An Open Window

There is an open window that closes a little more each day. I’m not sure why I thought I had an eternity, but now I realize that this window will soon be closed. Indecision cripples me. I can jump through, but I am not sure that I am welcome inside. Once it has closed, my only options will be to give up or break in somehow. I suppose I have never put a timeline on how long this entrance would be open for me because I have always held out a small deal of hope. Hope is a two-faced bitch. Hope is a double-edged sword. Hope always keeps you afloat. But where will it take you? Sometimes you can cling to hope and it will carry you to shore. But how can you be sure that it won’t keep you adrift on a featureless ocean until you die? So I suppose the only reality is to take some sort of action. Before the window is closed I must decide; do what I can to keep it open, let it close and pray for the strength and skill to break in once it is closed, or walk away from the house altogether.

One thing is for sure, I can’t drift along the tides of hope any longer. I have to pull myself towards the direction of some kind of shore, whether it be a pleasant destination or a harsh one. Breaking in may have its rewards, but no doubt I will incur painful scars that will mar my being for a lifetime, and who’s to say it will even be worth it? It would be an incredibly foolhardy gambit at best that only the most grotesquely uninhibited degenerate would consider. But all or none, right? I figure I have about 3 years to keep the window open before it shuts until the distant future. Keeping it open requires me to be a better man than I currently am, or some other phantom solution that is well beyond the comprehension of the man I am now. Giving up and walking away from the house completely may be the bravest course of action I could take, in the same way that suicide “victims” are truly the bravest souls to have walked the earth. Turning my back and cutting my losses entails my entering uncharted waters towards a destination that is wholly unknown to me and the cosmos at large.

It would take a great psychic dam to hold back the waters of “what if’s” and “maybe if I had’s.” The dam may not hold and I may become awash in a deluge of regrets at an age where I am equally unable to withstand a deluge of physical water. The ocean and the homestead are so far away from each other but at the same time so close. I can spend my life standing on solid ground outside of a window that will forever remain closed to me, or I can set sail on the winds of uncertainty on my way to certain demise or a degenerate’s treasure trove of good luck. I have never been a very lucky person…

Gonna see them on the 23rd at the Hollywood Bowl. Fuckin psyched!!!


Animal Collective

Hot off the announcement of a June release of a 7″ vinyl featuring two tracks “Honeycomb” and “Gotham” (which you can read about and stream here), Animal Collective has released an eerie video which details the release of their new album, Centipede Hz.

Hz, you say? 20Hz-20kHz?! 2020k?! You like really like us! Surely, it’s not a nod to us but the band did release a promotion video via their website that announced a September 2012 release and a track listing. The strange thing is that neither “Honeycomb” or “Gotham” are slated to be on the new record, but then again AC are no strangers releasing a bit differently than others.

On May 14th, Brian Weitz spoke to BBC Radio 1 about the band and the album and stated “We all moved back to Baltimore, the last few records we’ve written apart and by sending each other stuff…

View original post 129 more words

People With the Least Business Talking, Have the Most to Say

Nothing is worse than walking into a room of screaming people. It’s bad enough when the people actually have something significant to say or when they know what they are talking about. But all the worse when the only aim of the screaming is just so the screamer hear him or herself talk; a battle to see who can be heard the loudest. Aside from being incredibly unnerving, it’s also infuriating because you are sitting in the middle of a group of ignorant individuals talking in circles, to no avail. It’s a dangerous circumstance because it is very hard not to become one of these squawking rabble. Hard because the urge to try to restore some sanity and kill the noise is very great. But in a room like this you can only hope to become another voice contributing to the noise. It is almost identical to being in a small room with a dozen infants. The only difference is that there is slightly less of a stink. The amount of information and logic to be heard in either room is the same.

People whose drug is hearing themselves talk are the most dangerous addicts because they threaten to mislead people around them with the words that can not stop spewing from their rotted brains. Brains that seem to know only how to produce words but not put any thought behind them. A sad compulsion that turns the addict into as much a fool as the town drunk. Only sadder because their minds are unassisted by any intoxicating agent yet they make less sense than the most obliterated junkie.

It gets to the point where you can barely hear your own thoughts because your mind is constantly trying to filter out the bile that is being launched at you. It’s fucking infuriating when your own thoughts are being obscured by the idiotic ramblings of those who are incapable of shutting up. Actually, “incapable” is the wrong word to use, because just like the addict, personal responsibility is everything. I refuse to believe that addiction is a disease. Addiction is just a severe lack of a sense of personal responsibility. People who are addicted to hearing themselves talk speak so much that they endlessly say contradicting things. So many words are pushed out of their undiscriminating mouths that they regularly revisit the same topics but with different stances just so they can have something else to say. And just like the addict, they seem wholly unaware that their words are conflicting themselves.

This may be one of the worst pieces I’ve ever written because of this environment. I am constantly trying to find my thoughts amongst the muck and dross that is perpetually flowing in this room. In reality, I should not even be attempting to write down anything coherent in a place like this but it’s all I can do to avoid bursting out in a primal rage. The people who have the least business speaking always seem to have the most to say. In a perfect world these people would have their larynx ripped out and be flogged for good measure.

Again To All My Dearest…

My blood is ink and I am sorry that I can do nothing more for my loved ones than bleed myself onto blank pages of paper. The barrier I put up around myself everyday is much too strong to break through but I willingly give myself to anyone that will have me through my words. I am infinitely astonished at the inversions of life- when circumstances bog me down to a hopelessly dismal state, there is no one around me that can share in my pain yet when this year has greeted me with an embrace of hope, it seems that an insufferable darkness has shrouded the lives of everyone I love. A bewildering phenomenon indeed, but not one that leaves me without a sense of clear duty. Please read my words. Please be in tune with my thoughts. Please allow the emanations of my love reach to your deepest depths of heartache. If I myself with my bleakest of minds can find reason and enthusiasm to push forward, I promise the reader of these words that they can find even more righteous causes for which to strive on. Know that I sense the pain that envelopes you all, and though I can not say what the future holds for any of you, I am certain that you are not now, nor will you ever be alone in how you feel now. If our entire habitat is truly facing an oblivious end, let it come quickly. If not, may all my dearest pull through all of their individual struggles and emerge stronger, wiser, and more loving creatures than they once were.

I am not so dimwitted as to believe that comfort and happiness are not transitory states and I can only hope that my time in the sun will last just a bit longer than it has in my past. Some moonless night will choke me out in the future – of this I am certain. Still, if I can push on as I am instructing all my dearest to do, I can hold out hope that I will reach something permanent. Something I have erstwhile not known. A nirvana of sorts. Somewhere in which the good outweighs the bad. Somewhere in which the struggles of my current life will be justified and put into perspective. If I can hold on to joy just a moment longer than I have to sorrow, then I figure that my life will have been worth living. If not, then it was an intriguing ride. At any rate, I will not know until my life’s end. And neither will any of you. Therefore let us hold on, if for no other reason than to see that our lives may not have been lived in vain. Love is a strange phenomenon, but somehow it warms us and makes our current lives worth living. So know that I love all of you more than my words could ever convey. If nothing else, know that you are loved. That should be enough to get you through this insufferable night.

A Letter to All My People

Times are hard for everyone around me so I’m sending my heart to all my dearest. We are the battered, jaded, heartbroken, tormented and oppressed but a new sun rises everyday and we all see the very same light together. To my friends, never let the law of the land grind your spirits down because there is nothing so bad that they can do to us that we can’t do to ourselves. They will try to make us feel like criminals but their laws are not ours and our minds are varied and free. We all are capable of casting off the stigmas they have placed upon us because we did not put them there ourselves and the human is sovereign above all. To all my mothers, guard your hearts and strive for the lives of your children. Forgive and forget that the earth has been poisoned and have infinite grace for us. Love is reciprocated to you but all is never shown. Someday your burden will be lifted. To all my fathers, keep a watchful eye out for there are lowly and shameless wolves who for their own selfish reasons will try to destroy the work of your hands. Be righteous to your sons and sharpen your knives and wits to a fine edge – that will be the defense and the inheritance of your progeny. To all my brothers, never let your women destroy you, and never let your love turn to bile. We are all in this together and success will come if we take the ride. Make your minds strong and vehemently shun all that mean to dull and stupefy you. Let us become the masters of this world through the mastery of our own characters. To all my sisters, mend your hearts and know that you are loved. If you can be fair to yourselves then you will not be torn down. Your dignity is your most precious possession so guard it from all sources that try to sully it. Love and aid will come again to warm your weathered skins.

It seems that a profound night has befallen us all and I do not ever purport that I have not been crestfallen and hopeless. Yet I think of you all individually very often, and crack a fond smile when I think of you all collectively. And when I indulge in the thought of all of us together, my hope no longer remains anonymous. Here we all find ourselves now on a wretched stretch of path that threatens to hurl any of us to the gutter and certain doom- but I refuse to believe it is an impasse. No, when I think of us all here, together in a desolate land, I am comforted because none of the people I love are absent from this hell. I would rather be down here with all my fellow sinners than up there with the ones who can not share a pain that is all too plentiful for the rest of us. Fake smiles and charmed lives have never been my bag. Instead I am down here in the mire with all the individuals whom I wouldn’t trade for the world. We weren’t born here my loves, rather we fell down into it from greater heights, so let us lap up the blood that flows from our wounds, wipe the muck from our eyes, and climb back up to the better days that assuredly await us all. Let us rise back up on each others shoulders collectively, with solidarity, and with much love.

A Perspective on Presidents

I have figured out one of the many problems with today’s politicians. We use to have great presidents such as FDR, but nowadays we have nameless, faceless, manufactured drones; completely programmed. FDR was a charismatic man of accomplishment, with a personality befitting a gentleman one could meet on the street, and a professionalism necessary to firmly guide our country. Men knew how to be men in those days, they had to, they were the ones shaping our country, they never had the time or money to be idle and incapable. Now, America makes too much money and the men (or providers) who were once square-jawed, rugged, and well-rounded are now able to sit around while the money rolls in. There is no more “America” to shape. Our fortune has become the very things that hinders us. We have too much time now, and not enough to think about. We now have the time to be lazy because every man now worries solely about himself.

Politicians go to the same colleges, get programmed with the same program, and are “taught” politics. Politics is not something that can be taught in a classroom, or at least that was not the case in America’s golden years. Presidents use to be great, weathered, men that a child could admire, and who had personalities that were unique and all their own. Now they are taught to be the same person. Presidents don’t have to go out and talk to their constituents anymore; now we have television, the internet, and all manner of mass media and communication. All they have to do now is speak into a camera. The presidents of old had different backgrounds and upbringings. Not like now, they go to school and learn to be the same kind of person.

Apparently I Have Always Known…

Preface: Digging through some of my old writings today. I came across a particularly interesting piece I wrote about 4 years ago. Very prophetic words that I wrote down for  myself. I have cut out most of the account as they now stand as irrelevant and sampled only a few key passages. What I write here are exact copies of the original pen and paper form, no editing or paraphrasing. These are words that I said to myself four years ago. Words I should have heeded.

“This sort of attraction almost always finds a way to play me for the grandest sucker. Some neurotic indent in my brain’s (or wherever it may truly come from) core transmits a primal desire to the rest of my being resulting in a state that renders me all too receptive to the role of “grandest sucker.”

“Such projected characteristics have always seemed a little weird to me as I seem to be the only person I know who projects such oddities onto beauty of that caliber. Although, I am fucking nuts so I would not be shocked if it turns out to be rooted in some sociological neuroses. Wherever it comes from, it convulses me into feelings only it can evoke. My thoughts become irrational and I am frantically asking myself, “what the hell can I do for her?!” Hence, the grand “suckerdom.”

These words were written on October 8th, 2008. I warned myself. Should have listened.


Prefaces: Wouldn’t you want to experience something that is guaranteed to give you the best feeling you’ve had in your life?

Nearly makes your mind primal in that you are easily distracted by infantile fascinations.

1st Scene: Inception into the family.

The bitterness doesn’t melt through my tongue anymore, instead it arbitrarily fuses with orbs of saliva to create a disgusting pop when I shuffled it around with my tongue. Those random semi-seconds robbed what precious little fluid I had in my mouth. I suppose the glands are in paradise as well. And just like that, I was in the ocean again, my ocean, my felicity.

Hours later he came to me. He came in a white haze. He became her, my lovely white lady who would grant me the posterity of our awareness.That’s all it took, a mere glimpse through the shroud which retains us in a plain. And never forgetting it. He began to walk away and with his back toward me and his shoulders swaying away in the distance, I asked him “how will I know when my time is up?” he looked over his shoulder, locked eyes with me for the one second. Here it comes.

Descending: Lowered down with bungee cords, I saw more in a twinkle than any man can see in a hundred lifetimes. I retain it. I’m swept over the orange, undulating surface…of hands. I dared not touch them with my own hands, for my hands are far too whet, far too knowing. Instead, I allowed the random receptors of my body to caress them and dip gingerly as it so chose. I retained it. Somewhere inside me to be rediscovered. It is harbored solitary in one corner of the desert, it festered and contracted its demeanor like an alien virus to its nearest hosts, but very very slowly. Then it was beautiful, lord it was beautiful.



Week to week. At this moment I can not determine whether I have taken a step forward or backward. At any rate, I seem to be at a week-to-week status as opposed to my previous day-to-day status. For about a week now I have been unable to shake the thought of her-even worse I am unable to prevent it from bringing my mood and hope down. Now, upon very basic retrospection, I realize that for better or worse, or rather whether it is a step forward or backward, this new week-long uniformity of emotion is more painful. On the flip side of that, and by the same logic, I could possibly enjoy an entire week of being happy. This stands to reason because the only consistent aspect of my mental state throughout this whole ordeal is that my emotions faithfully fluctuate.

“Happy and sad come in quick succession”

Of course, I am captaining a ship through uncharted waters in an eternal night so it is possible for this dismal week to simply be the front end of a long, trudging, miserable train. This is the fear I have identified. My hope remains anonymous.