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Monthly Archives: October 2010

It is another day.
oh well. I have lost another office. apartment what ever it is called any more in my way.. still we are doing good for having no job. I was really hurt by it. but then what can you do. the facts of this time is weighing on everyone. I still can not afford a good place so the last i took out of need. and it is gone with the same speed.
I am back in the car. I am back to the real life. where we can not help but to face the devastation of our economic system, Should i go to school now. Like have i seen enough to use it, am i over the past well enough to look to a new life , that i control. Can we ever really control life. I don’t know. I love playing for people on Second Life. More than i can tell you, It was a theater for me, it was beyond the hype of professionalism and was real production that i controlled, it gave me ideas. and i know i will again soon. but i got side tracked from the EC. I was living to forget again. and so it caught up to me.
but the hard part is over. that is the first hours days of this again Freedom. Maybe i will go on the road again. I need work. but i am not thinking any more of the work being provided. I have a good idea. the magazine is a good idea. the website is a good idea. the Idea of awareness and expanded consciousness that comes from the pratical understandings of metaphysics is a good idea.
Just i have to do things to secure a money source to do my good ideas. I have to live it. And that becomes the hard part. I was looking for writers. and all i could find was children. Who want to be commerical writers. who can not see that to truely be an artist you have to go beyond what is, for what will be. The world grows because we suffer. I just have to suffer more. I have to see that no one will listen to me without me listening. I have to feel this body and respect it more. as in I want the shelter for my computer.
what has stopped me from going to school are the small minds that make up education. small in the ways we teach, the conversation we accept and the communications we don’t. the present system creates confusion in the mind of the student who wants to see their ideas and not the repetition of past mistakes.
I can only look at the world and say we have done something wrong. We , Me, We can not just let the old school mistakes rule our lives. But they do. and it is up to us to change what is.. does that mean bowing down to the structure enough to feel confident in the processes for which we have to use to explain what we need. I am not sure. but I know i have little choice right now. but to expand what i know into some formalized way in order to have an impact when i write.
But i always start thinking when things are so messed up i can not support myself.
I want to help the world , as in i want the world to understand its own ability to transcend what is with what is. Perception flow and grow with the techonogical understandings. people have to be trained to it,and have to need the change , but must support that change within themselves. That is not what we get , instead we get status-quo people, we bow or break. I am not going to break and i am not going to bow. I will yet get out this magazine. no matter how many Status Quo people who get in my way.


oh my. I don’t know how to get you from the last page to this one. it seem so idle and unaware
as i talk to you
my great empathy.
More along the lines of stealing from the book in front of me. Amos Oz’s story.. the black box. Opening doors to communications between Realities, I think. I can not keep up with the leanings of the officious slang, the author proposes you know, if that was really his story, I am not sure , I didn’t read the back cover. or the front. Learning along what is just from the is. and what of me to tell.
Some learning can not come with any completeness weather we read or do not.
a feeling is not learned, its experienced.

the plot runs, that two were once married. had a child, separated because of adultery, and a war , and more adultery, one was or came to millions, the father. While the mother, lover, wife “?” found religion or at least a zealot, who takes care of her. after the proposed Harlotry. Words in letters are only official lies.

We forget so much when it comes to the loves we have had, unless they produce off spring. Then ..every bad day story that ever excised, like breaking Whiskey bottles.
“that connection of mine. the one who swore with abandoned to love me. that i was the world to them. to find out that we challenge each others fantasy.”
like employment looking at my resume.
i can never get away from me. the telling are so obvious, and yet,
the house is still here, after barrage of beer , secretly pack bombs , so neat in the covering, now are shrapnel, some crinkled waiting for bare feet and night ime. but the bombs are inside. the bombs are assaults against the meaning of time.

And the lack of response, they are about, the passiveness of each generation. further and further, we seem to have completed the brainwashing.

What ease is to control society when they choose to control themselves , no messy thoughts of slavery and complex intrigues of the owners controls, when we can send them to war, and have them then walk the streets in the ultimate horror. What smallness it is to respect the chain of command.
To feel the subjective, the perspectives of civilization obedience. oh and that is just one underside control. the warriors back from Political disembodiment.

for it is not natural to kill
without eating what has just
been done.

Illusions of concern theae waring states , these natrional bodies. these sections of facts on a world in a solar system, with trillions of life forms we can not even see.. for our lacking of seeing oursleves seperate from the systemized beastialness.
Never seeing wars, we have our own sights of hell. To lack employment, oh yes there is the other. for which keeps the worker showing up to the bar also. the fack of showing up , and doing, with a respect enate , but without appreciations, known; really. the lifeless attention demanding its own ways. It plastic doings, somewhere sometime after a smile is given only to be eased for the check which accompanies, or law suit depending. I make coment on what i know longer know. after three years it ihas been only the elements of desiciions that keep us here, telling the words to a computer in the middle of a sunday.
smoking th elast of th eweed and gazing inot a wold of angles and prespectives.
Looking for cuases my onw sufferance, ? while the cat looks up to see me with a lattop computer with sad eyes that stare at the computer. wanting space, and them lok away , .
she is roking back and forth little. then looking away, like
“you know what i want and are not giving it to me. You are wrong and i can prove it. but alas the world is bigger than the two of us, and you will be punished for your inconsiderateness.
or maybe you will stop thinking you matter and consoul the spirit and release the petting arm, from its slavery of incomprehension”.

M— cat. Jade

, People don’t get names Pet’s do. I should maybe italicize the cat, the pet, for the understanding are so plain and needing little to understand, like humans if you looik, but with the words we are all screwing it up. or , is life really a battle between our desires. I just want to survive Nothing, more. or less.
The stairs to my attic are perfect for the the cat. she goes up them like an expensive scratch post. I walk it like a ladder. the treads are like a ship.. straight flat, but enlaidn.

of night i asked of me to much
long winded with music.
taunt in swollen chords,
Pleading release back to
non-existent crucifixion.

and again the air waves and takes
what voice pondered yet
produced with no delay of thought
. there the excess alive to sense and feeling ,
the inner physical movement of tide and circumstance.
watching from out side of the body
while the body hears the creaking.
hears the walls breaking,
some where. illusions of
the past can not contain
the future.
we look every day, but we look with hearts. aflame,
inspired and release
to feel apart of the world.
apart of the passion.
and element. .
oh morning comes. from a day that left behind its self. again cast out into the open of obscurity
I romance as i feel the day come, Today i played and it was better than yesterday, it was better but .. still out of the hour thing for a little feels a lot. and
what to do the adventure of the bio pilot, listening to the over and again of each song. I feel there is a point where they come together to form a musical. A street musical. where to be normal is poverty and purity.

but the idea of sitting and writing every day would be more inforeced if i could have some passion. for life again. oh love , my hearts breaking to be at one, with you.

my heart is living into its dream and dreaming of the a dreamer, and ever so scared at the same time, to livein lost to inhabitance, my moodiness, and sacrificed soullessness to true stablity and shelter. Distastefully feeling the normalacy of it. I brush my teeth , and i am proud of myself for a small moment ,
did i tell you “I have a birth day minute twice a day, It give s me something, I have a teacher in a smile that tells me to stop moving, so much , and love of the rock gathers no..
and roots tell me to live in the rootless. to gaze at the sky and be at one with the best advice.
and chords don’t fit all the time .
Synmmbolism gets lost to the observer, and religion teaches philosophy within the words themselves. Symbolism relies on a system already mis clairfied. such that we look to create the process of understanding the creative with abstract painting we must reach for the chaos, and all is either plant or body.
my latest are here. today.
I am not writing every day , but a moment touched me and i felt pure, a something, for the grace of dawn maybe.
i want work
i need money. i am frustrated and need change i am scarifice if i do not bow. .. i am also lazy. and like the easy, never fighting has made the time incredible tiresome. but inner fights keep me .. living from passion to passion. and my reall heart will never leave , though grows domet some. if i touch yo and you freeze up.. i dont touch you.

# The reader is a friend, not an adversary, not a spectator.

# Fiction that isn’t an author’s personal adventure into the frightening or the unknown isn’t worth writing for anything but money.

# Never use the word “then” as a ­conjunction – we have “and” for this purpose. Substituting “then” is the lazy or tone-deaf writer’s non-solution to the problem of too many “ands” on the page.

# Write in the third person unless a ­really distinctive first-person voice ­offers itself irresistibly.

# When information becomes free and universally accessible, voluminous research for a novel is devalued along with it.

# The most purely autobiographical ­fiction requires pure invention. Nobody ever wrote a more auto­biographical story than ” The Metamorphosis “.

# You see more sitting still than chasing after.

# It’s doubtful that anyone with an internet connection at his workplace is writing good fiction (the TIME magazine cover story detailed how Franzen physically disables the Net portal on his writing laptop).

# Interesting verbs are seldom very interesting.

# You have to love before you can be relentless.

oh blind reality comes
oh bind the real idea
as reality comes
shatteringly simple
and excessive enforcement
even the smarty pants
couldn’t unload
a flexible mortgage.
excess floods market.
it was built
“assemble required”
no one told you it was
before purchase.
the order reversed.
to profit you had to have the buildings already sold.
such that if you waited or got caught in the excess you died..
a one percent dream, foretold..
a creation of the patriot act..a mentioning of revelations.
a tide of heart to body , and spirit to release to understand.
before ..
Pre- assembly required.
I am so tired of feeling tired. my back braking to be understood. against the willows of simplicity. the morality of whims and Kindly considered occasions. I watch the forecasts of my own humility against the actualization of experiential responses. The going backward to themselves and philosophy in a dizzying display of ego verse truth. of you, of me, of..
and so what places, the ignorant and uncreative response, is lazyness.. or is that , fear of life. for the love brokenness of the after. that Not me moment forcing away the dispelled remnant love leaves: if it could , with clearing smoke grinning murderer, saint and child , in the Correct views. Impartial to the tree mold.
of me , of you . us and them,
Of death a moment, lived to many times to again watch.
a mirror i have seen before me. self placed until. my face is all ,
a zit over nose, blossoms before punctured. watching it expansion, and waiting. slowly , daze of weeks. small porous fever-ing.
What is can never be re-understood when the meaning maker cares not for meaning. Is, in fact, anti-meaning as reason seems to dictate. Its absolute power the only faltering
of the blackened room called a sunny blue.