Saturday, September 20, 2003

Friday, September 19, 2003

This is what my poetry has become, and it is a welcome, welcome change from the trite, sentimental crap I usually spew. Be this good or no, I'm just glad it's here:

Breakfast of Champions

Making first crack so egg yolk flows out, like soul, milky yellow soul, pouring out, I’ve never seen, heard, smelled, tasted, shat the soul. Writing is like cracking an egg, omelet, eat, shit, sell so you can find girls who will love you because any girl worth loving knows how to read a good poem from a bad, knows how to read the poetry of every line, crease and stain on your body from every day of work you’ve done, every time you’ve cried rainy tears for other girls, your mother, the world. Every good girl can look into your eyes and see not milky white yolk but her own interiors and let you flail and sweat on her even though your colors don’t match.

I feel like making love to a girl in her own overcast rainy new york day apartment under dusty rafters over old scratched wood paneling floors under a creaky but soft and inviting brass-posted bed that cradles in the best of ways. I feel like looking out a window and seeing nothing but water-drenched brick exterior and the multitudinous forms of aspiration, degradation and memory mulling through themselves, sorting, multiplying. This thing just gets bigger and bigger.

I wonder often. Being another person, what it would smell like. As a full-grown man, submerging. The premier frontier. I imagine girls tasting like a bubblegum lollipop, sweet, sugary, reminiscent of times passed. That’s when weird shit happens.

Cool girls, girls worth knowing, grow on walls like a great big sexy mold that creeps farther and farther away the closer to achieving enlightenment you get, because cool girls don’t wear black, cool girls live with their parents and summon Satan’s thousand forms to hide in their shampoo. I’d like to erect a glowing, flashing, smelling, pheromone-emitting beacon to bring these girls out of their deceptive skins of clothing and human form, because cool girl is something unlike anything else, it’s magic, it’s freedom, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and will never, ever get. Cool girl tastes like bubblegum and steel.

Cook that omelette, eat full until you die and only you are left.
Despite appearances, vehement opposition to TV is really one of very few things I consistently take seriously and believe in on a daily basis. But even then, the angry tones in which I write about it aren't a very accurate representation of the way I think. No, I'm not really this militant and rabid, only on the blog.
Turn off your televisions. You're living through a false matrix of thought predefined, prepackaged and engineered to make you placid. I may sound like this a lot, I may sound histrionic in what you see as paranoia, but this is one thing which is absolutely true.

There is no "them." The sad irony of the whole fiasco is that we willingly continue the cycle started when TV became a part of the American Dream.

Point 1: When you watch TV, the left side of your brain functionally shuts down, leaving the right lobe to process information in illogical, nonsensical ways. You cannot possibly process information spewed at you by TV in any semblance of reason. Ad agencies know this, use it to the point of exploitiation. The switch in nodes also releases endorphins, a substance chemically almost identical to opium. The endorphins leave you placated and listless, unwilling and almost unable to stop watching. You know how you feel after watching TV for a couple hours? Disoriented and sick? There's a reason! It's unhealthy, and yes, addictive. People removed from television for a few months go into withdrawl, be it mild, in which they are temperamental and unhappy.

Point 2: You have lived with television for so long that you have begun to believe that the world portrayed in television is more real than the world in which you live, and that your life somehow fails to fit television's image, and therefore is unexciting, undesirable and banal. Before you dispute, think about how many times you've turned off a TV, looked around you and morosely walked through the motions of your life for the next half hour, feeling slightly unfulfilled and unhappy with the hand you've been dealt. Where is the logic in this, that we value pure fiction and lies as truth?

Point 3: Television has created a common language which we now share. It's creepy. If someone says "Can you hear me now?" everyone immediately understands and chuckles even though we all know the catch phrase is not at all funny in the slightest way. On top of this, listen to yourself speak during an emotional moment, and just track every single sentence you say back to movies or TV. I've done it many times, and it makes me sick.

TV limits what we can achieve, keeps us from attaining happiness and forces us into grim acceptance of the world we now perceive as violent, unfair and ugly. The average American watches four hours of TV a day. FOUR HOURS! That's 28 hours a week, 112 hours a month. Think of what you could do with that time. Even if you watch TV for half an hour every other day, that's still a chunk of time too precious to sacrifice to an institution designed to keep you emotionless. You will never get that time back. Ever.

Trust me, there is a world surrounding us that is more amazing, more mysterious, more unbelievable than anything I've ever experienced before. I have discovered a universe so unspeakably, complexly beautiful that I feel more alive and in love than I ever have, and I cannot wait to see what's next.

But go watch Friends, it's just so mildly amusing and distracting!

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

Placid. Serenity. A welcome length of silence in which I can retract and think about breasts and the importance of living like a hand outstretched in open palm. Test done. Agitation, gone. Discomfort, minimal. Not even indifferent, I begin drifting through my brain's back rooms with a flashlight. A subtle rustling and moving of papers, pencils. A faint "shyeet..." can be heard before, while my eyes begin to cast themselves towards nothingness...


"Oh..." say my eardrums. A fire alarm at point-blanc range sends waves of disorientation, shock, panic and terror throughout the class. A duct opens and my bloodstream flows with adrenaline.


Somewhere, an angel loses its wings.

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

Sunday, September 14, 2003

Nobody ever wants to change everything. Change everything a good thing! Yesterday I kicked down every goddamned door that was blocking my path through the world and toppled routine with the help of music and the will to make everything seem like a fingerpainter's canvas. I rearranged color-smears, conquered the devil and made snakes fly. Take the filters off your eyes, once you stop believing in dragons the dragons die, and all you get is a sick feeling in your stomach like the world's forsaken you. Don't believe what they tell you, Imma be the fucking president when I grow up.