I love dancing

I love dancing. Sure, I might be hurt, maybe pull a groin. Fucking groins. It appeals to my sensitive side. CRAAAZY.



Electronic paper. This is electronic paper. “Electronic” paper. We can’t escape the paper! Next time we start earth, we should use better materials. Like bendable things. Reshapeable things. We only need globs. All households are given 3 tons of globs. 3 tons of pliable material. Globs become what we need. Government supplied of course. Fork? Ok! Camera? Sure! But a bit more complicated. Forks are super easy. Cameras fucking SUCK. But GLOBS are the solution. No dumps or landfills for future generations (or aliens) to excavate. No tires floating to topsoil. Just globs. F-O-R-E-V-E-R. But, we really shouldn’t make them toxic. Maybe a little toxic. Not hugely damaging on life expectancy. 5 years? Globs are worth it.


3 Sections

Section 1:

Resembling a parachute, the blue hoodie sweeps endlessly. Cover your bones, knuckles from me. Hoodie, my hands fit into your musky spaces. Should I sell it? It must be worth a great deal. There are other hoodies, including blue ones.

Section 2:

How about pressing lips? Slightly open and breathing; also, trying not to try. Stop focusing, stop planning, stop guessing, and stop directing. THINGS ALWAYS MOVE FORWARD. Besides, this is perfect.

Back to pressing lips. Soft, yet controlled. We trade hints and glances.
How can I capture this in writing? These words are too defined and clear to depict anything, especially a kiss. It frustrates me to try, but my constant interest will not let me be. I will follow this passion until I have no kisses to give.

Section 3:

My pattern again…But this is I.

The cure for loneliness is to be alone. But not too much.

There is no objective positive personality trait. Although, some are more commonly sought to obtain (sense of humor, intelligence, attractiveness)

Outward aggression is a reflection of inward turmoil. Maybe, maybe not.

Everything is a reaction to a previous action. Impossible to prove or disprove, which gives power and influence.

Happiness is relative. If it were truly relative, would there be any happiness at all? How can this be objectively measured?

There is no such thing as causality, only correlation. But with enough correlation, we take the risk of inferring causality. Nonetheless, causality is a farce, however a necessary evil.

EVERYTHING IS SUBJECTIVE. EVERYTHING IS OBJECTIVE. In my conscious isolation, logic pushes me to subjective way of life while emotion pushes me to an objective way of life.

INTERESTING. “Emotional” subjectivity is found through logic. (Existential isolation, nothing provable)

INTERESTING. “Logical” objectiveness is found though emotion. (Empathy for others)


glowing with Optimism

Practice conversation to success:

“Hello Dynamite. You reminded me of dynamite and sharp. Also, sharp sensation for my brain. Comprehension bogs and bogs and bogs and also bogs. But I continue. HELLO DYNAMITE! You remember me? I repress, and my arms feel uncomfortable. No need to worry, for my heart and liver are intact like functioning fountains. Bleeding and pumping and filtering and bog and cleanse and sigh. So we stare with intensity. You can see much focus in the pupil shrinking. Smaller black dot. Smaller and more compact. (like wafers and other computer chips). Well, I am and addict of something complex and unobtainable. Feeding my addiction is complicated, unlike a 15 dollar bottle of rum. 15 dollar bottles of rum obtained by earning 15 dollars. A fair innocent trade. Until you beat your wife. Blow smoke on your baby. We have parking lots of shaped stone. However, dirtied with smaller stones and stuffy. Rebelling tress or wild grass."

Any understanding. I focus on it. I love consciousness. I love this drama we play. Introvert. Watch and be filled.


large cardboard boxes

Pick up the doll. Cradle the doll. Rub plastic carrots against its plastic lips. Change the doll into new doll clothes. Kiss it, sing to it, squeeze it softly, and put it to sleep.

Pick up the plastic gun. Inspect the gun. Hold it against your armpit. Squeeze the unmovable trigger. Bam Bam Bam Bam. “You’re dead” “No! I shot you first” “No you didn’t”

Plastic drum sets, plastic shopping carts, plastic trucks, plastic kitchens, plastic tools, plastic houses, plastic vacuums, plastic dolls and guns.

Give them large cardboard boxes.


You know what’s funny? Nobody asks for my advice. However, I really LOVE to give advice. Maybe my advice sucks. I mean come on.

I’m always asking people what they think. But, you see, I’ve received terrible advice, acted on it, and have been royally screwed over.

Go with your gut, as Steven Colbert would say.

I like to fix and problem solve. Here is the catch, people don’t want you to fix or problem solve their lives. They just want to bitch about them. That’s fine. Just listen. Sympathy is so nice and comforting. If they really want advice, they’ll ask for it.




Hair on my back,
Hair on my ass,
Hair on everything,
Why only a pubescent, conquistador mustache?



I notice her giggling. It’s as though she has forgotten reality or is oblivious. It makes me jealous. I want to ask her to coffee, but I stop myself. I usually over calculate.

What was her name? I don’t like the sound of Mary. Maybe it was Erica.

Father gives advice worth listening to. He understands my motivations and needs. I am like him. Which is good. My father is brilliant, caring and strong. Nights are hard and difficult, but I wouldn’t trade this life for any other.

Quite an odd relationship. I miss her. I miss her smile. I miss the way she would look at me. I miss her perception. I doubt she misses me. That is fine. My feelings are not based on her's. Things are not necessarily equal. I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE FOR MY FEELINGS. FUCK YOU IF YOU JUDGE ME. She has somebody new. Wonderful and new. She can’t carry my issues. Nobody can. She is free. I am not. I will get there. Time…

I miss holding somebody. Having somebody in my arms. Somebody I care about. Somebody that cares about me. I crave unconditional love. There are people I can hold. I don’t want them.

It least I’m logical about it. I know what I have to do. I have to reject my cravings.



Politics – Layers of policy for resource distribution. Such as gold.
Gold – A metal less common than others.
We demand gold – This less common metal now litters malls - Absurd.

Gold value seems inherently meaningless, comes from society.

Work – Expected from people. Father. Brother. Friend. Neighbor. And Society.
Now – I expect work from myself. I fear being ostracized.
I must become a cog in this fabricated system.

I did not create this language. I did not create this system. Why do I hold its weight on my shoulders?

My consciousness sits in my head, isolated. I yearn for connection. If only my soul could dance, fit inside another’s, feel their emotions.

Meaningful or Meaningless. I continue. Maybe even buy gold. Not too soon though. I need to forget about this.


I feel much and many.

I miss hands that never touched.
I miss arms that never held.
I miss endearments that never came.
I miss memories that did not happen.

When I press upon warm bodies, I hold heat.
When I study eyes, I cannot find myself.
When I paint, I find nothing beyond it.
When you paint, I cannot find the painting.

I feel complete. Whole as this apple.
I feel existential. Disconnected as this apple.
I feel diverse. Unique as this apple.
I feel compromised. Infected as this apple.
I feel much and many.



Let's create Suevio.

Let’s create Suevio.

He slouches 5 feet 5 inches with a cocked neck. His patchy hair (orange like Roark), yellowed teeth, and portly belly reek of merlot.

Suevio, unwelcomed, boards a yacht. He maunders (move or act in a dreamy or idle manner) into the kitchen and rummages for entertainment. No plans, none at all, you see, I talk about freedom.

Ah! The winners of Suevio’s drunken mission: A cork, a beater, and cake pans. He stacks them tall. Accomplishment feels sexy and raw, and Suevio knows it. He can do better.

Suevio searches for painting ingredients. Oh, sorry, now it’s Wednesday. This is somewhere else; the expensive boat seems 500 miles away. He mostly collects rotten stuff in gutters. Murky and brown and grey and shine, Suevio enjoys this orbit (a sphere of activity, interest, or application). It helps to imagine this as pudding. Suevio! Another accomplishment, another tick-mark on the belt! Very sexual and raw. I’m proud of you Suevio.

Suevio feels tired, too many projects and much belt without ticks. Let’s pretend of one while Suevio tosses and sleeps.

I hopscotch, but ran out of chalk. My pocket carries blue paint (a clean fix for my daily exercise). Platter Platter Pound Pound and Pound. Knock it off Suevio! Wake!



I still have trouble understanding what happened. Dynamics in romance are very difficult to understand. Everything tends to be clearer when viewed objectively. My emotions snatch me from anything objective. I tire of feelings.

I know there is a better future, one of wholeness, one of unneeded, unconditional support. My order tends to be backwards. I look for the last things first, like framing a house before the foundation has dried. First is independence, complete cohesiveness within myself, and emotional realization of my own successes. The last is you.

I deserve nothing less than my aspiration. I will not settle. I will not beg to settle. I haven’t a need. I embrace my autonomy with gratitude. Goals cannot be grey, ominous burdens; otherwise, I have no chance. Goals should be inspiring.

I have met many goals. I will meet many more. Again, I will not beg to settle. I cannot. There is everything at stake.

“Be the change you wish to see in the world” – Gandhi.

I read this quote today. It resonates deeply within. Do not force your change on others, be it yourself. That is all. The desire to change others is the manifestation of something dark. It’s either a need for power or self-denial. As we become emotionally invested in others’ actions, we lose ourselves. We cannot afford this critical mistake. It only tares us down.

Therefore, I’m happy for you. Whoever you might be.


Dissecting “AGENDA”

The secret plan I withhold. Because you see, I fear judgment. I drape your bottomless eyes by erecting a prop. This prop is not I. Perhaps it shares my fragrance, but it is not I. With enough alcohol, I peer though my prop and discover clearness.

I will shun advice regarding manipulation. I am not good at it, for my demeanor gives me up.

I try to place the present between hope-fear (future) and wisdom-regret (past). Why do I regret perceived waste? So much knowledge is gained in that waste. THERE IS AN EQUAL AND OPPOSITE REACTION IN EVERYTHING. The hard is accompanied by gained wisdom.

Now is the time to experiment. Now is the time to experience. There is no you (anything I once wished to own), there is only I.

Tomorrow will begin regardless. Tomorrow will be glorious, as are the doldrums and lightness.
The purity:

The meaning between every adjective.
Our evoked and indefinable emotion.
Our categorization and decategorization.
Our need for patterns and need to escape from them.
Our independence and dependence (perhaps related to patterns…)
This and now. We are the same and different.
My on and off neurons have transcended themselves to find grey.
This non-binary beauty of earth, emotion and reason.


New things to come.

I hold a ridged square block, a play piece from childhood. It’s no longer shiny and red, as its edges and corners have been chipped and worn. Integrity has been lost in the process.

There is a triangle hole.

I can no longer force this block. I grow weary. It has compromised the hole and block. Wooden bits freckle my shoes.

Like a middle train cart, you sit between a mirror and an ideal. Wouldn’t it be easier to stop chasing and be chased?

I’m stopping. My legs are tired. New things to come.


present state of mind on a monday night in november

I’m weary of pressure and melting into a tiny, metal cup. Empty Campbells. Let me settle, irritably flexing my gel. These perforated edges contain my gelish self. Drip, leek, drop, drizzle onto the floor. Here I slush around tile and absorb salty rye crumbs.

And you’re new. You’re nice and new.

You are so pretty. New. Nice. Pretty.

And something to look forward to.

An idea, which is you.

It’s not important when, just not too soon. It is very important when. Not too soon. Not soon. Stop. FUCKING STOP.



What does this instill? I’m peering into a camera, copying something or somebody. Soul and spite, or soulless and spiteful? I found the original far too boring. It needed noise and distortion.

He who cannot give anything away cannot feel anything either.


Tall Trees.

I flatten what I feel for security.

Plowing, pushing away clean snow. It sparkles and creates rust. The yellow, musky tracker does its job. It’s part of the whole. Watch though the window. It brings me noticeable warmth while everything congeals. There is no blizzard tonight. There is some musky carpet, queezy stomachs and wisdom that are too easily discarded.

Nobody knows what thirty-five feels like (age). My perception of thirty-five is strangely defined. As if a fifty-foot tree feels fifty feet tall. Why must we pretend? As forty-five and ninety.

My dog leaves me. She lives her own aspiration. I realize her value and wish her happiness.
One day she will not return. That is ok. I’ve allowed freedom. Potential. Understanding. Sympathy.

I’m letting go of anything I once wished to own. I’m letting go of you. Freedom blossoms as I reject all desire for power.



Does creating a hierarchy of desired experience enrich or devalue life?

Does living equally in every moment erode experience into monotony?

Does regarding distinct moments as more valuable than others shorten our potential?

Or is this best lived within the grey spectrum?

Living within a hierarchy is detrimental. You loose everything while grinding towards a position, which ultimately cannot live up to your expectation. For the goal is only a single conscious moment.

I question if the opposite is even possible. Here are my questions, which are intuitively unsettling.

Can waiting for the roller coaster be as perfect as screaming through the first fall? Do we arrive in our favorite moments through societal or relational influence? Is brushing my teeth as pure as an orgasm? How about love, lust or infatuation? If I sit with somebody I love deeply, is that worth more to myself. I still have a preference. I still have a preference.

We need to learn to accept the value of our less choice moments, but still prefer to share our moments with important people in our lives. Prefer our passions. Recognize it, and we become individuals.


thin and potent

An empty flowerpot waits along an undusted windowsill. Its oldness blends the reds, browns and grays. While a mosquito meanders around, like a too proud drunken noble, I fall apart.

Where have the vivid gone? How have I left? How have I been so sure? Can I find it in your eyes? You’re gazing, soft and intense.

I have spliced a thin and potent section of my life. Is life always thin and potent? Excuse me while I fill my hole. Nothing else seems to work.


Scabbed Shins verses Regret.

I begin my travel home walking in a stiff manner. How I press leg before leg makes me awkward, annoyed and uncomfortable. However, I have difficultly changing (comfortable being uncomfortable). As my knees brittle, I ponder my situation.

Now I predict the future. These are my extremes.

Sprint. All out. Reckless. Outward. Exciting. VULNERABLE. Perhaps scabbed shins and bloodied wrists. Maybe worse. Maybe much worse.

Stop. Inhale. Reconsider. Still. Exhale. Thought with no action. Forever stopped. REGRET. Perhaps much regret.

Scabbed Shins verses Regret.


And then, there is love.

Towers preach behind my mangled ears of masked deafness, adultery and fame. Let us fuck through midnight. I’ll squeal. Jumping over this milk crate. And then, there is love.

5 minutes of bliss. 50 more of deep thought. 500 more of intransigency.

Bludgeon the lost wine glasses. Gnaw the bass. Mercury puddles my teeth solid. Poison, poison and tingle.

This clear depiction of chaos. Am I shooting above? Only within the rules. (referring to determinism here).

Powerless and volatile. Yet adolescent and hopeful.

Patterns and calculation to answer my own questions. The battle of the subjective and objective. The question. The current process. Current obsession.

Some quality subjectivity might depend on functional objectiveness.

Tell me the best. The beautiful. The wonderful. About the laughter, sexy and perplex. That is my ride.

Cantor stop singing. Start your freedom. Push your bounds. I refuse to cant. You will be pushed above. As we own memories, we bake rich bread.

If you REFUSE TO BEGIN, I’LL KISS YOU LOVEINGLY. With meaning. With passion. With moment. With moment. With moment. However, there is no we. There is only I.

And then there is patience. Subtle charm. A strange, positive quark.

Oddly, I find space confusing. There is no space in math. It is line to line to line to line. Logic to logic to logic.

Unlike math, our spaced sentences are far from transparent. How we fill those gaps. Now that, that is beautiful. That is my ride. Tell me about that space between sentences and words. The feelings, beautiful, wonderful, laughter, sexy and perplex.

And then, there is love.


it is now time to fly.

fly with a pale blue.


only within the rules

This page is a simple representation of the neural pathway pattern which is I. The customization within the template is what I'm referring to. This exact writing is a perfect example. If I ignore the outside world and type, I find a deep circle which is hard to place into words. Among other things, this is generally I.



Pureness transcends myself. Waterfalls, tress, chirping. I am fortunate to be here, to feel and continue. I see no goal that matters and nothing worth owning. I wish no power.

We are here as magnificent beings doing beautiful things. I gasp in wonder.

I sleep tonight thinking of the brilliance beyond me.

Any moment we can pass on. Yes, we are bound to hurt and be hurt. Forget these goals. Be Here. Be Now. Be True. Be Vulnerable.

I remember Alan. True Alan. Vulnerable Alan. Regretless Alan. He wished no power, and he did magnificent things. I feel no emptiness. Only completeness.

Quickly we grow old. Waiting any longer costs more than we can afford.

There is no purpose that grants us happiness. There is no satisfaction in changing others. Know what we are, and feel no shame.

I am:
















Birthday List.

This gum I chew tastes particularly sour and raw. Like limey salt in shot glasses, it stretches forced smiles. Spat into a napkin and studied it. Not what I expected. It doesn’t appear bad nor good, but as a unique, unchanging experience. After a moment, it brings a quiet smile.

I turn 25 soon. Things I would like:

To be president of something (America? ;~P).
To have a sexy body. Like 6 pack sexy.
To have children (I think).
To see many countries.
To learn to sight read piano music.
A 5 octave rosewood marimba.
To become a fucking awesome vegan cook!

See what you can do team!!! Last year I was disappointed. All I got was a greasy hamburger and was made fun of by our waitress… If I get that same exact thing again, I’m going to be soooo pissed off.



I'm sold


I really dislike manipulation.


I really dislike dishonesty.

I realize my writings are frustrating. They are usually masked and abstract.

Here is the paradox. The most accurate way to describe reality is through abstract, unfocused description.

If you could remove your emotions would you? No, never. No way. You kidding? I’m not kidding. I’m just asking. It deserves more than a reflex response.

I don’t think the answer changes. But just for a second, entertain the idea.

I imagine limitless and nothingness simultaneously. Imagine a group of doctors: precise, efficient and empty. Truly machinelike.

Now imagine a world of only emotion. I see thousands of colors with no canvas. We would be cavemen: orgies, jealousy and struggles of dominance.

This is difficult for me to grasp. Is emotion primarily selfish or unselfish? Do we learn unselfishness as a means to manipulate society in our favor? Does that even matter? Naturalism isn’t necessarily good. Or is it?

I’m pretty confused. Another paradox. The more I discover, the more I realize I’m lost.

Vote Obama. I enjoy his haircut. Wait. Is he Muslim?

Maybe I’ll smoke. My president does.

Should I start operating on this level? They seem so content, while I’m confused. I should become less doctor-like and more caveman-esque.

I’m sold.


the future of science

we pretend about free will
punish the rapist and praise the priest
checks to compasses, balances to maps
all justification
empty reality is painted large and white
erase this draw to choice
embrace the void, grainy and white
relate and justify the rapist

this is the future of science


Technology, where have I gone?
Stimulate my memories, what memories?
Shed personality, anything-authentic…only process
Over and through and over and over and over


searching my possibilities for anything fresh
bounce off my common words – to any substitute
ache for change, anything to push me above
they’ve only invented so many words
plunging deeper, more abstract – they dangle and dance
- all around the truth

look at this facade! it points to itself
it transcends nothing – it diminishes creativity
there are only laws, strict coherentness
i would long for randomness
but, i override my emotion with logic…blidjakeringston!!!



I'm sick of being called a vegetable killer.

What's the difference between a bean and an animal? Who are you to say that cucumber does not feel pain?

This argument is asinine. First of all, animals have nervous systems and vegetables don't. When I cut up an onion, there is no neural reaction. Nothing. It just cuts up. When I stab a chicken's face, there is a neural reaction. If you don't want to pull out the microscope for evidence, screeching is a good indicator.

That is all the evidence we need. But lets take it a step further. Let's pretend that there is some crazy, undetectable, pain sensor we can't see. In this scenario, plants feel the same pain as animals. There is still a huge difference. A farmed plant's existence would be completely natural up until the time of the harvest. Day in and day out, it sits in soil, as all plants do. Factory farmed animals to not share this luxury. Most never see the light of day before they're slaughtered. That little fact reveals little of their pitiful existence. I don't need to go into the details. Plants have a natural existence, while animals do not.

This second argument should not even be needed.

Most people don't hunt homeless dogs for sport. Most people don't torture cats for amusement. We live our everyday life based on the simple assumption that others exist and have unique experiences. If we see an animal in pain, we FEEL for that animal. This is a beautiful part of humanity.

The reality is that Chickens, Fish, Cows and Pigs all feel. They are no different than our pets. Yet, we try to justify our actions by saying they're no different than a cucumber. It's embarrassing.

That same logic is what justified the holocaust for many Germans. Jews were lesser things.

It takes nothing away from a human to be kind to an animal.

"It all comes down to pain and suffering. Not intelligence, not strength, not social class or civil right. Pain and suffering are in themselves bad, and should be prevented or minimized irrespective of the race, sex or species of the being that suffers. We are all animals of this planet. We are all creatures. Nonhuman animals experience sensations just like we do. They too are strong, intelligent, industrious, mobile and evolutional. They too are capable of growth and adaptation. Like us, first and foremost, they are earthlings. Like us, they are surviving. Like us, they all seek their own comfort rather than discomfort. Like us, they express degrees of emotions. Like us, they are alive, most of them being vertebrae, just like us." - Earthlings


Was the last post too odd? That’s why nobody responded? Or too ridiculous? Too something… Pick your adjective. Perhaps not enough something?

What kind of reaction would even be posted? “Wow Nate, that was fuckin odd."

I force myself not to care. I typically search for self esteem through others. Never lasting. Never truly fulfilling.

I try not to care.

Most people are immoral. Fuck them. I’d rather them leave. Even in my deterministic ideology, I’ll judge people and prefer punishment. For revenge. Odd.

It’s simpler to sit along the sidelines. Watch everyone else on the sidelines. They watch me. Nothing happens. This realization brings me guilt. I feel guilty as I sit along the sidelines. I want to scream at them. But I stop myself. Not again. Just you wait.

I don’t think there is anything. I wish there was. My logic breeds pessimism. I see humans as programs merely reacting to each other. Reactions that at some core level boil down to survival. It seems to be mostly manipulation.

Genes are spread based on this. That is it. That is why we’re here. It’s empty. Humanity will destroy itself. That is fine. All of this typing means nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I’ve always wanted a deeper meaning. I’m proud of my work. It’s been my path. That’s why I’m proud. I’m disappointed with my findings. How deep is this hole? I’m still digging. My momentary endorphins keep me digging.

Don’t fall in with me. I guess I care.


October feels like warm rust.

October feels like warm rust. I stand back and observe the somber promise of more. It quiets, creates complacency within the journey, moment…almost as inherent optimism.

November, feels foolish, comes. Large dead birds and grey landscapes mix with family and football. Let’s eat a pumpkin?

December, idealized, hardly snow to play upon but utopian nonetheless. Smiles, Sugar, and Sex. Without one, there can’t be Christmas. If not sexy santa, perhaps sexy santa’s helper. Midget porn? Is it expensive? I’m in!

January is bare. I feel seven, wanting to use more fingers when asked my age. Here, the desolate now. Maybe there’s debt for material girls and boys. We look around and have trouble finding anything meaningful. There is no value, only a year of work in front of us. FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK. You kidding? I’m too tired to yell…

This is who I am. This is who I am.


Fair Notice

I will totally C.P.R. all your asses. Whether you like it or not. You better not fall asleep around me. I have the Good Samaritan Law on my side. Wahahahahahahaha....I wonder if this allows me to attempt tracheotomies?



not so hot today. a smidgen pissed. blankify your asses.
when did that happen? oh i know, when the fan hit yo shit.
seriously though. seriously. my boss wants me working.


a case for dualism

if everything was purely material, would we know if we were intoxicated? is the computer aware of its virus? there seems to be an overriding consciousness aware of sobriety vs. intoxication. i can imagine a screen on which mental processes project onto, and "we" observe that screen.


A New System

This afternoon I took my dog Kate for a walk around my neighborhood. Conveniently the circumference of Yorkshire is almost exactly one mile. It’s enough to release some endorphins and subdue Kate. By the end, Kate wasn’t lunging at every bunny or squirrel she detected. There are plenty in Yorkshire.

When we returned I checked the mail. I received a direct mail peace from Pikes Peak region Humane Society. It was put together quite well. It included my name in return address stickers with cute pictures of cats and dogs, a heart-felt story of an abused dog named Mickey, and a short forum to requesting a donation. There were three proposed amounts. Each amount was related on how they could help the animals. You could either make a one-time or monthly contribution.

-Fifteen dollars provided a homeless animal with food and water.
-Twenty-five dollars helped place an animal into a loving home.
-Fifty dollars helped rescue a neglected/abused animal from inept owners.

I asked myself. How much suffering can I stop? If I gave a monthly donation of fifteen dollars, it would probably be enough to support at least one animal. In fact, it would probably provide around thirty pounds of dry food. I could give so much benefit to a sentient life with such little cost to me.

I was sold. It seemed a sound decision. Both emotion and logic played their parts. I had begun filling out the form when I realized something.

Where exactly does this money go? No doubt, they purchased meat based pet food. They probably buy fairly cheep food to keep their variable operating costs down. It seems curtain that they would buy food produced from factory farming.

How many chickens do you suppose are in a thirty-pound bag of pet food? Live chickens weigh roughly around 6 pounds. After you removed the unwanted “parts”, you lose some weight. Let’s say they only manage to put one chicken worth of meat in that thirty-pound bag of food. My monthly contribution would lead to the death and suffering of at least one animal per month to keep another animal from suffering. It’s a wash. It’s trading one conscious being for another. In fact, in my example, it’s trading many sentient beings for the “benefit” of one. Why did I place quotations around “benefit”? If you think vegan dog can’t be healthy, you need to meet Kate. I have yet to meet a healthier animal.

Now, I know these numbers are assumed, but the logic is important part.

If only there was a way to control where my money goes…

Living by convictions is important. People are drawn to do this. You rarely hear of a pro-life, fundamentalist Christian getting an abortion and being completely fine with it. If we have a conviction, we strive to live by it. I don’t want to torture animals for my taste buds. So I don’t. There is no turmoil.

This is where I see a problem with government. We are giving our money to the will of the convictions of others. So often, voting is thought as choosing the “lesser of two evils”. I like Obama. However, I don’t agree with everything he proposes to do. He will give subsidies to our corporate farmers. He will only raise taxes on the rich, vs. having everyone pay their part. Only the other hand, McCain will be far, far worse. McCain will effectively push tax dollars into corporate profit margins and will worsen the national debt.

Here is what I propose. Let me chose where MY money goes. I’m not referring to laissez faire economics. Everybody will still pay taxes. In fact, we could still use the same type of income tax bracket system we currently use to collect the money.

Here is the difference. You could vote on how to divide YOUR SHARE of the taxes collected. Everybody gets an equal share (just like an equal vote). You then could chose how that share should be spent. I don’t want to support the war on Iraq, therefore I wont vote for my share to go there. I want my share spit as 30% for education, 20% for environmental science, 20% for Medicare, 20% for social security, and 10% for infrastructure. (This is a oversimplified example but gets my point across).

No matter what, tax dollars will be distributed among the choices of the public. Even if only 1 share of the entire pubic is voted towards some obscure expense, that obscure expense will receive money. It is a true democracy without tyranny of the majority. It provides personal choice and protection at the same time.

We could help guide any intimidated public by presenting last years budget on the ballet. For example:

Simple example of a “Last Years Budget” = 30% Roads, 15% Schools, 15% Health Care, 30% Defense, 10% Hospitals. (Another oversimplified example).

By seeing this, you have a basis from which to work. Say I thought the roads could use more funding schools were doing fine. I could shift some percentage points from one category to another. This way it’s not a stab in the dark.

We would still vote on leaders to manage the systems, legislation, and policies of these public funded programs. Also, we would vote on how we want our tax system to be set up. Some candidates would push for less tax; others would push for stronger public systems. Some candidates would push to reform our tax policies. There still needs to be leadership.

Isn’t there the possibility that we’ll seriously fuck up the budget? Absolutely, but I believe the public will self correct based on first hand observation. If we truly want a democracy, this steps in that direction. For example, if the public becomes upset when their roads deteriorate because they are inadequately funded, they wont have to wait for a politician to figure the problem out. They will directly vote to fund what is important to them.

Every vote would truly count. Every vote would truly matter.


With You

I will find the pneuma behind your complexion. I cannot get close enough. (softer) I cannot get close enough. (even softer) I want you closer.

No expectations. No objective. Only simplicity. We sit in a pocket. It's now my preference. (softer) My preference. (even softer) You're my preference.

Speak out. Remain true. Selflessness made selfish. No need for speaking. Understood. Stand taller. Understanding. We Stand Towering.

Not bleak, but extended. Breathe this clear air in. Expanding. Hold you deeply. Beyond past. But now. But now. We release.



outstretched fingers flow into my dull nails
they’ve earned so much more than they are
the connection is such a focus - a place in space worth consciousness
they’ve entwined themselves into utility
it’s almost as heat is aware

meditate and jitters begin
unless you slowly press through
press these buttons with manner - asdfjkl;
intention within every letter - a tranquil attention
there’s moment within the nucleus of the mundane

here the conclusion sits
something clear - something obvious
something we’ve read before
at very least - an understood process



Today I met somebody who was batshit crazy. After about an hour admissions interview I asked "So, why are you even here?" She respond "I'm looking for a job." My boss set the appointment...


Your swinging captures.

Your swinging captures. So unique, so purist.
I covet the heart which pumps, lets your ego be.
Such a delicate body and face. And mind acute.
I could watch for hours, your swinging captures.

Our eyes dance. play. seduce.
Time has crashed. A whirl of excitable moments.
It stops.
Here we are. I Smile.

Dripping Slowly.

Dripping Slowly.
Power Through Numbers.
And Assimilating.
Where It Begins.



yesterday i ate a raw onion. it made me sick.


humans are very, very complicated computers.

hello mr. candlelight. where did you get the new, red shirt? where did you place it? it’ll never fit around my head. my head is far too large. mostly the circumference. like a watermelon pumped with GMO something. really don’t know how that works. apparently it feeds the hungry. turn the hungry into mutant produce consuming freaks. the rich will keep digesting “organic”. are the rich any better off? all they have is money. mostly dysfunctional. mostly unhappy. mostly glass ceilings. they argue their freedom of choices. i call it justification. it’s easier to live that way. you know, cows don’t feel pain, my spirit lives forever, and that new BMW will makes me happy. stop owning stuff. it owns you. “you’re not your fucking khakis”. it clicks. let’s just have “moments”. i wish my vocabulary was larger. that way I could sound “intelligent”. ha, i’m still concerned how i sound. it’s the human condition. my opinion is based on your opinion which is based on my opinion. empty. like empty calories. there is nothing but single moments in life. like now. i’m really pretty happy. it took awhile. i’m starting to like me. i think it’s a realization for no need for a goal. goals just distract and stress. i think i still live by goals, somehow the pressure left. or maybe it’s a habit. am i living a successful life because of habit? i really don’t care. society’s successful measurement is mostly empty. fuck you ayn rand, fuck you marx. they lived by goals. they could only see success with a pointed objective. they reasoned very well. they reasoned very well. they reasoned very well. they reasoned very well. they reasoned very well. they reasoned very well. they reasoned very well. the mother wishes to give, yet man enjoys power. humans are very, very complicated computers.


processing Howard Roark

must I prove something? why?...why?...why?... *find intention*
that spark in your eye *intention*, accenting, accepting, my little drug
no spark, I push, I scrape, “I” change…
I am like play dough. moving play dough

is authenticity possible?
where does the resonance occur?
is there anything inherently internal?
why is this so compelling?

does this pointed idea create authenticity?
a cookie cutter map for neurons,
am I merely categorizing, then justifying?
it feels so real. feels, feels, feels, feels…

solitude with time gives direction,
it dims our spectrum of potentials,
night falls, making our lighthouses clearer,
find my lighthouses. “I” am obtainable.


wetted tar

I feel free today. Open and clear. Rain is sporadically coming and going. Earthy and mild. It reminds me of playful kisses. Soft lips drawing a smile. It’s not washing away the old, but decorating it. I breathe with the swaying trees. Confident and eased.

I ran shirtless. 5 miles in the dark. Sweat and rain coated my back and throat. Chances of lightening broke my moments. There wasn’t anger, although there could have been. I was an animal pressing forward. Thousands of years of evolution refined my knees to pound against the wetted tar.

“let me scream, let me scream” I whispered
“let me whirl around this planet”
“become something new”

this was perfect.


entirely inertia

my fingers outstretch while contorting and shifting
snatching in pleasure
they jaggedly stumble to a pillow
blood spins though my clutching forearm
this heated pillow is too warm
as much to distract

two moments competing for my attention
like non-identical twins racing to impress mother
this new input forces me to pick a focus
the too warm pillow or pleasure
this deceptively elementary choice haunts
all these moments are truly the same

in this contemplation, an infinite conundrum embarks
this, the contemplation, spawns the third focus and choice
i probe further
can i genuinely exist in a moment? any moment?
what choice am I on now?
six, seven, eight…


let's plan my career!!!

I’ve always understood the reason adults habitually ask children “What do you want to be when you grow up?” is to gain some insight and new ideas. Who is truly happy with their career? Kids dream and dream and dream and dream and dream (ever hear about the boy that plans to be a dinosaur when he grows up?). Reality has set in far too deeply for us…

Anyway, what do you want to be when you grow up? I plan on being a dinosaur.


weighing the obvious

chew, clench, slurp, swallow
spit out fat globs, flesh between teeth
stink, rot, decay, blacken
bellies fatten, greasy lips, panting

“our” commodities’ existence, unnatural
caged, soiled, poisoned, tortured, butchered
no play, air, offspring, survival, purpose
bleak, empty, pain, unrest
worth $1250.00

what have they received for their pain?


i slouch

i slouch, think, cognate and gaze upon the underpins
masked, unsure. yet give direction. a flimsy poignant

this evolves into - solitude - empty - alone -
this bliss of ignorance spawns from peers
Acceptance, Relation, Understanding – shallow

no one will connect. only, I
these barrens - vast - cold - humid -
thickly pushing me under. smaller. smaller.
Oh The Magnitude. Running. Running. Only, I

is this all? holler for any traveler
should i concede? sit? sink deeply? slowly impressioning snow
i’ll walk, skeptically, consistently
for now