this internet space is so fascinating and so dangerous at once … i am turning the tubes off and facing south … this will be the last of me for awhile … those who wish to stay in touch can email me because this air is too thin … kayte i totally understand your post of months ago … i am going to write letters and photograph REAL things around me … that’s the only inverted perception i will allow myself now … this is an end to introspection … my website will be a bus station of sorts … but all this, i am wiping this slate clean … it has been needed for a long time now … i am turning this into a friends only place for history and then letting it delete itself when the account expires … because some things should be kept in dusty boxes and private corners … far away from this assuming realm of thought and skewed, single-point, flat-screen perception …and this is no longer who i am …

Jezebel, you make me curious of your actions, but I leave you to your world with this:
at this stage in our separate states, you require cutting, instead of developing … i now realize in destruction: mine is inward, yours outward … thank you for the brief encounter with an opposite … it made me think many things …

I will be your inspired application / journey(wo)man

If you be my home to throw it all away

i am missing music making at present … my fingers itch to create … i WILL pick up the note lines and chords and let my intuition take me to these places … i will pick up the guitar again … this time with reverence instead of desperation …

last night when i sat, wide-eyed with wonder, at my friends’ house and their group dynamic was nothing more than purely open, evolving, and fascinating, i was stunned and inspired and wearily realizing how much i miss real interaction with people on this level … these hard, sharp lines of reality … when i reach out to touch their clothes and faces and breathe in their scents, i can feel them … i don’t need to desribe every detail to make it seem as if it was real … it is real … i picked up some drum sticks and Falla helped me play the drums for the first time in my life and i could feel these rhythms dance within me, getting the sense of it as if it had been waiting there for me to realize in myself for so long, and we played together and i watched others play together … the melodies changed as the beats progressed and morphed into lines of music that did not need to be structured or broken down. no one had to quick write down the chords to make it concrete, to keep it in a jar and pet as if it would be lost someday, any day, tomorrow… because there is always more to create, always more as one continues to develop, one learns from the other, compliments the other, listens intently to each other … it just makes me want to give more and obtain more so that this can be a never-ending cycle of give and receive for us all … to just be for once, living, breathing, changing humans without fear of each other …

My subconscious unravels itself when this equation seems falsified to reiterate old wisdom and renew the taste of fresh conscious air. I must dig, I must hide, I must destroy, I must reconfigure data fucking storage, but I DO NOT forget … This is all so inexplicably necessary. It is beyond explanation, only poets could hope to give a road, weather-beaten, overgrown, and grass forked at best. This is all nature to me, human and earth. And when this catalyst touches my forehead, when brain becomes a fluttering eye, when I bathe here to wash the bloody crust away, I know it is only temporary and hesitant and fleeting. I write to remember “it” I realize. To understand the point of origin and continue. Many things are becoming clear and dear to me now. This glass is being wiped clean and pieced slowly back together in patterns my scarred hands can only just do. I know this path is killing me, but what most do not see or understand are the cycles I am intricately tied to forever. I must be a solid and solitary moon or planet or star. I must be alone in this sky and searching, meant to be watched, painted, reminisced, and pointed at from afar. This is who I am.

A psychic hermaphrodite, penetrating the world as it penetrates me …

I had the urge yesterday to run out in front of a busy street and stand in the middle to let death and life play with my hair and flirt with my intentions … this is not suicide, it is testing how far i will go, and i assure whoever has the redundant inaccuracy to doubt me as much as i doubt myself, i am fucking going all the way …

I have a strange sense of home around you that is hard to come by, especially for me. Although, a long ago history whispers fears of guilt, I can already see us building as I do with many people. As you must know the stars and molecules align only briefly and powerfully and you are a consistent reminder mystique can be fertile if housed in accurate perceptions, or at least we would like to think its too-green-for-reality vines and pastures are fantasy dreams we can wake up from without scars. I have them and I think you do, too. We both ran away, as these mental asphyxiations were closing in, for damn good reasons. There is so much experience and life I’d wish to share with you, not for fantasy so much as for a mutual understanding, a core need for freedom and destruction.

You never will know the instance I had of giving “it” all up to be available to you. Of fucking it all, but I have already done this and I would have been regressing, not developing I realize. Life is full of splits and so far I have been able to jump miraculously over them with only a few scars to my monikers. I cannot say I’v never fallen because I have, so deep, several times. I am always able to dig myself back out of my own self-dug graves. Mine is a dotted landscape of such extremeties and I can see you desiring such territories as well. I do want to show you, but know experience is the only way and I cannot do that for you, not do I think you’d want me to.

You flirt with intellectual intimacy, pull my flickering intentions down around my ankles as if I were merely an another mental suitor for you. Then I remember your necessary promiscuity of such things, pull my skirts back up and flutter back to reality. A taste, only a taste.

I think we could live a life of fluttering and flying and north to south migrations, there is a possibility of satiation of this burning desire, to know and grasp the phallic power of knowledge. You want to dance with me? I wonder who will try to deny the other first or who will give in. We both want to conquer the world, I wonder if we could or should conquer the other. And I wonder if that is the point of it, flirting with the disaster of our own personalities (feminine chaotic state) and somehow finding a way to downplay it all. Yeah, like hang out, whatever.

My motto as of late: Working to give meaning back to the life we all forgot we had.

why is it the loss of a brother hangs like a constant shadow on my psyche? So much loss … so much disappointment as Adam, so horribly correct, reminds me …

“Look at this place, look around you. Isn’t it crazy? We’re in an enormaous warehouse of vibrating colors meant to reel us in.”

           –Adam, wide-eyed and absorbing

“Yeah, our ancestors braved the wilds of the jungle. We go to Best Buy and buy DVD players …”

       –Annika, cynical as always

I have been dormant for so long it seems … various manifestations of fear working to destroy the natural gears of my psychology … but good news, intuition is awakening and I can feel that acute taste lingering, calling, again … fuck everything else i am going to run
…and that is to read …
-off to William S. Burroughs I go, ha!

On the eve of
    Destruction and creation

             At the midpoint, halfway, and in between

When I remember
      Or force to forget
When I suffer
      Your absence and my own
When I carried you
      And your feet dug
      Your nails bit
      And your tongue dripped folly and drowned my breath
When I finally succombed to leave you to your death
      —Because I had to save myself

When I felt the weight and the lightness converge

            The midpoint, halfway, and in between

—-I ran                                 (purely instinct)
      Ran farther than desire
      Ran farther than desperation

And finally—-
   Like the softening light of a new sunrise
   When it seemed a safe distance away
   And I slowed my pace
   On this landscape of memory
    (But you can never truly run away from yourself)

I felt the cold through my spine    
                             in my abdomen
   Your semen birthe
   Foriegn as the new terrain
   I had forced upon myself
                                         —–to forget you

But you linger
And
Peek half open still,
                             like cancer,
                             like a scar that will never heal
                                             that waits and roughs and immortalizes
     The emptiness, the pit
I feel you
   Seeing behind these eyes,
                    my eyes
And I am afraid …
Now more of myself than I ever was of you

                 But I am washing my hands of all of this
                     This spiral marks a beginning
                                       @

“What would it be like if you never saw me again? Would you be able to get over it?” —my lost soul of a friend, Mike

These questions seem hollow and I fight them with all the displaced martyrdom of a scream at the witch’s pyre. I refuse to accept this is the end because I know life is never as structured as insecurity, inferiority-complexes, would plan the unknown out — give an easy answer to your oscillating brain and nauseated stomach, overreacting nervous system, a sign you are afraid … fight or flight syndrome … you have every right or reason to be … I know this and you know I know this more than most …

You gave that to me, the painful jerk of foundation I needed to crack open the lid and let my personal pandora proliferate consciousness. Whether you realize it or not, this cements my essence to you in a way your manifested fear, the girl you think you love, that horrid abomination of life and experience random fate has called Jenny, could only hope to massacre again and again. ((This is futile for equations are blanced and she cannot exist without me …)) Do you not see how this all connects so delicately and completely?

At the toilet seat, as I pivoted on the brink of emotional collapse I stopped suddenly. I could not feel what it seemed I should. The tears and sobs were only echoes of a lie I WILL NOT swallow. I am not a linear pillar and I do not take pills as easily as many would like. I will not be toppled or be silenced so easily. Of all the personality objects and boxes people have placed upon me, they haven’t changed the complexity of my essence. This is only a period at the end of a sentence in a book of stories that never ends, even when I die, because it’s not about me –a human– it’s about us –humanity– For Jenny and you this is a whole closed life, which will end as soon as it begins.

And I am sad for it but I cannot bring myself to take it seriously. I laugh instead at the ridiculous simplicity of the trap and close the door. Everyone leaves their nets out, language is the web and screw and opening, and I have seen this equation all before.