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[20 Oct 2009|04:43pm] |
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your plutonic love feels strangely similar to a game of cheating and deceit.
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| I have strange conversations with some of my friends |
[28 Nov 2008|12:23am] |
Will: but i'm gonna chill with my cousin
Jesse: ha
Will: see ya m'n
Jesse: do it. 1st cousin or 2nd cousin? hahaha
Will: you are such a creeper
fuckin' twisted with your pedophilia and incest
Jesse: haha. everybody has a hot cousin.
Will: ...obsession.
of course, but my hot cousin is a third cousin.
it's true, my cousin Ryan would agree with me
Jesse: it's life. wish people could just talk about shit instead of denying it. little boys like seeing each others dicks. it's normal.
hha
Will: normal when you turn out to be a flaming pedophile and homosexual.
Jesse: dude if we were more open as a culture then we'd all lose virginity at 5 and it wouuld make so much sense by 18
Will: and cause many more social dysfuncts in society.
Jesse: too many people's lives are fucked up because sex is mysterious or disguised until it's too late.
of course i'm joking. but seriously, partial truths.
Will: so you say you open up sexual relations when the urge first starts, when our first love-object relation is our mother? start early with our sexual urges and cause inbreds and still-birthed lumps of body parts?
Jesse: haha. damn. no.
Will: oh, well it sounded like it
Jesse: haha. it'd just be nice if people didn't talk about it like you die immediately after losing your virginity.
Will: haha wtf!?
i've never heard of it like that
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| i won't rest until i don't care la la la la la la la la la |
[01 Nov 2008|12:09pm] |
this is my favorite time of year. this is when things go sour. every year for the past four. this is it. i have so many choices and decisions to make. do i leave for raleigh come december? do i throw it all away and move someplace new? do i stay trapped beneath the filth and lack of fulfillment this quaint little town of boone has to offer? i've weighed out my options...over and over again. i've listed out the pros and cons and those things that fall into both. i'm wondering if i'm of a healthy mindset to be making these choices. i don't even have a job lined up in raleigh. i don't know if i can complete my courses at state. i don't know if i can love an opiate addict. i don't even know if i'm healthy.
this time of year is always cloudy. i tend to lose a sense of reality because i get so lost in my head. i want to be precise. i want my decisions to be justified. i'm a total and utter wreck.
----
(update) maybe i underestimated the power of a sunny day.
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| says she, people don't respond because i don't make sense |
[15 Sep 2008|12:00am] |
Four secular beings in stride with one another,
Anarchist train hops stuck in the back seat now.
Where do I fit in? Are they pretending?
I keep looking for these signs, posted bulletins
Announcing the chance occurrences I have come to identify
I’m reading I’m reading I’m thinking I’m thinking
I need some food, the money situation,
Fiscal sustenance if only I could contact…
And his door opens. Two seconds in the making
And what am I to make of this? Where did this come from?
I tell myself, yes the phone call. Never comes.
Yes, now. I am waiting and thinking and synching.
My friends tell me I am short with them these days.
I know. I understand. What do you make of this?
I sneak out the back door for a cigarette and check my phone.
My timing must be off. Is timing off from me?
These days are outnumbering, these salt encrusted tees
Foul stench of month old travelers and it lingers.
I remain intact and focus on being civilized,
My eyes glued to any surface but their faces
Not because they are gorgeous or intriguing ones,
But solely to avoid their contact with my eyes, bloodshot.
Shift spaces and tenses…I missed, twice
with the petals and these won’t be
the last of the evening. Stretched out in
a counterproductive gesture towards your psyche
and mention, I haven’t been feeling all there these days;
they’re outnumbering and encompassing any aspect
felt of being secure and content, my unconscious
is on display. Peer in yourself, you’ll see, desperate
for your longing, sickened by our lack of sync in stride.
I wait for the message, my time is ticking
struck six ‘til one hour after and my legs quiver.
Such are these notions I get of us out of tune
With the lay cricket stooped outside my window,
The metronome is on and I’ve lost rhythm.
Just as it stops, I forget the song. Not my time.
The target the point of it all, I am not far off you see,
Just got my chiseled section of the pyramid and thought,
My what a lovely view from atop it must be.
Instead I examine the stone contour structure in front of me,
How exact it looks derived from man. You’ll see, one day,
How exact it feels to look at the situation as if derived
Within our causal element: monstrosities, distance, eons.
We speak to one another in hieroglyphs, but not
Like strangers on a train…I just need time to fix
Your thoughts; you’ll see, they’re not far off from mine.
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[08 Sep 2008|11:54pm] |
My approach to understanding Jung's synchronicity and Sartre's existentialism through Burrough's and Gysin's cut-up method.
(the font is slightly too small, but ah well.)
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[03 Sep 2008|07:27pm] |
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kristen's got squaare eggs; read about it, bitches!
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[01 Sep 2008|03:19am] |
why must i fool myself? i'm actually very certain; i just take a nudge of initiative from others to really get where i'm going. half of my photo show is matted and framed...the other half won't take nearly as long. Half of me expresses my sentiments, the other half wishes i were available for interaction. I know i'd choose the former over any circumstance. This is a given, and my gift unto thee. lov4e. for real.
>>I miss the honky tonks, dairy queens, and seven elevens
you got it, you got it.
and as things fell apart, nobody paid much attention...
don't leave me stranded here
i can't get used to this lifestyle.<<
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| Invisible Inc. (New awareness of the title) |
[29 Aug 2008|02:25am] |
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mood |
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strung out |
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music |
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The Notwist (always) |
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I found the solution; I just need the holding tank.
Let me put this into perspective here: It is the dawn of the 29th of August, exactly one week away from "Invisible Inc." and I am just now printing my show. If I am professional at one thing it's procrastination. Well, low and behold, the problems start to arise.
I could never quite find out why matte paper had such muddy black points. Lost in my dilemma, I continued to adjust levels in Photoshop until the print looked "...alright, i suppose." Despite my efforts, I still wasn't satisfied. I went searching for an alternate route; I found it amongst the ink inventory. This is my struggle.
Mein Kampf.
Turns out there's a difference between Photo Black and Matte Black. Now all I need is a draining tank to change the inks...then, I'll be on my way! Unfortunately, this here tank I speak of could mean a trip to Raleigh tomorrow. Once the inks are changed, a new profile chart printed and drying over a tequila and dance night, I'll be able to print, dry, mat, frame, and hang.
Only issue is one I am well aware of at this point; problems are going to continue to arise and I'll be sleep deprived.
Let's have a look, shall we?
...
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[16 Aug 2008|07:28pm] |
life seems fresh these days...surprisingly. I guess after such a long year of deaths and differences, I'm in due time for some change. Well, I started drinking tequila (Conquistador y Milagro) and listening to lots of The Notwist, Calla, and Beth Gibbons. These finer elements of life make it worthwhile, despite the solitude I've discovered being all by my lonesome. I feel like my most idealistic part of being in a relationship would be the morning pancakes. I can't help but talk about these with everyone who knows my loneliness. Other than talking about batter and making progress on my documentary project, I've been busy doing renovations at Christopher's Wine and Cheese in Blowing Rock and working on completion of the photography/fashion show I have with Kegan on September 5th. Here's a flyer I made using the design elements of Sir Evan Fetty:
Oh, and a boring poem about my dependence on intoxicating substances:
Never such a motive have you than
to be acquainted with a genuine server;
how marvelous an occasion for us to gather
at the footsteps of The Most Loyal and Attentive.
Does it look like rain tonight? I smell it on the asphalt,
I caught a glimpse of what once was and the proceeding...
"And here we are, gathered today, yesterday, and tomorrow
in a constant breath of circular movement, adequate changes
and the always ever-beating rhythm of the cosmos,
falling once again into the grasp of a demon box-eyed gaping
hollow;" so we down and out it with the new and improved.
Conquistador, master me into an oblivious state so that I may
forever hold within me this nostalgic circumstance,
and synchronize my breathes within your one-hundred percent
satisfaction. One-hundred breathes and a percentage of your
tainted waters; it can leave me ageless, grasping to the nearest
swing set of a way in too deep you sink, sitting bottom on
the stone cold wall of glory. And what have you of these moments;
do you ever find it in hence before that I may lay rest my case?
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[18 Jul 2008|07:49pm] |
i found david byrne's art:
http://www.lipanjepuntin.com/desc.php?id_autore=33
and "Lost Highway" is an excellent movie!
my parents just left today. we ate good food. i don't know why i'm still here; i wanted to be elsewhere long ago. i just need to accomplish something for once in my life and not give up so close to the finish.
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[10 Apr 2008|02:07pm] |
i need to stop relying on intoxicating substances for momentary satisfaction. at the same time, i find it tantalizing and stimulating to work under the process of cognitive cycles that adheral stirs within my otherwise unorganized brain cells. they are running wild, most 'the time. ah, numb numb numbing agents. they have been infiltrating my life in excessive doses far too frequently in recent weeks. i really do find this urge to live in solitude not only a beneficial idea for finding grounds in which to settle my psych, but also a way to approach the issues in which i face on a regular basis. these acute tendencies of the deflective and substitutive types hardly solve any equation i have presented myself with. the mere coincidences of life shape pull and form an adequate juxtaposition as to the causes and effects of either solution. i flipped the coin revealed a true statement and am at a loss of words:
"I knew what to do and the apparatus was in my head, a triangle of light the apex of which extended about three feet and fitted into his head precisely at the source point. I felt a click and shift of outlines...i was looking at my face in the mirror my new face. it was not exactly [my face]. in fact i would hesitate to say that it was a face at all. only the eyes were noticeable and these had a curious droop not unlike the eyes of a drug addict except that there was power and purpose in them." -W. Burroughs
and (not or)
(on Happiness) "There is no golden rule which applies to everyone: every man must find out for himself in what particular fashion he can be saved." -S. Freud
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[23 Mar 2008|03:14pm] |
something could be said of my mindset lately...however i've probably already spoken. i wrote two poems, a week apart from one another, yet very similar. when i write poetry, i forget about previous poems until i find them later on. maybe i've just been listening to too much against me! and dose one, but here they are:
one. faces.
No one warned me what faces may come
No bother with questions of ill words on my tongue
It begs me here crowding silhouettes before us
And not a mask to rip off any one or too many.
Trap doors in the corridors are clipping
Narrow minds follow passageways of empty
And before us no man stands no woman no child
All the while I’ve got something inside.
Faulty doorsteps creak halfway to pity
The tripping footsteps tuck each other in to rest
And several seasons passed how they no longer
Feel the sudden shift of this sand in glass figure.
And bother for me for no one seems to question
The muffled silence slips off his tongue
The shadow before longing plenty
Tears pull to ground off a static mask.
Testing testing is this a proclamation?
Considered of not the score, ten beats and repeat
It circles this message, analog recording
Say something of importance at the beep.
But why, now, must you try to impress
The only little finger got lost in a door jam
And now every creature in the hall comes forth
The digit is found but they forgot the count.
Muse upon the hand of a tingling sensation
You circulate your life but when do you breathe
To hear shutters restless against the mind’s eye?
What are we clouding to oversee, drifting debris
Of everything and two answers channeling
It’s polar to the whimsical nature of my being…
One two, yes no, shut out or open core?
No common places to denounce my run
Who’s racing when finished is a loaded gun
But you got your good foot started with
An empty barrel, that’s never filled and never wasted.
So what’s become of all these faces
Crowding me here over with sly voices
To what we know as less than certain
Your evangelical notions keep knocking my door.
two. one and everything is wasted.
Eyes raw like root layers in the kitchen
Tearing up in front of the congregation
I’m half open yet half wishing
For the hopes of a better solution
With the kids in full gear and sun sulking
In remembrance of the zero up to bat
Got ten fingers not a one to point and say
“Bud, child, this is your dying day.”
Taking first like its nothing and sit waiting
Everyone around is missing this proclamation
I’ve got the Velcro to show you
This is nothing like you say…too much
Cut lean cut ties and cut me up like
Butter sautéed in the pan and the room
Steams up with water from the pot
Eyes cut raw and tearing up
So you got a mask and picket holding
A message painted with spray of defiance
This is a peace offer and breaking bread
The blood of “who’s next?” and risen
Like the yeast of some prophetic statement
You’ve got wrist wounds but have you crucified
Yourself for the betterment of common good,
Preaching to the choir and dropping anvils of chance
Upon the ones you resist, fighting bombs with bombs
Of explosive utterances? You caught the tongue
You pitch the argument, throw pity of the overtly tired
Lost wounded men of this country’s flagellation
Break harder than the backside of submissives
It’s no wonder why the domme is placing her message
Across the face with lashes on impotence and ignorance
They’ve never won the fight cause they’re seekin
Every disaster waiting to happen…we are the bruised
Beat and taxed to work another day slaving over ways
Laying rails across the chain gang,
too busy boxing in all of themselves in prison cells.
Ya’ll are crazy fools marching!
The air beats still on my every movement
Wisp of faint doubt yet nothing to fix it
I’ve found the ill road to be overgrown
With tiny hands of deceased evidence
Yea so why are you dissin’ while I’m in mission
To a desolate wood, solitary and distant
My ankle is still twisted around the lock and clamp
Never free just searching for more questions to the answers
And memories of when I was six…those years are all that’s left
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[17 Mar 2008|06:23pm] |
my bedroom light went out this morning. but that's okay, i've opted to live by candlelight for a while. life's more subtle that way--the wick burns, the fragrance is nostalgic, and my book of matches is extinguished.
the womb is an elevator. we've almost reached the ninth floor. queasy, morning sickness, vertigo--a collapse and the power flickers. her candle's gone out! we're all suspended in the elevator shaft.
the aforementioned happened this afternoon. but that's okay, i've opted to live in solitude for a while. faint whispers steam off the bathroom mirror, "you are no saint and you are not a time bomb. you are no uncle and your family is dropping like flies."
citronella. we're all subject to this burning. we all aid in the decay. we all feed to the decay. i found our compost in the dumpster today upon return to my apartment. after returning it to its space, i came to write this down.
decomposition--we're all falling out of frame. blurry and slightly out of focus, i want to tear, shed some skin, empty this womb of accomplishment. i have thirty-three hollow eggs in my refrigerator. their remains will be composted. with a needle, a bowl for filling, and just the right amount of afternoon light, i emptied their contents.
that was three days ago, a week away from Good Friday. a week away from the usual time i visit my relatives at Sunset. by night that day i received word of my aunt's passing, a week away from memories.
how can i go up if we've lost contact and i'm suspended by chain? the shaft is barren and so is this warp-hole. by night, i want to be in company--forget this wasteland and lose all contact. by night, we'll be in candlelight--blurry and slightly out of focus. decomposition. it's all in passing, this disaster--i've seen it before, shaved my head, and exposed my bare self. by night, i'll be stringing eggs. a week away from due date, Easter Monday, age old memories of auntie--and all our eggs are hollow.
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[10 Feb 2008|05:06pm] |
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music |
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caustic window |
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ok mind, work your ventriloquism upon my body so that in order for me to reach a state of satisfaction and completion i may diligently work on this heavy load of obligations. sigh...residual sound effects of life's humdrum motors is ringing in my ears. "this is it, man! yr chance to prove yr capabilities," i keep telling myself. (this is it, my solitude and emptiness.) i wish i was emotionally charged, able to feel pleasure and sensation. sensory deprivation...be back later, my mind has taken the day off. it must be a sign, two and a half months and i'll find relief. two and a half months and i'll feel again. two and a half months and i'll enjoy my friends. two and a half months and i'll see my family. two and a half months and i'll appreciate my title as "uncle." two and a half months until i'm whole again.
dear life,
you're losing. i'm winning! we can sign a peace treaty in two and a half months.
love,
will
ps-keepintouch!
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| brainseed is a talent we all are yearning for |
[24 Dec 2007|01:09am] |
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music |
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eardrums, ringing ringing ringing... |
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i must say, time away from life as i know it is highly beneficial. it gives me a chance to see all that i have accomplished, as well as the many aspects that need improvement...much improvement. i'd like to think that this vacation from habitual existence is not only beneficial to me, but possibly the people in my life who i may or may not have an effect on. unfortunately, i have also realized a certain characteristic about me in recent days that may need some improvement. i am teaching myself how to be satisfied with who i am regardless of the opinions of the ones i care so much about. oh, the many fortunate ones! maybe they see where i'm coming from. you see, the way that i see it, when all is said and done, all the matters are the relationships you form with others. really. it's all i ever think about. yes, yes. i try. you know, thinking about other things, but these lofty subject matters only remind me of the characters in my life. i love them all. except one. god bless your broken nose, child. you have no room in this world. speaking of the world, i imagine it is destined to crumble if i had not the love for my sis. she is the only one i want to share my deepest emotions towards. unfortunately, i have not cried since ron's service. maybe i'm shielding myself from what i really feel. i should just go fishing.
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| an easier way to explain myself |
[10 Dec 2007|03:47pm] |
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music |
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sound of the refrigerator traffic and phantom clock that started ticking |
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over the course of the past few weeks, i've managed to feel every possible emotion on the chart: joy, grief, peace, agony, glee, remorse, fullness, emptiness, togetherness, loneliness... it's no wonder why i just don't care now. it's not that i'm carefree or worry-free. it's more a proclamation of my existence and the informality of my thought-cycle. in a congruent dream, i'd like to see a marriage of me and everyone i ever cherished and admired in life. but being reality, it's no wonder why i hate the human race. despicable, corrupt, selfish, insignificant...and yet, everything i ever loved! you, by choice, are the trashiest species on the planet. you, by choice, are a product of your own demise. and i, by choice, see no potential...yet i, understanding that i am not an odd-man out, more or less complete the puzzle in all its trashiness, in all its disaster, in all its togetherness, loneliness, fullness, emptiness. shed some skin, will ya? not everything is exactly as imagined. not everything goes as planned. almost nothing can be expected, except the sum of it all...which, quite frankly, really is nothing. the love i have is plentiful, though my life is plenty full of nothing. yet, everything that amounts to who i am and all my personal assets can more or less be trashed and stripped of all their glory. they, for the most part, mean nothing! granted, the people in my life and the photographs i have produced are all of intimate value...rarely have i taken them for granted. in a congruent dream, i'd like to pay particular thanks and gratitude to select few endearing individuals who have more or less been valuable people in my life over the past few days/weeks/months/years...unfortunately, i do not wish to place said-people on pedestals of my life. they are just like everyone i know, i've just managed to acknowledge their efforts as a person and as a friend/partner/mentor/roomie/neighbor/family/parent/spouse/spouse/spouse. and if any wonders may arise as to my efforts not to deem these people worthy...well, it's all part of my congruent dream. it may not be the case, but i can imagine, can't i? well, i haven't done much of that recently. it's not that i am forgetting myself, it's simply that i just don't care. direction can take a stronghold and as i have evidently witnessed, ruin the cycle set forth by the imagination. it's a grid of construct developed from a simple reel of fluidity. how else can anyone feel so worthy? gain assets, forget the youth of it all. it's too nostalgic anyways. forget forget forget. but in my congruent dream, nothing takes hold, yet nothing is free. it's not anywhere in between. you aren't dictating, but i am listening. vise versa. like a mirror. and the whole of humanity reverberates itself back and forth, back and forth. ))<>(( "same shit, different day." that phrase is overrated, or is it underrated? maybe all of this really is the same. it feels so much different, but it's all exactly the same. this has happened once before, only the roles were reversed. this tragedy has happened also once before, admiration of an important figure lost but not forgotten. this has happened once before, only last time i felt the need to acquire as many accomplishments/compliments/endearments as possible. i was in the wrong. i learned from my mistakes. i learned and once again, i will. same shit, different day. last night i remember dreaming. it wasn't my congruent dream, but it was a dream. a frail figure standing in the doorway. the light was white on the inside. i was standing outside. shall they enter or exit? fragility wouldn't withstand the reality outside, it must've been the wind. but i guess it doesn't matter, it was only a dream. at least it wasn't my congruent dream. there could still be hope there...wait, i've already broken. it's time to re-construct. construct and shed some skin. this happened once before. and once before that. and probably a few more once-befores in my lifetime. "same shit, different day." i don't really buy it, but i had to convince myself that someone would. i guess that's how i'm able.
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[29 May 2007|09:31am] |
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mood |
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running late |
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music |
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something between prodigy and nightmares on wax (NOW) |
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you know how (don't you?) when you pour yourself the first cup of morning coffee and you sip the aromas up your nostrils and the whole memory of your life plays forth in a nonchronological sequence, but it is all there? well, that's when i remember how i came to be the person i am today. i remember (don't i?) all those fond moments caught in the morning air, from the pancakes of childhood, the pastries of recent years, and the proclaimations of my girlfriend ("i'm the cookie!") in her sleep. you know how (i'm sure you do) these thoughts of food conjur up the imagery of mexican cookies, clogged sinks, 4:23 a.m. dance parties, and 8:18 a.m. crashes? the time reminds you of mortality, the mess reminds you of cleaning and continuing, the dessert (if you would actually call it that) (or laughter and playtime) remind you of your ciasteczka and how she mentions, in an air of ecstasy, "everything." well, around this time, 9:41 a.m. some several months after the clogged sinks, i think to myself about what everything in my life is. i think to myself. and myself thinks back. i have conversations of these sorts most mornings and most mornings (if not all, wouldn't you agree?) i find myself, nostrils nestled inside a cup of arabica.
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pla_bonga's journal
