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.