Ending Autum with an M

Sitting in a second floor technical cathedral, a post-industrial church dedicated to knowledge for the pursuit of money. Dough. That sweet green stuff.

I've just returned from a weekend in the city, and my heart beats from those last few moments continue to echo. The dreams these echos inspire do you no good, and I am left to puzzle over all I can have of you, the echo of love from a lifetime ago.

When M fell down those steps I was too slow to know what it would mean to me... but I think it was my disconnect. Like an echo I now reach out from a voice already silent. I think you've helped me begin to find an end to our story... but where the story goes, I feel, depends on if this story ends.

Let me tell you: life is a song, every human an organic instrument, we only live when we sing, and love is the harmony created by two instruments milking melodies from future memory. These echos make me mad in my heart; mad wishing we could sing just one more song together...

so little talk

Was exhausted when I woke up today. The later morning air was hot, so I didn't walk through the woods like I had wanted. I bought food for my monster, but saw my car was bleeding fluids out the gazooey. The smoke shop stopped selling what I was looking for last year. Was nearly late to the relay center, but I started taking live calls for the first time today. Came home very tired. Couldn't be more uninspired.

Supposedly was invited to watch a movie, smoke a hookah. No thanks. It's not for me...

It's difficult thinking about others - I forget what I think myself. I replace myself with their thoughts and my imagined intentions for them. That's pretty crazy, but life is numb tonight.

I think I should make a list.

tearful machines

Once the calender begins to flip, the days start their roll. It has been a while since I last updated. But what is being updated? This record of me? It was supposed to be a record for myself - so that I would gain some perspective on myself over time. I am attempting to enter the grind again. Keep-busy classes, a keep-busy job, a keep-busy life... as if life's point were to keep life's mind off itself. As if science were the language, waiting to be philosophized by whoever in the future has time for it.

Family meetings failed to improve our family's lot, however it did create a sense of family in the end. And this is close to the end of that euphemism. How funny that we use the words of others to trap them.

I'm never as surprised as I should be to discover my heart still beating. You hear every beat, know that it is a zen-song of death. A clock winding itself back to its beginning. Humans can talk of how if death is the beginning, you were born at its end.

Oh how malleable my mind is, so easily influenced by surrounding thoughts. Garrett you could be redeemed in my eyes if only you would stop blowing sand in my face. And that's how it goes, so it goes. Mike, you will never stop playing the games, just as I will never stop pushing perception's frame.

My dad may be moving here soon. If that happens, wow it has been a long time coming. Where will it all be going...

Chelsea so bitter... it's because she isn't free. Drug addicted parents? At least you have your sisters to give you solace, though maybe you'd be free without their enabling. It is hardest to be free of family - love's harmonized bite.

Love an enabling drug
the hypnotizing elixir
a sedating reward

it inhabits the present
a gift and a curse
without which we dissolve
into the cell
of zen

Today is now sunday. I am between my two weeks of training. Between semesters at school. I'm trying to be a farmer and a scholar, but I'm mostly just a lover and a hater.

It is difficult to accept that we are sex-machines. That our brains, these fantastic decrypt-ors of reality, have evolved perfectly to drive us towards one thing - sex. Everything which comes between is merely a meander among the interlocking choices we take as we attempt to be chosen by our future prodigal children. The choices we make are for them.

I wish I could cry right now, tears are always so calming, the meditative sobs so seducing...

Predators was pretty good. The chevy not so much. Robert's jab at credits. Cooler nights at last...

jet planes in march

for any man who needed rest
where for soothing solace did he seek?

he desired not to stare among the stars
for he left them to console the starmaker

instead he selected from the stars a
pattern, and journeyed to the starmaker
to request for it a name

along his journey to the starmaker
the stars changed, and so it seemed
his solace would never find him

but the starmaker had a secret:
as sewer of the stars, so had he sewn
each man, and as sewer of stars
and of men, his consolation was not the stars
nor was it man

the starmaker needed no console
for he had given consolation to the stars
and from the stars man had received the starmaker's inheritance

the choice was given to man:
choose from among every star just one pattern
and give it your name freely
that you may find your console

for the weary man who finds himself
among the changing stars
searching for his solace
consider that the starmaker made these stars
so that they may be your solace,
their names you will already know
if the solace you find among the stars
was solace meant for you

Magnitude 88

under the weight of a snowflake
the earth's shadow glides down among
sails glowing green

dreamers sing songs for traveling mercies
and crews cast off, riding up, into, and above
the shadow so bright

as the last snowflake lands on the darkest night, so lands
the sun's tide upon the earth's darkest faces
in a crash neon light fills and consumes
man ever more