more canned fruit

I’m indifferent to the homeless, unless I’m asked for cigarettes. “Kill me slowly or I’ll kill you quickly.” I’m thinking of an aggressive woman. This one threatens. Also, wears dark browns (her clothes).

“Sorry, this is my last cigarette.” What if that seemingly false excuse is true? Do I deserve my gut punctured (sharp stick or pole) because everybody shares the same spineless excuse? The next time I’m confronted, I’ll use strong body language, carry a deep tone, have an unchanging focus, and maybe touch her arm. “Sorry miss, I would, but I’m honestly out.”

Quickly wash my hands afterwards; otherwise I’ll imagine an itch. That might disgust you. But, I’d probably wash my hands after touching you too.

canned fruit

Don’t read into this. Don’t read into this. Don’t stop reading, but don’t read into this. It hurts when you read into this. It confuses when you read into this. Stop counting this, you’re reading into this. Stop asking why. Stop selecting, dissecting out. Reading books and magazines. You believe you've deciphered the world and placed its truths into labeled glass jars (vacuumed canned fruit). You intend on eating it seven, nine, five years from now. You could be dead by then. Stop canning fruit. Waste of fruit. If you want something useful, start reading calculus books. Redirect time from entertainment to calculus. Then, see patterns in nature again. It has been awhile.

Which year is this?

60 kisses in April. 1 murder in May. Sex in June. A July fire. I remember the August moving to Chicago. That slow elevator in the dollar storage. Humid. I felt potential. A city potential. Open and ready. I fit nicely there.

September kisses. October loneliness. November and December merge. I self indulge now. Egocentric and bored. Egocentric and adored. Having 5 dreams and no plans. Only current money.

Which year is this?

heathenistic

Here, I have learned something useful. You have to close your eyes, close them and open them blurred. See everything in dotty layers. Then, then grab what you want. Be inside yourself. Become heathenistic.

The world has natural perpetuation, momentum if you will. The selfish get pushed upward, while the selfless sink.

Blur your eyesight and become that selfish man. Oh the people you’ll control.

Kate now hobbles.

My dog and a vehicle collided. The car dragged her 2 or 3 feet, according to the vet. She knew the wounds. It really made me think, I wonder if the vet hit her.

That fucking psycho, how many animals has she hit? Surely she prowls around Yorkshire to drum up business. Quite the go-get-er, an expert in manipulation and fraud. She should have studied the stock market (her obvious calling).

Severe pain and possible mutilation for money (I bet she collects expensive, leather mini-shirts.) Maybe she stays between 5-10 mph. You know, the get-hurt-but-not-fucking-kill-you-speed. Oh well, we should support local businesses. And besides, my dog sleeps more. I wonder if she has brain damage. She has never been this sweet and docile. Oh, and when she chases rabbits, she hobbles on three legs (very effectively). So cute.

her ego

She projects that she knows everything. In her head, having more knowledge elevates her attractiveness. She attempts to win me by lying.

She speaks about vastly intangible spirit things. Think of spirit orbs hovering around our bodies. Red, green, and blue orbs that communicate. This, only she can know. This knowledge passes behind closed doors. I am simply peering though the key hole.

I am not impressed. She has pegged me incorrectly.

fingers on cotton and skin

Important

My reality presents itself as a giant block of clay.

I study clay constantly. Its puzzle enchants me. This clay can represent anything worth contemplating. You probably study clay as well.

I start to knock out chunks (mostly corners) with a metal rod. I am making sense of reality. I am cornering reality. I am justifying reality. I am perceiving reality.

After the rod, I use smaller, more precise tools. Chisels and wire. I begin to define, forcing it smaller. That clear goal feels close.

The clay has shrunk immensely. Now, tools are not detailed enough. I place my hands deeply into the clay, expanding my fists, stretching my fingers, molding, caressing, and discovering.

I hold the remaining clay in one hand. I have made my reality very simple, concise, and clear, however still not perfect. Having no clay would be perfect.

I don’t believe reality should be defined. We strive to discover rules and patterns. By doing this, reality can quickly become dysfunctional. The more we corner truth, the more we loose the whole.

How deeply I want to define things. I crave simple truths and definitions. How much this intrigues me.

Unfortunately, the closer I get to a definition, the more frustrated I become.

Perhaps I should focus on defining opposites. Define and justify black, and quickly define and justify white. Then can I sit comfortably in grey?

I toss between black and white. I cannot relax in grey.

Maybe this is due evolutionary psychology. The pattern finders, the black and white thinkers survived and procreated. After all, they didn’t try poison only some of the time. They have defined and changed their behavior toward poison permanently. We live in a much more complicated world now. This world rejects definition.

“I'm afraid that if you look at a thing long enough, it loses all of its meaning.”
-Andy Warhol

here

I have trouble believing that I am here.

affixation till heaven

Affixation till heaven. Serene synthesizers pound the beat.
Neon lights are smearing together. Affixation till heaven.
A fallen piece of heaven. Fallen into my skull. Seems more filled now.
Affixation till heaven. A smiling coma – controlled.
Sweating fingers and numbness. Damp and pleasant.
Only enough focus for heaven. Affixation till heaven.

brothers at war

I watched two men at war on the television.
Their hearts were unmovable. Reduced to pure burning intent.
This was their chemistry. How easily they could identify with the other.
Their passion destroyed them.
It was like watching brothers murder each other.
Everyone sobs but them.
Everyone sobs but them.
Too much loss. Unneeded loss. Loss for ideals.