This is a Seperate Story (3/27/09)

I'm in a different place today, I felt it was appropriate. Its very dark, I cannot see the letters and placement of what I am writing . But I bought an Allen Ginsberg poetry anthology today, and I finished On the ROad, and I want to read Visions of Cody, and I want to conquer the world, and shatter the lines that proceed our perceptions and speculate our speculations in the terms of the new generation. Ruby writes. She could be Keroauc. What if she was i'm writing very hard right now. I've got to go to school in 8 hours. I do not mind the smell. Its sensory and feels alright. I'm going to change the music. Hang on I want to go inside actually.

One is good for now. I'll put the other away for later. Why is it so cold?

So i'm inside now but I can't read still because I put the lights out and the Pixies on and my story piece of journal away. I'm a packrat. I keep anyhting that might have some significance to me. and then I cast it away and denounce it. Why. Because?

I messed up the punctuation right there yep yep yep i sent in the line version?

Its fine i'm going to burn that journal paper and let it into the wind hang on.

Ok, done. I almost caught my roof on fire with all the brush on it. Plus its fucking windy out there. But it felt good. To come so close to disaster but get away free. I set it on fire to "Debaser" and it burned to "Gouge Away". Sweet. I should listen to that CD Ruby gave me. So sweet. She probably just wanted to do it for fun. It meant a lot to me. She'll probably never know. Lovely.

On the Plan to Chicago (4/13/09)

I'm on the plane, hand's a bit shaky. Someday I'll type this all up and sell it for a quarter. My ears are damaged. Just watched Donnie Darko. Great movie. Plane engines falling apart left and right. Quite sad. I love the girl who plays Gretchen. My favorite part of the movie has just been entombed on the back of the Force Journal. Gretchen is upset and DOnnie tries to comfort her while listening to "Love Will Tear Us Apart" and she turns to him and softly says, "I guess some people are just born with tragedy in their blood." That line. Sums up my life. Who is born with tragic blood is not important. The fact that people are sometimes born with tragedy in their blood while some are not is chaos. Tragic chaos. I love that line.

That song is incredible as well. The drums are like my heartbeat while Ian croons a song of lost love. Connections mounting and biting in their rhythms of soft echo. I can't believe i can hear this song. Beauty. Lust. Love. Love will tear us apart. Again. I need a new journal. Muffled agony is barely visible in the masses of droning wasps that hum their firm yet soothing artist's cry.

Anonymous Hands

Anonohand

The artist's cry is going line. Thump thump thump thump GO

The glory of strangers that gaze upon this,

my book of all failures, with a sense

of ultimate innocence, not a tear

to spare from their anonymously busy lives.

Untitled (4/12/09)

I haven't written any songs lately. I'm not sure why. Although real musicians, professionals, put an album out every couple years so I bet its normal. I think it is.

Haha so I ran away from a party this morning. My friend Benny Arnold told me about the party. I had an enlightening experience with the true king of Tucson (west, man) not FofG as some may claim. And Ruby Tuesday was there. I'm saying that from now on. Benny put the moves on Ruby and I was right there and it was fucking ridiculous, man. They're Polar Opposites. Anyway, I walked 4 miles at 5 in the morning listening to "Ruby Tuesday" on repeat. Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday. It felt great but i'm still hung up on her. Oh well. I'm going to take the Force Journal with me to fucking Chicago. It's happening. I've decided. I need a new pen though.

If the plan explodes, so do I and so does the Force journal, its the way it goes. But the plane won't explode. All my pens are dried up. Shit.

Goodnight. As my friend's left arm might say: "So It Goes"

Wake Up, Tom Stoppard (Poem; Undated)

Wake Up, Tom Stoppard, show me who's a man

I'm tomorrow, baby, so give me your hand

Things are getting closer and quickly out of focus

Years are running by the longer you know us

I walk up with a pistol and a shoe

Carrying more skeletons than you ever knew

You love me, kiss me, show me your things

You move a bit closer i'll buy you some rings

Writing alone and not getting drunk

Hip-hoppin beats are a ship that suck

The writers reconvene at a table of ivory

Moonlight Sonata sent my existence dying

Hook up, look up, my lonely face

Girls don't want me, I don't even ask for space

Wrap me up in cushions of lace

Drag me nowhere, discover this place

Wake Up, Tom Stoppard, thumbs up man,

The groovy sea houses the groovy van

I'm traveling on the go go , don't know when i'll start,

Ink up my body, warm up my heart.

My first post.

I'm no stranger to the Blogspot format, as I've been co-keeper of the infamous University High encyclopedia-parody "Whelanpedia" for almost two years now, but I've decided to publish things i've written, big and small, black and white. I've written a lot this year, and I'm going to do my best to publish it all to an extent, and then when i'm done with that things will start taking form and i can start doing new stuff. Peace.