Writing here is so cold.
Sometimes clicking on the keys is fantastic.
Maybe even most of the time.
How lame is that?
But, sometimes, I really need to feel the softness of graphite give against the pulped wood on the table.
But I just now thought that I would like to make some web form that looks like this:

	S	S		S
	S
S		S
			S
	S
S

And then write something that fit in the boxes... "S" would not, of course, necessarily have to be the letter. But "S" is a super letter...



Anyway... the point being that the "alliteration" of the thing is in primes. And it shouldn't appear anywhere else. My current subject matter does not, however, fit. And now that I look at it again, it might be a neat idea, but pretty dumb if I actually did it.

So nevermind. Where the hell is my pencil.

friends and enemies.
All in your mind.
Only true if someone else believes it too.
shaking again.
The thought alone.
But the soft glow of the fake world flickers.
Soothing in its madness.
Deft. Smooth. Fantastic.
Vicariously. Vicariously.
The shaking... The shaking...
The shaking slowly softens.
And darkness fights from the fringe.

But not yet.

Inside: swirl. stop. drop.
Fall back to the beginning.
And let it go...
Back away on the beat of the bass drum.
quarter. Quarter. QuaRTeR. QUARTER.
Triplet-eighth?!
Again!
Three notes in the place of one.
And the tag on the end.
Goddamn.
Turn it down.
turn it off.
Settling back... shaking still.
Silence is better anyhow.
The darkness moves again.
The attack redoubled.
From the front.

But not yet.

The colors coalesce.
Fade to black. And back again.
Meld and Merge.
Hand-lettered reality on a pallet of four.
Points and pixels placate.
Eternally internally the drum beats on.
And Truth rallies.
The illusion: shockingly shattered.
shaking... shaking...
Inside drops; crashing down.
The shadow. Emboldened.
The darkness. Encroaching.
Creeping. Biding. Secure.
The outcome decided.
Succumb.
The shaking subsides.

Dreaming, the battle begins anew.

Labels: _self

Baseball Haiku

---

Here's some more:

Sound it envelops The wind whipping stray locks lost Freedom here arrives

And don't forget... you have to read it twice. Like real Haiku. Bomb.

I was supposed to be watching Blood Diamond tonight... but I couldn't be sucked into sitting in front of the tv for an extended period of time. It just felt wrong for some reason. Even though it's raining and lightninging and is perfect for a movie. For some reason, however, it just seemed more perfect to read. So I did. Finally back to C&P in some minor fashion.

There's a bit... two words, really... when Raskolnikov is having that one really important conversation with Sonya after the memorial dinner... the words "painful indifference" come up.

At first glance maybe it's an oxymoron and Dostoevsky is stupid. Then I actually think about it, and it's just a feeling about one's lack of feeling regarding a separate situation.

Which really isn't all that special.

I mean, to me personally, of course. What is special to Me, Personally is the idea of "painful indifference" as a state into which one enters knowingly. Being unable to really care one way or the other about a situation b/c caring precludes Movement. Confusion of Direction. Change. Uncomfortable Situations. Obfuscation of Purpose. Indifference to the possibilities of the unknown is the only defense.

Maybe it's more on track to say something about how indifference is forced once you realize that something you care about is no longer something that exists. (or has the potential to exist)

Yeah... that's got to be more what Raskolnikov was getting at. (wow... I'm probably so totally making this up) He's got to tell Sonya this thing... that's a bad thing. That, in his mind, ruins any idea he has about what his life could be like with this girl. (she's, like, an ex-hooker, I'm pretty sure. (The is the Russian version of Pretty Woman... (except that Richard Gere is a murderer... (which is maybe better than that gerbil thing...)))) What?

So, he has to force himself to become indifferent about what he wants b/c he sees it slipping away. Or, more to the point, being harshly ripped away. That's pretty painful indifference.

I mean, I guess it is.

...

Of course, he did kill that old bitch, so maybe it's just karma.

But, poor Sonya! I would like to put together a phrase that would make a handful of people pause and consider the place of that phrase in the world. Adjective + Noun would be nice I think. Adverb-ly + verb seems like it would be too "Refrigerator poetry" or something.

Labels: Books, Dostoevsky

If you haven't already, you should look at http://www.kurtvonnegut.com/. It's fitting, I suppose.

Is it just a sign of maturation when your heroes die?
Or the people you look up to?
From Kurt Cobain to Shannon Hoon to my dad to Layne Staley to, now, Kurt Vonnegut, it's always the same. Something just goes missing. Those people are no longer there to look up to, and their ideas aren't there to guide you any longer. It's time to take what you've gathered from them, turn it into something of your own, and stop looking for advice from old comfortable places.

It's time to become "B." Perhaps. And that requires and catalyzes maturity.

Just felt like I should say something.
God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut.

Labels: Kurt Vonnegut

and for more online comic strip fun...
Something Happens
hmmm... hopefully these images allow me to link to them, and you guys aren't just seeing that stupid red X...

Ah... Peter Bagge. :)

I was reading his new strip in Reason... which was good. And went back and reread his strip about legalizing drugs. Interesting stuff....

Labels: Comic Books

Does anyone else find it odd that all those "surveys" or "tests" or whatever that "prove" whether or not one is depressed always ask: 1) have you thought about killing yourself? or 2) have you actually made a plan to kill yourself?

It seems to me to be quite normal that people would wonder if the world would be better off without them. It seems even more normal to wonder whether or not the individual people involved in your life would be better off without you. Has anyone really ever not thought about just removing themself from the... errm... "situation?" As it were. I imagine it's a smaller (but not small) number of people who have really thought about what they'd do. I mean, usually, it's just like, "Man, just one single gunshot through the face would do it." But, honestly, I think you'd want to make sure you go to the bathroom... not really eat anything for a day (b/c you know you're going to shit yourself when you die, and that's just tacky)... then maybe get a pillow or something... lie (lay?) down in the bathtub, turn the shower on, put the pillow behind your head (so as to stop the bullet from going all the way through and breaking the tub), and then just pull the trigger. The water should wash all the goo down the drain, the pillow (or phone book?) should save the tub, the lack of eating should remove the "shit yourself" scenario, and - all in all - it should be fairly clean.

Not that I REALLY think I would do such a thing... maybe b/c I'm chicken... but I don't think so. You might be a total loser who everyone hates in real life, but killing yourself just makes you a loser to the nth degree. Selfish, weak, and not at all fair to anyone. So I don't advocate it. I'm not asking for help over the fucking internet for God's sake. I'm not planning on shooting myself in a pillow. Just wondering. Is it really that odd for people to wonder if things wouldn't just be better without them.

Apart from crazy stockbrokers who jump off bridges b/c they lost money... (or Judas Priest fans)... it seems like most depressed or suicidal people are depressed or suicidal due to their inability to relate to other people. Sure, some of one's inability to relate could certainly be due to the situation in which one finds oneself. But I imagine it's also possible to have a personality such that you just can't interact with people, and you are (or everyone is) better off if you just stop trying to force yourself into other people's lives. Either you change or you make everyone miserable. Does inability to "relate" to other people mean that there's something "wrong" with you? I don't think it's any worse than someone being unable to... I dunno... make bologna sandwiches or something. It's not "wrong," but, in a group of people excited about bologna, you're just not going to fit in. Which would suck for the guy who thinks he WANTS to make bologna sandwiches but can't... and for the people who want to and can... as long as the guy who can't continues to try to force himself into the group. It sure does seem obvious to most people that you need TWO pieces of bread for a bologna sandwich. But not for idiot me. And I guess it should be obvious that you need cheese too. And that you should grill the sandwich. But you should grill the bologna first. And candian bacon is not a good substitute for bologna. And you need to cut the crust off the bread. And you need to only get organic bologna... or... whatever... I really can't think of that many things about making a bologna sandwich. Except that it needs mustard. Mustard's good on 'em to me.

Right at this particular moment in time, I don't think I know how to make a bologna sandwich. I'm tired. And I'm going to read Ninja Turtles comics now.


And then kill myself.





that was a joke.

well, kind of. I will have a cigarette and finish this bottle of wine.

"The hammer's cocked but I haven't got the nerve...
Alone in a world told to sit still and serve.
I'll do it slowly... a little each day.
God, please let the darkness just take it away."

Then I'll read Ninja Turtles.

Labels: _self