and the conclusion to all this is:

(drum roll)

i’m just a very persuasive liar.

because there are days to burn and days to wither and days to succomb to the natural holes of the earth for protection … and these days, these are days to crouch for the right moment, hide when the invisible armies march past to survive past dawn and be alive and aware enough to raise hell once again …

foot note to self: quit being so afraid of people, which will have to start with yourself.

i now have utter distrust in large institutions, establishments, or anything run at all like a business, as in ham-handed segue (i don’t think i’ve ever had to spell that word out before)  to the private art institute i attend. actually, most educational institutions are quite disastrous and give rise to much false hierarchy that exists in today’s society, just like the ability for everyone to buy a mobile phone, like all the bigwigs nowadays.  i have finally come to terms with hierarchies with a little essential footnote: must be hard to attain and easily toppled, as well as must be healthy for all beneath, first and foremost hierarchy must make sense or shouldn’t exist!

but ranting is not actually my intent right now.

i want to slow everything down, everything.  i seriously am not too sure about attending more school next semester.  i want to be self-taught, so i can quit having problems with the way my education is unfolding, with the inert results for massive (often unnecesary) productions on my part.

i want to feel that i exist again, which sounds strange but true.  i want to stop at the sentence that catches my eye and see where it leads me, instead of having to continue flying off in whatever direction that is “highly recommended.” and necessary to pass, it is becoming more than just passing through a class, though, i am passing right on through my freaking life.

i want to write real poety again.

i want to feel the presence of others.  i want to care about more than myself.  i want to develop with others, i want to learn from personal experience and primary sources, not from text books that summarize all i “need” to know about life and how to exist in society.  i want to become more than just that piece of paper framed and earned and paid in full on the wall.  i want to learn humility and detail again.

and fuck you, adam, for being right.  no, i freaking love you for being right.  and for having the ballsack to show not tell me how it is …

for making me want to listen … reminding me of myself over and over again … for being the few that tug my feet to the ground, while still pointing up at the sky …

when does it become appropriate to tell a whole group of people you thought you knew to just fuck off, seriously?

aw, while numbness sets in and i twirl my dances alone, it seems everyone wants to replace my grass fields with stages highlighted by obnoxious, tungsten theatre lights, reflective black floors

point at me and laugh, cry, put hand to mouth and force a thought bubble

oh, gee, it’s so romantic, it’s so interesting, she’s so “awesome”

what the hell?  when did people stop being people and when did stereotypes replace understanding anyway?  when did televised attention format reality?

i hate being put in their “understandable” boxes, conveniently tucked away when questioned, too immature to learn and too arrogant to swallow …

warning: similar rants like these to follow until my ego is justly sated for having been burned so badly and so easily …

i give my mother’s wit some credit for once: “Emotions, thoughts, feelings? You can just hang those with your coats.  yes, don’t you get it? we’re all aloof here.”
 and my father with his narled work hands and knowing laugh, swinging back in his chair and pipe and whistle, “i told you so.”

it’s all right.  at the very least, i think i respect and trust both my parents now, and that has been two decades in the making.

i was reminded of my ground.  i spoke to my dear jackie, who grounds me in her sharp way with words, unsolicited truisms from the mouth of one easily dismissed by society: a two time teenage mother with a live-in boyfriend, two time felon.  neither of them deserve the labels, but this is how they are known.  she is 19, and i learn more from her than any school book thrown carelessly open to some random bullshit.
 i understand: my mother is still a child at 45 and my father is still a marked man for pot growing.  my brother’s a talented angry teenage boy trapped in a man’s body and by the borders of a small town, family dysfunction, and cowardly confusions of justifying why his sister can talk to his dad while he cannot. me, well, let’s just say my mind never once gives me rest, ever, and my feet follow this and only this.  we all have our run-ins with American hypocrasy.  those that cannot quite accept what is given, or were never allowed to rest, even as children.

i am beginning to think silver spoons feed decay.
jackie agrees, when i pointed to the chair and said, “why must we constantly be concerned with having something to show for the work we do in these objects? a chair is useful, you sit in it. that’s it.  it’s not who you are, it’s not a measuring stick. everyone’s so concerned with one-upping everyone else. it’s all meaningless. i’d rather make my own chair, dammit.”

was there ever a time when black moons of sleepless obsessions did not mark me
did not cuddle my eyes so maternally sadistic
i thought once, long ago now
that all i wanted was some peace of mind, this “love” of all mankind
and some other abstract nonsense
i thought penises came in one of 2 physical sizes, too smart or too dull
i remember calling forth deserts from conscience
and i remember just as well the thirst of being deserted
i ran from myself here, hoping i was wrong, i wanted to prove to myself i was wrong
if human nature was not a force above instinct, possibly education would be so

but now i become the secluded suitor
too smart, too loud, for my own good

i become the digger of graves
as i look on in mock interest
for those whose persistence at happiness
tramples all the flowers, all the weeds, all the frogs and moths beneath them
i regress, digress, i fucking masturbate
but i choose
language revenge, forced violation, forced consciousness, forced awake
over people, this falsity those refer to as man/human/woman-kind
to obtain some needful indulgence, saccharine sweet, candy fleshed, and bone dry
i chose the meat over the sugar
as i should have
from the beginning

and since i have always been somewhat of a cancer to myself, i will eat from the inside out
as always

and i am just one step closer to hitting bottom
i do not have the courage yet

it will come when i am least expecting or wanting it
as usual

i just adore how people can be so self-involved that they can drop their assumed friends off at the nearest street (called “i don’t give a fuck about you”) if the smallest convenience arrives. it is more than a little depressing as usual when i find out how expendable i am to those i used to think so highly of.

because this is all public and i needn’t be too obvious ….

i wish i could be in such a secure position and be just as selfish, but now i am left in sudden shock, not knowing what my living situation will be. blown out of the water for a time, not knowing how i should plan the next year of my living space. i do not take things and people so lightly i suppose. i give a shit, probably more than i should and it has gotten me in such horrid situations most of my life. when i trust people. i took off an entire week from work just so i could be here if need be to find a place for us. and now this … i wish someone would give me some fucking consideration for once. now i must hurry to find a place as everyone leaves to go home for the summer and before everyone else that agreed to live with each other a MONTH OR MORE ago has found their place. so that i am given a small chance to be in a situation where the rent is not too high so that i CAN continue to live and go to school in milwaukee, considering i am poor and pay my way by working my ass off, i cannot always rely on my parents and do whatever the fuck i please … nor do i hold the same values where my own comfort is placed on high, way above anyone else’s to the point of utter indifference for others … maybe it is best we do not live with each other if this is what i have to look forward to … a public post, none too discreet, and quite oblivious to those around …

at the youngest of ages, at the adolescence’s turning swing, at the towering height of adulthood, and moreso upon the lowest of grounds, the shittiest of moments, when i doubt my own being to the fullest extent, when i am silly and distracted, ignorant and arrogant, tangent-wise and world-small, when i love more than i should or hate more than appropriate, you bring me to a simple rite for time well spent.  you, oh, giver of a firm absent-minded ideology; you at the conclusive point to every sentence; you who whispers so matter-of-course/matter-of-factly, “but this is how IT IS.”  you who gives the baseline; you who struts the final mile, laughing at  everyone else who stopped to catch the breathe of the trees; you who gives manmade hieracrchy, taxonomy, category, definitions a physicality then points to it as its own proof; you who shows me monsters are real shining a smile in your face, not scowling under your bed; you who has stolen the fingers of so many, the minds of so many, the voice of so many, the earth of so many, ingested and spewed back out the cultures of so many, the precious time of so many, the LIVES of so many … and continue to promise progress of such lofty degrees; it may reach the highest levels of consumption with only these small error ratios, insignificant details, unfortunate setbacks …

and you do all this without fear of where or why or how …

this is for you … oh, fast-talking machine, of the great void of organized organisms, oh, bougeousie facade, baking white bread just so you could show everyone you can eat like the thinned down aristocracy you conquered so many useless revolutions ago, so many trends of the bloody days ago, so many splurges of animalistic rages ago … yet you still deny what is obvious to anyone, even you, actually it has become the joke of the day to wash away shaking fear …

i spent the last two decades of my life, wondering why it was required of me to be you for any cultural substance, wondering why my abstractions held some lesser value, even hostile reproach, compared to larger more nonsensical approaches to meaning, significance, symbolism, and above all abstraction. why it was that i had no ground in things that seemed natural and REQUIRED of anyone desiring to be human … why even after i had been more dedicated to my personal studies than most anyone i knew, suffered it day and night, jumped over the holes of insanity to find, denied myself and destroyed everything i knew just in case, spent hours upon hours searching, collecting, fighting, discussing, looking, practicing, waiting … was told i was somehow lazy and self-indulgent for wanting to exist truthfully and to my full mental extent … was told that since i could not speak it with conviction, could not live with it without drugs, could not believe in this mass ideal of progress or consumption or apocalypse that i was somehow odd, stupid, dreamy, careless, arrogant, dark, decieved, liberal, scattered, manic, insane, or in any other word easily dismissable and better off homeless … unattached

even if society had no appreciation for talent or intensity or idionsyncrasy or desire anymore, it still accepted and had use for a warm body and an empty mind to fill with prescriptions and cancer drugs and peace of mind insurance and sprickle war just for flavor to confabulate …

i do not understand why this road had to be so hard … i knew it would be and that is fine, but what i mean i suppose, is why i must continuously prove to everyone i am just as productive in my own immaterial ways than most could grasp … objectifying everything, telling everyone they can have anything they ever wanted if they just become materially wealthy seems to be the only answer … no, you can’t have everything with mindless labor, with a quick smile and an ease with bullshit walking, no you cannot be yourself and buy yourself at the same time … no, you cannot have everything you ever wanted and not be owned by it … i am a product of my own will, which is a feat indeed for anyone and forever being attained … there is no defining moment, only pinpricks of light in the void … an occasional falling star happened upon … why can’t i have this?  why is it wrong for me to want this?  why is it somehow not respectable to bask in the truly difficult? why must i earn my keep in someone else’s clothes? how could this make sense to anyone, when one is truly confronted with all that it means, all that is missing …

my father responds (after telling him i care for society like a child, i want to help it grow, not chip away my half of the pile) “i wish i had a cause.”
and i do not understand how he could never have known this … but i feel, in fact, guilty … that i have no right to swipe the bedsheets from the sick … why can’t they just be left in peace, why must i give them the burden of pain and realization i carry, i am young. i can handle it, it is too late for them now … should they not just be left alone? i don’t know the answer to this … but where i draw the line is when i see the cycle continue for this very excuse …to the minds of the children

as i run in spirals and you run in straight parallel lines never touching, i wonder where we will finally collide … i know it will be an end, but an apocalypse seems too easy to construct, our end is not the end of the universe, this ideology is not the center of the soul, and your religions are no more than shooting arrows at the blue skies, no more than kicking the ground and being amazed it moves …

when i insert my word disease into your veins, this addiction to the ever-recede, ever-spiral, unearthed banners and slogans, sucking at your reservoirs with all the remorse of a squeezing child … all the innocent eradicitation of infantile curiosity … as i deconstruct, unravel, encompass with every stark letter, you brush your meaning away to confront yourself, quite to my discontent … i never meant to destroy you in a question, a phrase you could not turn away from, a concrete disassociation that gave you no choice but to “look” …

obsessions, blackholes engulf all sunlight, and i am placing sterile poker bets at the other end of this, there is a light equivalent … but it is all chance and hope, a useless variable of some abstract significance … yes, the world will end, yes, we all die, but these are such pointed partitions of nonsense … again periods mark for the end of a line, not all life.  i suppose this is the devalue resultant, the negative from which you run … didn’t you know? i believed in you, not the inanimate … for once … i was giving you power to know, giving you the printed word so i could not deny, explaining to you all the inbetweens to my silence but you drink up the deflection of this bitter remedy, another host to horde away, another appreciation thwarted to the impersonal, the denial of personal significance …

you focus on the meaning of the drink and the perceived absence in the air, disbelieving the unproven logic / the concrete invisible, dissatisfied becase of the uncertainty of challenge … rather than articulate the aesthetics of the taste, the vibrations of the color, the acid swelling of your chemical re-enactments, the fact that all of this is valuable if you do “look” … that i gave it to you, for you, and no other …

why could you not pierce me with this same sunlight focus?  i write because i cared … you stumble because i made you afraid of your shadow again  … push my hand back, dear, i must be reminded you are alive …

i don’t know if anyone else is going to care about this as much as i will, but i just figured out what “meta” means and i realized that in knowing this single word now, i can define how i think and why i have conflicts with switching back and forth between “thinking states,” so to speak.  i often talk in “meta,” which is just simply :

prefix meaning one level of description higher. If X is some
concept then meta-X is data about, or processes operating on,
X.

For example, a metasyntax is syntax for specifying syntax,
metalanguage is a language used to discuss language,
meta-data is data about data, and meta-reasoning is
reasoning about reasoning.

(taken from Dictionary.com, a most thorough online source for the mysteries of the english language)

yeah! happiness is definition … for now …

i would so rock if i took a linguistics or philosophy or psychology or creative writing class, but unfortunately all this (wave of hand denoting all madness/apophenia writing work in this journal and possibly elsewhere) is totally without teacher/professor/institutional education prodding. i have actually NEVER taken any of these classes, even in high school.  i don’t know if that is a good or bad thing.  it makes me more self-sufficient and self-motivated in my thoughts and writing because i know no one else is going to be, but at the same time i feel as if i am missing out doing all of this self-directed research/language composition. as in, maybe i could be learning more in this realms of thought, but cannot because i have other priorities <art>. and that takes up any and all time, both presently and in the fading horizon line future.

why the hell am i complaining?  it’s probably a good thing, because then i don’t have to go through all the bullshit lectures and “introductory” courses to get to the good stuff.  i don’t have to sit and argue with a teacher over why i think formatted writing bites ass and castrates writers.  i can just go to the library and read a book, saving lots of money and transportation time…