thangs happening on the net,, then just me.. The internet is like the streets without the contact..
Every demand is a click and an account away.. Feeding desires. impassioning the diversity, to go on is a changing of life.. Good or bad, it is speed itself. And so I am watching women strip, I am feeling my desire for others and watching them. I am spiritual as in I am innocense and still cry at movies….
It is not a reality but a fantasy ,, but the spirit still needs to roam the immoral.. Which if I might add has been made up of the rich,, who for years, have cursed love with sex. For love with sex,, is a higher state, then possession.. ,, so day freedom with lend self to sharing,, my next girl friend might be the lesson. Maybe I will be able to see the classic whole I am representing then, but not I am in desires,, and they are on the net..
And I am there target audience..
Used for my desire to reproduce,, my need for intimacy which I never get,, and I guess if I did I wouldn’t write of ,, mostly because that has been the past,, I have often avoided telling in any conclusive matter, my deadlier sides of life,, where I would walk out of your civility and use your passions for my giggling. Because I have,, it is a use we know but rarely tell. And even more rarelly come away from unscathed.
I think at times that Morals have been invented to limit our thoughts.
To make a wall where you are ,only to, look with disgust.. When to know the wall is to know why ,, for tended with the evil is the truth .. And one gets lost to the other.. Like the moment you realize you have come to the top , after being through up. You float,, and then you drop..
The high gives you knowledge
but now you have to fall
with the knowledge. Tuck
in your belt..
To survive
your call
to the fall.
I have seen such heights,
my humility so adjusted.
Watch the children being thrown.

So here we are I put porn on the computer,, I watch from the side, with “underground metal”.. Thrasher music
and people wonder why I play atonally..
It is getting late now.
The television is only as good as the show. And complete porn will do. I guess.
Watch and watch and feeling the dream of another,, of the legs you could touch if only , the breast which make you hard and wanting. A burning within your thighs , that gets you to a state of complete intoxication,, and from there to spasm.
I watch,, her hand moves into thiegh tight shorts.. She massages her nipples , and massager her clit. I stand opposite and alone.

So it is another day.
The last few have been sickness, and travel. Sickness and love.. To tell, I have been with a mother, and warrior. I have been with a nine year old child avenged against mankind, for cash. What more fantasy possession for a sexually abused child. A nine year old who ran into the world and sacrifice so she could call it her own, because of the sacrifice she faced in the home, and her doubt is humugus .and her will Devine.. What I could say of her, is that she is alive with the courage to live the small hole which most would not in order to see a future in her children. Or see just her childish self relived with vengeance,, I am not sure.. About all my comment concerning her, but I still feel small around women. And she has me to the same point, I am not thinking straight, and want her,, like my love will help her life. But the coldness of loving . Entertainment people is huge,, like me to mine,, outside cold while I keep some inside, protected,, but lose the mantel quickly, as she touches me,, knowing my inner so quickly,, the balence which can normally be avoided rushes to the edges,, for me it is a new day,, and I must make accords..

Right? Yes as the leading gives..
The balance of another in your life, one who you consider preciously involved with you,, they can leave in a second , drained off into the tidal waters, which keep the baby wondering about the bath water swirling clockwise or countre. Depending.

May 15 2005
what words can encompass lose. This week as would mention a moment , I had many waiting for a lover to show up, who wouldn’t give her correct name. But I am not to know.. Really, I found out her name by reading her license. I found out her heart listening, to lies.. And yet,, for the lonely who have made life no matter, I found her. So much about her I found love in, but yet something slunk away into a corner to find her.. She seemed so fresh and loving, but the game is easier to real players, the love is as shallow and a performance hidden behind an approaching giant. The larger master showed up , in two days, by the second she had cocaine. And we freebased into three in the morning. And it was my fault she was late to pick up her children. It is to remember,, for her body, was my cruelty, as mine might have been hers. The right height for my frame, the weight of a feather. An hour glass design, and high cheek bones naturally carved and hard to make out from the weakness of body fat to support. Oh so lightly are our lives held when to them we hold ourselves lightly.
She flowed in my arms playing the innocent slowly letting me into the facts as they became pertinent. The ‘Oh I danced there”. Dances, and she was a stripper. Then “I have an arrangement with a man for the phone so you can not leave a message.” The boy bought me an extra line thinking he could keep track of me” for which I only answer when I know the communication or an not sure as in it is a different phone a new number a new person.
My heart wants to cry , wants to feel the loneliness and depression of those years I have past. But can not anymore,, the facts are so telling the tale so long. And with another again they were shared. My list is again the length of abused women for whom I saw the timeless depth. Then was faced. That which a part of me understood and in my hiding equaled for all.. As our hands touched and life lived shortly. The beaming of our faces, transcending you and pulling at us.. Your attentions a thing of cancer as it comes without cure. And you is everyone.
You are me.. Yet seeing the instigation, knowing the sudlities, absorbing social clairvoyance, feeling the chemicals rise and the loneliness fall away , revealing skies ,which just before, were saddened and hollow. We are both to blame, for the same thing. You because you want me, me , for trying to live truth in comparison, which I can not find for your changed character.
Your lieing makes me want to play the same and I am quiet,, and that is the lie, for I am never quiet,, never I don’t let a single sublime interest go astray and see how a moment plays off you and there is my evil.Cause I can tellyou what you don’t see yourself..
Each of my list was intelligent of street,, and remark. Makes me feel I am a bad,, because it is the same sight, I am just reporting though. I see and yet it is just sight, I will not walk the grounds having no power except you wanting me.. And when you don’t as moments pass and I am to quiet or to confrontational to your life,, to real. You are gone like the wind is just the wind, and marks on the soul of desire, and there for decoration ; never seen.
And hours of time pass with only the remainder o f life to lead, bouncing from joy to joy, slowly for the hours have made me so.
I was never to figure joy into life young, only now do I consume what happiness is derived from life.

And so it goes on. The morning is . The thoughts are,, We walk the rest of our thinking trying, to have more time to think. Or at least so I think this morning, When the question of life is raised thru coughing. A piece of blood on the handkerchief, and a world of infinites gets emotionally brought to the front of my list of thinking.
It is a list I manipulate around a lot, but with only limited success.. It is like I can not read the thoughts. My emotional attention devoid of personal Physical objective….. So time for the worst, I forget to clean myself. And I forget the goals of being for which is to be happy. I have so strained life , that to be happy is to accept what happiness I get without all the complexes. Of personal goals. I have personal goals. But the emotion focus is inhibited. As a subconscious reaction to lack of personal love. The hole in self created through lack of real happiness in all I do. People I know and the life I lead outside of these pages,, but even here,, and it is of here that I am talking,.
What is this .. These lines and squiggles on the paper,, so rapid the occasion and so useless in my life. I come home and quietly lock my thoughts into these words.. Lock my art into the self evaluation, when if we are spiritual beings we can not but communicate,, with every action. Like the cat painting, with intent begins the focus to product.. I am still scratching with paint on my paws,, and for what that is I am registering the slavery man himself and achieve in that .. Through that,, to understand and tell,, his complexes through my disparities to a writing career..
Another slavery as comment of editor , as process,, and self style eliminates,, and controls the raw in-spirit-ation (inspiration) and complete new speak. Even now I am having a hard time remembering that I have no real purpose to write here accept self telling, (except self telling) fro which the week has had absence. I had spent the whole week in the tales of doing,, the lifting the work and trying to smile as much as possible. I notice the craft does not make me lazy inside of the writers complex to know.. And so have the confidence of the reporter, the ego of society , after trained in how to know. And there is problems for what I know is made of how I know,, and there is education. For which a collected guidance I do not have, and as my ill-education takes me, so the confidence of true knowledge keeps me. Yes there are people who get paid to do this ,, these scribbling lines. And weigh in to the knowledge of mankind with opinion and clever wisdom. Formulated into intricate plants,,
as I tell of the diner in Detroit with it clearly identifiable stereotype of society,, the waitresses old lady flirting,, from a lonely life of flirting where she could not even understand how a lack of attention creates, a need for not real attention but for a mixture of sexual identification, and stratified use, we use the hungry,, knowing there are hungry ,, but our teeth sink in only as deep as we grant our need satisfied. But it is exactly that for which consumer and consumed register. She can not know what she has never had,, for she could never bee. And I am facing that,, for I can not really feel my hunger. For I am to busy eating lifeless meats and processes.
A fork and knife in the correct spot , just left of the plate , so commonly instilled with limited knowledge why,, and most likely coming to answer with mid-evil tales. Of the sword and the shield. , or maybe it is the walking on the correct side to stop the carrige3 mud from my ladies dress. To guard from thoughts.

It is Sunday,, I am stretching the night again. Smoking weed before bed. A sense of loneliness, completes the mourning of a Sunday.
A television plays distracting images of the young and beautiful. while I age and am seen as a distraction alive, letting the blindness consume or fall away, with words mental stress bares mark. See the treatment of others. Understand the reality within self sight. But I am not going to wait for your agreement.
In casual contact, eyes alight, meeting women, mine sometimes, theirs a lot. I am body and looks. Handsome and with markings around the eyes that suggest; but for which an image is only,, in our times of seeing life more than living it.. For I see you and tell a story no matter, ranging voice into sameness of self. I see myself, and that badness I would be represented in the person I am seeing,, so I am rarely seen,,
And what we would say is sight of us,, as in the claims of sight inner-ly registered,, you are, her is ,, she will be.
These ,, you think of me,, and what is the dialogue,, the hidden paranoia, revealed to me through smoke,, and the way I know when I am stoned,, but these thoughts get obnoxious,, inner thoughts of “ when am I gong to get fired” when there is little to be fired for.. Yet when yo are in the situation. You don’t think the truth and there is my need for change, staring at the television. ,, knowing I am not pay attention while,, I type.. Not really,,
And so a party goes off , and I feel the differences of sates,, Drunk and sober,, Or need and fulfilled addictions cancering avoidance of all things material. Including your hand in mine.
The party, a gathering. A souls ride into thoughts when paranoid,, stoned and innocently loving, a moment making the call to something. Unknown,, there ,, my stare is the ending of communication I am only looking at a passion.. A desire consumes and I want .. There inside this I am animal ,, and less,, than my self respect.
But only because I haven’t any when stoned really. There are the lonely grounds of the love shared with me,, drunks have really been the kindest as the addict loves to have company for Kamikazes.
And yet,, achieve as I would want ,, my ego image sitting with a library and a shelf of books ,, a leather armed desk chair stolen from a television set. For which interest are matched with disparaging ,, of how to get there,, and even self defacing where I am to do it,, behinder to find the forward,,
something is wrong..
I wait casually in a srner of self. walking the right way or not,, limbs lax to follow the orders of the beast,, even through, the beast is also winning a game in obsessions inner played.
I want truth yet rarely cast into this truth,, like I don’t believe we can type our sexuality and still be healthy. I don’t think we can classify race, nationality, or class, and still have peace. Edges separate when agreement dulls us and cause blame instead of reaching a higher order.. The commonness of mans spirituality.
But I am to switch, maybe just the channel. A Vampire slayer fight phony looking beasties.
And a Gathering ,, has voice, and no confinements .. As we set about.. The communications of alcohol.
They add light,, stung between five big trees, four foot radius trunks, tall as the four floor house on the western corner,, A Eight foot fences seperates the land of reality, where the police will come when in the borders of ending arise,
the yard in which the tree sit. Is at least fourty feet wide, and a path has been created , a green house built , another barn type thing, in the south eastern coner. Where the bar, is a red board with holes for two tap of beer, and the band takes up the most space, In a room I cleaned for a tune up on Tara, ( I have told you of tara?)
Interet become to the paranoid , the others sight of him,, to one thought andn his stight of himself,, this could keep one at home,, but no,, he wants to watch,, and the experiment is real. I am watching my reactions in druniness and complete stoner natrue , I am watching the responces slow down, I am invisioning the rapid response to a form and a pair of eyes, and the complete abanonment to humility, I try to remember that to walk is to be inthe steps of your caring,, and forget I am suppose to pay attention,, I remember noting but the furthing of a moment into transfixed nature,, the nature to leave into nonphtysical fantasy, a creted dimention, now add people and we are social. My look one that seperates.
I am thoguht of to be a lover,, when I am never loved,
I am a player,, and I don’t play , but reach where I can,, and when you have never had a caring for the pains one humbles themselves to ,, or donesnt’ as my case and many stubborn people do. I have know little of the pasions purity,, even while I felt it so completely in innocents, four or more times ife has lent to me a focus, for which its hatred of humanity was registered, and the falling after ,, times when you love , and celebrate,, and if you don’t yo are bared from humanity.. Pretend or get off the boat,, wont even hear your yellings for a higher look,, you are out,,
and so the stoner,, drunk, I become is my experiment,, and I watch mywlf change,, it is like the stoy, jeckel and hide or the drunk scene in Herman Hesse “Stepenwolf”. But yet me. I watch as I look to fullfill conversation yet never stop looking very long any where.. I am not satificed and escape question. When all anyone really wants to ask,, I see through my visons, in their eyes as questions. Like “are you all right?”. but know I will only get smart conversations going, yet no one will remember them.
And then I am agian the voice of nothing ness,, I am a clown and kid everyone,, even the biggest person in a child to me. And laughable is violence. For I am already five steps to ready ,, except they call it performance,, and I want to let loose,, in a state where the truely insane get to have there nights of rights.
And slowly the sun descends, growing areas darken, red yellow and blue flash from the plastic lights in time to the cool multi-voiced narratives with binging sounds and synthic brandings, rock music The smell comes from a pig roasting on a spit, such that you look up constantly for the vikings,, who are going to eat it,, becasue you can not remember the last time you saw such.
And it is ,, the first three drinks, and the fist set of pretty yes that have distracted. Eyes connected to sensour organs,, and plaese points,, screaming throughh my thiehs to be joined with me,, I hear, suspended in action, above the Question answer period of true mediocity for forplay. A first stage eternally is a party without reall attraction any where,, and to much on the other side,, I don’t really have time to tell you me,, I am sorry for my own visions of me,, which I am trying to change with my talking to you.. My vision so related to the inspiration I need and live for ,, the muse I respect of myself, lies within you if love is to consume,, I want to stroke you gently,, I want to privitize us,, and make memory a feeling. Like I want philsophy. Like I feel naure through.
“ Yes I am writing when I can” as I stumble with my beer because I know I am not there,, writing instead of being at this party.
Maybe that is why ,, I am bored.. And the exclence of the company is it effect on me,, and there is none,, so I see what I have seen before and the experiment is only a calling to myself to face again the dragon for which I can see the achievenment against,, the “you can not take me down” that I scream bleeding from a juggluar wound. The air thick with more whisky,, and I drink one more to fight off the pain. As the invisible double edged knife blood lets.
But at the same time old friends ask me how I am ,, ask me what I am up to .. And I have little to say ,, except the Website which is little ,, and the self publishing I have been doing on the internet, for which I forget,, but I am thinking about the music I am going to play,,
and more people show up,, the band is an electric drone with beat, and there is little room to dance ,, the new englanders rarely do.

Sitting by the side lines. Disscussing mutual people ideas and personal achievement, I never seem alive to ,as in I would like to talk also, stumbling into little groups,

May 29th 2005.

It is another day. Sunday,, where I thought writing was going to be the care of the day. But I met with a friend and played pool. For which I lost. And the day is gone.
I watch the television. As I smoke, I as write, and turn on the internet. So many ways to distract myself , I need to distract. The commericals convincing me I should turn over my life,, to the market so I don’t smell. Or offend you.
What meaning does this have but to tell me I am offensive.. My thoughts my life.
Do I argue,, do I just bow my head , telling my heart that I am still alright and it is just the being ,, or just the market creating being.. The acts are the same for who you can blame ,, no one.
So here in a natrual progression,, of the mental abdonment. W come to our minimal excahgnes finding retardernts. Minimal as to what is my life living of culture and conscious.,
Auto wrecks ,, the lights for cars,, the shambles I am seeing the careless doctors of auto running,, and being.. .. The coke 600,
the autos runing with gas,, fuck up ,,, solar races only..
And there a change comes the demands of a new day.. Ten thousand sites for consciousness , and never one mention on national television..
And I hid in my room instead of seeing the pretty one in another,, I am insane and know it.. I have denied emotions for to long and to live them feels so illegal to the acked mind.. Criminal even ,, to need,, the quiet must survive,, the hidden must live,, our analysis of reality begins with our selves.. And what caring to cure self.
Oh then the white noise from the compjter,,the televsion,, the images on national televsion, the conversations ,, no mumblings, from the other room. .. My art every where is silent ,, except to look,, the ideas to tell a friend , and to invest with more investments.
But I feel the space I need,, for truth to self. Oh, to care sparks a list of importance’s divided. A whole path is need,,, a natural way at hand.
And I feel the just ness of sistuation. The tales of you don’t like me,, and I am an outcast once for my anger. I do not seem even sane I guess.
It only gets to me sometimes.. Like now.. I feel the difference to path , people outside my door having dinner and not inviting me,, I am no one,, and it is friends,, and never,, it is the people I see beyond to see myself. And it si philsophic. , but it is divided sapce, where are you hunting?
Didvide space,, the area of guilt for which keeps me silent and just away,, I am guilty you know,, because of communication , for which I have a lump in my throat about..Depression or other wise, I have not been able to shake body lice for a year soon,.. And I am a coward.
Each person I touch,, who gets in my car, who lays in my bed, sits on my sofa, lives with me, eventrually, this constant irratation. , though I smoke so much a lot I don’t feel. And I am clean,, so that helps. But my head is guilty and depondant, knowing.. I ma wasting the communication with sorrow self and same,, my head is filed with fantasy, like when I took LSD and had to remember I am on a drug.. She is vison somewhere,, anywhere,, but mostly older women who have left me,, the pain of them my heart not being right, as I wait like the abused chid for someone to tell me,, while I answer the purposes without being told just so I can feel superior when told,, but wait all the same for the voice from consciousness to define purpose as little as possible, and as generous as focus.
So fantasy is inspired, instead of love,, and because of the love .. For desire so romantic, until clinical. I dream of your wife, and your daughter, who I have loved, with different eyes,, and mentioning names gets me there again, for I live in timelessness, and a moment we remember is held emotionally, but what is this slant,, I have turned a little. The National guard car is turning the track untouched.
I had a mental block,,what was I talking about,, I refuse to go back, was I talking sex, the hiegth shared , the magic lived,, what length humanity will go .. To be partnered,, and yet, I can not find a mate,, even as I would turn my mind so much to the qualities of life, and yet, the quality of money seems possessive, when you are cold like me, I guess,
for what interest have I found to make life become my pleasure.
And can you measure your achievements against your world or your lived environment. For I have achieved I feel in the ways of the muse, the ways of self understanding, and the talents of music and performance. I have felt my childhood, and a constant view is the over view,, though that makes me doubtful, and in that I am yet to change, It is not to compair errantness.
I ling for life, like the dreams I watch in eyes looking secure and knowing something together.
I have fallen inlove to many times,, I used to fall in love when the forces were younger, a lot. But then I fell and moved in. And she was everything , the momment past and I forgot to marry her. Somewhere she created,, and I started to imageing other women to make love,, I guess that was safer to fulfill my lusts, it was fantasy while with a fantasy, she was my first real love, We broke up afater I forgot how important unions are. And diddn’t go to a wedding with her.
I lost her soon after.
Another came along, after after after, about three years, and with me then, I was working pouring coffee, and she was southren, and I forgot , in front of her father, during the thanksgiving game of penn and pitt. And that was it.
All the romance we saw,, I created from my truamas, I loved her so much it hurt,, and tried to work harder to make it real for me, I was still in the dream , I guess like now,, maybe,, still.
The fantasy that I could do something with my life, that would be important to the kinds of life that excist. To raise conscious with a through itemization of the wrongs,, that I experience,, the text book of feelings the range of disparities beyond..
But is this writing.. Does it have answers to what where and how.. Or graceful brevity, to inspire others, and I am not sure,, and will only be able to try and live the koas, and write what I have to say when no saying it.
The future is yet today.

So today is another day.
A movie plays, its premise is true.. To a point. And I can not tell which is will.
But divided is science and histoyic morals.
And there reading is the nick cage, reading the Declaration of Independence,
one would rmark on the absence, of acting,
Apatrotic movement.
Done in disney, apeall. Prograganda,, with a mission.
But like the film is is assuming the flow of eleven oceans,, or whatever, and everything is starting to look that way, even the acting is just as second rate,, or reall oe was better,, with our cmputer dud, and limited production value in computers,,
but the worst is that if anything is true about a secret government. This could be the worst documentation. Of a truth.
Filled with illegalities. With this couldn’t happens,, like the vedeo in the same room with the Dcoument.
Or the fact that the female lead doesn’t get the idea to ask further ,, and just proceeds on and doesn’t listen , or ask the next question.. How do you see the writing?
So lets get back to the comentary..
Nickolas berates, an encroacher apon the damsel, with a story of the high treason on the masons. Where they were in control of the government,, they say,, nine we masons,, And then ,, “ or so we know. “

listening the rest of the story is a replay of tje re[;au pf a boring hall. Seen it.

Oh and the difference,
nick has the paper and it is here.
That the plot is a different turn.
And they steal the lady that cage gave the document to . .. And now even the dvd gets confused and slows .
Cage has it all.
And here we accept the plot.
,, Harvey Kietel comes in , survivig the bad lt. Thank god.

And not the 911 mistake is a line in diesney,, as an assistant.
Says,, “ ah sir, we recieved a tip lsat week but didn’t do anything”

Sothat was another day.
Today,, thinking about nother ing for some how, one doesn’t need to think as much as feel. The day was a good one,, my mother,, who is the only love I can remember when all else tells me I am alone.
A feeling is marked, with it’s actions. I smiled during the mroning for just hearing Mother tell it like it is.. A fact I figured out long ago. A mother with two children ,, alone at birth with the second. It is the first time I have recieved a letter in years. And no communication since chrsitmas. And the day excisted with the outside of being,, the reality we live with, thinking our lives as not so alone.
So here we stand. Knowing love is the only chemical able to support life and inspiration. It has been all my life I have been looking for the obvious, but without another to support what I think. As in I have walked the earth with the friends I am loyal to, but mostly , for you can ask little from friends, really. And nothing of the troubles floating in my mind..
And what has been the life.. I have often pined away years, drunk or between drunks, in a cab as the driver, cring all night for the pain I am to another,, I cried like there was no reason to be live another day.. Each love and there were acouple, drained me of persaonality, I was a chamleon trying to hold on to life but the intellectual strings found in Sufferance. For love seemed beyond me,, and still I know the growth is only acceptance, and letting go. It is feeling the difference of life with and without love.. So today I spent different ,, I felt quietly that I was respected and loved by my mother.. Is that weird,, is not it proof of being. .
And so tonight I sno different than last but a moment to celebrate through this statement, it enough.
I keep wanting to tell the story of my life, like there is such as could be told . For all the little nesses,, I have hidden, or feel I have hidden , the lives I entered without my own, for I was an imagination, and situation turned into television even if it was live.
In that I was watching, or so I thought. Most of those days were long ago. When life treated me like was a wounded child, trn and left on the streets, when I was elightened and beyond them. A profit counting the hours, like eventually is a moment yesterday.
Escaping reality with ease, for the practise was life once. Trained and talented I could walk outside like a child does, clinging to the hours of one day,, and know the answers as advice for the wise. While the answers we outside body, and the high was inside to keep company and give seclusions ever after. Early I would run with theater, escape, I would sing in chorus, escape, I would walkk to the mountain, or sleep in the golf course, I would dream and smoke, or stumble drunkenly minding the twin vision wasn’t the principle because I wasn’t at school. Or the next car, not a killer waiting for the right moment.. A fourteen year old drunk, on a little traveled road, at a quiet time of day.
Just like me. Early, when people gave me attention. Late night , when the world sleep, Attention for which lent me to think I was special and beyond even farther. Raging in the One day and how all will be, sort of ,, because I thoguht only with some aristotractic attention.. Experiencing what is mine to enjoy and take fault with,, humoriusly. For I was a slut. And late night men would buy me drinks and I would drink them under the table letting them do what ever didn’t hurt. And I drank more..
Fourteen with an id. Imagine.. I started a paper route swirling a drunken cloud.
Fourteen was an age,, fourteen was the year a step father stepped off. And everyone felt alittle lighter.. Mother brother and I ,, yet,, I was all about pay back,, and there was none , I would have gone off and killed him willingly,, carried that for a lot of years, also until . Like the staying of sanity , the weight fell away. Don’t hold me to it,, as I smoke a cigerette,, and light a joiint,,as I watch televsion,, and wait on the internet for a women to call.
The white noise giving to extra disattentions, the denied to survive stuff,, I didn’t hear about the old lady getting beat up in her house until death do we part.. And I heard it ruined my dinner,, then like when I walked up to some street living Vetrens at the top of the subway one day,, one of them was down,, laying on the ground , his friends over him, and I really thought something was wrong,, and rushed up,, and couldn’t figure out how to see he the man on the ground was alive, I just stood there looking panic ridden and needy, enough that one of the others,, leaned down like were we in a war area,, his eyes, looking at me ,, “ you stupid newbe” and he placed his first two fingers to the jugglar. And pronounced the downed man , as alive. The old lady story, made me remember how little I can do. As I ate my dinner.
I sat dwn here tonight just because I remembered to .. Apart of the other projects I am sticking fingers in,, is myself,, a part of the clay of being is grown, another survived, yet,, other projects are coming closer,, and oblagations. Ideas,, are abstract and numberious,, I want to just tell them and let the world think of them,, or I don’t and want to have the illusion of my own ablity of years on the planet to do them all..

So times I want just to be a Cam man,, like I would masturbate for money,, it would be fun for an hour maybe,, so shallow I am,, Or I now see, more of, I am a sex addict like a drunkard miming druggy, tell me your name little girl and I will with you make love,, feeling the hights of your soul to climb through your skin in heat,, Testing my own rites, hovering hands through the curves of the lower back , never touching except where the heat collect,, then test with small touches,, increased to fine moans,, my lovers knowing to let go , and I would always,,there were forever mine to cover up the whole my suicide has made . My survive has claimed,, and my growth entails to knowledge. Freedom is the living . But yet what stroies does this lead,, fourteen..
Oh yea.. That was the year,, for walking up the mountain,, the year I felt the presence, the first time I noticed the eath moving,, before I thought it was just the over heard and we never moved,, , seven I guess,
The first years of shadow s moving at night,, the first year of intoxicating dreams which some have still never left me,,
, my be thatwas the first years of tasting slowgin fizz, maybe,,
The mountain side, prayed over the susuphana valley,, and years before three mile island happened,, that was the last summer for the step father also.
My mother wrote me.. I was quiet and pace ful today.. I like that ,, but it is hard to go from ,, “ok, it is my mother” to ,, “damn fuck en christ spit in soup”.. About something..the love hate,, what we need, and what is there..

It is today a Sunday,, and again to the written page, where not in my journals with ink pen and lonley writing time,, we are herre walking the hours of life, and while the earth seems changed somehow slowly ,, the winters getting the summers getting,, I am a paranoid,, but the is consciosness getting the final straw a straw for which there is no coming back. Unless acknowledged. I sit here the wounded immoral child in a room of historic. And no one see the writing,,,,, and when I read I am funny, such that people would laugh to tell the truth,, and it seems impossible,, but then it continues,, and I wonder why I care when I am just dependant on civilization as much as anyone. Civilization that lets and drives people away from natural feeling.
So here we come to define natural feeling ,, and I think the term changes with each equality with technology, but when we don’t change with each equality or the equality of our change goes in the wrong direction.. Like the question of cigerettes compaired to the gobal warming trend caused by more industry in third worlds, a capitalistic castrophbe, such that we formed huge ad campain for one and do nothing for the other.. So here we are,, one created division innerly with the petty hatred now for smokers, when before it was for communist,or abortionist,white people seem to thrive in a hate culture and I am tired of it.
For one.
I believe human nature rises with each self social discovery,, that we change to feel the connection with the all in daily movements,, like the way we treat each other, and I foster a change just like you do to me..
But my truama have made me and for its cure I relie on my words.
So here while I smoke,, I write what comes into my thoughts,, the planning is not civil the rise in art almost illiterate. And happy to be so outside.. And alive,, then plastered into the forces of civil lies and denial.
So here we are I am getting stoned,, I am tripping the outer self. And holding on to the nature to escape for the consciousness is there,, and without it our art sufferes. But as I pull from the joint , I try and pull for life, the elements working in reverse a lot but that is to come to fully understand. But can I, Know and not know?

Another day the fantasy is alive in the coolness of a cellar,, I am to be fixing , and I am to romance my lust for. Very causiously intreging self to come understand to mirror, I hav eto feed it treates,, Alittle joy at the closer to the heartness, and the preeversion of something I have walked away from before. The complexities. And yet the years go on..
Have you ever just told you self this is worthless, the hidden lusts behind offered innocesence.
And where should we start,, interests here are far from real.. Every offer is with strings misunderstood. Like Why am I still in boston. Why does the cd sit on the shelf and why does it feel so hard to live ,, and the joint goes faster,, and sobriety is a high.. And addictive, I had some and wanted more,, but the facts of rebirth are only the continuation of path,, and spirals work for me,, I learn and relearn until I feel it.. Then it is not such a step to say it is done.
But who am I to kind, I ,, like that is the course ,, it is we, we learn with feeling, as god is feeling.
In stronger and stronger the muse. And maybe the muse is ego. But not when true,, there alone art is innocense, and positive

Taken from a recent journal.
So with an unsteady hand I remember last night, taking forty dollars from construction money. And drunk it fast with my roommate. Who started to tell me how I was acting for which cast me off into more drinking, faster, a women gave me attitude , told the bartender , I smiled as he told me,, but anger and anger.
I am not drinking to be around people , I am drinking in insanity, Wondering closer to the edge of law again Sowly wile I have so much to lose and nothing.
But what is lose but change, what is law and why have I been drinking.
I am still running from emotions. ?
I can not say, the heart has been so alone, all its life, fear makes me drink maybe I am finding the bottom everyday, in loves I don’t have ,, the bills which take my labors leaving me with a car , a home and an outside feeling. I smoke and drive people away, I smile sometimes. When the first world social order completes denial.
I Pause from the journal..

It is another Sunday,, the weekend has gone I have worked little, but enough is to keep going the wroks premise ,, to get done someday. It is late,, aws ten oclock can be, on sanday,, the day gone by saying hello. To some of the adventures escape,, namely I have gone , visiting a friend. Gone as in Past today it was done,, and gone as in sitting listening to anothers life after telling what little truth I find in mine, gone as in believing the fantasy for a second to believe in hope of the day.
So today has played out and now is done, and I was today, a plumber an artist a musicacian forming a band,, a lover from afar, a human all the while it was hot and to have sex is the closest I can come to define the humitity,, like a womens warn out lips the fourth time,, our juices so mixed she is either coming or the spittle is just coming out wetting her ass,, to day was the sweetness of being common and alive.
Butthen rating the day defeates commoness. It was a day, but even as it is late , I am doing the worst to strech the hours til tomorrow. Though I had such a time as to watch tomorrow come knowing to day was.
Maybe tomorrow I feell the love comeing that is on it was,, hopefully,, if not an nother mirage. For I have in pen pal ing met another her p0ictures I ahve seen. lousy pictures but a whole women,, thin enough pretty enough,, and what loving the touch is , what eyes the love wants ,, will show next week and I watch the time go by while staying committed to the forces of life,, and yet whet is she ,, a plan ,, a student martyred to civil illregularities with grades, two more years till a masters,, and what love inspires the dream of loving.
I need to feel. For so long I am quelling the pain with porn and wrenching my head against wall inadimit,, as I love you walking down the street..
Other project as walking toward me,, this week will make extra for a meeting with a contractor. I feel the pieces coming together, as in I am not sure where they have always gone to and wonder if they will come again.
As in I saw a movie ,, betty blue,, I was inspired by loves like hers,, the eyes that speak to me of support and reconition if only to improve the self vision of lovers. They loved me cause I loved them. They stop loveing me when they realize how alone I have always been ,, and the sick are left to there dieing..

Taken From Notebook with spiral bindings upper..

So it is morning ,,

I might be dieing
age creeps, but my fault
have come to grasp
my throat, to feel the truth.
Lets me , feel the inspiration .
And the faith
So years have moved
to reach beyond statistic birth
yet, courage,
I feel the change of time.
Finally we are weeping
if america is lead
by the rich fascists,
the immoral minority,
powerful corporate interest.
But why ? Because we have proof.
But welcome the next time,
where we define
america’s resolve
as a world orientated government.

And yet, if bush wins, we will see the real plan, behind mr.bush , with regard to corporate buisness.
If he stays , we will finally learn the big picture toward personal freedom, and domestic harmony.
We will see the final plan of republican leadership for education and welfare.
When schools are hard pressed to stay open, becasue of budget cuts, because of a defiscit which makes states cut , wheich makes towns and cits cut..
We will finally find out that the world with irrated muslums , first , but many to follow. We will see the rise of crime because education is failing to train and change jpeople for the better. Wo whats up? Who cares we will eventually learn the truth and deal with it.
Written September 25th 2004

and that was then..

And then morning,, what is not,, the beach is there over the edge of of the woods,, for what has been is .. Back in boston,, waiting like clow death, or like the future, depending on what now is I guess, the morning is ,, with trees and a partner from boston,, a partner who is , has been, will be,, a talkive extra,, like his ways spoil mine alittle,, but the goals of being seem to attract him. Like mesquitos to the smalll waters, foul is the effect of there birth ,, We , ahave gone to the beach on the nintiy degree days of this June 26th or so..
A camp ground is much more ,, for some,, some have moible homes, stationed forever on the twenty three dollars a day. Spaces,, some for a day or the rest of your life,, it works. People are people still, the life rises and fall, just heree, as steven puts on his shoes,, and survays the next act.. ,the battery. On the lap top is about done,, yet,, the trails of words don’t really stop.. Like the need to be can not have controls ,, and I have been loosing respect fore life,, when mechanically surviving.. Life the last few moneyh to the last year.. Minding I started to work almost a year to day, of this week in boston.

July 03, 0300 hrs.
A day has passed alittle like all the rest and a newness sorted against it parts. The tales of Where have you been after being known and gone. The little red headed girl who found troubles passion through misery. Who lies to stay alive, and remorses so much that the lies are life , and she seems to cry through her guitar,,a step song writing takes.
And just one, more? The boy genius wildlife survier. So in tune , selling weed and playing tunes while no one listens. All the time waiting for someday. The rememberance will fade and a father will be gone with the side long open dead stare, a puddle and a slacked stiff wrist. The remembrance around of life and addictions, the last look before cops and violent tweleve year old tears. Soaked up through the guitar’s silence for other. “ I want to go to the store yet no one will go and I don’t want to go alone.” the walk , two blocks. His last love passing with limit hello, like a women who could not stay around forever or change to fit the love she had secured. Side and downward looks. Her innocense more shield, his resolve turned to conviction. He spices “hello” with a turned lover even now. Tortured as love has chained him she can be only There in the distance forced facing daily the child of his rage decided. Smoke billowing from his bag, the 0pipes dealing to his life. She moves into and out of his sight following her form everywhere, the told story over and naked on the street.
But then even, I get for told. A women in eyes I have looked into completely to the secret and unknown. A women who will or not ,, does or does not feel what I would for her. Touches my heart of other days, far away .what was said and how it was between us left. My last touch for the first again, She writes down my number on my shoulder, to have connection without feeling every movement of her, each time to touch,
and night takes me off.

the stars come full observation,
limited street lights to the country air,
and interests.
Here is different life to easy
it comes to boredom and ever where is better.
We all have good lives simple,
there where we know where it is.
Twilight and tales.

So with an unsteady hand I remember last night Taking 40 dollars from steven his construction money. And drank it fast, while treating another to match. Who started to tell me how I was acting. Casting me off more drinking faster , a women gave me attitude, told the tender I was bothering her, I smiled as he told me ,, but anger and anger, wuiet and silent waiting , the killer without blood, who paints to much in red.
I am not drinking to be around people , I am drinking in the insanity, Wondering closer to the edge of las,, slowly while I have much to lose and nothing. What is lose but change, what is law and why have I been drinking..
I am still running from emotions, though those are the visions of me mirrored..
Is that ego or idea? Are they the same in some fashion, Idea,, to be a writer artist ,, the ego to think that I could matter,, the ego,, to remember only the self when thinking about conscious,, self as aligns with nothing so as to remember simplistic happiness.
It is another day.. \

for few moments I can with lighting hands type this,, paragraph,, type before lights out ,, type with nothing to say,, as that is the classic of all.
So it is smoke and relaxing, telling fingers the speed in matter and course is tidal. Obnoxious,, ,, I sit in a Vermont field watching youthful late twentie,, play with swings,, push push push the height, the speed ,, the jump..
A floor of dirt the softness,, the earth kinder than civility,, the day awaken more by the test and trauma, inventing for theme selves what life has spared them,

are you the savoiur because you have pained me pure..?
You have cured me of romance and determined stillness to be infection,, for a determined simple sight of savage advantage
So as a survivor ,, I am cured ,, ,,
go brainwash others more able to react.. I have been docile and determined to kill myself well without you ,, such that you apologize to me with money to keep me quiet,, knowing the bottom is bed and break-fast,, would sell soul for security.

Up gone and away..
Soon the battery will run out and the hands will move this or that to come back.. But in love real love we can transend even our subconscious,, and tho her eyes are on many women, I know it comes feeling the arrival,, is realizing death ,, like it has always been ,, except only in fantasy and experience experimental.
It comes and I would with a dieing hand remember the historic nothing life has no doing of; but is, a art’s representation.
up.

So it is now the battery is well charged, the money sorted into bank accounts and promises of work next week. It is only to survive for the next few days,, asking myself to go or stay ,, asking the gods which movement will take me to where I want to go. And less on who to blame,, I walked away from civilization to be here,, here the trees,, and I am at home with time like they talk in the aged voice which winks as answer and knowing grand father all is right. In a sond I will smoke.. And a second later I will ask the gods to lead,, for I know I am confused no matter how I go. The faith must lead me,, I fell away from civilization,, to be here,, leaving the voice I have in the city which is part of a million that sing within the clamor.. So the voice is only to partisipate within the voices. The silence with the silence. And a knod gives us to understand each other.
So here I am trying the silence with words,, asking to produce from me the might to realize a moment..
I am in the vermont country side.. A well built half A, with about five feet to its back wall, and a slanted highth of nine feet.. With and exposed fron,, the forrest is just beyond , with thick with trees, and birds who call out in different pitches to wake the world or just mate,, or give warning. It is day..
And we sit, watching the torches used in Hawanian camping, burn slowing the oil in them. Heat waves with smoke. A high flame on one of the two. To ward off mesquetoes which are popular here. I hid with the smoke and my lust,, for that is the desire to live.. And the way I got out here.
It really started on a Wednesday in the early night,, after work,, after cleaning up,, after sitting down for the evening waiting out the hours till the next day, like the last as I played the part of construction worker.. As I swung the hammer to no tune and couldn’t ring out anything. For the tired ness was getting to me,, the lack of time against the bills I was , without control, creating. A bill I could tend to ,, the absence of purpose for existence,, the habit taking over,, the brainwashing reaching for security beyond the human response of being. Being is larger and more studious then civility understands,, and of course , for that, one is seperated, into allowed personal time,, escapes into nature when it is an escape from nature is civility.
So a Wednesday after,, is the continual fight for the presence of being to return. Oh if only for an hour ,, pulling out the guitar,, living freedom of music,, timeless and romantic,, interests amassed in water colors and clay,, sitting around a Room. With me looking for the remote ,the escape into what is allowed,, without to much adjustment of system,, the human is to travel weather the body comes who cares.. The spirit’s an equal to it’s mental being.
I masturbate, with great fantasy, the women lover who would come to me,, in truth sharing the escatasy and weeding,, I would only marry the same as myself, who isn’t to let the morality of the unloving to foil my own. Touch is transcendence,, and I give myself to a spirit what is in another,, somewhere but has a million faces until holding my hand. Some door to fantasy as I disconnect that it is me,, and she is with slitted eyes feeling love,, she is with the gods and plainly she is my religion ,,till it is her holding my sex , licking tortures to my nerves,, reaching to feel the energy, she is warm there ,, pulling my hands to the muscles,, touching delicate combinations fleshing out flow the water beds tidal-ness. Of her alone,, and never two are alike ,, and sometimes I fear,,only one will truly meets your hand,, of the same faith,,
and she is gone,, no longer do I remember her out loud as inner screaming cryings rivers, undamned and daming. Know longer a self spiritual proof ;the fantasies physical nature,, for as I remember ,, I remember to well, and must stop.. For there was the road to a poet in the wind ,, as I have mentioned of swinging feet, and unaccepted love.
So she is vision.. And dream,, she has a light skirt on to let me in,, she has a smile that tortures others who are not close to her,, and the tightening of muscles is so obvious that jealousy can not help but tighten themselves for the attention unbecoming to their presents.
Its is not force and she lives to touch me as I her,, it is to escape ,, and it is to be,, knowing the sharing we know magic. Having equal unity in lead, follow, lead. For we have decided together road,, and what walks and survives is creation.. And she knows I will get her to be our creation, though the closeness to birth I can not ever go,, fouled into man-ism,, but I have the sword the idea,, the strength and the drive,, when we should have my back ,, and be my caring.
Spinning hands through pants waste lines, waist and wondering wheather will is willing. Forever a touch ,, a motion toward each muscle, and dividing. the intrestes to one,
her moans small tight sticottoes. Breathed in. Out caught like the ponds deep wasn’t really knowing to the smiler and to tire is to envelope the soul
. A hard member is the dilation of all energy. Trantic and out of body. So her eyes are not far off, laying slowly face to face,, the known realized beyond the dream , beyond science and of god.

Tweleve top men or the glass city.
By K.A.Ambrose

Outline

Scene one Party Birthday

Scene Two Hero’s inner control room

Scene Three Phlya’s room the fix

Scene Four Just us justice court

Scene Five Pain Reaction.

Scene Five A Hall

Scene Five B The door

Scene Six Neon Glass sculpture studio

6a destruction
6b the working computer.
6c the techniction “see the live writing”
6d Emergancy door with self welding frame

Scene seven Inner shelter hall.
7a Carmer Survailance

Scene 8 the pc port

scene 9 Meeting the commune

Scene 10 Concuncil (two weeks til vote)

Scene 11 Sterialization
11a assigned box
11b “the compter inside”
11c tech-noticing

Scene 12 tech enters Hero control room

Scene 13 Hero “PC” communzism
13A trail underground Order to die

Scene 14 Tech trys to show Proof to ?

Scene 15 Proof stole

Scene 16 Proof returned (covert friend and the one who stole it.)
Scene 17 tech goes to control room followed and attacked almost raped,, saved by the thief friend
Scene 18 tech and thief escape patrol by going outside the walls , where we see the new construction gong on the horizen.and kiss?

Scene 19 Hero caught between walls
19A finds food a drop of blood for water, and vit pills
19b finds others who demand blood Voilence. Everyone (there are fifteen ) on Pcp like drug, toxic state for hero
scene 20 thief makes deal with same judge (more because more friend know)

scene21 PIT
To culminate with Hero pulling heart from opponent. Phyla tossed the first coin.

Scene 22 Tech cannot find Hero trys to get into control room?
22a seduces guard gets time in control room to find secret instructions ,, veiws the pit comes on the monitor a second viewing of rigpping out the heart.
22b tech finds hero crying on the floor in shallow light

Scene 23 gets judge to repeal ruling for a price and hero is rescued
.his knowledge of power and usage complete he rises form the pit the ruler he know he is.

Scene 24 Hero kills amber Phyla and covers it up

24 b Hero kills judge and covers it up.
And looks toward the next construction.

The end

Another day to sit. And sit, is to muse. With captiol t’s, and jesting, for aloof a thought comes to natural and a day often demorsed before the fall, when just as we look
we might squint.

A room devoid of me in a state park in vermont, a pay fee here sign, looks from the house wife, with my heart in her before we speak I will not. Tomorrow another day to see trees which lean,
Truth echoes kindness? As absorbed we are,, I am ,, waiting out my importance to leave. When looking does to often,
travel away into the being of another like that is your day,, being lead with jokes drink , and joints,, as I lead myself , the self doubt, and failed innocents for whcen words first enscribed themselves to my head, I ran to throughts unrehersed and without plan, chaos ,a lack of faith, is.
Just when it is worse is what defines the extremes,
, some would say and all inside move to,
unless our world is without civil meaning

the brown and green themes , reminders,, and inspriational and sexually charged, return to nautre, appreciate for a monet , you are alive, and no matter the facts, you are all right.
Fishing yesterday , yesterday, the dusk fading to an enduced black and white,, creting an off in the distance small black bridge to a mysterious channel. A middle summers humind dusk spell. the horizen.’s grey shy’s nightly planning, with a cloak of trees to either side the dark water body. A canon there I sat. And watch a placitic ball bound on water, or not.. Ketching nothing, but having two murder scenes , as I pounded the cannon with its head, four then five six. Blood splatters everywhere, and the fish is seeing you , where are you from it says,
have you been here all the time and no one told us,, are you the ogd,, I have been told would create more ninnows, if I would only repent and redeman my equaltic shitting behavoir,, the minor princes like to have it nearer their holes, but you don’t care,, and now neither do I .. ,, you Are the god,, I have hear of..but you will never kill me,,, I am going out but it is only because you have hands,, and some knowledge of wasting your contribution to nature. For who is higher,, oh I remember,, the virus,, ha
ha ha ah ah ha ha ha ha ah ah l…. ha ah,,
seven,,
And only the stare which never look away,, even in death you see only that fear of the dark. .Wide eyed like a blaming chald.
Born of the muther see,, like you,, as you cast off the body for the mercury levels are to much to even consume the spirit. So you burn them, and known you want to go the same way.
Make me think I am going to dinner,, and get it over quick.

Wood picnic tables,, but of course I have to find a women to look at,, and to describe her would be tomuch,, and not as interesting.. Because I have often had trougble describing thins ,, objects become that which they are not, and I look with the amazement of a guilt of loveing, from the unwatered pasion of my uncontrolable and feel able to see beyond,, as she knows there is something we’re suposed to do..
And I stoned and stationed in the roots, of timely by sitting at the computer,, waiting for the cell phone, and whe is and her husband is, and it is not to claivoantly tell, or only is , even as it is just a day, and a set of eyes addressed. , one moment is all. For the yearning, A day with light for the blind , a seond of meaning for the confused, a gift of love from the devine. , a wish answered, yet it is funny for all I feel.
And the reason ,, for the words without plann, a ?wife ? Of a man,, while tending a flock of chidren in a brown bikni, quick and quit I stolen a glance, like for me it was sin to look, so over taken by her frame ,, and a structure I adore was her,, but to really see her would have,, been to much ,, so I didn’t portray what I felt, alleast I had hoped, for then I was confused, the setting sun of a humid day. A Wife mother daughter attached,, as I pushed the cannon into the still water, the keel gratting the stones, warm water on my cheaply sandled feet. Hard plastic making marks which turned to sores later.
I was quiet to the effect, seeing her grow smaller out of my distance, tuned to reveal the world rising into a mist of humid passions. While Mosquitoes danced on the late day haze. And here and there a weakening fill of orange to black or green to black, to finally blackness with lights,, distant but ever there.
And she just drove in… .. And so,, it is the same time at night , and the river will be the same I will go there,, she is a dream of no one,, her brown hair in a ponytail, her husband walking around the car,, her stoppin and loooking away so I can look like Proust in the forrest, and a misread vision of the lonely or the unfullfilled feeling each others sight accrossed the rooom , but here fomr is still my wanted schulpture,, my high and touch.
And the angles hear , that my deire is only eaquled to the day and escape of nature and in the pure and temptless, for it would be a momet for two. As one can not. A giving of totality, , I watdh her,, when I can ,, thinking about her form, seeing it outlined in a loose shirt whcih does not hid, what is just hers. And I type,, so many the moments, where love is just there,, there with another, there without me,, for the fiath I feel,, I am not sure,, it is almost a madness to feel at all, I just like to live eaach for the humanity,, but I am unpure,, ??,,
I am the fountain of youth.. And guard the entrance with each purpose and ablity. .. To know the moment becuase length and breath are to long. And can be beaten burned and given back to energy, like a poet hang who hangs on a sudden breeze.

KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

I am not paying attention angain, the sorrow is creeping into my soul. Last night I stole a painting I am greived by I love it. It is marked wth the calling of expression alling me into the middle of dreaming.. I look and see engeries,, and tellling. Waht are the effects of “depression” the asking of natrual responce to civility. Who talks the loudest must be heard.
So what am I telling what am I hearing the television using ads on a baby dealing company.
On the show marketing urban culture.
So here we sit the dis approved the trashof man, the drunkard, the me,, here where I could never answer the focus with the holds demanded,, each movenment linear and when I escape it looks so distant,, the self doubt the no when I am like this ,, talk, the late night echoes of crazy criminal activity, where I love without me,, without logic,,with a self loathing, which scorns me. And for which the mirror is the cause and the cure. Misery is to be gone. This body and time must live the future I intended ,, to stand and fight for the voice unknown and constantly conversed. But never in arts forced explaination.. There wherre we grow must be the heart and mind finding the faults of human excistance,, and answers. The proofs of out of body nature and nature that is stifled my human systems. We are beyond ,, we must admit it..
From astrology to human awareness, we are of space and timelessness, to no see is killing the earth.

So as one voice I must see through the hardships that have made me.. I must to many have died. And those are just my frineds who took in their hearts the ways to give and hold.. I feel like each of them I have failed the callings of not being apart of my life, the callings of drugs,,
And the unattached being. I roar for spirit and lose in the physical. The balence is eliminating doubt with action and acceptance.
So here I am I can create a magazine and have a talent for entertainment. As it would effect with quality. It is just management. But it is not to be let go.
It is not to be dismissed.
The time of man demands the answers of natural responces,, humanity has been blessed with innocents and intuition. A far reaching voice of being , a natural form of physics.
And it is not of me to say else but it excist,,
I am not any but a man ,, small with telling of being.
Stumbling, through our own understandings naturally,, our survival in innocense, and plant like evolution of being.,
It is to be..
From the time of being far from here the endings are the beings to be.. One society still involve the natural being . Or many but as a being it is create in heart and among all societies.. But there is the society of mind. Eternal. And of that our future must enlighten the present.
Sometimes with much strength of life. I can clearly see, the focus of humanity is its savoir.
The plan is nature.. And we worship it in the end. To direct being.
In these words I know the truth comes,, it is not me to say them and yet all I have to say, all this life or life can give is the being.
Sould I look out to the forces that have made the stanch determination of being and the livelyhood for which I must take . I am not sure,, as creating is living, the history a mirth of preceptctions understanding. And the tale a moment to see love fully.
. And yet what of the messenager,, and am I.
Except to walk do we know.
So what wind binds
tide guides , on mis laid plans
so voice is risen.
Casting lostness to body , function dis-laid, of equal to spirit, and techonolgy. It is to know not what I say, to cast adrift into the spheres of grammar,, and the asking of spelling,, alone.
nothing means more,, casting self to the movies, while I write, and ask home inside, the dream.
You understand that it is a making of my doubt,, and which would ask out of invisiblity, the clamoring wake , of future’s imagined self . This determination for the, willing,, to ask of self cure,, to see the reasoning plain and undeniable,, but the arguement become the problem, the human nature to weaken, easily,, the pained will. Lost to self definition,, getting used and proven in charater, there our humanness, make desire..guilty motive.
A trust must be with the innocense, that unity under corrected terms
not foul the land or race
with powers temptings,
, that is why some know and some don’t,,
a trust.
And the so day rises again for the darkness. But day or night interests move me to see the clamoring of me against the reality. The clamoring of betterment. Oh where can I stop and start again with the past chassing me to death. I had a dream of my mother leaving the message on her answering machine that she was gone and leaving no address. I turn on the televsion. Five oclcock in the morning is the time of news. And the time of quietness other wise, I look in side my room to make the maorning to try and sume up what is me. Even as I know each “I” is wrong. Each “and” each dis placement from point equals an intentional waste of space? An illeducated trait of me.. Me is wrong,, of course it is me.. Sitting here writing.
I have one hour before I have to go to work.. This me.. This man created of the last fourty years of American policy. Blame is not to be romanced. Blame is a cost of law to make any statement. But to see this world that has happened to me,, for it is not opinion that I was Beaten as a child. It is not the sensitivity of my mental conditioning that matters to others. You want story to keep attention. What limitedness mental paths have for you. You my un culutured mass. My readership, my friends.
So to humanity I would cast the moments that have made , this , this skin and heart , this mind and fantasy. But to wrap up a life , like foustus did, not of himself, and maybe that should be for me a third person view.
It is early in the morning, tired eyes look up from a sound sleep to the pitch darkness. Afirst moment of knowing.. The plan before the fourteen year old, a responciblity, he is a male chid. And as he rises he doesnt think about the years pass this momment or how manytimes in the future he will repeat this feeling, tired waking knowing the plan, for which he just has to walk , for the plann is bigger than him and he is just a cog. A first waking to a first job.

I have not written all week. I have spent the week smiling at my worn arms, enjoying the time I have had. Maybe I can I think. And I don’t the world is away,, the heart alone inside..

the days years go on, each asking of self the time. The self.
Alone as chistchild logic spreads constants into solitude.
A time unloved, because love is a happy testimonial. No.
Yes, I am confused,, to admit anything..
As somethings are alone.
And cast that way.

After many years the idea of writing, comes like a calling. And a sacrifice, A perfect fit, but fitlessly created, a minor of time to create the future of .. Self. and yet.
When the heard is beyond ears, and blindly present in every classic image and rightly considered, The magic voice in dostosky, ,, The intuition, in Hemingway, Spiral voices of prayer in the world of Jobe, or Jesus,
a voice inside , timeing lifes religion of conscious state,
a simple conversation which proposes responsalbility.
And it is that one which requires of the dream to make means mean.. Courage is life ,, I should hear from the begal man from tweleth grade english. Courage. The most important virtue. And I agrued it was intelligence, but there is no one,, but courage is first on my list but just after my devotion to life. For that is a stumbling with smiles and joy in trees, squirrels and papers floating with the wind in swooshes,.. A women’s eyes , a pets geature toward me. The way a friend tells a tale, the way a life is woven from scraps. In captured images and feeling is posession.

It is August and the summer is heating to it’s end.
What life has sat me here.. For which I can not make into a right or wrong., I am not sure why,, maye because I can not see right or wrong , now. I am looking at what is, the man or beast. I am, the quality of human from under my sights. Of me,,
the sites which excist with humor and hardship. With time delaid sound track, um making my sconsious comtrol. And clmplteteion. I am not handsome but watch my mirror ness, my video ,loaming televsion. Popping zits thorugh qualitive conscounsness relavances ,As I sit and talk to myself. Of other tales un mine but made in my vision.
The human species casts love back into the being.with television. Sight made us..
For fear driected our evyes and eventurally the responces.
I moved with the wind and knew the rains from sent. For I saw the creature, I ate, or ran. Seeing the creature, my delights to repeat.
So what moves you to day, moves all to inert areas of sensitivity, humanity is cats swinging at insects. Yet.
What is health , would be expressed in the repeativeness history commands its people.
Awareness of the mirror as the mirror, moves fantasy to the first view.. Eliminating the middle man, we ask for the pulse of color swurls, if we care to ketch up the understanding chaos promotes,, yet under represents. For the dragon comes the dawn.
I maybe wrong ,, could there be no connection between facts and faith. Yet to mention sees the implanted visonary comment of god.
When nature is what could be,,
Yet to realize,, while hints seem everywhere , demanding attention , as attention does demand,, gazing at the televsion while I write,, and nature rules my fingers for I will ,to let be civility. Joy exceeds greed.
Stop edit. Delay the obvious, kind prejudice, interested seeking of obvious, mathematic beat, and swelling, turning innocent, and yet..
I ask fault, demanding the obvious. But to expect to tell, to linger over one point. small and so me.. Is a timelessness of focus, asked and received, a knowledge unexplained like love,,
could be knowledge. So focus, and the manipulation, is the key ,, for I am constantly involving myself in a battle I am to understand slowly like the statements are undefined and yet known, like the truth of your hand is looking,, then cutting it up. And looking,, so we jog , or I jog, I can not be alone in this ,, asking and learning,, magic and technological effect spirituality makes of an energy mixing into perspective, knowledge into knowledge given to understanding felt finally , somewhere on an island of solitude, slowly achieved and never to end.
.. Of a timeless creation in the time of humanity,, where once we were happiest as trees..
The fallen gods. Come home..,
To reveal truth is to live inside ones own,, but truth is not given just to the saint but held in every heart, and searching,, casting aside what has been for “ want is , never leaves”,
natural morals.
.. I make sex videos to remove the scent of family,. What masturbation gives, I can not shake, maybe asking myself to be alone, to learn learning I think, but alone not to be restricted by another’s slow pace, that care to up hold thoughts paths and renegade.
No matter how fantastic. I feel them wholly.
The scarred humans which join themselves to my bloodline,, un-renounced, but yet to come with me,, as man creates himself.. And the survival is to be felt, death on a stick my Russian-ness, drunk to the day my Irish-ness, a lively entertainer to my Libra ness. A Violent escaping laughter from a scared cheek seven year old who reddening an adults palm.
The humor is the need so simply fulfilled. As we march billions strong.

A scape goat to time,, here where the mention of distance brings about wars to shut us up. The obviousness of WTO rallies, and the 911 plan. Secret money straight to our legacy. As distant media upholds orders and order. Wrold war for the world control. Eqaul sided planing”
“The president has been shot” until Hollywood comes to the rescue and sells it back again,, like if we buy it it is just fad, creating an obvious underclass of losers who listen. So disregarded is any point beyond the end of your noses,, no it is not up to the voices of Tantric. We have separate mind and body enough. We are the growth from the focus television inspires. Where none else could. Consuming lessons. Understanding that we are seeing our dreams lived, and try to know what we are living, in comparisons.
Funny , simple and true,, yet,, what I hire is him who knows.
So the voice of disreason is demanded,, tell me what paths come to ,, what innocents I can avoid and grow from,, as documentation, for each world realization is a moment passed in time,, like the edited words of men during the addvent of the catholic pope who procliamed the world round.
So each movement of art and writing should be,, a new world of revealed life, calm and lived , but the tales, are my problem,,the constand all around me talkes, and the prefjudice creation conducts,, for when I come to describe another,, I am only the smallest time I can see of them,, I was never one to lie. Or invent, but act and I would reveal so many stories of self. like it was life to be true to a commonness. So character, in stereo-type , created through culture and oppression, or enlightenments, for each comes with each, I would look for the meaningless and the just me, wandering over the adventure of being,, this me,, that fromwhat tales bleed into bone from culture and the uncontrolable childhood years, inadvently meaning to escape, creates to a non physical, to know natures wholeness Death is creation..
Oh rambling,, yet.. Where should I go ,, the truth is spining inside plans , and plans inside plans,, mine ,,
but one more Penny make.
And then the dawn

Blog

So a couple of minutes to inspire the goals of living. I have been writing all my life. With confusions and depressions, with loves lost and gained, with sunsets and moon shadows. but in all that i have been tryin to find reality of self and conscious world descisions. The path to self enlightenment while loving yet the living of truty. for i can not step aside for myself totally. It is to lonely the warrior monkishness required. And of me i wanted only happyness. and pepace. the world has always been a concern of mine but to the point of how it effected me , and how my survival could help others. I have seen many in my boat. I have seen life effecting a cancer on people all because they could come to grips with life. So Long ago i decided to come to grips with life, but no as would be normal. I couldn’t see my way to college and authority through man made studies, for which study the common more than promote abstracts or even natural paths. And the answers i need didn’t seem to be able to find in books. For therre wasn’t any on the study of me.
i choise to see life and through my soul search out what wasn’t preposed as complete answers. I found only answers with lead to spirals But the starting point was / is god is energy.
I am not religious, persay, I just felt therer were more facts of the God sistuation then were being discussed and these facts have been only through feeling that i have found answers. I have felt them and thought how these steps produced other thoughts spiritually and intellectually. following the same facts.. I come here to tell them,, for at my age .. i hae decided i must tell them, if i can, to do what i set out to do .. compose my survial thoughts for all victums of the mondern system..
it is a large task.. I know.. to wrap up your thoughts, and one i have spent my whole life trying to do. If you could take a second and tell all of the thoughts and feelings of the world around you. you would undestand my problem, for the deeper you look the larger the rabbit hole , as they say.
So what are the simple things.. this i wonder because i talked with my friend who is only fourteen, and to him the world is so large and for him i am inspired to fullfill my goals of this art.. to tell the second.
You see the world through media is so large the pains we are to hear so outstanding that we are afraid to think to much, each of the problesm of global concern effect us, but in our adult hood we tend to forget them. It is not that way with my friend, each movement of mankinds ailments are new to him , as these same problems were to me when i first started to think. The global sistuation lends us to depression. Nuclear winter was my first concern whan i was a child, I grew up around Three Mile Island, and at that time descided that the whole world was further supressed by the realization of a misstep of government would lead to world war. It was the cold War, and i felt and still do feel the global depression caused by thinking about such an event as Nuclear War. but now , we are even further down the path with AIDs, Global warming, Etc. such that our information age is turning into the age of mental depression for some and a nightmare for intellectuals. And that is from my age , My friend has yet to grow , and these thoughts are for him to worry over . One must have a hold on what is real in all this.. Material ism is only as good as the purpose would understand .. without purpose materialism is nilism and cold to a childs understanding.. even though alot of people live that way,, for themn there is no god. really even if they go to church every day.. they are not spiritual. So the purpose to life is to change into a concious being .. and in that we might be able to come up with a system for which answers the questions of governance , of self and global interests. only in consciousness can we find a reason to live and develope a idealogy to survive the animal reactions of humanity.
This is only page two of this .. and i must sleep but tomorrow is another day.. and further i will write so that I can tell these thoughts in a more complete way , for which i have been writing in journals my whole life. these pages are the struggle to live with the intellectual depression though conscious spiritual realizations.
But i plan from here on to write every night .. if only to get out what is in me to say,, just becuase someone must.. So here we are. the night with a love in my heart but yet one that has been tempted to death. h8rt to the core with lies and deceit. one again for which i was only an image, a bad played hand with no real love, a holding stone of the infinite kind for which only dreams fullfilled. and yes that is me ,, a cause lost to the night with telling. but i will be yet a tomorrow. I will see the sun come up and know where i did not see is where i ust look, Lonely ness grasps the hand of the wander like a fist, tearing away sanity. such that we fail to look, I almost think it is funny that if she loves me a little she will lie when she comes home. but it is silly that. to lie is not love Where the addicted lye there is not telling. for the addict runs to the food..
What can i say I have tried.. I should have…. hind sight and the living.. you know you can make it with any one if there is love. but only the children love.. here in this house of being this home of flesh and bone. one must know the reasons as feelings. I thought maybe this would be my love,, this one would accept me for the love i have,, yes it is out of the normal. it is a survival outside of civility,, for i am not economically profitable, i have no real skill , that i have been able to idenify,, I write some songs. I laugh well, but trying to get paid for either is a longer road than i have been able to follow, mostly becuase of my insecurity with it,, and then there is the intellict for whcih imagines and experinces the people involved,, I could take the drugs,, or the women, even here is the focus of that ,, the i love you becuase,, you are different and then it is i hate you because you are different, your talents make you self centered, your loneliness the same. your caring eyes are the truth for to care has been the lacking of life,, the montra of the deformed, and the gift a man can give without money and without class. we can care.
That has been all my years have to offer,, the caring the telling to a world outside of me with these words, the caring voice in a crowd of greedy materialists. and it is a spiritual cry in the last seconds of death for whcih we finally look for that voice, but it is all else in life, but.
So here i am again. sitting with the pain in my heart ,, i have been left many ways,, but this one is different,, this one is not the telling off, or the lie from the other side of a phone,, no this one is more secure than that,, this is the out right fading away,, because i wouldn’t answer the dream.. wouldn’t live for moments,, without self caring,, wouldn’t play right with a lazy bitch who has earned her life from the fucking of men,, and i one more penny make.. you can see it.. the pretending.. she never loved the father,, and got the children,, she doesn’t love the children,, and leaves them hanging all the time.. she has only her self to care about and all else is achieved through sex.. i guess she wins in the long road,, a house ,, or atleast money ,, she wins after me her old boy friend,, who is coming into a large sum soon. her angles are all played her gamble is that i will leeave with out any adue,, or that i will stay until she can kick me out with the right amount of criminal intent on my part.. she is waiting for me to go crazy and throw around my fists.. oh god i want to .. i want to scream for the part i have played in this.. i was trying to find love again.. mostly because i couldn’t find myslef.. and now i am left again with a confussed impossible being so lost from goal ,, that i can not find goal..
but yet live with the talent to be goal ,, and yet the pain of the living is really getting to me,, the pain of sensitivity and the hurt of true thought.. it is killing me,, such that i want to be violent and i know i am not alone,, i know the the world pushes with its hard bent rules of aristocratcy..

SUNP0002of endless frosting the joke and the rage.
endless for the infinite which could if was could is.
a harmless reminder of control. ficsilated by innocence, yes i always turn back to innocence which feels the true nature. with here and there and no rules but feelings.
childish ,, like illertate or both i have been called.
and each to there own is correct , but yet else
a flower be.
alone with rain and sky,
in-divided.

and i try to write without cigerettes,
another day aloof maybe , another day to deny, one for another. choices untrained. morally i feel the need to quit, and yet another of the natural facts is to face challenge. With all i have done it is that which i still need to do. the i aloft and unnatural to blame.
my joke is less and less ,
the more and more that seen to be failing.
the i can feel the hope so i am governing with care.
a goal is a construction amendment saying government must take sides in all issues, equaling promise, a clean sky, no war, free schooling with a non exclusionary education system.
I really want to tell the truth if i know what that was. is. could be,,
Years have been this . pen and paper of all sorts now. digtal , now clearer, ink pens are favorite the ones with bladders,, I am not sure weather they make them.. but its a lovely feel.
Writing hasn’t really been about the production for me.. Words composed less than the flow that inspires them,, direction and story seemed a waste of breathing time. contort self into plots and symbolism to be based against all else considered the human effect.. some braodcasted into your face such that you dont have to see that which might lead to a different result maybe, as power controls with opinion and regard..leaving else to the unknow or out of vogue.
the earth is flat and there are no aliens..
god is a nice being.. god is energy.
energy has no overloading for flaseness
no scorn or maliousness
it is,,
just is.
no time and no history..
Other systems ask for bigger minds than humans to consume.

Picture 341I find pennies in the air.
and stop them from falling.
as such stillness can bring
i laugh from crying.
no longer innocent
the air tells me.
behave, believe, be free
Waste my work with plans
armmed by forgein demands.
The plum that spreads , of earth
forgets the tainted ground.

I watch movies, read news
the same fantasy
around philosophy
. how i think i created me.
nature of man.

pennes in the air
. all the wounds i ever felt.
i will feel forever

as penny , a penny
as penny in the air.
I am never sure
if i am , if I am
sick because i havent eaten
or from what i have.
never sure
if its the water
I have drunk.
or that which has
never touched my lips.

not sure it is the work
i do
or the work i take home.
that matters,

pennyes in the air.
some pride from dispair

never sure. it its the secrets i hold
or the ones held from me.

pennies in the air.
I breath to be.

my valentine
this deed.
Pennies in the air
are free.

the pounding keys are not as inspirational as a pen ,, I will admit that.. the edndless roboting factions the tedium, of the learning subconsious now. if i get out a couple of lines i am all joyful. still the Not right Desk.. and the empty nesss of my head seem to go hand in hand, the paintings on the wall ad up ,, the pages in my head wonder where to be released, the street play sparce this whole last year.. but again soon i can feel it coming.
a state or man in one kind is to little. the small that need cash is to defined for the interests of global marketing or world philosphies. and yet what isnt mentioned is exact the thing needed.. to be exposed, not that playing on the streets is the great surrendar,, it is,, on the level of the perfrormance is hardly .

from today’s journal..

why have guild the the register of sin
debt is guilt. sin is debt
economics has replaced god.

Love is devotion through loyalty .
The silent bow; My captain , my captain,
and never is the lover alone.
Infested with seeds
illusions to eternity
“sparkley” schrokas
amass of rhythms
excess and delight.
Oh in change the memory of the day
to self often forgotten
a survival cramps
innocents once. what is can often be decided.
Slow and patient
the wheels turns
I would to sam-iz-dot
as word self imports what wisdom agaisnt
take over.
to owe , to owe , to owe
and off to work i go
as they say my val
lets learn latin.

four days of valentines day,

For it is a strength to feel.
To Not buy , or rent or lease,
own.
,and not casually give away
the living love Walls complain of.

Middle managed situations rising interest in violence, nationally. Locally,, the buildings become the lonely tales of man’s inner cruelty of statistics and bottom lines.. The bootstrap makers, win all the time, as they tell you to pull them up.. It is only because they are pulling them down
and I am not one to wear clothing if I don’t have to. Minding that skin cleans easier than all the fashions of spring.
Yet it does tear.
I watched three minutes of television in the car. I had to buy a televsion to complain about it. It seems like complaining. But it is criticism. Television is part of environment and a creator of consciousness. It was Fox news I watched, a Televised child’s game at Six on a Boston Affiliate. A foolish sight of no research. and I am done, but I wanted to see Micheal Moore. the now famous name, not un-helping the cause of the “Film” maker gone patriot.
Let it show; the most common among us is alive and if nothing changes we will have revolts.
But I have not seen the movie yet. And it seems oxymoronic to mention The National News, from this latest American Media Giant fox who has found the brand of philosophic choices with t(IT)antalization rather than journalism , and reaps well, with only sensationalism, and high schoolish straight tea party criticism, all as common man’s media.
I will say what I know. The documentary in our time is changing into a individual realism of inner commonness. Our society is also feeling very useless and wants as much information as the Democratic foundations of one human, one vote. We are driven to pay attention to everything, and the world is changing faster than us. No never accepting, we must. yet accept that intelligence binds us. But even if you know, what do you do?
IF I say hello to you on the street and you turn me away, I look for other forms of connection , of course one came before the other.

sortof

plainly.

 

a Play
so here we are in love with ourselves,
misery it past and is the infamous fantasy
sort of like hearing intuition

nice head shot ken

Characters
C1 C2

 

Tom..
Costume for c1 and c2 is white faces with normal lips. ..

Act one
Tom on a bed center stage. An easel holding a window stage left. C2 and C1 leaning in arch pose ((c1 and c2 inner arms are extended between them,, they look like they are holding each other up.) behind Tom

Tom
Wandering outside of body gives balance.
a gray light dawn ethereal dreaming
awoke a sense; to include forms despairing,
bathed in rain
disenchanted to day thoughts
await a last gasp
I can not see.
Faces knowing life’s end immediate.
Children receiving the punishment of aged history’s forgetfulness. Parents driven to slavery hours or a heart’s crying guilt. Stories come to decisions made in transient conscious escapes.. there is only yourself to save.
what liberty the mind is to roam freely.

C2
awakening to find out there was no reason
to sleep
how she could of
stayed awake and listened to the early
morning birds and watched as the last of the night shifted a crossed the sky..

C1
what would endless beauty give when even
Beauty in a violent age is short lived.

Tom
to what .. Just to ..
to react?

Tom (alternate lines)
To what.. beauty I would see as a grand human nature God unalone, mine. for it is all as right to find . A training is from living.
What conscious I create invokes facts I dream and there is to dream falling in line with ghosts and meditation. Oh what workings the conscious body to change and grow. but while endless are the verses composed to nature we still live our fears controlled by ourselves!

C1
So easily do you talk.
So easy are the words
so ready from your lips
but not even you
can listen..

Tom
I heard about movements
in time
reacting to Humanities intermixture with technology.
personal evolution leads to decisive actions.

C1
pearls to pigs

Characters Freeze

Welcome the invisible
Act Two
Tom is sleeping on bed. C1 is holding C2 without touching, any closer and they
would look like they are making love.

C1
For the first lines c1 remains motionless until “and onto more infamous temptations.” where he almost closes his hug of c2.

Banter our wills
joy and delight
and onto more
infamous temptations

C2
Slipping under c1 grasp she escapes to the front of the stage for the rest of the act c1 and c2 move around stage an approach and escape.

Digesting Freedom, are you.

Tom
starts in his sleep.. rolling ,, no snoring..

C1
Yes partly. Romancing while the odds stand to enact more futile futures. Goal tripping opportunism fashion, combined into a nilistic fascism .. served cold.
The incredible edible me..

MOTION c1 moves to c2. they start to move together.. his hand sweeping the length of her body .hers comes up from the bottom. of his waist. flows up ,, then down. Each are holding the other if the other was a lot thicker than they really are. IE holding Auras. ….

MOTION. c1 and c2 look over the crowd the infinity of the back of the house horizon line,, or choose group of people and deliver lines at them,, but never react to them,, or show any acknowledgement…. these notes are to be used as broad definitions to performance plotting… nothing in stone..)

C1
Did you want to make adventure out of thought ..

Tom
Speaking out from his dream.
Love! liberty, freedom.

C1
You still staring at my reflection instead of me.

C2
Past is within touch, inherent sensuality, picking apart emotions vision.

C1
there is so much to see within.

C2
If only you would . letting to cast asunder the lies of romance.
if…… maybe….. we could make each others spirits soar . an independence commitment.

C1
What my other would for global peace in eyes and education.
Our twinned waters, calmed knowing love’s first transcendence.

C2 and C1

But What ends
the lie
to that which
is trained into body.
You. Me. to forgive the molestations of flesh.

C1
it is only to passion to have security.

C2
equaling the forgetting .

C1
Sane daily forgetting

C2
let us fantasize that we care,
C1
You become my dream
C2
, Equaling ecstasy to touch.
C1
Changing day
C2

to a day with you.
C1
Can you answer my loneliness, Should I ask you to.
C2
What power trust it s own to live.
C1
Hunger asks little to be fed.

C2
Working emotions into sculptures Clay and mortar
Building. Yes but to love? To know. You would. For I do.

Tom
Bubbles and Wine all the time mantras, I soaked to splendor and let you desire me.
I watch like a sensual power is logic this life created.. For me, it has been sodemy to spirit un washable guilt . waste, emptiness and deniability..
for I am to me what I give to others.

C1
once you let go
all can follow..

C2
Sex is the closest teacher of spirit after dreaming.

Singing our fathers to sleep
Act 4

C2
Has day made you feel

C
More angry then violent

C1
looking at audience
Are we you

C2
Answering loyalty
with property.

C1
What past a touch suggests,

C2
taken from touch
given in touch

C1
Absorbing a caring.

C2
You hurt me.

C1
Defiled innocence.

C2
fuck me fraudulent, pretending, witting first privacies a forever first touch
and then Release …no love and only denial.. Day dreams and delicacies folded and tossed into the street. secrets to find later as more of the eternal same.
c1
in Quiet watches. gathering shoes and socks .

C2
leaving nothing behind

C1
nothing given is nothing lost..

C2
Nothing is
yet,
the definition of spiritual materialism.
as energy and emotion ooze.

All ways released is to much
Act 5
There is a bottle and a table next to bed..
MOTION- c1 and c2 stand in arch pose

C1
Violence has become again a stand for religion

C2
Where you felt me, and escaped

C1
Yes but I compose that to economics.
My size rather than security.
How helpless we seem to mechanics.

C2
( moving up stage )
Smiling simply
I found an orange ball
bouncing it gave me pleasure, then
hitting a pebble it juggled the ball into choosing path by rampant gravities, Knowing I was to follow.

C1
to kill raised
images only older trainings , hatred Crying tortured Shame. Faces with destruction, Release.
Is a question of sanity.

C2
Mood swings developed menstruation, blood warning death, The ball hits an angle down into an alley

C1 and C2
(moving back together into the stand with joined hands.)
Do you know how many lies it takes to create an adventure?

C1 noticing c2…

C1
There are all sides, I once met a man who was an addict, prostituted himself even as others would look into his crystal blue eyes.

C2
He replaced them

C1
He replaced them
he replaced to much

C2
Have you shot heroin, tried LSD
have you disconnected.

C1
Why should you ask?

Of, Course I have done everything in my power to forget through body, soul and warmed subconscious

Tom
I have lived sex each definition followed further and further into path .. but it is hard, Feeling forever. There is present sometime lost . where I will to follow desire,
A present of soul Where I hid.
oh walking impertinent.
to ask
and then
what tears for an aloof mind
waiting out the length of time; that is ….. never.

C2
to enjoy a moment take s
eyes unsaturated by convention.

C1
A moment is death.

Tom
Channel Five did show on that.

C1
Media shall lead

MOTION c1 and c2 come together again in the pose of the arch . during the tom monologue

Tom
I saw a golf cart flying through the air
asking not of gravity
only ways of purchase.
I saw life crushed ,
over Heroin and hot nights, pleading to glass eyes
to further their imprisonments with a hand shake, Bought for prices , determined to waste.
brought on by illusions of mystics and rampant personal evolution, selling enlightenment one death at a time, celebrations told.
I would with eyes affixed away.
Remember heart asking only for follow though
A new years mourning
Latin fight
crack whore girl friend.
Romance abounds , not.
broken spread legged bedside manor.
Combing my hair in her eyes red haloed.

C1
Coke , ouch kindness to uselessness,
Oh for the reverse would ask.
Champaign for everyone,
Everyone.

C2
MOTION
( Shaking. Getting c1 and tom looking at her.
as c2 changes personalities into the next lines She walks over the the bottle makes sure there is something in it.. flaunting her sex knowingly)

C2
I drink enough to kill and will steal your wallet for pills.
I stare down sex to remember family
It stops your heart deadly..
this little conversations, Let talk.
to belittle is to survive..
to laugh the cold convictions of vampirtic passions
All interest made to mirth
yours, mine
and then to corrosiveness.
I Watch them watch me

MOTION c1 comes up and arua dances with c2 behind he supportive
when I want …
but while sorting self seen into .
Seen self,
Your attentions. Your possession of me. with power being to demanding more…fair exchange for a house cat.

C1
I touch you in traumatic memory, cant you see that,
Oh endless depth
I stare into
but not from you
Older stories to make absent
one from the act.

C2
Innocence violated, are yet keys. .a
Forced conscious change,
subconscious desires equaled find respect.
C2
oh trauma one.. imagine , the right of passage you have to enlightenment.

c1, c2, and tom

transcendence is understood
by victims.

Tom
And why I stand to know deaths woven covers.

Thank you for reading.
Force the hand to fail or rise..
as man can by
abnormal powers of belief..

so many trees
into the field
belong.

A line is formed
the mind deforms
Is it forever to be free.
Twisting out and away
from what thought can be.
by adam jacob

I am a man. Short of form and making, walking ourselves selves, no mood or description can be made.
I am aware like the paranoia who would lead, and concern has left; drastic reactions are infinite, and small

There is our nature’s known. There is our thought, understanding and transcendence. It is yet another road of denial or measureless mercy.
For one can run, But “where you go, there you are”.

The only focus I can make is to act.

i.

eyePicture 341
and aye;
a them, us
and we.

I wonder over character. What a multi-placed thing. Instead of curing the limit less of doubt, as a writer, I search it out. A person, who would talk of themselves, reveals only a million ghosts created, and yet no idea is new.
But yet individual man, with thoughts infinite, can create an over usage. the poet hanging in the wind.
this use.
body and soul contained between two worlds, this heart and infinite crying against the seas of seeing. While all the puns come like irony of the one : (“for where do we base our humor?”)
What truth? the searching of feeling is all I muster. Years trying, where they are, almost just to displace them. .people write books for all kinds of reasons. I am yet just another.
Am I boring you with these rejections of self.
Pride and folly, heart and love;
where logic and reason should be.
Replacing them kills. and yet is civil survival a dead morality?
Heaven is the feeling, Budda the body, and all are infinite “points of light”.

without me, I, us and them:
evolution is the individual’s exposure.

The ego prevails in the instinct to be individual, the tales of being in love, usually comes first. the layered “where” of romantic love; the “falling”. Making spinning pits of endless vision and trauma. love as a question, constantly for when have we been able to concentrate long enough.

and sometimes I walk the streets endlessly , just seeing it , talking to myself. I am killing myself with sight.
I get lost into the dividing symbols, body language and tone. Barbarian and cruel at times, even seen socially, kind and gentle only through hiding. I want to matter and assume the same degrees of infinity to effect the whole never staying on a point going with the flow.
Writing is just one of the passions , if I am to keep passion.
Writing about self as is excistenialism. the plot goes with the music.
She is lovely, the make of the dark hair and eyes I have dreamed of . my teacher and master, and I hate her. While words are sand the heart hears tapping out a beat in a time piece.
I have cried to much over my loves.
I never dreamed about a girl and met her.
Insanity is my question? Every man has a reason for writing a book. This is mine.
Hating reason accordingly, I proceed.

The native will rise smiling
by K.A.Ambrose

A next wave. emotions.
the new smiling eyes aged
holding up the sky.

The field and the bees work together. Calmly exposing flora to its sex and the field to emptiness. What walks the new day to know how to go on to emptiness, surrounded by the sun. A mix of green and dry grass browns. dense masses of spindly strings. Symbols collide; leaving a mind to insist relevance, as is the little will of the empty field.
This is not a story about a field. It is not a story at all actually. It is a rambling over what was once a fine love; given by nature (destroyed by man.)
The field , now empty, is the grounds for a construction…Sections bordered off by wooden posts and string, Planning taking turns to go elsewhere with the calm field and no one will care .. the empty field has no merit or challenge . except that it is a will. the Moles look for worms and the birds fly into its crew cut boundaries. … It is day alive to all ways as home and is humanly defined Homeless.
I am talking of this land of abstracts where something is only a distraction from the obvious, a lived denial, to be humanity over god. Just for each second it happens, until there are no more seconds. the beat repealed and left that way. the ego so enlarged that it invents love.
The bees don’t care. They just react like one does to an abusive element. going on without knowledge that every third step is a nervous twitch…
the earth, turning around the field, faces to point at the sun and then away to darkness and the stars returned salute.
—————–

And the next day,
Here in the present . here in side some time lined definition, a shelter the Grove street Inn is a place for the Homeless. Here where I have fallen or risen to , planning nothing , accepting what I have planned? and nothing is it. the celebration is coming the slow passion holding earth to hand , is coming, or I am easing my confidence with hope.
I care not what matters in heart to be alive.
I want only to sleep and forget what I have created to look mercy in the eye. Change becomes invented ways of seeing . everything in obstacle to me. here waiting with frozen desires, where would only be passion and action, laid with trauma, admitted , and laid with life exposed to the squirrels waking ; to the need.
Hear hunger, feed.
Many to the past, escalating without hesitation, the absence of life through the civil attitudes. These paltry facts of materialism confining a world without proper recourse for the future. My children born in the hands of this power; and I.
When the power is based on a denial of others to power, is wrong.
The creation of the constitution talked of liberty, and the mental consideration of the future leaving only guilt on the present.
and then the day goes on. I love what I can feel but the day only tells me to be alive more to myself, there where it is known how to be… naturally; the likes and dislikes.
There is where , I have often been worried I can not see.

and then it is just a day, where we can see how our lives affect others and where our tendencies to love go beyond what naturally we feel. yes I love you but where is that divided into the facts of life. the existence I have not been able yet to see , the learning I have yet to do. nothing is of me and all is.

I am testing the limits of this machine my computer. Wondering when technology will quit on me, discarding eloborate spirituality
as so many before, where only reason and meaning are followed by dollar signs and yet what is more, the elimination’s are nothing ; a million unheard dances with memory, a million simple mistakes across a land unendingly beautiful without one
word.

2000/4/14
Day the last of the weekend. I am standing on the grounds, gain and lose, regarding the merit of endurance.
Plotting flowing voices. Marking my endurance with the tides of a sure bet, and nothing is sure.
I have found a new way to see, for all ways are new to the individual to feel, the marks are of intuition’s feelings.
but I have again fallen to my weakened knees over love. blue gray eyes and a story like a fallen choice. I know now the future is more based on my thoughts and feelings than ever in this thing I have marked, planned or let innocence flow through. I should maybe choose my words more carefully. for I do love her. the emphasis comes every now and then when I see her, I am in love and know it.
Somehow there must be room for life and love and here it is my thoughts to find that balance to insure the rest of time. my dreams no longer seems like dreams waiting for the day to be alive. but now again I realize to have love at all I must have self satisfaction. and there by the event to take place must insure the survival of my art,

twenty three west.
by Martin Do

1) To Tell the legend
4) waiting heart,
2) admit the encrypted message
5) is not heard.
3) Pretend your not hearing.

A dark and rainy night suffocates the air. pacing thoughts; murky ,and yet, very brave.
Reflecting off dirty blurring glass, a woman’s eyes show watery smeared; sore and red. Straight brown hair sticks to her forehead and cheeks. Deep brown endless eyes reflect back reflection and are lost to the dark outside.
She looks out the window and cries, heavy life long sobs which can not be quieted as she stretches into a purification of tears. the walls resound the echoes of millions. Silently exhausting the one who cries like sometimes seems all should.
But she is “sick” for years have been like this. Looking at herself through a darkened mirror , wandering though her life. Turning against the pain to cry.
Rain falls in answer when she knows it is not. A man, a love inside her, she can not shake, wants not to see her, as she dies to call. Knowing she is only replacing sorrow with a name but yet all is the aching to belong, to give, to make life. Conscious of the trying; trying to understand.
Joshua Roase, five nothing with a dolls face and sky stealing grey blue eyes, stares at her heart; the glass night’s reflection. Hearing devotion only as eloquent speeches made lonely against hope as a hand holds air. The rain comes down harder like an exclamatory sentence; God’s studious sound track.
Her life has been tortured and bound by what is old and what is lived. The blanket dries sight, secreting problems to the window, she laughs at her own useless tears. Wanting not to lose emotions even while having them. Tearing survival’s fabric even while being survival on the edge of humanity.
She waits on understanding and lets romance replace addictions of heart and to the like, each second a splatter of images, calculating how often her thoughts traveled directly insane to moments; Like the answers from the wind and rain. Divergent to wills interests lies only to cure it self. ..Emotional paths pass. Characters divided , light and dark, a centered eye and solid fate.. Here and now; moments. Action mark intellectual tomorrows of emotions; where between she waits in technologic fates; choas and self programming.
The window, peeled and painted over and over rip lines cracks and old bubbles. a lighter blue than evening sky shields the waters edge holds the pains dark mirrors. Rain again slays the window to a blur and second isn’t weighable .
The rest of the room burns in a low light, creating calm warmth with deep shadows, innocent and yet forecasting what scares flowers. Simple recesses unseen for a creeping apprehension foretold. but every moment awaking through chaos is freedom.

Her face naturally changes when she first meets people, when she see the equality of distance, when a texture, an energy, a smile is returned or even sometimes proceeded. Her life has been intuitive survival. An out cast from home and kindness, logic moves emotions into art . Self expression surviving through poverty’s purity; a natural seeking and finding. Where materialism fails, diving into the self never fails, but maybe ends….When you stop smiling, or when your smile is turned against you for the possession it offers, tempting and controlling is love’s ruin.

Looking straight through the window. Her rain doesn’t stop. Wind and flailing trees mourn even when there is no one to mourn. But all are the mothers and fathers of the infinite.
Inside our heads is the love , she knows, for the passion to care hasn’t left , but sees how it could , and fights to keep what would be alive without. for that is the victim’s feelings… her crying does nothing and she knows it. feeling almost foolish about her tears. Laboriously proving gravity, as they move down her cheek, catching in the crack of her lips Reminding yet of the sea’s limitless and adventure a soul feels growing with the floating salty tides. .
Insanity marks this personal exchange. a known insanity a viewed process for the individual. Inexperienced experience. Unmentioned history, facts avoided, and regained only with will. Meditating to find the pain willingly, its jewels ,a soft interest, to be happy.
Flat pink, the walls are painted
the room. with another bed. the room , paid for by donors is a retreat for the next months and some previous. Her homeless shelter, a house paid for by the generous offering of those who’ve gone without to have again. Who have run the boundaries of materialism for the love of heart, like her. The Saints of tomorrow are the pained of today.
Under a large hill, under the abandoned brick walled lordly castle . broken window panes, green and jagged red brown bricks covered in thick vines so old they have turned light brown. An Old State Hospital with weed trees, ten feet tall looking like a small thickly divided Palm infestation rises up over the house joushua’s little room lives in. A mental institution ,it was, famed for shock treatment rooms and large halls which imprisoned those who haven’t made the grade .who couldn’t learn to cry or cried to much which was mostly the case. Before changing consciousness was a demand and the inhabitants went to the streets or jails.
From the hospital, the white clapboard shelter looks homey. Yet inside it’s walls are the left-overs of civility and sanity as the uncurables. But these kind know it.. Wearing life stories on their arms. telling how bad off it is. getting food and shelter out of a New England attitude.
This one a credit card thief who just got out of the can. he don’t fit right because he is sane , right , yea, with a drinking habit like a paramecium to water. another one, on the coach, has been here four month waiting on welfare while consuming as much Heroin as possible. he buys piss and tries to sell anything he can to everyone. Another who walks feminely, short-ish with stringy grease black hair, rocks back and forth on the other couch no one knows what happened to her. she never talks normal, stares off in to space mumbling hatrful conversation. she doesn’t take care of herself at all lives in the same clothing for weeks and leaves the shelter to walk the streets and find anohter shelter.
But there are more in this house of hope. the staff comes in talking of their lives; the smiles, ( happiness) from one. someone other sadness or preoccupation. Another is cynical with a smile. and the other , the late night guy, he isn’t here , he’s always looking away into a bible, seen to much, and always ketches the drunks.
There are two other women like the eight other guys, just fell between the cracks, and have to get up into civilization alone, family given away to transient employment or misunderstandings or death.. Insanity is easy to believe when living the adventure of change and growth.
Joshua has been burdened without cause, except birth . she is apart of her self. pulling away the life she has come to , after, the next… for pretend , she has ran with criminals, to a get away car and ran off without the chase, blue lights flashing against her sweaty skin…. telling time as the edge, and sweaty and nervous, crawled into an abandoned box, holding her legs… remembering ..
her father came into the room quietly ,,,
time passes without trying…
a fist full of hamsters ….. the cops came into the alley but not even near the box then left and the night is at a bar ,, smiling but never saying a word…like so many facts Silence holding a knife to her throat. Quieted away like all the adventures she has had with men since fifteen. Old men, Dinners and parties, fancy dresses and attention every where. taking her heart out of her. leaving her to enjoy only the adventure and never emotions. Emotions came as an insult to her life and she runs from them until now. Here in this small room she feels free to experience herself.
She opens the window to let the water splashes, lash off the earth around her; Quick shocking pin needles to her face.
She dresses and goes to the front porch with easy chairs and cigarette coffee cans. where she becomes like the rest but holds her inner pieces tightly because of the silence. they haven’t been invited around the world by entering a bar. they don’t know the power men have given to her. The old tales are still true. the fortune to be taken by the beauty in the red dress.
It is disheartening the effect of loneliness. How it shares only with the lonely . “feeling so lonely. feeling so unholy.“ It is for self to sit seeing love for self.
and this maybe the first time she has. For acrossed the world goes a thoughts following work. The stress to appear likeable, Or reaching out in friends living what life came no one with a job the nights telling of romance and transendance the arc and cave. a back born aloft. and forgotten.
It is a thought out side in the warm air and the calm field on the other side of the road in front of the house where she sits which attracts her. guys come out on to the porch. and the mask is applied to their advancements. the whole world of women trying to reach out for friendship and truth and getting wants and desires and no heart.
Is she wrong To ask for a cigarette? knowing she needs and can get. Thoughts broken by the first intrusion. ———————————

Many rooms mighty
I sit in the newness of another life seemingly .. Drawn from the abscess of friends and family I lie awake in a rooming house bought and paid with the costs self respect and determination. But it is alive following the knowledge of self , along passions for paths and challenges for growth.
What is my head. thinking about myself , loving the god of a women I met through the system of homelessness and control I have just left. she to her world and I know not where she is , but hold on to my love for that answers what pain I would feel alone . . these are again sad words I should not tell. these are emotions to have is increasing the despair life creates. this is what is answerable to mercy and defined by the mental doctors but never held as anything but poetic and hardly real. …
and yet….
The room is painted an odd overly cheap green, almost florescent on it ‘s metal minimal stucco surface. the typewriter is the right height and I am happy for that. the keys press down and I can write without pain.
But what to say. these last months echo with tales untold or told in lonely volumes of classic thoughts.-G
( i think i missed words check orginal work )

It is a unity she would not respect of him. so he never tells her. he never can tell her the exact words of how he feels , but has learned to feel secretly,.. guarding what is his with a vengeance. his body strong from continual manual laboring, his will determineds like a in progress project. ` but in love he faces much and is scared of what he doesn’t know. but yet tries, the full amount of self , is timed into hours and smiles. he forgot she smiled when he played his guitar. she asked to sit down and was fully truthful that she wanted to listen.
he didn’t think of impressing. it was a day like others and yet… a moment in front of intuition, and path. Walking where love would for love to be known personal and social.
there sitting he left . just guessing his way, without material but music. strings and leaving. escape to the nature of subconscious.

And there is my reaction the physical figure winning in head loving in spirit. and yet.. outside the noise, his heart wasted, on the taking and the giving is eternal and unwanted… there we stand and stand…
oh what fault is doing, when no doing is respected. the figure head of nature is negative for the problems we have left unattended, my history as a dysfunctional child, my world as a destructive past time. We long for the past it is our dreamed

I find another day, and what once matter seems little and obvious. where once was the child I scattered into words and planning literature made unyielding to common mistakes. his surroundings the small town , his growth a pain of parental abuse, this life comparable to history and the respect given spiritually subconscious.. expression and exposure… and it is yet self to see and explain, it is tenderness to know and grow like a polite house plant… , and he I turns to the mirror… as a guide of historic living.
I sit in experience.. left- overs and newly created.. the music is of many choices, the times made of perspectives and understanding. To open the door is to open up truth… to sit on each side and in the middle to know what is the follow ,

and path might be misleading… I must call .. someone. I must move but nothing is the end , nothing is the beginning right now. I am alive and each moment makes the points of being, and I am sitting on the hill, wanting when to come down, as I deny the ground. …

2000/4/31

of time is known time,
self decided.. will ?
Is self.
enter the smoke muse ladened forcast and forgotten.
a word from love and tails, speck to the maze of being.
alert is the coward boy.
I hear the instance of success, and determination alive to being at home with the fallen and ruined. I hear the teletype of hands, more than I write,
for there in the manipulation I know not.
Ambigiousness to process.
music calls me to stop being without .. to accept and walk in supulance. I know by knowing. we walk characters to our selves, never the heart enough. living
and alive the nature quest …. another day alive….
craze and whole.
To transent and no…
Do another issue is telling harmonies..
the word , specks many the thoughts to reason.
while pulled from a mommnet missed if let go.
tellling nature to roam
when whole is without decision..
Ambigious.. but to say it means it excists.
Integrity
is…for young,
old and alike
telling of substance
merit and mighty fight.
alone a self celled mirror.
and what would I write with a key board why would the cries,,,
I an in northhamption I hear.
a exposure, a cowards. drunken singing. bravely.
knowing , the blantant is never to care…\
the cops don’t come and stop him.. and sometimes it is good.
we call home what we need from self.
history alone for the transient man. some times is only the holdings of man away from himself. not taking for granted, himself.
Yesterday , the drunk came on , quickly after the women was thought of. a women a another women. three years since I felt the desire and the smile.
and yet.
My love stands to want to see himself. the golden love for others as a blinding symbol to self. Love and loves replacement. I can sell work to the sun.
a topic….

jUNE 02/2000
aND IT IS ANOTHER DAY. I AM NO MORE THAN A MAN NO MATTER HOW ROMANTIC THE FEELING HAPPYNESS IS GIVEN AND RECEIVED,
and this is no more than a journal no more than a release far beyond that quietness which reached inside man to civilize conversations.
for man is not classifying civility enough. quiet petty secrets. roaming into heresy and there I am to questioning. Beckett screaming for justice against an unmoveable self. for my dream is gone.
I must see my eyes.
glassed over and under cared about.
scorned for sight, for knowledge
contorts and doubts.
I am to remain solo to rejoice humanity.
against the international news.
against the truth without
pretty shaded civility.
The facts which litter courts, probation offices, ”Detox’s” , the streets and jails. Evils of men, women and children, ( I am still not sure which I am) all seem to stream together, into the causes of one to face one; the deep darker views of Nausea, and Waiting For Gado. Evil insides. turned outer, reprieves.
The job of the writer, of the artists of words, is to spin what is into perspectives of evolution and causes to rally to. I did scream at others to tell me what could be, the world of harmonies and realizations only to come to find out the truths of the speaker . I was living. I am man. and hate my mirror. I have cast out god and survive in foul pits of clarity which sickens at thought of hope… until ripe for killing after many years of unknowing silly child’s laughter as nature is king.
misunderstood and ruling. .j.

“and it all hums
around echoing
what is felt
isn’t alone.”

Uncomplete or adjusted , which is worse.
Completely a failure to walk over children bones and a natural desire for thought’s emotions. I walk roads dreamed about by aliens, youths and focus.
Alive in bone, to yet change. Hoping the arisen shall be for
the energy
god and
about the being
congregated neutrons
about no time
physical moment.
Told in tales to ease
yet can not be disthrowned
again and again. the eve and garden hiegth ask to the wind , still, in simple self.

and here to ruminate and tell obnoxious desire,
tell with passions the stories of the fight inner and controled but to die from the excess, or live into a spell true.
happyness the meeting of ideology and practice.

walking alone in the country , nights shadows the ways. night like any . but with trees and the skunk to watch and whistle for. alone in country with larger natural abuses of power. humanity turned to an enforced solitude. . walking the outer common digression of sex, referring to town, while just there is the grove and the hill. climbing rocks and million year old trees, and what.
my feet stink and the river water washes of. looking for Rockwell, seeing a mirror. this me as all. this me bespecticaled and amused , tainted with sight.

my concentration sucks , and there I am wanting this and starving in between , sweating through life, cancered by a life which is cancered for existence. what we will give our children, what I have made my life. I swear I am fucked and yet walk and wake with determination to see the next day.
women take my heart and I want to give, to feel the love like it is some accreditation some pride which I seem to lack without them, some appreciation for which is only the physical. and yet to appreciate myself has been this trip this walking into the country, this lonelyness answered by longing to be with that one, who walks without me and without love. her like me and what is left .
These words are only the life lived and what else am I to see. inside. for to tell the individual is only one story inside the long view. my thoughts turning now to the world the enviroment of the world and the remainder of love to a world consumed by it’s legacy forward and back. and here with my little problems I am not global warming I am not urban violence, or child abuses sexual and violent. disturbing mass in mass and still quiet against the whole of its problems. and yet , I am out of the loop to care. I am in the sidewalk crack with the broken mathers back, and hurting myself for the life I have been given without my concerns a consumed consciousness. with callous hands and feet with shy eyes and an accused gigolos smile, looking for the feeling and feeling the looks, and intuitive destruction , for all are action and will and suttle is the ignornance retained for to understand it a cold barrior to living. and then what is life…. a kind gift to a self long forgotten, I would to be kind to self knowing the road and the will. knowing the courage to go on when the legs are tired and alone. she walks in my reproductive mind? what is love, unity and giving, but to unify

the humidity was comsuming before the rain before the thoughts which went with it such that the blessing is the thoughts more than the rain. when self gets time to vent even through it would be called depression , is a goodness. . the nature tears at the civil flesh to demand emotions. to demand an over view. and so pressed against the fragile glass nature is to know , the complex wandering of images called thoughts. It is this survival for which man wants to achieve and only this way is it so.
“ And yesterday I wrtoe my mother. Yesterday , the letter was some kind of clairity, for which I can not achieve to much of , today it is to another , and tomorrow another loves going like water to stream slowly into my parched lips, a little enough.
and there again I go living this excistance without much recourse exscept to live, the opinion I am is that death is a creative state like life , so the differences are only this body. this body which gets to have sex and gets to physically aranage a room and be praised for its creations when death is entirely creation. And yet the physical gets clouded by life, gets formed when it is form in death. here form is psychological, and must be faced for the limitations of it’s physical life, Beaten as a child and left to understand what creations that has made are the facts of physical being, Or the facts this microcosm feels against the rest of existence. Happiness is left to discovery and I have only much discovered music and sex. And other art. until now I am here walking into myself to know further the determination to go on. but where to go . like today is the next important day I awake to myself again without friends, for the friends I have made are back stabbing and creul. who consume life to kill others and I am aware of the giving we allow our friends to use. but I tire of them and the petty unusefullness they create in my life. in the self absorbed interest they offer. it is all about them. the best of time must always have one negative impulse who sheer excistance make everyone cold and wanting better. the person who is unable to realize themselves but asserts themselves into sistuation as a part of the sistuation but has no intent to really be there they are just wasting everyones time for their own self surface pretentions.
Ego ergo.
and I am here in the seat of the ego tist. me the male, when that is the season and moment. wtch the buffed shoulders and the criminal intent on the lips and viles speack makes dawn and yet it is repeated and found in my friends all walking against a self the forces wasted and the energy left for the knowledge we foolishly report. oh time telling only the wisdom and graces.
anad it is some lost writings these computer tell, corrected and made. lost what did I say why did I say it. what is the mommnets lost for a misplaced type. I do not remember and it all was made for the wind to report.
these are the hours I find. basking in what could be… and
standing alone the field is glorious, the tainted wisdom made first , an unaccepted toy. small shild and beaten hands. the scraping of time against a childs brain, and past is not to be fostered if it is without thoughts for it injuries. thoughts which go on wihtut words and cosmos.
and escape is not the generational gaps of denial, but toward the future, for to know change is first mentioning to enbodiment…
there the mass’s get grace ..where we live to see the spoken man , arising from numb self accusations for the life of in front with a target to his mouth, his paraniod blemishes. and where is he..
him living like the causes of future only remark on the absenss of now. the second is lost to me. for I understand it. and showed my insanity runs, to know and not , but to feel is to know. and I amm agravated in love, and look into the eyes soft and brown . and look into the blues forever look in but never touch the maddness of observation , the insanity of seeing abent part of me, walk without love extreme and amusing.
a nd what is intergrity. what is time spent living. here we go th uses for susing. I am not to be so put , I want and there will find like the telling of an angry house guest, this taking wihout caring , this depletion of my giving my legacy, wuhc that denial is no longer acceptable, that denial is not to be further enforced.
the people are all
and we want an earth
. the insurance agents and bankers need ,
the earth has the answers.
the tide must not instill harm into it’s people.

a place in the tide water town of new jersy , an errant man walks with unconfidence and in fact drunken stubbles down a narrow city street, stop lights his conversation,go sto p go, the facts of a world left to equal what being asks, love given until dryed by every fact, he walks from joy to joy and nothing can stop that.
and telling his story owwould be a mentioning to myuself. his as imaginable sordid as my own made a diffeence by little except the motive, him and I ,
for I knew of him early on the facts mentioned like gossip. a man , I form, but his mind belong with his body. he was and I am an oracle. but our the shirts say Psiconics.
I am … He is …
alll sweared and such, dance around maypoles about , and yet feeling is the amount of time one spends in a mental instituion to admit it. and here we stalmate. one not choosing arms , leaves the other to control. his wide spreading hands an offer to anililate take me…
chirsitain iszed.
and apologetic.
but to stand at all is the grace of the coward, here with arms exposed the masses huttle, and taking themselves to care at all, they take the mother, the earth, the liberty of mans ideas, and the empowerment to change , as a generations anaology. Now we form festivals and mommnetns to time where the choas is the epeace where norms are loeft out side for the simple truths of excistance,f with its reality, man is basicly peace ful. it is only the criminally empowered who fear violent reaction. And with the millions who attend every year there will be mi9llions and trillions who follow. a place where we can be alive without the controls and yet with control for peade is the only real understanding of man, like to family , or what should be family. but like to self. we should love the world like our selves and I stand to say we do feel the world like our selves and we all are in dydfuntional logic to survive, and then what is left of the feeling human.???

I am in the morning, the air is clear and slightly chilly at sixty. I am sick. and tired of being nothing or ranpantly spending my energies without a seeming goal. yes, I lie there was a gaol at one time. a heart. I remember when I left the goal. I was in love. my life was music and telling harmonies of a house which funtioned more like a commun but retained a certain blindness for which I couldn’t stop. though I tried, the people we young and most were rich and care not for the general world and found a message in me , and my struggles to stay alive in a world of mechanical response for the norm… no I refused to be normal. and here I sit wandering over my words like they could save this heart for which sometimes wants to quit and be only. to have children and survive in love only merely and activily like I have never felt fully. The days were of time and quietness surrounding nights of music. but bearing that the people were rich they had no need to produce the music. and survive in that importance. I was alone with them, wanting more but because of my rampant digressions to depression and drugs and alcohol I could only look toward how I felt . and in those conditions I could never make sense of what should have been natural. I am still never really sure what changed the ways I wanted, It was love which started to take over my thoughts , I could find very little representations as a child the more I looked the worse I got until I broke down and cried all Christmas, a sad child in a twenty five year old body. and there I was with a women who I loved but could not tell the mysteries and the dependence I felt for our existence, there was a certain way of being with her that I could not control. I thought her painting was inferior to the questions of art and I remained not to bring it up to her for she had left school and cared not to talk of that which I felt so passionately. but instead went further into the depression and all around me was the same influence. a roomate discoveed the black conspiracy of the world , around the catholic chuch, telling my girlfriend she was committing sin by living with me, and I become morose. and ultimately dispondent. to everything. band stopped comeing to rehersals. Then I stopped caring. what help the life lived if it is ineffectual. why do not people want to join for a future… and it is only the working class that wants change. and unity is change. such that only the needy see and want that future. but all in all it comes down to me here facing the same questions like answeres are only a day away when it has been a whole life o depression and disappointments. I hate systems and can not respect the help I go for , sporadically. I can see it to the eyes like an abused traumatized child might..I can see the lust from women the hated from men. I can see the signs of class I am in the middle of . and feel no one can stand those who would buck the system they have had to learn to survive. and I am alone….
the childhood and the excessive depression makes me often want to forget and join the masses like the innocent man I can pretend only to be. and there is the waste for I am not innocent and I want love. I have taken the day off again to be alive to the pen and the sword. here with fire for my eyes I see the climax of intelligence coming to my thoughts. I want to be alive, and not down casted to the state I have been born into , for it is a birth of the slave, of the man without cause who would rise only to save himself and his children. and I have no children. and suffer what I can not control for the loss of love imposed against me. not as plot I know but as misfortune…

the dayis to tell but it is not the matter, Rumor of hope make me think and there in mty life, I am the roanctic. Still in this age of the dead poet. I hold on to sex and spirituality, I flounder in Francis picking up wild flowers before an apointment with death. But it is not so traggic. staying away from the work I do for the play I love, the writing here, the construction there. while here is construction and yet.
Can a humble man write?
Must not the spirit of continual truth
demand valor and a flaming sword
the call to arms; the call of divestiture.
and not bare names.
have been forgotten
except in the deranged.
the sordid scared and scary.
extremes to move the average only
then let it be known
I am energy
surrounding a nucleus
flowing with physics
contained by concentration
I am discovery and depth times width
ascension.
and it is another day. the date of which I remember not . the time is three twenty two. and the hour is my life, on a plate with shattered dreams my child crys for. and of a world hearts “talked” since the beginning of time. All coming from knowledge. impervious to religions, theorized by science, proves true to the needy man’s reaching.
Adventure and soul known , conscious of unconscious, forced and innerly determined, human over god.
and there is niether and all.
can a humble man wait by corners to tell what is ,,, declairing its rights to be an inherent leadership value and educational necessity; a planned concentration. this highthening of standard to met the forcast of consciousness.
but not to separate into factions, for the whole light of one is the simple respect to the all.
and who is talking? a none. a unit within, knowing without, to relearn and relearn, to essense and entertain, I am the screaming hearted fool , who’s Romeo cast him down. who’s romance with the adventure have made him a pawn in games he had only a good paranoia of.
and yet he is nothing but a dreamer who knows what timelessness can mean for an individual. to be able to consciously separate and then rejoin with emotions. To technologically apply “ourselves” within states of being.
I follow the emotional states of man. I see what was said by Seth through jane Roberts in the early seventies.
I am a feeling energy. creating through emotions and declaring valor through an emotional cry for the earth and humankind. Answering questions where knowledge would part from the contemporary sciences to nature’s completion through an accepted fact of non-physical creation as a part of waking life.
And yet what is the life , echoed in physical labors, and there my love who would want to have and not to fence with the death art imagaines as reward, for how many unrewarded, is my ignornace such that can not offer what love the life sees enough to enter into books, what concentration the essence made form, I am scared of the reasonings. they make me want to avoid what life this is , we wander through the endlessness of being. and I am telling of hope , where could the time come to be alive with the thoughts, there is no answer , we are connected forever and endless its my want to please her, I am the artist if I accept it or not and the poet dies on the end of the stick.
24 june ,2000
the personal seems again to be the place where we land looking into the words of a spoken life, for these are the words admitted to the end , for an end I think , an end which wants to forget the confusion. Smoke marijuana, and forget heart and goal. I wish for love from the streets and hope from the high. it is wrong to want that, but what else can I expect in a will form which life has turned to a private social conscious and a public avenging man.
I look into this heart and see what everyone sees. I look and see my fear and my lust. My hopes forget themselves for the depression of my working class environment and expectations. I am not an artist. or be cause I do not accept this as art. and low is my opinion of my self. and still I write like writing will change that or like writing will help. watching as my life at thirty five is a lot like my life has always been alone and unloved. I watch as I would rather die than continue like this. I should kill myself, for the years have made what can not be unmade I feel. as I think of another love gone to the world because I was not practical enough. because I am not fun and lonelyness directs my thoughts to much , and here is the thoughts that make this life. and I know not what to do.
Every life I have touch has been a story taken from the truth to be manipulated into this world . I think of death as creative state and there is not death to be understood for here is also creative.
the women for whom I pine over is from a place , like I am from somewhere. each getting the cultures of our lives from this birth place. and telling the story of my love and I is a point of life to live for. a point to tell to the world as a lesson from the mininial. two lives each seperated by birth from love. such that love is the only point of life like poverty possess from the inavailabllity.

There has been literature which told of the absesses of humanity. our souls unpure run in contrast to our moral reasoning Taken from feelings we are left with only thought. but feeling is alive and controling everyone. We, personally and socially emplant the dispassionate views of our earth, in group. Casting out the techological fears and saddnss accompaning it. taken to regular a trillionth part, our feeling s seem trivail. it is the mights would orf thought which rules, but what else is left of life. such that a trillionth part specks to the all which we are.
She moves like a ghost in me. for I am awaken only in the fears of my inablity as I get over what youth laid out as a path. I am to see my heart as the reason. moving me for the thoughts which control no one can change or care about. I have called life the spirit the energy. where man is awakening to a techological peace within feeling. I am an energy, calming the panic animal I find a release from what the animal would suffer. for the animal , was abused , this animal, for the animal was given sex as a replacement for feeling. and what care is humankind to know. for endless time history has recorded the normal, sex is a part of life, and is always a factor. though with “civility” we are to down play its role, never trying to expose what is the private intoxication of our lives. but for some it goes beyond even being a part of life to being the whole . once we are in our lovers life the combination is beyond any other event of excistance. the shorckra , a high point of spiritual physical exuberance, is awake, and love is set free.
but for my love. it is a common need to feel alive more than any love it is a drug , the addiction to the high of testosteres and ecstasy .

Another day. and what the heart spins at the life I have lived and wonder weather to move on to anohter phrase of maybe life. Like from these years of trying without much success with my writing I am forced into a position of feeling old and unacomplished`, I have based my friendships on nothing instead of looking to more of the elements in my life to fullfill what conscious and talent I have .
no, friends have been like me, alone depressed people holding the ways to live inside some fantasy. is that the words, are the small human awakenings been just that. where I have failed to see the truth. of myself. for I am alone. and at this age it starts to find me.. money and giving away my life , thinking nothing of myself in my connections have left me alone. and where is the love and truth life is. alone on a distant island covered by ice on a mountain top.. n o it is evey day here now. but yet things get weighed by the elements which wiegh them and I am easily upset I am afraind. upset by the cost my giving has become to me. my heart lieing to myself. in orde to cover the tragic hole my heart has always been the cold ness is not mine and yet I own it all.
I know that I am not alone in this. constntly I see the faces of the unloved starting out of corners and from stups, from bar stools and in office complexes, I see and am sorry. almost aplogetic for my sight. for it is alone I see and can offer nothing. for I am nothing. my sight is a mourners humaness. wanting courage by entertaining the compation where I have very little. and my love seems enpty and evil.
to share when you have nothing to share is wrong. …
and in over view why would I say I have noting . I am funny at times I have music running through everything I do. and yet. with the lessons I have learned I know the reactions from people from the momments I met them from real, and the momments I met them in the shallow. I am body and looks, then we get deeper and I am writier and artist musician, and then deeper and I am self accusing and wholely involved in what I could call myself such that I am not even interested in them these in front of me, they offer me nothing in life, except a mommnet of diversion. I could be happy with a cat to knock ove the plants and it would be the wamething. where are these answers inside, for there is where they must start, to cure the alienation I feel. the survival sense I must admit.. for where in my heart I have been hurt the pain continues, I look at the times I have lived through. fourteen years of viloents and downgrading critism. guardede me , I would take fright at the first signs of an involvement for which would hurt me. Leaving drugs to others as far as coke and herion , I loved the high of maraijuans which has helpped me concentrate. but has done little for my total consciousness, mediation and vegatarian excistance diverted my thoulghts into the fantasy , I thought of concentration as a miracle of excistance. something others take for granted i couldn’t find. without marijuana. and yet, on the drug my life become meaning less even more yet. I remembe once I was deeply in love but then when I got stoned I couldn’t repeat the caring I felt when I wasn’t stoned I didn’t care I couldn’t feel. and yet that has been a lot of my life, and what starts the changes,
the changes are a lot of years worth of discovery, I started when I realize I could change and that the paths I have been on were only telling me more of the past I have already live. so I tried the differene, and thoughts changed with the actions, I mediated and started this road of common thought in ninteen eights something, in Los Angles. I stopped trying to commit suicide. for which we can tell , as I write I am alive, and not good enough to do the deed , but I awoke from each time , one with gas, one with threat a noose and a third floor fire escape , with some profound sense of happyness, I thought the “great Spirit had saved me. and thought secretly to myself that there was a reason for my life, that the spirit truly saved me.
the time with the noose was the day I tried to hichhike out of LA. , I have done two things that day. besides standing at the road side with a dysfunctional finger waving at approaching cars, my shirt plastered to my chest by sweat , I tried the chant of the America Buddhist, Nom go something something. my youth wanted to try and see if it was a power , wanted to get the hell out of LA with any means available. but the chanting didn’t work all that well, I guess you need the temple, and the other accutroments. to make a full commitment. I just chanted and stood on the entrance ramp. One ride came to take me a full mile to another entrance ramp. then without food and a thrist which would have been noticeable I became ultimately depressed. and the pretending started, the pretending maybe that I would actually commit suicide, cross the great divide and fulfil the meaning of the corpse. but not life I realized, It was on that fire escape looking down at my life bundled in my backpack that I could again realize complete life, enough to feel something. the noose around my neck, the element of death only a second away, I thought about the truth of life beyond the death imposed upon it. the freedom to accomplish for this spirit. some how my thoughts grew clear enough to go on. it was almost a happy experience. coming down like I had achieved something I had survived the death experience.
I had always thought there was a spirit which helped and guraded my life. I thought it was my dead father standing ,through out my youth, at my bedside. helping me survive. then I statrted to think of magic as a point of concentration, and ghost as a real enity and mankind as an energy spirit who in this egg are to graduate to feeling.
then walking back to the “freeway” my hand went up. and the first car was a small pick up with an old hippie off a construction job, who gave me a ride out to Baha where I went to sleep in under the sprindlers there run on the bank of the highway. the coincidence was real the love I felt the peace I experence was almost approachable as faith fullfillment. It had notbeen the first time,when I tried again unsuccessfullyto kill myself withgas I awole with the same feeling as being left for some reason. though now I feel almost that I have done that reason. but any way.
the rest of the trip. taking sixdays, to cross the united states, as good as it gets for hitchkiking I preyed in the mornings, the rides always left me with money enough to get breakfast the next morning which always cost me all the money any one would give, me. the hippie started the trend. and all the way to Pennsyvainia I operated the same way. He told me of his adventure, as a biker in the early sixties, how down in the deep south sounded much like the ride of the movie with james fonda and that other guy. getting arrested for no reason. taunted by townies. the whole ball of hatred roled in to the forgien which the bikers represented. , his small pick up litter minimally with construction belts and circular saws told me of the truth of life, we have to give in and accept. but that still isnt me. and I learned something from the first ride. as well as backed up the spirtis truth of purity..
sleeping under the sprinklers distracted my night. waking to scramble for cover was a new experience also. the bag got wet and my guitar, but my body and clothing somehow was dry but I was awaken. and numbly stumbled to find a Coke out of a machine just over the high way. the darkness and the alien sceene a lone bar echoed into the darkness like a haunting sinerio I wanted nothing to deal with. I slept under some different bushes. Anti social is not the traveler. I wasn’t traveling , I was passing by my way to a defined point without stopping, I couldn’t let up. Also I was twenty. and Holywood started my head a different way.
venus bolvard, tounting with dry shiny drugs in every window. the eye lids heavy from the heat. the heart mangled , my frineds and I partedAround my ankles, old smelly socks , if I touck off my shoes. which for three or four days didn’t happen and , right then I wanted a sign a way to walk, and I was no longer living , I was seeing the ways, emparted to many and seen of too much.
A diner sat beneath a traffic light, the red leather chairs and stools, a stainless steal countrer , the whole place mommnet of design from the Thirties, an blond wigged old lady bent, with firm steady motion , between caring and not, behind the counter. a smile for the customer, a weird eye for the seeming crazy homeless man, grasping himself by the croach while pays for the coffe in his hands, pink “holey” and thin mittened in ninity eight degrees , at nine am.
After getting kicked out of a rooming house, for a poem I wrote on the refrigerator. Pagan direct it was called I walked out of the town… Hollywood,
and now remembering , It became night, the beach was free and left side of America. cleaning the sun as I was afraid When again that… vision the descending sun , I guess it was a stage and everything was just to look at , nothing to involve me so sacred this frame,

yea , right, so sacred my fear of people. .

Pagan Direct
(taken from the refrigerator on Hollywood and Vine)
If you cry,
for you be not important
you have forgotten
the holy goal
which is not to be
the golden strength of the many
but the pure and loved
of the few.

So superior I felt, here leading the adventure to the limit; creating, I thought secretly about it. very secret, I always knew I wasn’t really there but experiencing something out side of me, a character portrayal , part of my writng, I had no judgement of others. moral was pronounce “more all,” other things like that I keep secret , much insanity making the morning clear in the Los Angles air..
The forty-ish dark tan, slightly baseball coach-like plumb superintendent, directing his others of the same race, responded, that he didn’t read the refrigerator when I asked.

Where to go? Left to the diners décor, impressions maybe my grandfather would have seen, another oldish man in my thoughts who I maybe only glorify, as he paint nice pictures the family dog, I recall in my mothers room in days when I would sneak into her room. through the button can. looking for the riches of the house. a silly tale that would be, and appeasing to think as the street dries all my California dreamn’s, after the panic structured street I had left in Boston. I am free.
I am alive, alone and some how unafraid really, nothing seemed different from the kind years running around the Boston street. , You only get what you give, and if you don’t give, you might get blind sided for your ignorance. , .. funny that…
so you see everything and comment on nothing.
but worlds and words are not that..
I stood on that corner for almost an hour , paid with the last coins , for a coffee, and decided to sleep on the ocean’s shore. Once there night was coming the sun sank into a everlasting white froth flaked sea, slightly green to balance the expected blue again fooling expectations and God lapped desperately the shore trying to instill creation.
And Adam and Eve were not the first, god just decided to let the children live, when all become theirs. children must experience the sins of the father to be ….
and orange, tied the rest of the world to a night starred sky. then cool air chilled me and my poncho became my accepted home.
It is funny the accepted how sometimes it is to important and other times acceptance becomes a will to look through to look at it.
All night awake. I listened as the ocean told me the words I needed that there is nothing bigger than it and someday, Nature will be alive and comment on the world it would find in its children; the loudest echoing tale finding a resolve to be apart. No matter what culture and civil positioning would speak of my bed. for here I am nail in a coffin, or / and an energy experiencing freedom’s pertinent glasses.
and here would be the book here the tales from travels and ventures , the giving to others ideas , and taking for my own. here would be something of literture thourgh I acke to think sometimes. as failure looms where the head would rest in the failure of observation, for I am not observing enough.
The room is eighty bucks a month, and the desk is an old eighth inch steel music stand. tilted horizonal.
Ihave not been to College , and go we say to the person in front with little direction enough. the years spent dictated by a system of flatters, the old and meek, secret conspirers of thoughts and plannes and plots. And
am I plotting , and only appling my feelings to devious reasonings, and subtle gesturings. smiling to understand my slavery, the demands from boss and God, what should be my first liberty is given to fifty three dollars and twenty nine senses, when the ultimate meaning is not denial but acceptance that emotions matter, and I have been told about the end of time, watching the television in My home town during the three mile island incident, when I lived less than fifteen minutes to it by car. then paraded to the parking lot during seventh grade, everyone was remind that we we are only getting the same radiation that we get in front of our televisions and we all went back to class. . Our hearts still racing from the local television crew which went over zealous and announced an evacuation. . my step father wanting to run, such that for four hours my mother , brother and I ran around getting can goods and a small box of screws, my mother interjecting that we hadn’t heard everything, no one else was talking of an evacuation, but none the less it created a demand in the step father, Mother , jerry and I figured the hyway would be packed and here at least we could have Ice cream…. ..
all this to say, I want to talk of the intircates of today, where my love has gone, how much I am to hold it back, while she is calling now being home , coming to the room on the exact day I was off, cleaning, and just made coffee…. the tides of love seeing there matched moments, like movies help us to see, and we create in our lives. but somethings you can create, they happen and this pagan mind will and beleieves others should pay attention with all your heart to the complete views , time moves slowly to the spirits knowledge for it is only one element, and stationed physically in soilds when emotions are not a solid. degrees change as the physical spirit ,the neutrons of consciousness , when we are happy , sad and other wise, minding that this is pre theory and yet a decent explaination why falling in love slows the vibration energy of the physical spirit and is ours , to celebrate in , and cure with.. it is freedom to which we want our “persuit of liberty” …
I want to write a roaming novel. one which doesn’t waste time resolving exterior matters with plot and prejudices for character, but moves from the man to the man to the audience and the man. or here is to want and daring ly I have step this wanting, coragiously I lusted after the leisurely word, the directionion of self from the archk which would be understanding , the arck which was star track an the feel good seventies, born to the sixties… but the man is only glorifying himself, with the pretension that his story is anything but another written book. another thing to own and rest coffee cups against and chant to children with driving them to understand the unlimited second while they teach and we care for the elders in cotton and pins.

and it is another day.
turn slowly the ways of the obnoxiousness. my talents for nothing comes as expected glances I was trained for , beaten inot a box form and cast out looking while the search is for not. I Know the answer and useless the pill , the swallowing is admitance the life is admitance. what future lacks the expectations forward. and there we look. for the vision is known and unwasted to the seer. what cast the relvance of a heart in trauma of its own sight, for what it lacks in definition it logically makes up for , I have cast my head into the sea, for the comfort of pleasure without the romance of polotic. In other words , once again , If I do not give up my present stances I will be lost and forever never to have again.
and there is where the stranger gains reputation and society gains paranoia. what gives me to survive. what hope must be from the hopefull actions , I am learning the self is the hopefull and what pleasures would bring have only more fixations into that hope and yet are not the hope.

what makes the day.
without physical labors I am free with the money provided by the expenture. and here sitting life. the future. the conspricay.
ending in the eyes of another. what age marse our thinking , or is this just part of the age. for I am confined by the wanting and the love.. the wanting is to produce. the volumes of inner thoughts we can not hold by watching time. it is to thinking involved with life . which gives what would be. the action is heart.
and there one who I would want to talk to . one who knows me enough to say hello. Ages go by with only life. to gage right and wrong. for the realism has no choas no room for emotions. and I can not enact though I would try to try .
There in front of me is another who would take up the cause for music . but one can see she is not ready for the truth. the truth isnt ready for her. she is looking for truth. and inside her what does she feel but a border to being her self. alone against the rationalism. alone with the rationalism. A solitude that threatens her physcically. she watches the life being thrown into her face.
I see her sitting and wihtout invite. I say hello. she is polite. I am polite we talk about shared time. and it is meaning less. some one comes up and the frail living would hurt the frail. you sitt and say nothing like no one notices you everyone wonders why.. quiet andwanting attention. getting attention and living further the facts.
for I am a man who has only the life to push for maorals. I want truth inside of life in every moment, and what are the rest holding family and grouping in heart , while facing the external world , and if you are not part of me I can treat you with subconscious attentions. you are this and I am this, I want this and you are that…except I am not to want the whole , that is what is inside my heart and destine to stay there with all the lying it entailsis my thruth. be it without culture or concern for social common respect. coldly I come to my emotions.

and tales from the dark side. I am in the country. this land of milk and honey ,vermont cheese and other delicatcies. is a land of violence. the citizen stand in mute ingnornace while the rest of life what portion is not them , is agleam with costs and comforts insultive to the poor of the streets. or is it me my way of seeing , and the skills are meager to understand the angles. Walking proud in many a small town around this larger valley, are gangs, Latin kings , and the such, they are banded ignorant scared people wanting a life of the properious they see everyday. Mean while I met all other kinds , this is a well traveled isolated civility, borders with international photographers, I , with limited looking have met to with world class names on there resumes . but what is the story about,
the children.. here they are from 12 to twenty, watching the streets as their own part of life. a limited study and yet with the same conflicts with different codings. Here a bottle of liquar is success and access grants lose of virginity and the right to anger adult violence occures. Unreported crimes happen almost everynight. even while the reported ones (need research) mount up..
The streets smell of perfume and fancy gas burners, rampant suv’s, and the new vw while burned out over miled econoimy cars runn neck and neck with the former, are filled with the truth of America and the small town. The cool is to be dangerous and live on the edge. It is to look and act with a certain reverance to the whole. like the group- out sizesits own poputaltion. and unity is never broken though always unspoken. it is ways of dress and habits. and conduct usually starts its own topics and laugh tracks. where an outside idea can turn a happy conversation into a night with which the life remembers in broken bones or scares. Where alchol inflicts a strange balance in these youth and they turn violent. any one new becomes a target.
and yet it is the civility of life in a world which denies. for we stand for nothing if not to show the lessons are children should learn.
and we are not standing with the same pride our brotbers and sisters are taking when they are talking about who they have beastial relations with. these children represent what the truth of our land is… the truth of the disavowed ,

Another day
here spending nights and days walking what is life. what is thoughts and action or what is reaction and more reaction. what other to have.
my self is a baot awash with the times which tell the tale more than the hailing some child who move within tides of being. And I call never the home which bore me. my mother her hard heart watched as I failed and held never my hand. I am cold and never feel alive much. the time speacks for its self. I am wnating whaere there is no heart. to find heart. and acking within that there is only the sore facts of self appreciation and truth. for I am to learn now what years couldn’t teach and only seconds comprehend.
I am responcible for me. and the pain can be felt or left to the side to be claimed by the fools which follow the wisdom of logic. further than I will eventually go.
I rest my love in sadder eyes hoping to be of use for the caring I want to give.. and I am wrong for I am the one who needs the careing and I am the one for whom the careing should be shared with. and yet. .. what comes is only the idle whiff of smoke . ..
from a gun barrel fired of into the air at a cloud , I guess.
useless.
July 22, 2000

And what makes this life important, for I write nothing for the outer world really. Plots are beyond me. I care not for the prejudice and opinion. I care not for the abstract representation of normacy. what I care is the exposure of the individual and the evolution of human universal response. Inside my life I search for that response inside my life I field the questions universal life finds in its exploration of his mind.
and like the existentialist I am alive to all sides of my life. I can be weighed down by facts the world faces. I was abused as a child and am now dealing with the separation of my love from the sex I lust after. and I am human.. I have seen ,the reverses also. I have felt the nessicary facts of being alive to the meditation and the facts of my own morality. these facts have made me whole in all regards even when the work produced seemed less than real. the roads have caused me much pain and suffering but that is life . to see the truth is to suffer the knowledge. I can see no other reason for art but to communicate the ultimate being. And the facts of survival are really a matter for pre-theory. Faith has become a common sense for which we all must have to find peace. and it is not contained by religion. no matter religion we have it. It lies in the ability to transcend our lives , our physical evolutions, enough to find peace. It is science, and or just logic, but a lived logic as aposed to a doctrine or a dogma. Through this search of mine I have found a door open to let the past not create a troubled future in so far as I am to contain the basic elements which would hurt others and put me in jail , for I was an abused child. Terribly abuse though I have met worse.

And it is another day
I did not go to work to work here maybe.. the reason I mean. and is it more.
I feel acertain amount of disconnection from my life trying to figure out the right moves for the goals. trying to figure out the goals .. maybe that is again why I have tAKEN OFF WORK. oNE I DON’T CARE FOR IT ANYMORE. THE WORK IS NOT THE RIGHT KIND. my families blood would tell me to shut up and go… the blood of the worker, pensions and promise. I sit wondering where the next idea will make me tell the yruth wondering what is the truth with the life I must avoid to live if I grant everything. if I am currently . feeling for a removed lover. if I am feeling for some other kind of united friend. even if I am just not letting anyone take advantage of me. for right now I have the apple for the eyes,, hangging in front of the starving. but I don’t want to be in there lives not all, they walking where I can not knowing not my pain. saying we are the same threatening my physical.
After all these years I can not let my anger go it has be come something of a fear. I am starting to shake more and the tendancy to feel justified, if one can do such is straonger than it ever has been and yet it is just part of a separate character.
I can piece it apart for what it is , seeing the traits knowing thre is no place to be come the fool except in the head… a spirit is never.
Work , the ways to complete ethics. Confidence and mastery, brains awash , zen.
Work , here the nature of nature is not to be bought, it is made and then paid for.
It is art….
and costs , deserted streets, cautious inner mirrors, and comings glass lines
extroverted without the gregarious carnations arranged in a bowl.
the brown wall window pain accented in white.
Work…. the foundations laid to stand without foundations. without the need
I guess, for the irony is forever.
and does one consider the ways away to be, when ways away
are away from the ways,
I know I am insane.
and I know there is ways to be away…I know for the mediatation lead me there
I know; be cause. the time went time less, and absolutes can be felt , and left go.
without considerable body ,
I know.. and I pass the sword to you.
I give of love and life
to be life at all.
oh sponsored showing , work..

it is not of me to know. Know more…
no and know.
funny that.
I cry when I see the absolute
worked into the langurage not to see, the arisen day … I see it as conspiracy

is it work
to proclaim the ecstatic.

part one.]
I have again faced the pain of death. an attempt to murder me happened two weeks ago. from this date, july—-
how does this work..into my master plane. the face five shades of red, bllod burst emcapured by skin. swollen like a step fathers slap. I didn’t fight back..
work.. writeing….
yea….
anger violence
the assorted traumas
of a war inside America .
explain.
homelessness in the city.
is the caravel of social service monies. work
Anger enterprise.
I am sore yet and wanting. and her the desire to be alive transcend the doing. the survival is a held hand against another. a violence which sickens my mind. which greives me to want it in some queer sense while denying it. and yet it is another civil joke.
Vengeance…. not that.
I am a pascfist , guess. .
work. sex. must have…
must leave this frame into the purple loving space . must through bone and breath, investigate limitlessness, the arch easy of your back into poition without dancing out intricate balllet.
and wife and lover.
and none , haunting neon sign stands, alcohol and leather stool, I drool in the corner and write sometimes. Inside the dark , calming thoughts came in the “watery running” over streams conscious and un…
whole room could be watched, and experiment In logic and appreciations the of mimunal .. of loves and smiles. Heart exzuded and leave of sometimes. friends at least with only a couple of losers of which I was one. BArfly, sitting watching like it, the great social could move.
a pen and paper, conducting my interest along with anyone present . people left me alone , and I lived careless and free…
after after after, time. I wanted more and only could interview people , I could not give or get more than that, I wasn’t alive I was a clown, sitting talking to himself in expressive ways alone. a genius of sorts casting away the material connection.
work?
I would sit for hours with the pen scribbling . I was alive to the deadness for I was alone. and in these streams are only the solitude. And why , the sights of the walls with plywo lines. ghosts and minimal forms. Staring into my beer when the words left me dry. and where are those words. where are those tides of the daily. gone into the elements , lost to moving and sorting out nothing. but the muse. the second beer would be enough to cast me out and look around, the sorted looks one gets when they sit up after sitting down writing after a half hour. the egotistic, look away. the character for which you have become sitting, stands in there minds. you are a character and the shadow proceeds.
I felt increible exposed. No one knows me and I am not into meeting the locals, they intentionally look away. Like I was only writng to make create the impression . to get laid . and I learned much from those days, staring only started the flows , the first times sitting closing the joint became a time and a quest. finding adventure with the women and hearing the greatest tales of lying and bold debonair eloquence. and even life lies. the pretension and vibes , the meat market approach to this small local city bar. Late twenties early thirties crowd. Construction and accountants all with the stories , the pretense. and I felt the prejudice. Writers should not go out it just upsets the rest of mankind.
but most important thing was I changed from being a recluse, wasting my time within a small group of people who didn’t have the drive I had. I came into the sistution knowing only the connection I have always had with people . Years of customer service without me interacting with the people I served. I was only to fullfill my job and go on. the rest was and still is funny I have a hard time fitting in..I am always outside wanting in but not able to reduce my intelligence or street savvy enough to let the bullshit fly. so went I started talking I was exceptionally alone even after a full night cavoring. waiting I guess for the right women. the right minds. the heart of mankind. and truth is I was emptied by the contact. Emptied of my love enough that I started to feel as down and ugly and stupid as everyone around me. moving to the country has given me a new look at my life. and I am ready to do something…the choises are there inside the everyday I have lived. and now I must come to the conclusions if not now never again.
I am going to work achieve for the futrue the reasons I am for now. but this is not good reading.. the statement can be made without any real blood. but I can feel the future. and if not the music than the writing or I will go for some acting. but I will never give up. I met a women who is as confused by life that I was at her age and yet she is writing and trying no matter the world we both were raised by. she is not with me but she showed me love like no other women I have ever seen. I know I can be loved again.

it is day, and I acke for a women. some meaning where is only the abstract.
and is that wrong , life would say yes.. that is wrong but in this world of have and have not the without are society. Is there another reason to wake and bath and smile and search. consciousness??? yes the world away from the world, If I was alive I would be equal to the lonelyness the crying game made simple and I would have but complex I see. hoping she will come back and hold me . that she would understand what the world is with another and yet I am not to need in order to have , presenting the face which hold self importance around the whole and that is not me. and it is a million. but lonelyness as a concept is world wide. In streets in cities and small towns, on the side of the road next to corn fields , inside bars with crowds ,Lonelyness runs through humanity endless and there is no cure, it is conversation and fullfilled gargariousness. And when the spirit is alive in me I can only see the life offered and given. but what am I to the giving. I must find life for myself , and these words and all writing can not give me partnership. only having life flow through life can give me a whole feeling , she is gone , and yet in my hopes not, another is in my mind but refuses me also. I want her like the green of a tree and such is need to love and care.
it is again another day.
I have talked to the women who loved me in the drunken commitment of intuition and sex. Her brown eyes making me nervois where normally I wouldn’t be. she is so beautiful and so distant. It is hopefully the moments to remember so many years have been spent already loveing someone who can not love… It is me knowing I am unloving I wonder. I watched her eyes look away. I watched what was love finally fade from me. she has accepted the dream of loosing. the linear has made it into her mind and she looked away. the correct world an escape from drugs and drinking. like there is reason in life. not that she will have to learn to deal with the crazyness on her own terms like so many. the high is the dream of love.
Ever addict needs to know that there is a natural happiness. It is to follow the dream to keep alive the happiness. there is no other lessen to learn. All the rest comes.
but to take my own concerns and live my own happiness. Just accepting the path. staying happy , and not estatic, but simple and peace ful. content. but equal to the talents. It is time to stand Alone like we all must. and the path lives yet I don’t like it. the tales of simple love fall shallowly on the civil survivers who plan through lies and humble suppressions. who go to work when they want to live other things. who tell themselves to forget forget the family you have left behind. forget the lovers who have forgotten you. remebered the lovers you have turned away. the killing of spirits everywhere we forget. I watch and listen as my male friends forget love for the success, the conquering machoism lieing and brest pounding. killing ourselves with the ego of our controls.
and my friend that women , she is beautiful, torn inside by drinking and forgetting for there is something inside her story she refuses, and it is that which haunts her. the forgetting to much to remember. Her dreams seem only alive with the rebellion to forget.
she writes tales like I wrote when I first started the hours spent teling my life to a notebook while outside the world hatefull wanted to fuck me. taking what they wanted leaving the wasted love lieing somewhere , cold and learning lonelyness alone. when I first learned to forget.
and I see that in her, the stories seem to run like that the young and sensitive being lead down roads untill we wake up to find ourselves after walking down all the endless leadings going no where.. lives to forget . these petty leadings, the lieing , the cruel misshapened lives responding to each other we become mishapened from our spirits , I hate myself. I lost her from a moment of hatred. I did something to piss her off. and she will never forget the pain. even as she will not know the pain she caused me. waking me up at three in the morning after she went out on a date. leaving my pictures, which she would have had to in order to give them to me. she meant to leave me. but the dreams created between us leave me wanting her today. the facts of lies is that they are meant to be truths. I felt a future for us. But that is me. I read and create future with every women I am with, thinking this time endless partnering a chance for happiness and fullfillment. but they were just moments .. nights , a pretty girl the pool table. her kisses with men swarming around her, she walks up to a man and asks him to buy her a drink. her long legs trying to get there eases. I said I didn’t have any money. so she made gesture to lure another man to fullfill her desire for alchol. her refuses she get pissed. Sadly she is with me. and yet I would still want her. like I expect this why else would anyone want to be with me. that is another side of me talking getting into affairs with people who I don’t really like. but I liked our converstions I like the feeling of love and with blinders again I reached into the world to come up empty. Is that life? did man kind get created just to look longingly at what it would have liked to create, and never had the will to live.
Have we created reason to explain our inability. leaving our white hearts in the balance. The truth of my heart says a lot to me .
the feelings and intuitions have wanted to be pleased like her. wanted the attention when I was young , desire the love now. but I have become the elements I couldn’t understand in Beckett and Satre the truth of my foul spirit looking away while the subconsciousness flows against the morals. I am the world , and yet there is hope it is the future as a day is to the one past.
and yet here is another day. Last night awashed with the foul smell of the innoscense in a voice and body of the aged. And should the tale be told is it important..I guess the answer is yes.I guess because I am not sure .
So another women another day. the space of moments outwieghing the intelligence of years what is life without love . without the emotions and feelings are we not just stagnate masses walking the cynical earth demanding the pleasure of the physical cursing our spirits for the controls inflicted apon them. So, when sh was there I looked away knowing I was filled with her. knowing I was feeling love , knowing love for her. and wanted to look away. untill she started talk to me. and I couldn’t control myself around her. She asked for mon ey the fact of which I have very little. ten dollars and I had only twenty and I gave it to her. knowing she would go off with it . and never see me about it. I fact I wanted not to talk to her. leaving somespace between us . such to feel my heart and know the truth of time. but she came nearer and nearer, her actions telling me she was bored with the one in front of her an aging songwriter posing for the lack inspiration he really feels. her long full legs demanding my attention even as I have known they before as she poised on my bed for a picture in water colors. she stood on the other side of the pooltable in the bar my heart going out to her but to no avail. I knew she wanted the money when she spoke my name. her glass was empty. she told me of needing for. I knew she wanted a drink. and so I let her take the money on the lie. knew she would drink and off the two of them went. the sad faced needle nosed irish flunky behind her. her highth making them look like a comedy routine , stumbling out the door as I played the rest of the game. and then some hopeing for her return. An hour passed they weren’t coming back. I knew I was waiting and wanted no more to drink I had given away my head for my heart again. and felt used and stupid. but knew I wanted to catch her with the rest of the money in the other bar she would find. and I did. Walking up the street I checked every bar, never knowing where I would find her. untill the third one she was there , her migit on stage alone trying to tune a guitar. and her drink empty. she see me and tells the bartender I will buy her a drink and saying I owned it to her for the twenty five times we had sex one night. Smaller and smaller I felt. looking at her knowing the love as an emptyness a bad love emotionless at that time for the moments shared and left. for the smallness she was createing in me right at that moment. I did buy the drink, a snake bite it was is called and the knowledge and the fig tree. bite me. and then I started to get mad. a torent of feelings meting truth. th external seeing the internal. here reality. there the heart. one fighting the other for control. and the finallyi loiiked at her. and said . with some hightened volume. “I believe in the moment. the hight of life celebrated can always be . that love conquers all the obsicals.” and I lie here. for the last part I didn’t say. and she just shook her head like she wasn’t going to hear or react.. her drunken state knowing that you can not drink away reality, shaking her head with her eyes closed like I was torturing her with reality. a reality she couldn’t control and she didn’t want to see. I just wanted to hold her knowing she was feeling such conflict and pain. This was the reason for the alcohol : for the avoidance. and why she held on to the sick little Irishman’s inaudible singing on the stage. the guitar out of tune playing the common cords with a tone of hopelessness. Whom she told everyone was Great . she almost cried and I did. leaving the bar after she motioned the bartender that I was being abusive with the reality. I told her to take care and stay healthy, with a peace sign slanted over my heart and walked out , the pain in my head and alchol in my viens. I saw only my foolishness for believing in love, and I hit myself and ran to a path behind my house, punching around the eyes ,three,four times. I cried long and deeply the screams sounding like the devils laugh at the impotence. Crying at sky until , I finally broke down and wailed even louder. my head pushed against the ground my back arched my whole being taunt, forcing out the frustration. Knowing I was alone and unloved everywhere. screaming to the ghost of the past to love me. Innerly is the solitude of pain known as the rain poured lightly down.
but then it started to be more. I wanted to react without thought for myself. And waited outside the bar wanting them to come out . knowing I was going to attack the little man for his lying about me the first day she and I met. Saying he knew me. saying I was a child molester. he lied about me to her. and implanted the words so that I could never be with her. He killed me in her. and then I wanted revenge against the lying. I saw them leave and started running trying to get to him I wanted to kill him. and there it is. another untold of human reaction , the beast which goes blindly into violence.
as I was running down the street seeing them hand in hand like a couple of fools, which they did to piss me off further. I saw two cops. and was reminded of jail and civil law which protects the weak and defends the hypocrites. and I felt it , the reason coming into my veins. I would not go on … I would talk to the two police officers . they listened. taking down my name for no reason but to write something. and I was beyond the beast again. knowing the reaction of time to the will I had worked my brain into .
and there we stood .I was feeling the pain of life. for all life has created this pain. the tortured earth needing peace and love but being denied by the wicked who lie about what they are doing to the environment. and our fighting spirit which feels the need to react is laid low by the law; stopped by the defamer who control. I stood with the police shaking. Knowing I must go on from this night….but what of the morning of the new day. as it rains I sit typing and can not work.
\Funny nothing is more important than going on , but what is on.. I sometimes wish I could kill myself and forget this world and all like but I know it will not be the end. I can not help by sacrificing myself on the pain I have felt for alone will be you and for you I write such that you will not be me. but you will be and then you can know ,no matter your state, you are not alone…

so it is to expose life through these words, to expose my life and a story of the all.
anther day toward the late of days.
here thinking I know what rule I broke again with the women I had talked about yesterday. there is an little explained rule among single men to have love instead of just sex. Never go to bed with a women on the first night. never give in to the lust. even if you feel the romance. If it is true you will feel it the next day. I felt so connected to her I wanted it all. and to have all is to give up controlof life. . and even as that makes a good sexual partner it is only a treat and not love. I wish I would have never given back her ring. She meant so much to me. Life being fullfilled by another who would love like I love. claiming sanity from the sight. and yet I am wrong and life is wrong. for not living close enough to my heart. Her qualities out wieghed her experiments of now. If I wanted more than now I should have lived it. but I did not and I feel I have lost her. and will never see her again in the same way. I am a fool.
but even fools must go on.
but is it to go on foolishly? I look around the town I have come to . this land of building , isolated between farming and country hills , inside canopies of colleges, and the connecticut river, and I had hoped for a new life. One filled with success. One of the magazine The Enertial Call. one of hope with nature mixing my life with another. and what is here. but the fumblings of country folk , hidding from the lives of insanity they have lived in isolated quietness. So many stories already. So many cast down eyes and hopes fearing this land. of endless ignorance. For culture is talked and not lived here. culture is the pretension of class among the edicate of strangers. while nature proclaims its eternal quiet controls. A Man thinks not more than about his farm or he leaves it for the rampant success of his thoughts. a blindness again for I am talking about life ingeneral, repeating the cliché about bliss. repeating what would have been mine had I not left this years ago. wanting to search out life fully. but here I am , I have returned to what I had left. the children in the streets are me. Looking stupidly at the full moon knowing only the inablitity. Hearing only the demands from cloistered people of what I should do and who I should be. and I am nothing. Such is the attitude on the streets. such is the ignorance.

It is another day.
my heart is long from love. for I know notwhere it is . I have lent it to a women who steaches herself against twin beds of drunkenness and sanity. while writing her mused heart.
I love her as she infects me with ultimate lonelyness again.
I watch her when she is near never feeling alive. her down cast eys and sad mouth. always lonely surrounded by the men she would lead. And I danced with her. and yet never touched her , wanting to be with her forever. my blood surged to be near her and I could not. so I couldn’t touch her. and yet just for her near I waited by her shoes which she left by me. wanting her always. and yet know this is the partner who will let me write and love forever in tragic eternity.

I wake to the gray clouds which predict the day so unmercifully. will it rain today. will it just cloud . my whole day lies in the telling , the last of my money spent on the conclusion the last of my life and food spent to find i Ian make life the hard way on guessing.
and I wake to find that women in my head . thinking is she alright. Even when I know she’s not thinking of me. and yet it is one for another, the gray day giving me doubts as to what I should do. The air blowing cool and tempting to the rain I would imagine. her refusing my call Yesterday with the lying sisters voice. knowing first that she was home and secondly asking who it was that was calling. My back is starting to hurt from lying in bed. and yet to get up is only pain in general. There is no other reason to arise from these sheets except to love or to work. The television is at my feet. air blowing in is cool and telling of sleep . and the dreams give me life.
My age and hopelessness is bonding me into a future I care not for and yet it is truth. I am depressed and have come to such a state as to feel it mix into the general reality without any highs or lows to direct it. It is all low. and I don’t know what to do about it .. such that I have never known. I will make coffee. and then feel my way through the rest of the day. The coffee is again to strong such that I must take water with my coffee. I don’t use anything else. easiest coffee in the world to make.
you know it is quite a talent to know what to do with your self when not at work. although there are people who get paid to write. but not as one of them I have the luxury of not giving a good fuck about what I write. notice the coffee line. and with my coffee and a freshly rolled cigerette from old butts in the ash tray. I am quietly consumed for a matter of moments with this past time. for right now for me it is all past time. and these words the art of writing. my tone , like the colors used in abstract painting reminds me of Nausea, and yet such is the reminder of my life right now. Hear as I give love to the loveless idea of a women. her picture sits on the wall, she is reclined on the bed staring with closed eyes at some flowers. the back ground is yellow with a blood line for the horizen. and a frame in black and white hangs above her, with two figures inside of flesh colors without form except the bare minimal. one in red out line the other with more form in black with breasts. a determined face pushing through the right hand edge. and a ghost spirit figure coming from her head. the bed is blue. she made me happy enough to make it but the picture is all her. glazing over the reality of the flowers with the dreams which never intersects with the living. It is a hard life to live, when realities can not come together. . and it hasn’t rained and I guess I should be going to work. but I don’t think I will. because I am tired of the picture. and my destitution is pleasing. in regards to the years I have left. weather they be shortened by my own hand or just the imaginations of some death to come about. I feel time is short. Like I have always felt. my head clogged by the curtain of depression. the chemical cotton balls of half a brain at any one time. and so I write. ..
It is funny for the self confidence of being, I have none. I am only driven by the flow of the words and the philosophy; the emotions of life. To the women with the big brown eyes and curves I have given the all of my being which she would use to get the last drink for the night and discard me like I am allowing her to do. Walking off with that other I have describe before and need not do again. but it is fullfilling to know love and passion and importance. Maybe just to know anything and move along the inspiration weather to my death or life. the world has become nothing but that… some search for motive or conclusion to make feelings. I want to live the exact of that and nothing less, such that going to work would only waste what would be a glorious day writing even as I feel it is useless. What else is useful? the money would only more drive me to drink. Give me only more of the ‘reality “ of having and having not; such that I would rather entertain myself with the passion than the denial…Or maybe it is the denial rather than the passion. for to work gives the gems for which I can buy loves freedom. I can not have fun enjoyment with another without money.. or so it would seem with the hours spent without good conversation. except with that women I mentioned and should not mention again.
There is other women infesting my celibacy. Dreamed of women who run the rampant ruins of my perversion and idealize love making. Younger women, and older. Women I have written love letters to for years and women who I have thought about and shyly grin at walking down the street having seen them enough that they also grin. and move along never to stop for my insanity is known on the streets I cry and walk sometimes. and am known and taunted by the street children. though I do not consider myself all that insane no I see myself as normal and the rest of the world stops themselves from living out their emotions even though all of life is of those emotions. Animals have them so why do we deny them. so I cry when I want to cry even though I don’t want to cry the telling of my pain is alone and coldly accepted by society. It is release and failure to do so for me would further complicate my life such that I would react like men will with violence for which I , if only of one, refuse to be lead into that egotism. but to see myself I am a coward of my life long goals. and confidence would put me beyond these wishes . only to be enacting life but yet sometime I feel even confidence is ignorance for what confidence the major movements of history have produced. such that it seems all action contrives to hurt someone somewhere and we are all guilty of crimes against humanity.

It is later in the day , I wrote for some hours this morning and now again , I feel like a loser. and I guess I am , the standard note of a loser would be a man who can not keep his life together. I can not keep my life to gether. only these words and trying keep me from totally losing. but I am not on any mission which would advance me. I am still falling for every love ever offered, to the point of pushing them all away not even seeing what greatness I have about me enough to overcome the facts. I want to die. I can not change. I am mad at the world , and when it stricks at me I am even madder. because I am afriad to react . I will get sent to prison. I will be made to go insane. I cant stand to be confinded. and I am scared to react. I am insane. and I hurt myself for no reason. like there is a reason to hurt self. ai am suffering from depression all the time and it effects everything I do. and everyone I met.
but I guess every time I go on without killing myself I am free of the burden for yet another day. but yet the influence is upon me life the endings of life can be so easy. like a moment can turn the rest of life.
so here we are, a small coffee house the women is there with the toad at the mike. I don’t say hello much. I move within sight of her but can not bring myself to say hello because of her positioning, she is sitting in a corner with people on each side. I just make my presents known and move away. I didn’t want to talk to her because the preformer is her friend no matter what I think I don’t talk to anyone if I want to hear the act. so I just made my presents known. she looked great. her tall form in a nice black dress her hair pulled back. My pulse was racing just for that one sight. I talked to friends , she passes by , she doesn’t notice me. she did but didn’t want to say she did. did want to walk up to me. when she went to the phone. She said last to give her space and I do. she walks after me in the bar. she comes up to me like I am no one expecting me to make the interaction and I feel stupid doing it. I am not getting to talk to her normally. so I guess it will not work out. I must resolve the tempting to love without connection. I did it before. where the spirit of the matter seemed to outwiegh the truth. but what is love if not spirit. what is trust but knowing she’ll come around someday. but I must not get near her for a while but what if I lose her. because I couldn’t say hello. she doesn’t answer my phone calls. it is over but yet I know she liked me for that moment maybe that is all I can get is a moment. I should be happy for that and go on. but some how I think she will come around someday. maybe…maybe a gig will be the moment she sees I am the right one for her. maybe her love will come through and she will find in her heart a light which has my thoughts written on it. maybe… to many I guess.
and yet the plot thickens nun.
there is no call to angels unrested and waking to wuick. no call to the endless which is mourned nightly from in inadquacy of it vocabular to express in blue and green the endless clouds thick , and fluffed soft like streams of which flow in to the back blue a floucesent changing to dark spotted with inbetween smires shades, floursent like carpaz in assorted colors no one uses and gives away. flseh shown and holy, wrecked for figs , but yet
mirrors laugh away ours, dividing character this to consume this to love this to spell and bind law with words. who are you exactly, the removal of the parasitic tree only a released as the bat shit joke. ( the american alottment is something like 20 percent) ( good cheap fig bars) twenty five cents at the poor markets. . )
did I ever tell you the story of how adam and eve came about.. you see god made a perfect representation of himself , but he could only smybolically make it to the exterior of a many himselfs , for the interior would understand , one can only be what the creation would be, a running away from what it is for what it wants. such that all of the apples and the covering fig leave could never put adam and eve back to gether. with bat shit…
in other words, god made adam and eve and when it came time to answer the question… it went like this, ,,,,
God…. so

Adam…. well …

and god stamped his foot and said..

God… Wrong answer

and this went on for about six or seven or for however many times it would take to be that pissed and make the old testiment…
untill he finally had to just let his children be and learn, for he was nature in his demeanor. he was storms , and Adam cam into pastures,,, and shelter, and knowing the creation of children, and the response of self discipline and then money, and then science, and then faith, and then his psychology, and then will full creations in fascist mass , and then……
any way.. get the joke ,,,

Wrong answer….

and I stare at the cigarettes and stare at the lust and stare and stare and the hand claps and the composer effects vibrations waves and the energy is without panic, and the life with/ within rumors only sometimes ,
“ never our hearts enough” and then I hear and see more the the tragic makes we bold and the poverty makes me stronger. and the love brings me home and the heartgives we kinder….
and I never had a point…
the rumors are declaired and the loathing and counning is leveled at the false head, and mixtures are way democratic, and histortoic is the mentioning of all. ,,,,
can you tell I am in love,
the date seems of me and without , the hands are reaching into the jell which amasses t the bottom of a gear about to go dry,I exclaim to cause and reason, watch as the only protest is the enslavement and the highs growth industry is the private security as aposed to computers linking the intimate and natually mixing… ,tide,,, tided by wrist and ankles alike, pig tide it is called, funny that the pigs tide people getting carried away…. never giving names and landing longer on the system. “ fair share of abuse”covering the coverage…
new and the net works.
poetic and prisoned.
I love you…you who’s children stare back
from the mirror for whom they look like…
and history repeated
never the same way.
.but with the same tellings
…. tail signs
ahead as behind.
Single coiled spiral the intellectual animal..

Actually God had to split one enity to make sexes. that is why love is two polarities of one spirit.. and the impotence of enlightment..my irony..my lieing… but we come to the path more than the answer, it is the question which must be learned… path… generation trains generation trains generation…

eat as I bow
prey to the automatic
stimulation
little planet
seen inside myself

another day.. aware!!!
and there the day
arises to understand the day..
here sitting with learning , through the forest is the tree which holds love and kindness, peace and understanding , it is alone with all the rest of the mountain pushed by sight from outer space to be one big splotch of green. I should want to make amends with the truth. the spirit is only there and weather it is understood is beyond the daily slightly. I can see one way only to have the truth slap me in the face with the reality. and there is myself learning the learning what facts lay in the road are only the one which follow need and support the ego. I need further into the trees to know. and there is life … understanding one’s lessons . and taking the ideas from the whole. most said is left by the side with the menaing lost to participates, forgetting as we go.

And what is day
surrounded in plee’s
guilty to freedoms,
needing survival
when costs mount up
A severity is country and pide.
I go to work
which works
backward to the individual
I want.
Possesions of character
taunting . Jeering
from the side. a holding
a placement spirtually occupied.
and it is just life
the lived verses
the pursuit.
so with a phone I must start again.
with a car I must start again
with developed talent
what chances are real
music , my hands
the confusion of being tired
the honesty of choices.
Where else but America
where is need met.
for this “exceptance”
self divined wishes.

I have searched the world over to understand nobility, purity and the truth of man’s nature. Maybe it is simple as man takes care of his needs without ethics and without civility to others and that is nature. the rampant disregard for future through the actions of greed and deceit. But yet that is not peaceful. and even law inflicts no moral demand. We can manipulate law to cover any truth as legal. making no real law. only sides and more sides; while we argue humanity suffers.
As an Artist I feel responsible to live culture and direct the future as I direct my life through my art. Composing the morals into the culture; advancing cultural. A high ideal I know. but yet I have lived this high idealism, suffering for my own rebellion to understand what has not been taught to me. except through meditation and intuition. I have found much peace in the ways of the spiritualism. I observe and wish only to stand up for the ideals of a spiritual responsibility as a world unity…
for which is the balance dictated by our technological society…
It is humorous That this ill-educated man I am would choose to stand up for ethics and moralistic view. But I have finally to feel there is no more important creation I can enact. for true feeling is make within the world equality and not out of plottings and schemes. the plot is known and reaction is automatic and simply understood. But yet an enforced change to mankind would only come from the human with nothing to loose. From the bottom up. Big business runs the world without the people, without meaning for the children’s future.

but it is another day. and I had no energy to be alive so I slept. the dreams ran around in my head for the hours I spent walking through different events I can not remember. help me oh lord without love I have no energy. I am old and wanting . like there was never a chance to be alive. I know I am wrong , but then a love called and something inside smiled and awoke. and I wondered weather it was love for which I lack or am I just so depressed the manic voice is triggered by the love… are we all so depressed we can not think. are we depressed because the world’s problems acosts us everynight on television. Or are we depressed because of the denial , looking at problems and forcing ourselves to forget them…
I want only to live.. I want to celebrate the love of life. and with love we can find peace. the world knows that peace some hold on to the piece of peace they have with all there heart, Some of them are of the material riches and love and peace are all they would want to preserve. but at the cost of others they choose to deny. The majority of mankind is material. theyhave jobs and they have thir love. but theydont have the power to control the future theyhave only the peace taken from live taken by the absence of power the humility of the slave…
I want only to live. but in living we must have truth.. in that we must have action , there is no peace with denial so close to daily thoughts, such that we must focus on blinding ourselves.
and another day

I mind a dog. a four legged Pitbull. she smiles softly with brown eyes from the bed of old laundry. Her joy; to run outside. searching out the smells which give emotion , story. give adventrue to the gray dulled Sunday. I smoke and listen to the noises from the next room. A movie about war ,I can tell from the shouted comands and the backward counting. just before the rocket lanch. Sade is the dog. I am Ken.
Who’s knocking at my door. a matin soccesse picture plays on the video machine. Life and more. the city of new york must be the most documented in the country. the south bronx, Brooklyn. names I have never heard the origins of . buthave seen enough in flims to almost know my way around. the over head subways. the endless brick buildings. the well planned streets. it is a land away. and yet life.
harvey kitel , so young , with his strong hold of friends, all filled with longing and Italian, filled with relgion and guilt and blame. Ignornace documented. the Ignornace with conducts life. I wounder if anyone really saw themselves as this flim makeer again told the tale ultimately of the Exiltentualist from Nausea to No way out… he knew . I wonder if anyone else did. It was life. The smells from the poll. or the grass and down the path further then I can’t see . so I call sade her back.
Harveys girl tells him of her being raped. A long drive in the country. where no one can hear your screams. Harvey pulls away. visions floating through his mind of the brown haired girl with a bed for room decoation as a reaction to the rape, to her telling of it. with disbelief. What you told the other guys he says. the denial and lack of compassion. Sade smells a dieing bird and bites into it bringing me its life less body.

It you know the movie… you look for a nice girl. or your heart settles for love inside without equal on the planet.
and there is a reason we are loveless. sade and me. we get to much of gods adventure. it is everywhere and our minds have fostered our beliefs. more than my mind has felt its emotions. do god and nature fight? Ignorance…Sade barks at footsteps. I hold a lover in my vision, the place where I dream until It replaces reality.. Humanity conquers Humanity. my dream out lasting reality, but enjoining spirit without the connection physical , myAnna-bell, My Clarity. Sade smells male and female. got a cold fever, want to met. emails and dog shit.
Can’t touch the owner. but can have the dream.

Harvey can’t change realize change . he can only react like he is. naturally, while she has books and dreams…. each loving for there reasons with there imaginations, maybe that is one of the reasons for dsyharmony. Loving with imagination where it is just nature. .. one of the ghosts tell me so. How long does Love last?
When I am at work the day is country hills and vales off in the distance. I work on a hill. putting up thin cement tongue depresers like clapboard. the beauty is not interrupted by the loud pound of the nail gun, Its forced air deep plunk creates the other side , anohter side , god, nature and industry guess you could call it an idea. but it is not a love of thought, the thinking is kept at a minum, it not the pleasure which represent nature. Oh my ignorance showing..it is slavery. and Enforced slow evolution of mind and body. my mind dulls working on the wall , looking at lines. sometimes I forget they are there and reason leaves. I am dog tired and just leave, it usually rythems perfect with the rest of the crew, I am one of five and we all quit. Sade’s tail wags so hard her middle curls obseenly. to run after being trapped in the room while I was at work. she is my thoughts. she is a freedom to follow. I wish I could and run smelling testing and pushing I wish I was natural. a dividing line is the fig branch.
the sky stays gray.
I live in a little room in a large building full of little rooms. the walls , made of metal, stopping nails from being hangers, are unlogically taped with drawings I have done or flyers from performances.. telling life. A Bozo rubber figure sits half lotus at the bottom of the lamp. a square wooded brown base supporting four collums holding another wooden square holding the fixture in the center , a fifth brass colum inside the first wooden four. Bozo’s back placed against a half oval polished brass bass cover; reflections coming back dulled and golden. Bozo always smiles. On the other side of the coulumn from Bozo Is a whale in minture, a toy , where you push up the base to move its springy arms to dance and sway. You have to be really good with the toy or it just falls to one side or the other, like a bullet to the brain ; instant and without romance. the whales standing body flings. the drawings look like notes about a project one never finishes. thrown sup quick. I want to leave this place , it says to me. I can only stick things to the walls which can go away leave no mark. One little room.
Do god and nature fight. How did I get in the middle. the fig is my favorite food. Composed of just enough bat shit. flying through the night blindly. I do not have the same passion I had when younger , these words remove me to a place where only the doing matters, I have an old high. a muse which works without working. lingering inside distant movements the typewriter pressing down, the day moving on. slowing tides of not being for which is in the outer world , a no one with long hair, the older guy feeling the attention, the paranaia, then meeting the abstract, telling stories to mark the day giving writing to the poets. some staring with youths confusion wanting to walk side to go where I go the places and adventures I do alone inside to be a dog. and others older stand around looking at all, the lust ,the city , the outside here I am talking of. going by… the lust is without emotion. is replacement. and is finally to blame on both god and nature. our thoughts having to be stage to be trained with such that not all get , for god or nature fails to explain like industry does. to teach for a reason. the reason in both cases would be peace. technology should rhythem with industry. Hard scorning eyes try to look friendly staring off into the distance when they talk ,tell about getting drugs, and who pissed him off, who ran away with the money, what “so and so” is going to do. and look at that set of honkers. his eyes shinning for a moment. turned up at the crows feet. and sip at the coffee. with the rest of the street going by. everyone writing down what he does, sade gets right up and smells. love or not , sex for reproduction. her tail only swings back and forth slightly, stopping now and again to become straight and stiff, as warning and time to be aware.
The room has a fan. Blowing constantly in summer, when sweat constantly reminds of secrets and lusts. where an encounter under the right conditions, gives the friendly wanting. where desire comes with all new friends in the sexual game. I like you. lets deny each other and have sex.
the following is taken from a journal.

there is time to stand.
love forever to moments.
today and away
Leaving where fantasy
forgives the worse man
from hurting
forever for eyes promoted.
here . You. We. look without breaking stare.
Understanding intricate love
hidden quick knowledge
known and left alone.
abuses of continuance.
Soft solitude.
and all the captions in all the lands, make light to your
eyes and fire.
Oh fair, in frame and fortunes
ill perverse exchanges
the cancer to cure
pain to purity
where nothing else remains
there is love.
alone , untortured by life,
Unity strength heart and fire.

What consumes the place with stones
and stares
facing “civil” wares .
Basing Progressions
on stagance.

I get three seconds of a love.
I get three seconds with a heart

anothers object my souds sight
what anger is quelled knowing.
what fire is stirred.

spirit defined
Flowers infinite.
how heart consumes
the pit and place.
yesterday I was standing
with only a heart
to give and today I am self teaching
passion rules for it’s own ends.
Passion complete diversity
She is home, with attachments
almost daily do I feel love
in eyes and trees
and coincidences
resting and arresting
dialogues private but psychotic intimate
knowledge training possibility.
and children litter the worlds
it is hollows eve. rampant adjustments.

When it is only anothers arms and solidness, which answers this need of mine for love.
Holding a crowd, balences passions
scolds and obscures relevance,
Here feeling the world with odd numbered
hands flesh gloves.
I am scared for the future faith climatic
from sights let to reverse into despair.
And the transcendent passion reminds of innocence
for even as the last love is first
all love survives.
Hid in another eyes, chastising my inablity.
for lessons relearning, for answers
relearning ,
Ever.

And welcome the night . a small town defined by history the center of Putian classicism , Salem.
and our party of five living.
Our party of ideas which could get , if in olden times, Hung.. Just by Idea.
and five walked ancient, in love, where hatred
placed task , killing corruption for enforced prejudice.
Lacky collum authority
turned a hundred of years latex
and it is closing time.
Police , seven wide, on horses, cleared the way ,
certain factors standing still. to the onslaught of police beatings which would have been
Standing still to the horses
advance.

Removing the Mask

Artist the rebellion
to show honesty the cause
I have trained in humanity
without college or scheduled coarses
but by the hand
to see and the heart to feel
I have been trying to survive
Early consciousness
Cultural Opinions
and Moral Hypocrisy.

I wasn’t yet part of life
every angle commonly accepted
of time I grew
disrupted the honesty
purging life from wholesomeness and left
beauty arrayed
like stains on cotton.
Untold while Dressed in priest robs
Somehow I found my actions with this Pen
the only humanity I could join
and by ninteen was on my own
without friends with only transient equality
Everywhere a traveler’s piece.
always going somewhere
Never staying anywhere.

the country peels away slowly at the dirt
Leaves rustling
going no where.
the sun fading in and out of clouds
no straight lines in wood,
Nature and conscious.

I have so many things material proving not worth.
A moment calm in falls colors before the ice and rain to come.
All moments encapsulated , beyond what sights and seasons portray.
a weak man should never consider the moment
for the length of appreciation last as love.
Or maybe he is the only one to.
But it’s power and insight is wieghty to the strong.
The strong who meet each others eyes
Challenging or just daunting to all when alone.
Strength as perversion.
and it is told
in rumors
to the clairvoyant.
I am weak for my strengths scare. I must hid wisdom for it is calculable and denial of time.
I follow nothing to write , just to sit peacefully in the wind’s sound tract.
the earth in full heat, and the Mother never wants to admit.
what shall winter produce?
Images, statements come without reason but remain
in relevance , retardant rhapsody replicate. waiting for never again.

The air makes joke of my mood.

The air makes joke of my mood.
Peeping out of clouds and back
against a proposed conversation with God.
Atribution to tone and alert nature.
A paranoia Maybe accumulating
but the animal “the forest wide”
accepts what is controlled
and what is nature.
A Lasting point for some sane man
Pretending to be insane,
through and including reason.
off and off and off and off.
Slowly the bus goes to Hampshire
I feel this prejudice of knowledge.
within me , cause I let it.
I see myself as an actor
for a response to trauma
escaping home into the thoughts
and feel paranoia
the off shot of clairvoyance
and vibe as contradiction to actual energy.

zzzzNovember 9th 1999
Ageless designs of man follow course
the saddened are sadder
Remorse for age declining strength.
I sit among leaves. golden crispy, reddened with age.
and it is warm. New England country side facing my self
wealth over innocence and what amasses is fact.
I have never been able to see the ends through facing pain.
Like my five year old self tearing away from life leaving behind
What is realty for truth isn’t so confined.

Arms Made Lofty

Arms made lofty
Warrior strong
amended from Guilt.
devoted passive yielding
Arms made Lofty
cast unspoken
equality familiar
mystic hindrance
only the man allie
fearing panic and retreat
so lofty can only cry.
armed poetry hangs aloft.

That is the funny part.

That is the funny part
to sit watching a street go by
Until such moments as touch
and in all of me I can see
particulars aside
for a moment shared
is it connection , it is connection But fair concern comes first or yet . Movering sodumized by the greed to be heard which leads attractions. Mine who wants someone to care about finally.
But she walks, slow with a slink, for the clothes she wears, I think late night turned mide day, quickly.
She walks with bags, strength showing, holding a radio tightly, weighty on her shoulder. blue canvas bag, and red fish net stockings slit high enough to kill buisness men. Her short dyed blond hair yet says nothing.
Eye make-up thick over done.
shielding a small sad smile.
Strangers launch greetings passing
and yet I see her, the mirrors of moments
crimes street sense, comparsion
Only for my image replaced.
an hour for the may
the concerned pace of self.
Black leather half length, blue loose top.
Eighteen,
but a moment’s event to see
all.. or of the many.
is my caring and we break
am I just seeing.
What love comes is those women I know
what hearts I’ve seen on a sleeve.
I cherish
a smile can shed off a jacket of skin
and moments.

She saw me. also
Saw me seing , Knowing
It is of beauty to see beauty
and we smile only as well as we’ve cried.
A block away, she looks in a store for a friend and first I thought I was wrong shopping I thought . recurrent times of personal denial
one’s reading “tempted to doubt”
and she comes back down I thought. I get up Look down , see her coming.
and cross the street I she had no one
she would take a break in the park
not really if she needed me she would..
you see Love mixed
I want to care about someone.
and she needed me, I fell automaticly and denied
what streets innocence we prey never to harm, but into the beast is pure.
in tone not to cry alone.
Age scaring my automatic experience saving my heart alive.
Time I want to forget and give.
her boyfriend kicked her out with fist and hell’s words Maybe but alone.
My heart knows love from loving , I curse, I figure in .
My love is tainted because after we loved, I would have she would have .
passion as the edge. alone.

It is another day. what day. August 27, 00. I am alone with my thoughts Alone with my confusion. hope is at present a rumor of the times I have given and lost. in short form I am working construction. I am in love with another like me. Her life more pain filled than mine I feel. Raised by alcoholics taking care of her mother at a young age. her past the look at beauties curses. like mine in part. the users creeping on every side. Until love is a use of time and body for other than the sharing of spirit. with her I am alive again. and with her I am again the fool wanting secure love without time. I am stupid. looking for that which can not be but of me to share. and I am not able . and she isn’t with me right now . I feel so lonely.
But yet I am only living another day. in the pain of the past, in the absence of security and the hopelessness of love which left long ago. but there inside of that a man must survive. so how. I want to love her with all the resources of my love. and yet she is inside of the same depression I feel a lot. It is chemical and made of parts we can not control. Eating sometimes is enough to cast it away, some times it is drugs , but they only work for a while and you have to sit with people just as depressed to consume them.

On Broken glass fields
by Howard Tides
On a hill side in the country stood a house. Old and lonely against the hill, for the back yard though wide with room ended aburptly with the base of Mountain. with no other houses around it. It housed two men. well really one. for one lived out side of the house in a shed in the back over looking the country beneath it. . It is a big shed but not big enough to be a barn. and like the house . all the windows had stained glass in them. And there is where our story start.
the stained glass had many beautiful colors and pictures. The reds and blues cast light into the house shed intricate designs making the furniture seemed colored calliope moved across each room with the sun. but it was hard to see outside of the house without opening the windows. That is why when the state trooper knocked at the front door of the house , Albert didn’t know who what there. And called out comandingly , “Who’s there” for Albert was a small man, in his fifties, a widower, who lived on the grounds with Paul Gore, his handy man and the maker of all this stained glass for which Albert sold at auction. They are partners in the this buisness.
of pauls work.
but paul never left the house , Albert sold the work , dealt with the clinents, showing pictures of old work to the Prospective clients, when their was any. People paid for the right to be on the waiting list.
intricate , and sublime, the cfolors ran through pauls fingers, (((((research glass sculpture. ))))
reds and greens, small pieces made the work. creating depth. understood pains of glass composed into pictures , rosee colored vision.

Paul was renowned and there were orders for more work then paul could make. When the trooper knocked Albert was just going over the books Paul had been missing from the house for about three months . albert had been worried for sometime. paul did this especially in the spring when the flowers were in bloom . he would leave with his sleeping bag and take off into the fields, leaving for weeks at a time but he always came back . and rarely left the house afterwards. paul just made glass and read foreign books and slept. the trooper called back

“it is the police. Can I talk to you for minute, It is about a certain Paul Gore.”
Albert opened the door , kind of shocked to hear Paul’s last name it wasn’t like he ever heard it spoken out right , always paul to him and others who occasionally came to the house in search of their commissioned pieces. Albert couldn’t think what it was about.
the trooper stood all dressed in blue and with his gun belt shinning in the sun. His black hair cut into a close crop, he was holding a notebook . “Is Mr. Gore here.”
his head back and his legs spread, but still looking comfortable (as that would make me want to fall down, but he seems to handle it nicely)
the tone demurred hardship the messenger man. “Would you come out on to the porch I would like to ask you a few questons”.
paul steps on to the porch and sat down. the air was crisp and taunting his nerve, the wind played into his hair greyeing and long.
the crew cut remained standing . “could you tell me what relation Mr. Gore was to you”
“none, We are buisness partners”
“when was the last time you saw mR. Gore?”, .

“I guess it was about three months ago when we got back from a trip We had taken together to bury my sister. you see I couldn’t go alone I get sleepy when I drive to many hours.”
“did anything suspicious happen, anything out of the normal.”
“well yes. Kind of but it mostly concern Pauls attitude”

and there it is a chance on a story the nature of man it is and not . For the man missing is of the body and nature is not.
how

and my stumbling mind , telling the highths and depths.
Living for those failures when heart wants to make and fears. the making.
what is that, and I a criminal against what would be my love. and in that
awakened ..
a simple man must not fight what is alive within him.
and time ties harmonies together. slowly within the ability to attract I am lost to the attraction I like and want she is me inside and I can see it. it, this feeing is not completed by me. not complete in me wtihout her.
and yet that is the flow , or maybe it is the error trying to love self like you love another.
granting that love is true or the feeling the melting of vibrations together is a reality. the harmony of tales and legends.
and it is the criminal which wants and never reaches the standing grounds of being . I would wander away into the absents. and walk the blind of time by living only for the pleasures, not wanting the nothing denying the energy, blindness inside and wanting violence. my acking soul to life beyond this body asking for the right to replace thoughts with feeling , moving like the dancing. exchanging views with the vision.

It is funny but to have life . you must know and re know all of your life. Here it is seen and known. and here it is seen and known. but I have left behind such knowledge cast it adrift for the complexities it offered, and subconsciously, the pain caused by having sight at all.
Sight where as regarding the abilities to see self.
A self sight I have only found when in love, or loving. Or when smoking weed.
there were days when the thoughts become more . where energy makes it’s mark through the sheer changes which can accompany a human thought turned feeling. Fleeting though it has been at times It quickens and forgets others for this life. This wholeness. and I have found happiness and lost it many times. for it was even subconscious the being happy. To make continious strides daily thinking here ,
nothing to follow or to lead.
the escape clinical and
fostering faith.
technological and complete.
but it is a creation all the same the making of mind to tides awareness. I am happy for seeing the happiness, seeing how that alone leads what is. to break it down. to scorn my thoughts of their respect is trivial, one says who has sank in on equal with the majority wondering why we would torture ourselves with tears. and mark the sand with logic. The devil .. choac of emotional interplay the hippies of our time and the displacements our.
that is of course what I am talking about , culture.

MOVIE
Survival
or three women and a man.

Premise-
one man is sexual with one women he doesn’t love, and one ,every now and then, who he does.

Streets turned away at angles unmemorable. He just knew. Watching them pass. the orange lights spinning off the coal black of the road. the continuously numbing white line down the center. An imaginary AFX race car, that he wasn’t even holding the controls of. Jon Orwich could imagine anything. the hours poured by. His life, he felt, was hidden. Hidden by the front glass and the door, contained for customers, contained in a secret place kept away to control and hold only in lonelyness.
Each night the traffic, only, made a special place in his heart. Proceeding like some abstract human consciousness. It could be just one big demolition derby. any second the idea of a car and its inhabitance could wash away in the telling of bent hoods and jammed gears replacing this semblance of a peaceful society. He was often amazed at the fluid motion . you take your turn now after the light goes green. you let him pass even though he gunned the engine just after the light switched. Red to green, peace from war. or vice versa love from hated or hatred from love.
Everyone going on an important missions . traffic continuos with only slight infractions of the many opportunities it offers if only one was to loose the semblance of control.
A distance dream is the driving Jon mechanically watches his taxi turn after turn. Light after light. the drive to the airport, again and again and back through Boston town to the Cambridge side. The beautiful sky line reflecting off the Charles. Miles apart but moments together these two sides have different rules and different county seat. Cambridge, Mass presented Jon his home and fares. Two hundred and twenty five dollars for the right of the radio and the open streets. Twelve on Twelve off. four in the afternoon to four in the morning, the city of Cambridge, was his to run …..mysteriously. Picking up the left over of the bars ,Toting around all the educational professionals and students he could fit into his Yellow Chevy Impala. They never wanted to know him , and never could handle the thoughts he gave them when they did ask. So bound by the sophist which they are to worship and him so plainly lost to his job. Tired and confused by the same sematry he loves. “it all just works out” he thinks. Other drivers complain. get angry. there is peace in letting things just be and forgetting you have any control when the truth ,might often just be, you don’t.
Each ride pays but some try to get over. His change neatly folded in his pocket. Some rides are on the way to being longer roads of a same solitude , the ones to the airport. the last semblance of common Americanism is his taxi. so there is function and purpose. If only a remembrance in moments while claiming the ticket at the airport. Most don’t remember the ride. they get in drunk or distracted and the transporter is turned on. the street passes by. The ride is convience and costly but closes the gap of time; most love. Quick to here; Thank you and don’t touch me; endlessly people passing leaving nothing. Jon checks the back seat just as they are about to leave. Collecting money and checking the back seat, drive on, wait and drive more. the hours pass with a cigarette to any orifice which will take one. Drinking white smoke with coffee black.
Driving leaves to much time for thoughts. escape into traffic and shinning lights. the numbness helps to forget. She was seven years younger than him and together they made a beautiful couple surviving together for two years. but finally his depression and crying took its toll, making thoughts acke in his heart when he did think. He was the criminal matching the eyes of his brother cab drivers like they match the police. slow , down turned , seen to much eyes. sensitive for the exposure. For death is real in every movement. the tunnel gives the view , the highway at eighty. white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. one turn into the wall. one swerving across the fast four lane highway. Killing himself and others. but just himself he would want to leave, he has no cruelty toward others. A man’s heart is the telling of strength to his pain. he can not run into the arms of another women fast enough. men are trained for war to give themselves to cause. He is wound up over the love that left him.
His rides sometimes are women who he imagines, getting close to , imagines they might notice the five foot ten man in the front seat with the long brown hair. Who might notice the small soft stuffed animal which continually rides night after night knowing the road with him. but they don’t mostly.
Until one day about a year after jon starts driving. a women enters who he doesn’t automatically want . she is slightly over weight but pretty Her light makeup rounding out an ivory complexion. She gets in at Potter square just off mass Ave. after coming out of a club. It is two in the morning. “Please take me to JJ Foleys” another bar in Boston. Which, when they get there, is closed. She asked to sit in the front seat getting back into the cab. she say to go to Jamacia Plain on the other side of Boston. she asks if she can “see” the stuffed animal which comes automatically into her hands. Light tan and silly looking the moose gets petted it like it was a cat As she talks about the bar she was in. the men who tried to pick her up and the friends that left early. Jon listened as he always does. While looking at her chest , large , firm. Then she started to ask questions about him. Where was he from , did he go to school. Mostly the rides don’t ask anything but when they do jon replies kindly and with truth. he could lie making up glamorous goals and astute observations about what they would want to hear. to play the street angle the greed infested shallowness. Life has been to short for him already, to wasted on facts he can’t remember. By the time they got to the party she asked him if he wanted to go in. it was two thirty and most of the good money driving was over. so he said ok having made two hundred dollars for the night. they stayed at the party for about an two hours. there was a Ska band dressed in rasta clothing, all colorful and Dreadlocked. the walls were covered in sexually posed red and orange figures in oil paintings. he drank punch which contained some kind of hallucinogens . he later found out was called Ecstasy. They danced together, he was slightly happy. the girl knew almost everyone, all batting eyes at each other. her telling them he was a cab driver. Flaunting it like the ring on the merry go round. A body, he saddened, a use, he saddened ,a shinny ring. the prize . he is beautiful and used. she is a tale in the ever flow of life. those you have, will be used. aware we should be you me. alive against the mind which wants to be alive and peaceful. That wants and deserves love but is fooled into the love which knows not use. We each are alone in the world casting the ruin which is our lives into the love which must learn to be alive against all odds. As she presented him as the “taxi driver” he felt nothing … nothing. She smiled, sweetly touching him. he knew he was a uses. But it had been a long time since he touch any one though. a loneliness he had tried to imagine as a monk hood within technologically conclusions. He thought about his true love. The one who mixed all his imaginations into one. he twined and never thought he would replace. Others remained gratifications. Such is the way we write our obituaries. Giving our lives in innocence.
and then she said she would drive with him to get the cab back. she did . the night echoes his remorse,
for the guilt felt
the absence taken to the heart .
love left like a mourning patient.
he drove alone back to the garage as she followed in her own car. he thought of the moving ways of turning roads. to real turnings , flashes and blurs leading his vision , the road moving his car with accuracy. Patiently he is separate from the movements, the steering wheel. the road, lights, traffic, it is a Zen and very peaceful at times. this in a drug. he is devine , feeling every moment streaching time its self. Entertainingly the spirit revolves.
he opens his shirt the hairs of this chest lay like on a women the pectoral muscles so pronounced. thin soft Black hair, his ex-movers body showing. the air creating a dream. music coming in from other cars and thoughts, her Anna , his true love on his mind. a romantic fool , who dreams of love given as fulfilling. holding it like the jewels of life , nothing more nothing less, who shared with him and not with her self. holding back . he fell away, and there was explanation , after two years. she never asked him to marry her then she left.
of that is what he thought for himself. all lessons seem to come over time. Red can be turned to black if seen through the blinding glass of time, really they fought a lot and one final day she hit him and he burst against the wall bringing plaster and flesh to a meeting .
Reds flashing from break lights. Chaos , Rap , Godsmak coming through the air and strength to withstand. He fills his cab with jazz playing on the Saturday night radio from a Boston college station mixing the world of black against orange. Light poles pass by, stop signs and yield. park and don’t, the endless visions, lines from electric and telephone cables thin black against a falling day sun but at night they are spider webs; mysterious and demanding.
Greetings From the brown attendants at the gas station, while the women pulls in behind are short and casual. they look and smile. These are only people jon really interacts with; station attendants and coffee pourers and the twenty hour store guy. they keep their own romantic plots stirring. never exchanging names. it is the seconds of time remembered , and pieced together, never explained. But they think they know. the street wise knugges, which he backs off with eyes, saying don’t say it.

she buys cigerettes, accepting the smiles as she receives them. the attendance’s are over courteous.
she buys two packs, fullfilling some transient understandings, whole and seen. video age removing doubt. he hates it , it is the smallness of life to endure, trying to remove the sanctity.
He thinks of his own morality. and opens the car searching for her eyes, she automatically see them. He says “ Did you get me some” as she holds them up.
Driving wears down the soul. Entering a truth every one faces, but controlling emptiness is a balanced knowledge known to the few. Exchange and tenderness is the only heart. away into the thoughts and masses, a heart is human fraility and saving grace. she comes close while he is putting on the gas cap and kisses him Quickly for the audience. .

The sad , over worked Arabic eye finally look away.
Her eyes in that second seem deep with the knowledge of an instant unity. Changing for the moment , out side of life. “I am to you now without me. Caring not for myself in the infinite . to relax in pleasure, you are to me. Escaping into your body where escape is partially allowed . while the escape costs. Diseases are less scary then the pleasure there is infinite instants in Aids or reproduction; because each is a conspiracy to death and unity.
two people know the attraction instantly, usually. they feel the movement. to swear beyond being civil and human, passion envelopes the beast and the spirit. But it is the instant which joins two lonely polarities. two who are needy fulfil what life often can not. telling through their eyes whole stories. and the ills once inflicted are discarded into ecstasy.
Whole movements of mankind , endless and infinite in culture and history. Giving self without time , a spirit finds connection, a movement physically living the dream , touching to replace the touch. and what beings we are. For we kill with our desire, we kill the beautiful. We use them for their innocence until it is them who kill with their beauty. which one are you .. the beautiful or the abuser. Jon is now the beautiful. for she is the abuser him the body her using him for the shadow cast to her friends at the party. and now as they leave the gas station. Him knowing her wants. he is amazed at the luck but ashamed of how he will get it. he will not say words to posses her. he will only have sex and make the best of it. for she is not his type. and she is asking him for it. fooling her living life with romance. she really doesn’t feel.
the lot is filled with all the rest of the yellow cars. it is very dark with only one light in the dirt parking lot. the cars look calm for the first time during the long night they have toured the city. Moving through the streets, never stopping , open for all to come though and never see. now are stand as muesum pieces waiting to start again.
Jon gets the moose from the dash board and thinks of his life. this is different , a different women but the same as she is not that bright and very drunk he should drive and he says so. she lets him. “lets go to my place”. and they do . she is quieter now. the night telling her weariness. she is waiting for him to say something . but he says nothing. her hand moves to his thigh and she comes closer in the car. wanting him to kiss her he thinks. he moves his hand to her bare leg and slowly moves it tendarly up her thigh stopping before her sex feeling the heat and she spreads her legs wider. the heat is tempting but he only wants to tease her. . the light turns red and they kiss all tongue, his hand moving into her lightly and out to grace accrossed her breasts she moans and touches him softly easing her hand into his pants. he starts leaving his body and the car behind honks. Shocking him back to operating a car on the road in the city. with life all around. her hand on his flesh , opening his pants the rest of the way going down the street , he can hardly see the road while she continues without even looking at him she bends down and places her lips to him . then taking him in her mouth she lifts her mouth up and down , and
transending with him. his hand in her moaning warmth. hot almost burning. they are on the highway crossing town on starrow drive a trucker is on the other side of the car. he can not see the driver but the truck remains aside for longer moments than the speed would be normally on the empty highway. he gives the car some break and truck pulls ahead. she doesn’t notice . but starts working the flesh with her hand comeing up for a sloppy kiss. It is to heavy the toung to deep and to face to face without sight of the road he swervs alittle. and must push her away. She’ll not even remember tomorrow. he thinks. and they sit separate for the rest of the drive.

The Heart is man made.

This heart is man made.
put together with string and tape
staples and excessive bits of cloth
mended with novels of anienct
statesmen and poets of honor.
This heart is man made.
Treated with time and devotion
created around idea’s and
fortified with experience.
It is made to withstand it’s self.
to honor what has been life
with what is ultimately love.
which gods call peace
without creating.

the Video Re-View.
Oh so many movies. my head thinks in half second splits. Maybe it shows, but I no longer care. Movies are the modern day great novels. Themes making a moral known , if it is good film ,like a good book, filling our lives with lesson. the same lesson the rich of the roman times would come to arostol to hear. Traveling through hardships from the outlying areas , braving storm and leaving life for. Much like our transient lonely lives of now. Moving to the money across the innocence of mankind’s knowledge.
so the movies pull by. my recorder echoes into rewind. and I tell you of videos. what have I watched.
okay, the list.
where I might give a teaching list some day but I can only give a secondhand l look right now.
Every Other Sunday.
Oliver Stone . who has shown time and again the art of pleasing the emotion and reason with full scale media. Against the grain of “they Won’t understand that movie” comes this Psychological drama.
Which I say is a classic for showing the stages to mankind’s changing. the media in general. did stir ,this poor mans circle. which if ,I know it everyone does. My universe so small and self believed. Is exposed . through this film, the tries and tellings of a man in persuit of himself against the meanint of time apon the changing of a man. women, child. of self sameness. and courage reaching into the infint. and the physical is only the all of change. I came to really feel apart of the whole from the film, a certain shora of self is released the conception of Change and a Changing body come together. A statement of time.
Once again . our national art is tonal.

Yes once again I must admit my stupidity. What I have not seen , for the litureture sesection has no monitors. I had not seen .
The Postman Rings Twice.
If you haven’t, you should , it is the coldest love in time. She was made for him .. plot plot plot…. Frank Capra. ??
there is a thought inside which I don’t want to consider in my appointed depth.
lowly can I hid of my own prostitution of time by presenting it… just a minor point and taken never to heart really, failing to live gives. life, happiness, contained in its own mercy survives. and heat echoes , through ceilings the muse to tell endless insanity, and that is now.
that is this time… Here changing moving just ahead of the movies. ??
So some other films, (leaving out how they were shot , the beauty of each , for me is just in the relevance of plot,to myself, and to society)
I love De Niro. “night and the city”
A man facing dreaming ,reality, and the “victumless” irony of having a heart at all.
Nineteen Eighty Four. Orwell’s book
A society of do or die. where the materialist are winning and if you have a real loving heart you are condemned.
and DeNiro again in Brazil.
Other films I watched for no reason except to watch and fill tired hours and dream about making a movie. I watch sometimes to receive the forutnes and morals for my life. I watch the angles they create inside my life to learn and reflect. Maybe you are the same way so I offer this new section to the magazine . Casting my actors heart to the poet who lives to know . I am a romantic character, an absents and gain aloof to
the meanings from old man’s road and casting songs of heart to experience. Loving kindness, a heart sees to believe himself.
It is when one wants time.
the movie has rewound.

Another day.
I am aware of the invalid nature of my life. I see the writing in front of me knowing only part of the life is lived , my words are to be your adventure and they are not. they are lifes adventure played through us. I am concerned with the changes that life is withstanding , mine and other as we live. Here in front of me is the self learned. Experience the teacher mostly. Makes a fine line guidance for its student. but the teacher never stops and the student gets bored of never learning the lesson. over and over the lesson start again and again such that I have thought the same lesson a million times , has it changed am I changing or just consuming part of the lesson without really learning anything.

This day.
and the night was without merit. Except to sleep l I dreamt of my mother saying she was going blind. She wanted to move to Australia . I guess because of the Olympics.
I am in the morning and slightly sleepy. I am still thinking of Amie. her large brown eyes turn my head like never before. Is it because she is young. I don’t know she is the first in a long time I could completely understand enough to love to want my life from the moment I met her. even though the world went the way of instant romance. which is complete love. forever and kind. I am stuck in thinking of her . like I am stuck writing and being the entertainer. stuck because I have worked on it. It is my life. should I write the wandering of the streets looking for her in minor glances. not really wanting to see her. for I would be seeing her with someone else. that would hurt and I don’t need the pain. What am I talking but the oldest proof of life through magic of love and transcendence.
to move the heart through love to research out how we challenge our selves. I am moving within this medium to know the force of excistance. her is life in front and what do we have. we have only our love given and complete. she is in my thoughts to know myself. And the only way to know my self is to be naturally involved .

September 24, 2000
The day after I have turned thirty five. A drinking day. a romance another women, the truth. and I am turned into the loneliness like a shadow beneath a tree. What is the rest of life compared. work ending soon. I am trying to remember peace.
It is another day beneath the tree and special as that tree may be it is yet
another day. What cries exist from being at all. what tales of innocence here to hurt and there to be freedom.

october 7,00

I am here waiting for the world to colide agasinst the lies which torture its merits. for it is coldly wieghing against my neck. I see the falling off of minds for the chemical crazes which lead us into peace but only like the donkey and the apple. And it is me who has been the first experiment into this land of lies. So many times I have been the one to hear what falseness man is to other men. Using each other and casting them into the faith for which there wisdom comes from to know the answers but never to ask the questions them selves. For the fear of an unresolved truth. I can not be alive for you. and yet you would want better me than the sqalid confusion for our own conscious. reading the philosophy without reaching through thought.
an I me to the flow endless, my words slow and taunt against what is to be, I am an illerterate, anc compound , some justified ignornace, to enrage my self.
to think without .. to move with the causes and exterminate the being which be’s it.
and what am it to think , non physical and intime with it s own ways, watch as I push the envelope sanity is marked with insanity.
Simple , anothers feelings ,
here to mark what I say , we don’t look. and yet I do, we do.
for trouble me not wise phrases and master. I feel my own lacking , my dis amd harm , my viloence without physical nature, and this is a me to tear awake the out sides of being me. what walks , and talks , what knows for other, to stay alive without cost.
responciblity has no call , for the reasponcilbe ones have died. months before my birth like the father back from the war. to suicide. uncle to war walls to cross the thirty fifth.
and it is rage wear, and calling the nature to defend , the always mirror image.
when you wander through your own thoughts and passions, desire is a line stirred and tranferance into a land without limits, I am you to day, echoing throught drunk and disorderly. calling to self to comback. laughing at the wind and the sins. what imagines the calling home. in echoes we get to know. adandive where it flys. I must remain alone.
I have found and lost. I have met a set of live women and lost her. my life is violence and agasin, i Iill for the remorse like to be in despair is the logical conclusion. escape my love to the wind. for there is love forever.
violence cast away all alive , many women. many women. and none. the fall calls my time of year. here in my eyes. what tells the innocents. I wirtie nothing and am the calling of the last oand the lost. here spinning words forgeting self with matters of conscious , and to accept the flaow and forget all. for the rememberance of the civil social self. whan it is my inner change which gains some historiec commuication , it ts the ablitiy to define and less to find poetry. Cold and small , humility cast the traction home. a known within the doubt. and sand stands like trees laughter.
my slow pull form the continius killing factor and a sigh of pretension wearing into the life, .
like characters to be understood and demanded of . and what is hope allotted of time. what is work ad work , what is to improve , hope and faith through the abstract for culturally charged change.
and what change does this cell need. I have little heart left. I have changed into a robotic movement of success. and never can I succeed. for to hear the callings of the simple man when we are a million trillion strong and weak for the voice to arise from the crowd , that the hope for a flower to grow peace, would be the surviving voice of the many .
and so another to rise and call himself to the war of the mind is only one more, what I call the dirt soldiers.
Someone is to say I have walked drunkenly for the last five to thirty years. that is the first revelation, here in Irish birth and English pretension the mental warrior is alive, I have wasting nothing , Casting self to shores and positives. “this exist, no matter”. taking away the ill-relevance. and marking my self to me. Waiting in circles of beer and consumed by the stick and freedom , “so to remorse”. Yet being the violence from which I speak in the telling of it. is oddly aware Self is defined by definitions. Watch the changing of man while he recognizes his real power is small. Alive is the transcendence in art and literature ranging the outer with brushes without solid lines. Reaching ever into the abstract and redefined nature of the minimalist. the lowly man speacks. though I hate him, I warmly accept his comments the disarranged face of the self. acting his character like the forces of mankind rest on his puny shoulders. and even yet with another inside of him, another with larger frame and might would not over come this lifes poles by yet just strength. now watch the over size men cry.
..

and we stand in the mans holdings .
what is lost of self from loving. and there is life.
I listen to the day arise , and want the sex, but what more the life, what beauty my lover, her spirit matching the humor of me. she body , the indidvivual of love, I can not ever find the words. Went we talk I get the intellectual love I have always wanted in another, the transendance to understand , and she is alive to other thoughts, without concentration except to deal with the emotional , Reasonable life thought with morals and action. needed.
and what is my heart gone,,, I have given and wonder about the giving only be cause, the rest of my life is very nervous.
It is what I am seeing, this wieghing of giving,
A man by eastern standards, is the thought driven warrior. Wandering through life. has no pounds, there is representation and knowing the singluar man knows only that it is alive, against the war. but man is, the thought driven energy. Such that I would accknoledge my actions in side the thoughts and feelings of love, like I had always had them. as terms, witut feeling , but I know the feeling s if only fleeting in clouds, or pictures made in oak tree barck.
It is gloomy out, it is cold and winter is coming.

I was talking about the giving, of man, is it man and not women , no , it is only the thought form , Man as the warriors, and has been driven to give up his rights to his love.
the power of which is trained into him to lose and gain by. channeled so they say by product.
And yet what is life.
she is outragious. keeping her heart alive with the thoughts merit for which she feels, it is excasy, and I share that with her. we are both intelligent a
nd inside the muse. The passion to live. I drink to the words.
I in the flow of life. find the heart to stay.
and their we sit.
our hearts are our hands our hope our lust, and then for creation a mind wakes to emotion. what to we purpose. and guides. I can to do ,

20 November, 2000
and so Today I am a man walking without the stablity of knowledge venturing into what is really man kind with is the tale of doing not what is known but what is unknown.

the mind is taunt , ,
Entering will, what is heard in the hall, complaining , I am taunt wondering the muse, which gathers and leave , which saunters, and they sit, the fools the fools, and here I am smiling , but mostly it is to tell , the stories. people sitting.

five people sit in room. a small room a bed and a chair, the floor. five sotries. one , two three.
people telling life. what can I say about who they are. what do they say for themselves I could contain them with characters. wrapping up what I would think of them, and what of self, inside the holdings. in the self knowing, what peace , I can feel and smile while I am yet. party..
,

03/04/2001

and it is another day another love another moment to lovelife.
my love is now thinking I can see the way through my own dysfuntion. I am looking and as my life and writing preposes. one can see if they look. I am looking.
My girl friend I love.
my life I am starting to love.
the facts of my torturing mistrust. I have never been allowed to feel the pain I have created. for it was pain of a youth. It was the pain of being thrown into a world I didn’t understand. And it was a pain I couldn’t understand and maybe no one should have to but I never looked for happiness.
Do we all feel those first years like our parents have disowned us. I would call my mother and tell her of the life I was living. I first started to tell her the truth. the plain self involved truth like I would tell my friends. I told her of the drinking and smoking. I tried to tell her of the advances from men, who offered money and bought me drink , about the lonely streets for I was scared of everyone for strangers all come with secret discoveries in theirs eyes. and insulting referances when they heard I wanted to write. I was in Boston with only the people around who wanted something from me. through I would not have been as easy as it was. I was taken in by a gay man who let me sleep on the floor.
I was a naïve child.
but now is different . the women I love has the strength of character I lack. somehow I think the two of us can make it in the long run but such is the fear of being so close to someone. She fullfils my fantasy lover.
I love to be with her. her body is the softest her legs are strong and tight. I love her and yet it is only my love which I can challenge. for I am a paranoid in part when my love is involved for I mean to build for a loving life . and yet I can only mistrust who I love. I don’t want to be hurt again… even yet even as I dream of her body I have started to mess up this realitionship some how. It is my mistrust. and yet I want her so madly.
I am afraid . I have given my love to have someone to love , instead of loveing who I am. here is always the human problem. I would want to make love to her. to spread her legs and lick where the love can send her hightest emotion of ejaculation. like she sends me. I would to hold her my life inside her and taking the unity.

And another day arises from the ashes of the old.
I have become a new man .
I have found fault and failure in my thoughts and actions . I have found myself. and want change to be my life from here on. what was wrong ? the nature of a trained seal is to be a trained seal. I was torn from natural love by the paranoia imposed on me as a child. I have now a new light coming from drugs. for my thoughts were paranoid and my reasons controled by the past . maybe life is easier because I have accepted the faults . I want to never again drink like I have been over the years. never daily from now on. never two days in a row and never to drink my wieght in depression like I have been doing. I have drank the liquid to match my pain , and from now untill death . I will have to remember that and try to change for my energy is the most important element I have. I am energy. alive.

and there we come to another day. where I have walked with only the rumors of a true love. the rumors were my challenges. to live up to . instead of my heart being heard. I am the adventure of life for the reason of survival. and the reason of heart. once a heart is made to know its self such is the living more alive to being whole.

And here is another day.
the holds of time make me see the thoughts plain with highs
I watch the cold and evil hate me.
I am not part of the all.
and I sit . I hear the voices of everyone.
a women who sits drinking. slowly wanting Her face wringing. with lines from the drying years. of fifty or so , the waiting of mind. I hear the testosteron. .
I hear the misery.
I hear children lost . to the tides. of wholeness. and pain remaining dispair over the fallenkindness
I have left my blood.
and there we ask for time to see the energy of times. a momment. we barely listen to …..
and the costs our lives, the cring moaning. times of love lost and felt. the mental anguish, lands I can not do anything about. and smoke.

And to night,
I am alive with hope.
because of what I can withstand. watching as I have had a good day. the hope of strong. the peace of the stubborn . why am I to let the world into the heartless. to hold.
she says I will never understand. I love her but when she drinks. when the last five drank.
Watching them walk away.
watching the holds. ….
watching as I want. To hold the heavens. alive. watching heartless. .
survival’ s civil calls.

I want to feel. and here is the time to find. what I have missed before. I see concentrations. running new. like the drugs are working. but I am also in the middle of lives. that are not mine. I watch. as I let the control be lead by the love and there is my truth . and all thruth. the love must lead. the emotions are the truth. and everyone knows., then we all are in denial. \
and there I am to write further. I am to watch a friend , whom I have given my love infinite. Sort cd’s.
and I watch her leave me. while the edges are of drugs so hard that I never. saw in the city. because it was more obvious. Everyone was more . drunk more rude more assine. It is covered by the pretentious glamor of streets and I am getting . .

the welcome of my insecurity.
here with hair fair and delight of poets eyes smilling a million lonelynesses.
Touch
and here is the next life, and smile for the telling of time is a matter of awareness. The studio is inside the mind. the next creation of the enertialcall. is mine.
and what is the year twothousandone. what is the techonology comparing advancement.
Am I asking questions? am I feeling different, could people see the humanity being lost cast away from our dreams. and it is a dark night and I am feeling dark,
I have the telling of my depression. firstly, I am like a citzen of earth. and balding.
I am my problems. this lack of attention span . this choking on the logic. this telling of heartlessness to children looking coldly at their parents. And yet , get over it.
the Cynic of cause.
let telling .
I match the personality with awareness. I am here as a wounded solider. to see light and not be able to see. What heart holds it’s awareness.
I can see the perfect nothing. my reason , the early years binding nature to disharmony, I walk without attactments. here a story a reason. here.
I listen to my friend , a women , I am living with.
should I talk this way. should I tell of the talk over and over in conversations.
Sometimes I hold her, and I feel the perfect unity. maybe that is evil to feel possesion.
to hold someone and walk with them where there would go , forgetting. and yet , I am remembering. even as she is my possesser. I am having times unknown.
I am struggling with the concept of love because I found someone who scares me. and make s me cry. I wisper quietly. subondienately. and she likes to be without me. she gives her self to someone . else. I could …..
scream. . but nothing I can do is write right now. nothing is true. it is all alive and a lie.
that is the way the world is to persevere the lie we will do anything.
to preserve……..But mercy. is to know life.
She doesn’t want to talk to me most of the time. And I just want to leave. to go play music to write and love. She and I are all sex.
unless you consider why we came together. we think alike. inside what we want is our hearts natural known. …
a Spirit, a love, a tide flowed between us that we could notice and feel. and there is life.

And todaay is another day.
I watch while I am looking into th ehead.
here inside thoughts walking with no one. my heart is saddness, the heart is alive. I walk to the next ways , I will take very little. and nothing.
my guitar. my computer. and a bag. Here is the heart which once given has a hard time turning away. the world is in front. what heart am I to give to myself. the hope is only standing. is only holding on to the mercy.
Last night I waited for my lover who wants me not and wants me , today a different world . I am not loved I am not to be cared about. and tomorrow.
and tomorrow.
I will again be free.
tomorrow.

Staring at the window. and walking into the home of love…
I t is alive the telling of my sweat. I have again taken downs. I have talked the essesnce and I am being punished. and I am not. for the making of my life is me. I hear my life running without me.
.
she is my love and my death. when she kills herself I am going with her. Tell me your dreams I will try to fade .
slowly I can see no choice right now.
I only hope she goes away now. why did I let her treat me like that, and colder answers cast the man. I want to feel as I feel . small and nrervois against. I want and have given up many times. there is no reason for it, but I can’t think right.

Movie Idea.
a man falls in love with a women.
they move in together.
then they see each other.
totally different people . one with a very bad drug problem.
the other still trying to find sanity within reason.
in the end they find unity and sanity within the cures. .
life of the future. ending with the birth of a child.

\
scene one.

a room.
funished with a futo. and a lamp.
a music al theme goes. on
she is leaveing.
the room reamins emnbpty.
she comes back with a number of men, they ae diferent levels of intoxication. each trying to uone up each other.
man one. comes in talking
M 1 -When I see the mirth in the eyes. I am happy.
it is sad of me , to will and follow the desire, . as my glass are so turned, for when it is love … it is all. I give untill I can not see and blame like has always been blamed of me.
and cry.

goes stag right and crys.

M1- the tranqlity comes of its own survival. the natural spirit facing the devine civil.
oh and that waking of a million people to the conscious which is beyond conscious. which is persued in dreams and the exchange of the milllions. I wonder weather theyh. they I would ascribe . is but the trabeled soul.
And I wish this place we all about me.

( music starts. picking tones , and the lights which were bright become tones of brown and blue in the back ground. )

it is I who would panic, (with a small laught). it is I would look for the isolation of the soul. I who would stand up . and yet. there the placed gun survives under scrutiny, and the worrsome ways of coroporate governments. revolve around the minisculeness of societies shared humanity. the liberty of man in his mind.

and we pick up with another day.
tonight I realized my girlfriend of the last six months is a whore. And she is flying from room to room. Holding her pussy , as it buys her addiction. and she is so cute it gave her the addiction. and it gave her nothing. for herself.
She walks in sutle ways the loner. inside she is having dialogue. I hear someof it . I do. I hear the agelss child being strip bare of clothing,. where sex is a guilt. and we fade into the hunger. She is not the only women I have heard of in this floundering. Where passions never amounted to more than sufferance for never was desire known. that which gives the day challenge and joy of life. taken from the child who would find only guilt in desire. for beneath the surface an abuse of a sexual act fullfills the high. Orgasum… and fault of joy.
And I now hear.
Only my own insanity. and I write without reason. there in what we say we tell our lives with the automatic allusion’s prewritten prejudges and pyscological commentary. I met a negative man . I was standing in the bathroom. liquid in slow fast desending drops came from red slits with eyebrows. cringing and uncringing fingers stressed out and in, slowly forced but furious shaking hands press the water deeper into pours; and infinities.
And it is today.
funny how a day can be found different.
I come home after work to the little room alone where I live , I am happy to be alone after the day with people who have no time to really Talk or really where I refuse to slow down just to fit in. But it is another topic I whish to approach to night.
I said I cmae home into my room and remember nothing more than wanting to turn on my stero. and relax , I played some and sang. I couldn’t remember the day if I tried.
Then a point came into my mind and somehow I feel like the last months I have been following around myself. talking to the walls judgeing another and myself.
that is what I see right now. thinking.
I was just doing that , I became a judge. you stood at my door not knowing me and I have to wiegh you, You I don’t know.
but that is just another thought because earlier I didn’t think that I thought about the changes which came over me where I lost some of my stablities. for my stablities are a mental excersise of self exposure and complete escape. I am afraid of love comitment cause I have been hurt hard often but alas years ago. Not here. and yet , ,,,

And what moves through me is discovery for I have seen what lies. and what is to come.
the apprication of self is a first discovery , and yet ..
where lyes the inspiration but yet is lived.
how I am to not connect only by the misconnection. to remember self and pride. to regard the movements of time as each revealed moment of a truer life. I don’t need to go to the drug doctor. I just need to live without restriction of someone elses idea. of life. freedom is inherent if we follow the intuitive and loving self. there is the magic, disreasonable and foolish.
I am in love. have been all my life. until that is represented to another. and there like has been said, is the crux.
Why why why..
One only has to be themselves to be loved. I am to write , I need time to write and play guitar and sing , that is my balance. I have followed the road and am happy with it. I do drugs with a guitar in hand and it is fun. when I don’t I am bored with drugs.
they bother me and make me emotionally slow. and disparging about what ever my confidence would want to speak about. There I said it. drugs suck…
But we can not avoid them. They come from everyside and slaughter most in their way. Crossing out lives and disembodying people. And they come with every market opening.
into each life. Slowly easing the pain to be alive with the questions. why why why.
Why would the people of the earth let the world be distroyed, How can I see the image and not feel it. and with each feeling the sight we , as a people , evolve in mass through television entertainment , and self enlightenment.
But I would not give you the reader the sight of my fear of late.
I have walked the edge of knowledge with the sight of myself. Crazy into the dawn.
watched the moment of telling hights. but with the love there comes the responciblities. with the sight there comes nothing. it is with the action that we are questioned.
I found myself removed from me. and even the way I say this , states that I didn’t do the removal. and yet. I did. it was me. In isolation, we forget all we had learned to keep ourselves happy. and exchange that for loving someone. Such that our lives become the representation of the love we knew without control. we reverted to child hood and forgot self respect. And I would not to give you to look at that.
I think only her and I could and still come back together but I feel her stronger than I have ever felt another.
the fear created bonding , and an exasperation.
and we went lonely nuts. together feeding off each other. isolating into that corner we both held so close as children. and I love her and might not ever love another as much. for I have never felt to akin to another. but also have never come to that point with another. we crossed the line , and yet. it is to know that line as over and the truth to go the rest of the way is there.

but it will never happen again.
But what of now. now is the future. a mommnent to know beyond the times allowances. I have no point and sit to type. lonely little thoughts as grand as endless devotion. just to type and construct where there is only the matter to know. she is gone and I live on.
I have nothing to think or know. it is now. the prozac has gone through my system and we are on the other side now. Normalacy. the darkness of purpose eludes me and I don’t remember why I am writing and know I am writing about nothing. the air is wholly devoted to the pain I have known for years. and nothing can break into my thoughts about. fortune or future, I have no dreams, it is awake. this blindness which my chemical “imbalance” creates. A sorting of facts into there corners.
and no facts no drive make these times of writing.
it is only to write
waiting while I am
for some comment to
make sense be-
yond me
myself
and I .
What whole worldliness
is this time.
How does it compare
to the historic lessons of the race.
I am to get over love.
Historically we could comment on the Hellen of Troy ,or any of a million romance foiled, and we would be telling the tales of lose. One sided devotions, or tales of lovers who run off. no women has ever loved me. Because I can not answer questions very easily.
I can not choise readily, or plan and act. I forget who and what I am sometimes. and fail to make a situration work for me. and can only hope at walls of invisible memories. and no women can stand that. I am hopeless in the long run.
What makes these event questioning. or am I just analizing the insanity to only see the whys of me.
If I can not like the person I can not love them . sometimes I feel I have never liked any women. and only some of my friends. It scares me. for I do not accept the actions of ignorance or passions around the disreasonablity or pure self satisfation of ego. I E anti social…

lets see, one friend I did have was Rafi Sofer and then it started as a street story, I and another friend were homeless. We had decided , each in our own way to forget the system.
We forgot our jobs, and everything else forgot us. the rent turned into sheirffs and food become the wanderings of Free kitchens and pantrys. But the days werecreated with music. And he played on the subways and in a band. everything was fine with him he smilled and knew something in his devilish mexican eyes and Rasta black dreds. his white ish tan and mexican heritatage had landed him into Harvard and he had quit after a years worth of full scholarship.
I had just returned from a short trip to germany. a girl over there found here eighteen with free drinks. I chased. found there. said “Ich bein In Guits” to the whole country from my first cab and left when times turned hard and I was not important or rich enough leaving after only four days to roam germany and France. to walk through allied territories who were once enemies of America. I felt like a spy. And the land looked like Pennsylvania. but I returned to america. Early and broke. such that My story ends broke and so why tell it at all. Except that it is in my head and I would like to .
You see it is of friendship. and now in my heart is that wondering over why of the last few months. I turned into someone I didn’t know. and then I look again at what I had, as saw myself turn “different” . because like most of my relationships I never got to know who I was with. before jumping into the story of them. there was hardly even a story of us. and we invented to stay ahead of the matter. Or at least I did. Inventing What I will do with the concentration Love and partnership always presents to me. I think of the unity as a completion of the sexual schrocra, a level truth admits and Is done with… Well. then I started to think about who I would rather spend my time with . who could entertain through dialogue and comments. whos wit was sufficient to entrance my hours into giggles . and I find only one or two both of which I am speak of right in the story. but there was a women or two who did the same. the last even when she did smile she was the ultimate lover . who I found unity and secrets with.

Unity and secrets. funny that, I look for a world subject from my personal life, and what happens. I see that a conspiracy is made. Us against them but created as Everything I have personal fought against. like prejudices and class character generalization and yet would worry over in relationships. The worry is the question. For it is that doubt which makes a world of politics deceiving. And here I was with another telling her of unity, and sharing secrets and she didn’t even care about the ultimate nature of thought and reality. She just wanted me. Not me the person but me the reality the money, and the highs. There was no room for much else for her. my thoguhts slowly made her think but to get use to thought is a cultural knowledge and one which smiles with education and hates the teacher. she doesn’t smile over anything that simple anyways. Reasons must to be elaborate for her clever mind.
and how did I start talking of her. Oh politics..
oh her. from where we start again , Yes. I have decided I have to look closer at my life and interaction but Even then I must reach further into the social realities.
How to convience the culture that our time is a turning point of the faith and harmony. We must meet the challenge with reform and reeducation. . the bathroom mirror looks back me back. So you want the truth. I seems to ask at myself.
and here we step into the subconscious reasons.
Denials are suppressed emotions opening them finds the release to make them stronger or go away. For what the mind is can never be all true, I , one soul runing the course of life can only psee this portal this opening of eyes. Wringing my fingers on the clenched causes and conformity making this tree of years I call my own.
and
even as I would not wish to make things so as I write them, I must see, why my “difference” for I went from being in love with a very loving women , who once edited a small part of this journal. to being with a stranger who walked the nights streets in drunken searches for Crack and other drugs. I same women six month from the day we met. I magine dealing with china during the cultural revolution. the empassitor changing the stance of a friendly land to one of enemy.
a bomb. is open sex, a destruction a finalization. and she let me have it with two men like our now ancient ending of Japan. One was famed to be Homosexual. and I watched as she pulled up from giving the other oral sex. Her eyes red and squinting from Crack looking at me; evilly. like a cat who didn’t want to give up it prey. His eyes were cast to the ceiling in infinite pleasure. and I have finally seen enough to forget looking. any more. It is only me I want to see. with that pleasure for which should be saved for love. Maybe she is in love with him. her is stumpy like she considers herself to be. men and women must find self equality with there mate. Her stomach widow webbed with soft strech lines from childbirth and a little belly pushs her waist line. She was ashamed of. and hardly ever would just lay back naked with. even when it is really hot and kept her shirt on during sex. making me pulls it up like I am raping her in order to suck her tits. But even as I fullfilled her It was not enough , I became different and little. not who I am, siting here not. with the confidence of words, and the jocular nature enough to go there. Confidence must face its pretensions to progress laughingly.
So I am wandering over what happened. why did two countries, so strong in culture and history get way laid into war. We had started the best of frineds. sharing our allusion of spirits and religion. telling of love as intertwined points of rapid straight comets.
Where did the change come in. When did we both become different I will have to go deeper into the story to tell the many facts. For this was not a matching of people as much as it was a rescue attempt. and then is when I became quiet. I found out how lost she is and easiely lead infact willfully a follower inorder that through cunning her wishes find success. So she rarely tells the truth. there is no truth. there is nothing. and the acceptance or denial.
I am going to sleep now.

and it is anther day. tonight I roam the mind of creational chemicals. and wander what I am , ffloating therough all that I think and have lived until this point of remark . that it is to know and hold which is power. it is to know and hold. I walk the ways slow and saintly and nothing comes. I walk without power and comes no .power. and what is life asking for my the stand …. she is off , and I have let her. while my heart is inside her, knowing there is life from us. for us.
and yet. I am romancing a stone, the astrolgical even said , to the virgo , you walk alone in this loveing. and watch the step of what you are.
I can feel her spirit walking ar0ound in the halls. I can hear her crazy laughter . her intelligence. leading. I love the way she settle problems I bacm one , I was in her way, and she forgot what love we were. without all the shit. what caring, and whole ness the two of us presented. she wanted her desires. and always wants her , first..desires. they should say that is increadible. that one person can see the way clear to know anything. she knows addiction. without it. she denies. I denied her. I lost. but yet I still have the car, she must talk to me again. ….
that is my only hope. I can not go up stairs and get her. tell her she loves me and all this is for a dream we remember with good food and classy living.
but I am so wrong , from the flat bed of a ford telling me the stars, and nothing more but the heart. a cold coming off the metal and I press my back closer to think I am magical extracting warmth.
love and madness
the hope lost among the ruin
of sight.
give and lose. what tellings the lot
once seen whole. I would kill to know.
when I would get over enough to be free.
I want to kill her. I want to love her.
I want to forget her. I need to find that peace. and can not.
there are roads alone on the telling of time that nothing creates life . that only a strong heart is heard above the roaming madness. that madness is my heart. and I am the only alone . I am the one with no one. and there is the facts that I am without real. friends I am lost.
I want to die. because I can never see simple peace. can not live with the recognition of my life and am sorry , I want to kill myself. and only because there is no life wihtout love. and crying doesn’t help any more. the facts can be so misconstrued to come back to one man only to know.
there is no life. for me any more , now I have seen the end. have realized I would give everything for a happy face even if that face was mean and cold to me, such that there is no joy to my life. and alone we face the infinite. people get along and stand there ground for nothing more than the facts of their existences make them. I can not live without my heart and I am heartless. I am waiting for the cold truth to slaughter me, and I want the death to happen and get it over with I am so insane. to love at all.
and it is another day.
she is gone , I am only left with the starting of being like always, today is another day. another day….. it is funny just last week I thought for the first time without the hindrance of my chemical depression. and this week I am back to the old. it was the drug prosac creating the peace. I harmonized with life. accept my place and created the lasting thoughts of the hours. and here now again I sit. thinking of a women who doesn’t love me. thinking about a life I romanced , a fantasy I created in my heart to match the fantasy I was living. she was fine like pretty and intelligent. I was lost to her. I became lost to myself and would , even now give anything to see her. but what would I say. lets get stoned. I loved getting her stoned , I loved to see hope and peace in her eyes. and wanted to help her with the life she is leading . but I am a fool to love now. because she is gone from me. gone from the world , with her back against a matress and my heart is dead. and dying. I wish I could be different. It is me she ran from because of my depression. I have lost another.
because of my drinking and smoking. because I didn’t do enough. because I did not have all of her. to me. I lost her. she is somewhere not thinking of me. not wanting me. and yet.
I have thought of her all day. each moment a moment to tell myself. about her. thinking I feel her. knowing I want her. and I am lost on that , feeling. she was cold. and yet she was loving. I can not make up my mind, what she was as soon as I realized how much she drank how many pills she took how many secrets she held with other men. I became the worst of fools for I let her go. I wish she would come to me. and hold me. I need her , to balance what is my thoughts. into reality. and yet it is stupid to think I will ever hold the same place in her life. I am crying inside. I can not shed tears anymore outerly. it does no good. I will walk to my appointment tomorrow. I will show up and my social worker will ask questions , I can not answer. I will cry and that will be that. she will offer nothing. I will get nothing. and there is life. I am going to piss read and sleep. laterms Maybe, and for that I will never be afraid or in awe for pain of,

Part 2

And again the day changes the crying donw, the nature more known , and the innocense won.
Addressing you , myself and everyone.moves the hands he staresck, grand mother would give him and his brother. ange t , like the big orgsilently at.
Loved angain, and lost

it is jan twentyninth, a windy day, and the organe of the snow trucks seen from above, distract.
My coffe is in place, this me, this man on the boards, with cunning, and self escape, looking for nature tha
and right now is a second made from postures of vict
ums . the computer keeps moveing the words such that I don’t always know where they are going to go.
Ranmpant , chaos, I am so lazy, and as a race against the seconds, I wonder about what will come out , the wind, takening my hair for I feel like a child for a second, I feel free for a moment to know there is an organization for child abuse, and A living cure for the hardened survivers. I am .
but we look beyond , we are the survivessrs, we as the still suffering, a dialect most.
but I am never my heart enough , and as I sit the bills pile up and man and machine can not excist with man and loose , loose like living home and comforts , as meek as they are, can not live with only one meal a day, the starving, a mentalin equality with vision, I can see to do but can not see, to see, Is this product, am I viable in the market, is anyone listening,
these questions should not be mine, these questions with prosutited answers;
I am stoned for the future. I am I am I am
Herrained in living the living I live for the reasons of my openness, Guarding dreams from abuse and step fatherly trotures.
e where I walk in the sshadows, where no one goes yet, where I am rest
even these words are not coming out right, the computer moves them around like I am revealing God, and that can not make sence,, a little mosaic to make the whole , as each are responcible to tell. Our stories are never our own, they are never cute plots and summed up sessions with answeres so implace that our hearts never never roam. Write obout yourself and there are never any worries aobut research , and cunning, I can not write about , a self. other really, but I can see how one could be part of many and through there we communicate, weather glasses are involved or not.
the life I lead is spinning plates, amorphously cold and I know it, because I read it somewhere, I know why to it is not because I am cold it is because I have a problem I am cold, I am trying to warm up , but the first thing on my mind scares people , make people think I am lying. and sometimes is just a cover up for my nerves, but I talk of the Character as an artist I am.
and I am also known to have told you I am a loser, and let you forget me fast. It is also equal to saying I am cold. and I don’t want to hurt you.
It transferes into Mirrors.
Tell me how I am to feel at all except to feel. To run the course explore and digerss, some times. It is funny that a million hours of pain could lead to one moment when we awake to find we are not just , not alone but that we are part of a universal silence. It of some to venture in denial so much that they can never get out , covering our pains in self reproach and chemical. But yet life slowly gets better, with each day, but remembering to be in the moment accepting the problems from denial and opening ourselves to fact.
I have stared longingly at a vision unachieveable , like faith. to enhance and not bring it to balance.?
or am I wrong, where sciense meets mental health. Effectively using the e abused heart fistachievements; depression might be just mental evolution.

But to hear to much the shamin , mistakees, One for all, one choise and movement not to bring to balance the hearts body whole. For the jungle is mad with experience. each moment and emotion place and time, the ladder lived. Possiblities, and posturing. pinicles and problities never to register or resist.
Heart ladened imortal, as spirit asends, to alll made one, heaven your meaning here, for if not.
Someday never comes unless it’s already here.
We turn our minds over to a cause unlike any adventure. Made of haert and rock.
we , the few who would to forget knowldege and step right to right, how perswaided the remark of scholars, brainiacs birthing brainwashing,drunken bastards, instead of just Drunken bastards.
Starting herd the long story would be, a tail of kind I have walked without liv ing, because I didn’t think anyone would listen. and even now I and slightly ajar at the fineness I feel knoing there is a world , and the boundries I have been living are the rails of life,
no more , no less. Equal the air. cloud hope resolve mercy, unity. choise words rampant from the cow herd barn further and further , casting scepticism. where is
time. I must sleep.
And awake again, the next day
the city talks what it can
to those who listen,
Either small or big, or elastic.
And it Is the raw power of release , this presentation to the obvious, elaborate mstreatings, a mask which provided no cover.
everyday , jusdged and worth, and judged and worth, while the sun brightens for a minute, sheer summer light,
and it is to think yourself important, to write , it is to take on airs more apparent than yourself. Solitude and fantastic, energies, cast without doubt, the muse and wander lust, skeptics be damned, the hill alignes with voice looking for release, beyond the horizon in side a day to be ,, our hope measured in tranquil seconds , what is to mattter, and When starts the day..
and sometime the Capitols stay. while others leave trail of losses.
My head is again feeling stoned bake frogotten to myself. I am tossed and frozen in blinding emotions. Success just moments away and I can watch it with open clear eyes, or I an slowly enhance by eased nerves, I am nervious, I have gone out and watch my Body shake , while thinking o fmy desire, and I have watch as I could not naturally act. I was caught up in a flow of unknowns, I am insane staying away from the passion. I am restrianing. because I can not.
She is up there, over there here , with me sitting, looking out into thenight, My parking lot, romance with romance. For as I would another I learn for myself. You my kindness away from me, in a love that we lived with smiles, and you cry with others, Who is right. We never cried together ,
but when I get stoned I also get sexual, horny, I remember love lost,, I blame and fantasize, I get nervous an socially

unacceptable to myself. But the week next will come, and tomorrow is another day . I just started to reember there have been others in the world and are others everywhere. I am holding for the fordces need , maybe this art of writing with be focused enough to stand without me , in long range motives, we stir ourselves wo see pieces falll together. no matter the distractor and misunderstandings prevoius.
And I know each paragraph is exept from logic right now and still I let fingers fall without corse and dialogeu, natural streamss I think soft. nautral ways , untill you come to a point, like maybe.
Left off from the availible self, is only this working character, standing on the stage of his own ego, for pride has built it , and the majority of the time it is defeated un wights of econmies, easier losses for the experiements , hard or soft results, I deas burning off the back of my head, why bother to be so literate, so I give a shit how this looks or reads, the poietry lost to the possesion of the unpretty. As I roam the child helped. the native of the body displaced, beaten to the mask, glued and dust worn old. I was reading of the Definitions of good. by arolstotl He spends a while confinin answers, to cause and product. and definition are everywhere,, this class is subsectioned into another, for which is good, and which is the particualer effect of this action.
Body man plant.
I hear voices asking the naute of beast to be pure, I hear others sometime .. more than I admit I admit, when pushed against a wall. It is to laugh knowing how human I am , how the intelligence can be so engaged to forget feeling, left to a mercy of escape thee is nonly feeling half bad, and in that half bad there is committing atrocies to natures acceptance. We storm to tell plots which denie the escapes further, but to read for no escape,, for the wonder of living. this plane this heart.
I want not to run , more because, I see than that I don’t , Even sometimes I think there is no where to run to .. no growth for a bogged down excistance, a consciousness on the edge of Armengado. for when does it begin, and end..
all ends in death , so death is the beginning, Between those sentances is history..
but watch as the confusion is purposeful and socially accepted debotchery is manditory. I don’t know if I will ever be able to warm up to a women without alcohol. at least in the beginning. please.. I have stopped drinking you know.

I stopped as in I haven’t been drinking.. I haven’t had any money, but ever when I did I was only testing the ground of the depression I hd gotten use to , the lack of real feelings that came with the drugs, and my history in blantant traumas. Sorted by aga we must understand.the parents never have known as much of the change nessacary to civilize civility, as much as our age this now of change and sufferance,, or obligation?