hah!
Current mood: pensive

she dances taunting circles around the corner of my  eye...

smiling with her eyes and never opening her mouth; only singing in a subtle unison that matches the answers to all of my questions--

where is the laughter between the lines and when is enough considered 'too much'... ?

help me discern your smiles and decode the language that radiates from your body as it tortures my hopes...

laugh willingly! they want to know if you're truly alive.


the best only exists on the silhouette of her pale skin that shines through my anxieties-- and yet, she sits quietly... patiently  (?)

who knows. the will of what may be exists only in the eyes of the naive... so just stand think of one name... that one name.

she may be in the same fucking room... !

3:07 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

life in the key of blah

i'll be right back.

6:17 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

oh the weather outside is frightful... [mississippi]
Current mood: animated
Category: Games

well, we all need to forget the atrocities involved within a society who allows  television programs like "FATMARCH!" to air. i mean... just the word... fatmarch. say it! say it repeatedly out loud... use it as a exclaimatory show of verbal protest!!

anyhow- i figured out that at least i'm not as bad as steve urkel!! so- woo, dodged that bullet.

there is another reason to fall into order inside of the tiny white lies that we drown out of habit in!

peace is love but we need the freedom to promote the peace! where is my weapon of choice??.. what is?

an overly asserted ink-pen creating soliloquist bouts of shakespearian profession that breaks over the whimpering roar of an american day!--

wake up! stand up! stand tall!... fuck! stand up if you're going to do anything at all!

i miss ya'll.

my requiem rolls down the edges of an infinite calamaty that hurries my pulse...

tapping away at the skin we call armour that handles all of our tags and baggages being dragged by our faces- a lonely martyr nihilist rests as a plain dead-man;

from maroon to chartreuse!

break my fingers across your question marked caroling that defines your perfect silhouette... who ever you may be!!

Currently listening : Lennon Legend: The Very Best of John Lennon By John Lennon Release date: 24 February, 1998

8:17 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

MIA STATUS

Welp folks. I am posting this from my cell phone... liue and perma-fried in mississippi! I know... spooky. Ive been writing my cynical over-caffeinated arse offAnd cant get my phone off of the T9 shite. so peace love and love and peace. ill post something here when time permits. paz!

11:01 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

dedicated to the formless perfections that exist to be our bane

she waltzes off-time and sings with utterly perfect aural hypnotisms.

why wait when she lies on the edge of the ocean's skin.

why wait? why?

you are a grown figure that hurdles down galaxies after galaxy.

"two of the universe's favourite strays."

is anybody listening?

if so. WHY?

elongate the secrets that define us within these very defined boundries.

wake up. dance. she spells her heart with the letters of my name.

and i hope that one day i can prove that i do the same.

a face that deserves a kick with a boot to improve it for a glancer-by.

seventeen years later and my kinder-hood is slightly altered only in my age.

i dance. i shake and tremeble at the thought of wondering what could be you.

universe. universe. growing tired of the constants that muddle their purpose.

fucking promises and devotion; they are only allowed to exist to amplify the meaning of suffering.

unless you withdraw from the breath of god. that holy, divine, un-touched breath of the earth that feeds us with motherly embraces.

you are not taken for granted.

8:07 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

an early concoction
Current mood: hot

this war is lose-
lost to the constricting, malicious, lights- street lamps stand like judge looming over rollercoaster ride- the streets are our prisons- driving side by side- in our cars trying to hide from what doesn't understand us- but we're afraid of: this thing.

between every street-light is a space-

||XXXXXXX||XXXXXXX||XXXXXXX||XXXXXXX||
...FILL IT WITH BARBED WIRE...
||XXXXXXX||XXXXXXX||XXXXXXX||XXXXXXX||

(d)

...fence!

[criss crossing shadows bending across my face...]


to confine us for our defiance: locked in suburbia and no permit for it: we're the contradictions contradicticting fiction inside of or lives: tension friction, fast defense from- everything real and everything evil- sense when did god say men rule like they do?

take the treasures and open the hands- gold lines falling into the trails of lights out in the sky: the liquid green flame of the bushes and shrubs divide the substance from the substantial: forget the learned and relearn the identity of pressed, no-guess, stress free personality.

in a wrench- the fabric.

this is the result of a two-day long out of body experience- someone handed me some pills and said "here, try this." i denied it- and look beside him, dove into the bowl and swam for hours- drowning myself in smoke and talking to all the t-h-sea creatures. needles and see her's telling me about what is true- i saw him standing there next to you. the 3's and 5's and off numbers divide- an omen of the unwilling deciding to make a change.

you're only ninety-feet tall: heart junk- shoot into veins and now your terri-cloth sane- telling the profane to go off and see the change- 1,3,4,5,7... the days remain the same and divide the entire range.

Currently listening : Wagner: Tristan und Isolde By Richard Wagner Release date: 11 September, 2001

12:26 PM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

sonnet some-what

go, on broken! sit down. participate with necessity and/or triple-coated-overwhelm-census (still, frightened, and still. birth, still awake with every purpose to ingnite.) abbreviating comprimise with out, inside out, or run out. death, yet to embrace, is out understanding the physical country out (simply) there.

12:21 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

segues [name that jibberish!]
Current mood: pensive

a collage that confronts the now with simplicity so numbingly unique it forces air to bend it's bones into being... bones. a flying outward leap off the bottom of the barrell into a helping hand's palm. curling up-- into a fetal position, nude and unarmed-- only despair can repair these shattered lenses.

we create illuminations through these battered fences; they surround a lonely soldier and forget what they are for-- allowing everything but oxygen in and still the pieces pick themselves up and tell the universe within each dust particle, "you're not going to feel a thing."

Currently listening : Planet of The Shapes By Shapeshifters Release date: 15 May, 2000

11:40 PM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

i really need to get back into an environment where i can close my door.

if they could get away with it, they'd tell him to go to hell. jai guru deva om. rupa vedana sanna snkhara vinnana upadana. cling to everything you can hold and touch with your hands and forget what is soul fabric, fiber of love and life, not death. this is the reciprocal of what is right- maitreya to me and aremideia to you (you just as well maybe stuck in mountain "82,000 youdzanas" high, and i'll smoke the inhale smoke the breath of pundarika. dzapoudiba, what a fun place to be. nine hours to burma. knowing of the lessons, knowing only the saddharma, you must forget, unwind, and throw the scriptures, the books, the crosses, the fears, the lives, the lies, the faces, the cries, the cheers, the happiness, you must learn and then throw it all way. throw it all away- drive down the freeway and dance to bongo beat sitar harrison (live in peace) and celebrate chants (hey ohhh hey ohhh hey ohhh) you've done some fucked up shit, that faster beat.

4:42 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

alone and allowed to kick my feet up. [2002]

got time to try a new thing?

4:39 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

the things a little privacy can yield. [2002]

trials: tested universal

4:37 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

solid. [2002]

lights flared- tempers loaded, right side gun- left side numb, opiate power trip proxy confusion- delving into transluscent paper receiving faithful knowledge- innocent ramblings from a guilty heart- passion descending- liquid from the start (first word...) deniably beautiful and required to be subtle- street theory- sweet and dreary, cold not weary yet always leering from each one felt- tip marker paged and drama enlsaved- throughout the years i've come only so far- to return to the drinks that served out bars- tiny universes and my mind's a flutter- care to ask where the third track went?

4:35 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

they FORCE me to break the rules. case-in-point... (the devil made me do it!)
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping

disclaimer: IN MY OPINION :
(remember that! my OPINION.)

note: keep in mind that the teacher i wrote this for was an extremely outspoken feminist and had a bit of a complex. the following was slapped together 7 hours before it was due in about 7 methamphetamine fueled hours. i had written notes, which i still have because i had accidentally compiled a hand-written"best of" my entire "library." as for the little disclaimer; before my game gets twisted and folks want to assume i am all for omnipotent control by the penis, for the penis, and apron-string leashes or anything nutty like that. i just believe that in order to transcend these so-called and not-so so-called shackles one should disarm their existence by not acknowledging them. this does not mean ignore them! fuck no! the way i see it is not to empower these pigs that control with a big, invisble "bitch behave!" stick! transcend!... is all i was saying then and still what i'm saying now. by exaggerating plight for whatever reasons some of us tend to, we only elevate, empower, and escalate a mere figment. ALSO... that teacher annoyed me with her "methods," and even more so when she seriously wrote thesis statements for everyone's papers herself! it was the jane schaeffer nightmare all over again! RUBBISH! no matter, i threw it in the rubbish bin outside her office in plain sight before she tried to get me in my jammie-jams and diaper me up or some such nonsense. how's that for a little concrete-detail, oh my brothers! anyhow! she ended up giving me an a-... which is a b+ with a pat-on-the-ass meant to say, "who's your daddy, bitch!?" she deducted points for going two pages and some change over the page requirement and using footnotes to cite my bites in each section's name.

"Dyslexia And Telephones: Tragedy And It's Fickle Obsession With Mirrors/Birth Of (Image) A Nation: The Declaration Of Indepence- Excercising Artistic France Before You Were Given The Kraut To Do So"

I. The Beginning Of Nothing; The Nothing, Beginning

Human beings in our modern world are generally self-centered, self-oriented, but never self-dependent or even aware of the existence of any self. Lazy and aimlessly, man-kind will only "attempt a critical knowledge [...] (70)" of what they feel exceeds "[...] temporary amusement (70)." Mary Shelley tells of both humans will generalize things into what will give them immediate gain or no gain at all, as opposed to those who function without regret or the desire of flesh. In her novel Frankenstein, Mary Shelley wrote of the categories in which human beings can place themselves or be placed in by someone else. Tommy Hall of The Thirteenth Floor Elevators, the first psychedelic band, argued that man operates in three distinct categories. The first is the One-Eyed personality. One-Eyed personalities are frail but like to make themselves appear strong and in control. One-Eyed persons control the world politically using purchased credentials, issued by other the One-Eyed persons in a likeness that of divine right . M. Krempe, a One-Eyed scientist, insists that Victor Frankenstein is studying "trash", forces young Victor Frankenstein to conform and pushes Victor into his private experimentations with the sciences of alchemy and chemistry. Victor has what Tommy Hall would define as Two-Eyed vision. Those enthusiastically searching for knowledge and guidance. These people who are susceptible to the status quo, make up the vast majourity of the population. Victor having been corrupted, now only knows he wants to prove Krempe and his father wrong about his scientific abilities instead of studying for the love of science. After Victor Frankenstein succeeds in manufacturing life; he cannot accept the truths of his labors. "The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardor that far exceeded moderation; but now that i had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust had filled my heart (61)". With this reaction, Victor Frankenstein regresses from Two-Eyed development and becomes One-Eyed. The fabrication, his monster, is representitive of a Three-Eyed Personality, one who is of genius, the artist, "hippies", "beatniks", best described in a Thirteenth Floor Elevators' chorus: "She lives in a time of her own." The laws of physics imply that all time is relative to each point within that dimension, meaning that there is no definite immediate or temporary; but only the value that a point in dimensional space relates to itself. In this case, the human being the point in time, must learn discipline themselves to understanding what gain really is. The process of achieving spiritual discipline is an awakening and the result is awareness. When a person realizes that they cannot fall off of mountain and that they must continue climbing after reaching the top, that the mountain is nature and all that matters, and that really is nothing real or tangable. Now, using Shelley's characters and these premises, a "How to & How Not To" guide through awakening is uncovered.

II. "Stone Free To Do As I Please ":

"Queen of the Universe."

"God knows how entirely I am innocent" (80). The "criticisms" of Feminism, without negatively or positively dissecting the text of Frankenstein, are the ultimate case-in-point. Regardless of "woman writer Mary Shelley's (Smith 314)" upbringing or so-called opression, the aesthetic of any sentient human being is a creation that which manifests itself from the soul. It is from our soul's that art is created, not made. With divine-mandate that the author Mary Shelley utilized sources from the material world and wrote Frankenstein.
The idea that Mary Shelley intended to subliminally or blatantly use the piece of literature as a "Cry for help" is irrelevant and pompous. Mary Shelley's inumerable allusions to Buddhism and Hare Krisna pattern themselves within her spontaneous segues of what could have been possibly an influence on Jack Kerouac.
"William, dear angel! this is thy funeral, thy dirge!" (77). Shelley's main character provides the crescendo to epiphany, revealing a sub-conscious or intentional illustration of Shelley's Dhammapada influenced beliefs. In the form of a scientist explaining his methods, allusions to Shelley's religious beliefs are detected in this sentence: "To examine the causes of life, we must first have recourse to death" (56). Whenever Shelley writes of death, she immediately follows by contrasting subjects and directions such as creation or a setting/plot transition. Her wise patterns can be summarized as death before life, destruction is pre-construction, annhiliation before progress, and simply that you are dead before you live. Jack Kerouac, a Buddhist and Three-Eyed author writes in a published journal called Some of the Dharma: "Birth is restlessness, Nirvana is rest" (Kerouac 112).
Feminism constantly and needlessly nags that the woman is what is at stake, answering the questions that nobody asked. Distracted and confused, feminism toggles in and out of the ridiculous and the ignorant, completely misinterpreting not only the novel Frankenstein, but most importantly life and soul. (unless, the reader is a feminist, i guess something like what kind of pants the men wear and why they made women wash them would be more important than your self or spirit.)

A fool who thinks that he is a fool is for that very reason a wise man.
(Dhammapada line 2)

Although feminists have made the distracted assertion/observation that no women "speak directly" (Smith 314), or without being "filtered through the [...] male narrarators" (Smith 314). If a closer and thorough reading were attempted, one would understand Shelley constantly intertwines the wisdom of Buddha's Dhammapada into the psyche and subliminal-schemas of the many characters of the novel. "I do not fear to die [...]" (84). Justine is a woman character and the epitome of fool's wisdom. Her mind is given the spot light over her physical presence, clothing, or socio-economical position. Her character is also a profound declaration of what truly is beautiful, a person's mind and spirit, NOTHING physical. Justine the archetype is the story's anti-martyr and to blind feminists the woman who had to die for the man.

Every minute, continued M. Krempe with warmth, every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly and entirely lost. You have burdoned your memory with exploded systems and useless names. Good God! In what desert land have you lived, where no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies, which you have so greedily imbibed, are a thousand years old, and as musty as they are ancient? I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific age, to find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear sir, you must begin your studies entirely anew. (141)

Ultimately burying all forms of biased blind "perspectives", this woman, the symbol being killed as a martyr, states she is not-afraid of her destiny so calmly, that the actual sentence in the novel can literally illustrate this statement. She knows that she is innocent, yet she willingly accepts her plight egolessly, humble, and without any pleasantries. Om and Right On.

"The Revolution Will Not Be Televised."

Warren Montag's Marxist "Perspective" adds to the team of contradiction, full of pretentious quotations and trivia, an atrocious and misinterpretive assimilation of any historical information in Shelley's novel. Relying on technicalities within the text, Montag is fluent in all of the misguided faults associated with such utopian missions, mainly being that somewhere any concept of economy and progress is evil, overlooking the side-effect: demand without supply while he tries to sustain points.

But these new technologies and the industrial systems they made possible were perhaps less disturbing than their effects on the lives of the labouring population. (Montag 386)

The people want revolution, they want to fight, they want to defend themselves, but with what? How would revolutionaries defend themselves without anything? "I'll pick up my axe and fight like a farmer [...]", promised singer/guitar virtuouso Jimi Hendrix in his song "Machine Gun". Mr. Hendrix's plan might have been a good solution in Shelley's time, had it not been a metaphor for his guitar, or "axe." Even in the world of fantasy and metaphor, Marxism is nothing but double-standard wishes and antiquated dreams for war mongering back seat drivers shouting for peace and equality. Robin Williams' character in the movie "Toys" proclaims that, "War is the domain of the small penis."
The cliche' of "blind ambition" that is attatched to Frankenstein contradicts the validitiy of the literature that accompanied the original text. In a swift bout of karma, Shelley reduces Marxism to nothing more than a self-idealistic fable of romantic conformity-contradiction, through her private non-conformist beliefs, and novel Frankenstein. Doesn't it seem a little ridiculous that an authoritarian point of "view" would try and scavenge Mary Shelley's literature posthomously and without shame.
Illustrations of yet another marxist error: the inferiority complex and/or the napoleon complex. Perhaps Montag feels unappreciated in his studies of 18th century literature going unlooked due to the over-commercialization of it and the high demand making so many super star professors?
Suppose the masses successfully overthrow their leader. They will now vote their strongest militia commander as leader and are now forced to conform to a certain way afterwards that has been deemed "perfect" until a decent marksman thinks differently. The Red-Generalization made by so many "communist" and socialist dictators turns their utopia into a battered dystopia, making that the dysfunction and function. Generalizations and harsh assumptions are human flaws that Victor Frankenstein subscribes to even when he knows that what he wants do won't go well with "the people" (his conscience) of his nation (his soul). Marxist leftists are two-eyed puppets, following not a governing body of one-eyed men, but only one cyclopean visionary who treads lightly with a big ethnocentric stick.

"Could You Please Not Put the Words 'Deviant Sexual Arousal' In the Headline of My Obituary?"

David Collings, the author of the Psychoanalytical Perspective featured in the text book is quite possibly the only rational human-being of those I already mentioned. However, his rationality is diluted in the ridiculously entertaining theories of Freud.
Tragically discouraging are Collings' groundwork points: "[?] Waldman indirectly praises them and describes modern chemisty in sexually resonant terms [?]" (281). Turning to the next page will reveal this priceless nugget: "He [Victor Frankenstein] identifies with his mother [?] he attempts to become pregnant himself, to labor in childbirth, and to watch the child awaken [?]" (282). While only two pages into the thirteen that make the essay, Collings' observation that the creation of the monster was a "provocative process" (282) is pure Freudian philosophical genius. While Freud's "Layers of Consciousness" are great areas of study and things to know, psychosexuality or oedipal complexes are besides the point. While i disagree with many of the essayists' opinions, Collings is the only one that i consider to be outright wrong, entirely inappropriate, and simply a waste of time.

"Where Are You From? [...] Where Are You Going?"

In overview, the usage of the mentioned essays (I had to choose a few in order to save legnth) to support my thesis statement would be a contradiction. I was also hesitant use them for examples, positively or negatively. Make no mistake, I do not think that I am intellectually or spiritually superior the authors and those who agree with them, that would be contradicting myself in addition to this essay. Literature is an art-form and just like all other forms of art, whether we like it or not, is pure and from the soul. Artwork can be translated many different ways and it is my opinion that not even the artist who created it cannot tell you for sure. Certainly one thing can be determined though; that is the motive in which the art was created. When listening to the radio, particularly the "top-40" stations, one can hear the motives of a the singer or band who are creating art simply to make money. In some cases you're even hearing the motive of the uncredited writer, uncredited composer/arranger, countless uncredited studio musicians, and possibly the singer's uncredited vocal double and/or computer used to doctor their voice. All of these cumulative impotencies decrease what little understanding of Art that the listener might have had and desensitize the majourity of the world into what I call "American Idol Viewers"; those who see and feel what they want and what they are confused into thinking is success. Using the American Idolator/MTV/Top-40 cultural kamekaze flight-plan as an outline, anybody can see and rationalize a pattern in who makes it and doesn't. So if I wanted to truly make it, all I would need is the most expensive clothes, the best facial expression when I squeel in the worst falsetto, and some form of [insert slang term for good here] gimmick implanted into my walk? Apparently so. I will use myself as an example, being a classically trained guitarist, trombonist, percussionist, and pianist who is fluent in Tarrega , Beethoven, De Lucia , Davis , Mayfield , Hendrix , and Page . Even with all of those credentials and more I would simply be wasting my time with what I love if I did not have the "look". Instead of satisfying my aesthetic hunger by practicing 8 hours or more a day, I should just go to the mall and look pretty and dumb. Had someone like Carlos Santana known that, he could've been recognized for his art... until of course he did when "Supernatual" was released not too long ago.
What was Mary Shelley's motive? Certainly not to win a bet, at least not in the printed edition, and certainly not to vent her libido. Perhaps she was bitter of the industrial revolution or was angry at the phallic supremist that was opressing her? Not likely, but I have not ruled the latter out indefinitely. Jackson Pollock, an abstract painter spoke of his motives: "I'm very representational some of the time, and a little all of the time. But when you're painting out of your unconscious, figures are bound to emerge."
Mary Shelley wrote the novel as an artist and nothing more. Pollock, an artist like Shelley, ellaborates on this when he said: "When I'm painting, I'm not aware of what I'm doing". Shelley applied her soul to her medium and the result was words. Again, Pollock clarifies this with: "Every good artist paints what he is". Even though Mary Shelley was a writer; however, Pollock's meanings stand universal and apply in any context.

III. The Psychedelic Experience :

A psychedelic experience is a journey to new realms of consciousness.
The scope and content of the experience is limitless, but its
characteristic features are the transcendence of verbal concepts, of
space-time dimensions, and of the ego or identity. Such experiences of
enlarged consciousness can occur in a variety of ways: sensory
deprivation, yoga exercises, disciplined meditation, religious or
aesthetic ecstasies, or spontaneously. [...]
(Leary, Metzner , Alpert 1)

Being capable of the utter realization and understanding of this fast and endless taunting "dark we call creation," humans tend to die in a league of unanamously complacent "truths." There are also humans with the will for acceptance of those realizations and epiphanies. These humans are the idle, the neither for nor against, the don't not's, the never wills, or the one-eyed and two-eyed thinkers. Even at the "top," the biggest one-eyed thinker is not the biggest or best. Terms like big, bigger, and biggest are the fabrications of one-eyed and two-eyed supremists. Now, I ask this question of the reader: What was the the world like before the "top"? For instance, a piece of candy is sweet; but how do you know that it is sweet? How do you know that it is even candy? Is it even meant to be eaten? Medical studies can certainly provide evidence that candy isn't even edible with rotting teeth. In his extremely relevant short-novel The Doors of Perception, Aldous Huxley provides the following commentary (written while on a psychedelic substance, mescaline )

[...] The one-sided contemplative leaves undone many things that he ought to do; but to make up for it, he refrains from doing a host of things he ought not to do. The sum of evil, Pascal remarked, would be much diminished if men could only learn to sit quietly in their rooms. The contemplative whose perception has been cleansed does not have to stay in his room. He can go about his business, so completely satisfied to see and be a part of the divine Order of Things that he will never even be tempted to indulge in what Traherne called "the dirty Devices of the world. [...] when all things are perceived as infinite and holy, what motive can we have for covetousness or self-assertion, for the pursuit of power or the drearier forms of pleasure? (Huxley 13)

Competitive-synthetically, the natural beauty and soul that sentient beings are capable of wielding is synthesized into clothing, formed into cliques, and even disguised as art. A person's path can begin with knowledge and the need to indulge in self-improvement, precisely like Victor Frankenstien's path. The road is then blocked and the traveller diverted when a two-eyed authority figure is introduced. Depending on how pure motives of said traveller are, they will either fight and accept their awareness or they will fall, thus repeating the inevitable cycle of mediocrity they are bound to. They are now just as irrelavant as they are sterile, quoting scriptures from the white pages while doing lunch and marinating in the blue glow of their "Gods" or "Creators." All is spent and they've twisted of themselves ten-shillings-fold. They are the Oliver's who ask the hand that bites them 8 hours a day "thank you sir, may i have another?" Through this acquired ignorance life is forgotten and misplaced and misheard and thought of as right to be upheld and not as the only truth and goal in a person's death. Huxley offers psychedelic insight again:

Not much, heaven knows, in comparison with the reality, but enough to delight generation after generation of beholders, enough to make them understand at least a little of the true significance of what, in our pathetic imbecility, we call "mere things" and disregard in favor of television. (Huxley 10)

However, in contrast to those with one-eye open and both ears turned inside out, there is the aware individual, the awakened mind, the flesh-vessel, or three eyed. The three eyed individual is a vessel- but only after he/she has discovered this through labourous self-discipline and reflection- staring always into the mirror- pointing always at self but never worrying about self. As the awakened soul is without body and realizes that what you can touch is nothing more than what you can touch. Making him/herself into an empty book, creating a journal of heightened spirituality and taking cognition into higher states of consciousness, thus destroying the need for silly words such as "consciousness," "cognition," and words in general.

The greatest problem faced by human beings in general, and the psychedelic guide in particular, is fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of losing control. Fear of trusting the genetic process and your companions. (Leary 65)

Victor Frankenstein, followed his elders and listened to what he was told, as did all of us, but as his flesh grew older and his soul and mind developed a taste for knowledge. Doing this in a fashion that he was taught as being "normal" he pursued this "knowledge" with that same pretentious and conceited motive that had consumed and vommited his one-eyed mentors' enthusiasm into masochistic tendencies; their former hunger is now an attention span lapse, their will is an emaciated shell, their memories guarded jealously by barbed-wire, the very words they speak are salt- leaking into their open wounds trying to hide under "goals," "self," and "ambition."
Victor Frankenstein 's life and persona allusively depict what begins as a sentient being's for the heightened awareness of spirit and soul and experiences the ultimate revelation of acceptance and sight. Having a similar revelation, St. John the Divine documented that his visions appeared as what was, what is, and what will be in the book of Revelation. The one-eyed and two eyed society, or what Rastafarians call "babylon," have all received similar revelations. The difference between St. John and them is that St. John willfully and with a mind as a mirror, reflecting what he saw upon his inner-death, thus creating what will be for he and the like minded, life. All sentient beings are born into what is a death consumed upon the mass of concrete, matter, and flesh-vessel. They are destined to have what will-be a revelation and a point in which they must embrace neither one or two flesh-vessels, but embrace nothing and all- and realize there is nothing that we can gain on THIS plane of "existence."

2:33 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

DECEMBER 19TH, 2002 11:32pm

and its a goddamn i never finished that one- add another goddamned next to "i don't regret it" as well. i figured i'd just walk a few miles and turn around when it got too cold, or if i couldn't see the city any more. i decided to forget about all that mad frightened frustration that came with trying to live as a human.

1:13 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

"meta-phors be with you"

SACRIFICE YOUR ROCKSTAR SUPERSTITIONS AND INFORM YOURSELF WITH THE RISK OF ROLLING STONE ASSASSINATION.

seperation of enemy and dignity = a death to seasons forthcoming inside of tosh's tomb. marijuana and PCP & pill caps & benz & bottles of booze & morphine & life-term deflation (BALLOONS) run on in my tomb, the party never stopped.

the year is 2001...

i'm testing out the waters. shhh.

the biggest con was the oyster shucker shear and fire bombed record bang bang label me turnips and beats.

the biggest con was the smash it up and yell out rebel war cries in the north in front of yankee stadium stomping to the rhythm of "the south will rise" while recording my heart's light touches on the torched melodrama studio machine tape head munich factors.

the biggest con was...

tell my diginity that went down with superstitions that it'll be okay- states and nations and States are all just pimping cash crops and drug dealing mothers.

TELL THE CORPSE YOU KNOW ABOUT IT AND THE SACRIFICE-ASSASSINATION.

psh. whatever that means, right?

take this job and level it out with your cheques. table dance for coins and bend them all backward and give them the hammer shaft full force double negative back flip toss up.

TAKE

THIS

NEED

AND

LOVE

IT

i don't need it anymore.

i'll trade you though, for that one... why not?! its only a denim shirt and i'm giving you two of these, come on man. give it over. hand it over. quit being so needy. i need this... you don't. shut up. you're so rude.

to tell you the truth, i think that johnny is in the basement telling jokes to the rabbi's trying to buy him some time and get the pigs across the top floor to the other building telling all the rabbis the one about the this walking into a that and all of those fell on this's head and that came crashing down.

releaseyourownintentionsandjusttalkthedifferencebetweenthemandyouisthattheyknowmeif

youknewmeitwouldmakeadifferencebecausethatwouldmeanthatyoulovemelikethebagelslo

vetheonionsorshouldanywaysbecausehellwhyaretheyalwaystogetherdhyanadhyanaiaintgo

nnagooutlikethatandjustsithereandcry.

now that you've scrolled back.

who's telling you to do it anyways?

your gift of spite! & your uppity turbo noir attitude!

telling all the servants to cook your vanilla coke.

you rube. you don't cook vanilla coke! gah.

you're too old to wear... that... thing... on your nose.

get over it.

harhar.

WHATEVER THAT IS 'SPOSED TO MEAN!!!

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