caffeinohol is the writer's best friend. wheee!

freaking out.



(happily) freaking. out.

here i am in a house by the sea where an unusally low tide is exposing rocks usually submerged and i think: sometimes the best way to deal with having to exist is to get moderately blasted on the demented still-life of a motionless friday afternoon, tall silvery cans of repellent if highly effective jet-powered malt liquor augmented with every legal strain and variety of water soluble stimulant, translucent ribbons of fragrant smoke whispering between the rapidly vibrating density of roomspace under the influence of Loud Music, and allow my adjectives to proliferate into a flesh-eating epidemic as i filter the style of salman rushdie through my own gills and liver by concocting expansive sentences of luxurious, sprawling, multiply-jointed centipede monstrosity.
it's easy! yaHA!



this solitude quenches me like a mint-laden spring in the dry red mountains— not as an exclusion of company, but by its own inherent value. perhaps with enough days alone alone alone i will be able to see my feet again, to wipe the jungle grime from the glass face of my friend the compass. everyone is so impossible these days, diffident and distracted in person, and then on the telephone spilling their guts in a reach for actual oppenness, intimacy, inter-dareisayit-subjectivity. i mean, me too, guilty as charged absolutely onehundredpercent, but someone's got to come out and say this shit. it's hard, living in the world we live in makes it hard to stay alive and awake. mistake me not: to the wee extent that that statement can be interpreted as political, it does not stand against, rather for. it is anyway pointless to examine that thought from a solely political standpoint, for while it envelops realities which manifest in the socio-political sphere it cannot be effectively interpreted using only the limiting prism of that arena, or even by expanding to the demi-totality of the rational-materialist thoughtspace.


∴


really, these things are important to say: by articulating a previously vague facet of reality, one begins to gain power over it; not in a magical sense but in the way that objectification can lead to clarity, calmer perspective. the better we know what this world is, the better we can dream beyond it.



dear liagushka:
for we the wanderers the pinnacular eden will always be

⇒ CONTINUITY ⇐

whereas this ceaseless psychogeographical pounding (all the while going nowhere) makes it difficult to keep the stitching between the rags of our skin from dissolving away into pff. this continuing effort to reconcile my kaleidoscopic existence wears! ‹inhale› (not the verdant garment of le printemps, but us down.) and whereas the futility of truly knowing oneself or the world through or in a morass of inconstancy is overwhelming, and whereas a chain of whereas is difficult to get out of.

and i incant:

we must strive to embody that within us which is changeless.
we must strive to embody that within us which is constant truth.
we must strive to embody that within us which encompasses time and space yet cannot be defined by time or space.