We all want to believe that by being hard on ourselves, we will somehow become a better person. In reality, I think this synthesis is incorrect, as it is only our own self love that we can depend on. If we rush, pressure and struggle with ourselves, who will be there to comfort, reassure and stop us? No one.

If we're looking to be entirely self sufficient beings, we must be gentle with ourselves. If we are looking to not rely on the support and love of another (as we never should), we should be that support and reliance for ourselves (what we are looking so desperately for existed in us all along).

We are good at hurting ourselves, if at nothing else. But we do this in such a way that we are really only crying out for love- a savior. Someone else to answer our questions.

No such person exists. No one can answer our questions better than ourselves.

Things are funny, they make us laugh, yet they are delusions of pieces we are missing.

Do we really know how to care for ourselves? Or in such cases of solitude, do we purposely believe/make ourselves be "a mess" so that we garner attention, cries of concern, and even love? (or simply use this as an excuse to justify misguided behavior?)

Poor lost puppy. I can see the situation objectively. Even if I am just as (if not more) lost than you, I can still feel good about imparting you with a few words of trite wisdom- and you in return feel cared about.

It's such a game. The compassion game. Empty ourselves onto a canvas, call it chaos, call it whatever it takes to ensure guidance from another. Always searching, struggling for that make believe pinnacle of existence and self esteem that leads us ultimately to uncaring (enlightenment).

We don't want to hear ourselves speak or think anymore. We wish there could be someone else, more slick, more intelligence, more purposeful than us in our place.

This is an illusion. Not only does this ultimate person NOT exist (without flaws, without the same wish to be someone else), but it is pointless and even detrimental to continue on this line of thought. We are really only preventing ourselves from being that ultimate person. Measuring, calculating, judging our own actions, we limit our actions. We can never be ourselves even to ourselves.

We can't reveal our true face to the mirror of self perception, at least not through this filter of what-if's and might-have-beens. We must stop, process, accept, and move on. Not just change, but GROW.

The clouds spoke to me in waves.

A secret unlocked is a secret freed.

Namaste

The God inside will carry me through.

Here & Now.
The river is everywhere at once, only the present exists.
Let thoughts flow through me

Remember and nurture your inner God.


(Accept yourself, in flux is the best time to find your stable self, the true essence that exists no matter where or what you're doing- its easiest to see when you're in a transformative period)

The Clouds' Claim

Mirrored slowly backwards,
gray ghost clouds with vapor tails.
Sideways lights blink thoughtfully.
The strong and humble oak will stand,
tendrils firm, entrenched for decades
in the soil of our ashes.
Flies the black bird, chasing the hawk
through windmills in the sky.
A curtain of liquid blue blinds the seeds,
silence the beak.
Ebony rivers of melted plastic
course through the trees like tar in my veins.
Maybe the leaking sky will spare us all.

The rain would be so beautiful here, above the wind

A corporate highrise with a view of nature

Contradictory skylines clashing in a cloud of smog

Some questions about the Bible

1. What about all of the people who lived before Christ? They had no chance for salvation- did God decide they were not good enough?

2. Why are there countless descriptive accounts of Hell, but none of Heaven? We know of the 7 layers of hell, the various methods of eternal torment, but nothing of heaven besides "merry and happy were thee."

3. How could the bible be written by Jesus' apostles when most of them are proven to have been illiterate? 10% of the ancient world around the time of Jesus could read- even less could transcribe letters- and even less could compose original thoughts and articulate those thoughts through letters. Also, the new testament was written in Greek, but many of the apostles (such as Peter) spoke Aramaic.

Races and Places

I am a Boscottish, New Yorussian, Carolinative American, Atlitalian Florijew!

aka. Bosyorkidatlacaromutt

Dreams and Ramblings

Why are things so clear in those waking, distilled moments of darkness and initial fear? Dreams speak something slow and strong to the spirit that confuses and illuminates. Those fleeting insights into a mind untidy, thoughts confused or centered, verging on the realms of absurd are what few illuminations our consciousness' dare reveal. Yet their purpose seems archaic and ineffectual, if the thoughts so readily expressed by the subconscious is obscure and misunderstood by the brain of reality.

Maybe I'm rambling, and maybe that's OK. Isn't the point to ramble on until we find where we're going? And if we didn't ramble, how would we know that where we end up isn't truly where we were meant to be?

Why I am a Picky Eater

I hate fungi
(at least in a non-psychedelic capacity)
I hate cheese made from sheep or goat milk
(with wool in the brain and tang on the tongue)
I hate tomatoes
(at least in the gelatinous, porous state)
I hate berries
(with seeds in tooth gaps and texture gritty with sweet)

I love lima beans
(so bland and soft and unobtrusive)
I love milk
(with patriotic farms on the brain and cream in the throat)
I love garlic
(at least in the non-offensive, splash of zest state)
I love bananas
(delicate in cheek gabs and texture soft with sweet)

I hate the gritty, tangy, gelatinous and seeded.
Like a plane crash at 10,000 feet altitude over a field of prickled wheat
I love the soft, creamy, unobtrustive and delicate.
Like a pillow of satin over a field of mossy clouds.

late night tea and
a cinnamon spun thread-
winding and woven,
crimson pale red.

So soon
again
and yet
why not?

She says
"The world is over!"
I say
"Hrm?"
She says
"The world is over!"
I say
"No...why?"
She smiles
and walks away.

I get on tangents, hard to break, like the soul will decompose if I stop for just one second to change course.

750 Words- Day # 10 (1/26/2011)

We settle down,
Get fat,
buy TVs.
Skin is now
soft and pale
that used to be
dark and hard.
We take joy in showers and
painted nails,
when we used to watch clouds
and chase fireflies.
We domesticate animals,
dress them up in funny clothing.
I used to save birds fallen from
their nests, but now it seems
I've fallen from mine.
We puff cigarettes for as long as
our lungs can hold.
We used to hold our breath and count as
high as we could to
show off, impress, joke.
Snow stretching into the horizon was a
magical kingdom, transformed to light
before our eyes.
Snow is now an annoyance, a meager attempt by
the Earth to slow us down, stop us dead
in our tracks.
We grow up to live
to watch someone else grow up
to live.
We grow up to care
to help someone else grow up by
caring.
We drive around in SUV's,
We drive around on roads of wax,
Not caring, not thinking,
Just going forward to
who knows where.

The sun shines brightly on a freshly formed patch of dirt, slowing tires, irreversible havoc on a dust top side stream alley. Spinning wheels show gold and red in the glow of tilted light. Our friends are silent, our friends are tame, our friends are not the same as us. We forget in time that it's all a bowl of spaghetti- a simple mash up of basic flavors, a hint of exotic herbs, but mostly just thick, dull substance. It's not a race, just wait while water boils and then you're done. Patchwork compass pointing always north, until you get there and what is next. It is ice and plastic and dim lighting.

One step after another, leading us forward but really just far from where we were.

Apologies for my disgust, it seems the tides have gotten the better of me. But when the sun goes down and moon goes up and nothing is left but the darkness of our solitude, the blight of our purposelessness, it is hard to ignore the impending nothingness that awaits.

Gib jab, blib blab, what does nothingness matter? This is what we have to experience. This is what we have to live. This is our only chance. Why argue, why stop to think, why not just run full tilt towards the wall if the wall is what we've been given?

There is beauty to be seen in a frozen tundra. I know that, I still see that. There is perfection in a cold October day, walking briskly with hands tight in pockets, crushing blood red leaves beneath boots. Fireflies still scatter on the wind, mocking us to come and take a chance. We don't have to live in one world or the other. The isolated nature dwelling child (with friends in imagination) or the isolated urban dwelling adult (with friends in appearance). These can both be part of one whole. It is crucial to me that they be compatible, because I cannot have one or the other. Life would not be sustainable without imagination and animal shapes in the clouds, just as it would not be sustainable without jobs and creature comforts.

It's burning now, the chance to see clearly, and yet the incapability to do so. That would entail a restructuring of the conscious mind. The subconscious already knows what it needs, what it would chose to see. But the conscious, adult, human mind is racked with restrictions, guidelines, masked figures we must follow. How can two beings reside in one body? In reality, there are so many beings, more than I can list. Child, adult, subconscious, conscious, depression, happiness, panic, calm, night, day, love, hate, excitement, nonchalance, arrogance, self doubt, music, math, machine, paint, clouds, earth, water, fire.... The endless possibility of countless words and feelings bubbling beneath the surface, ready and waiting to release themselves in eternal combination, be they in strife or harmony. The subconscious doesn't care if it's expression makes sense, if one combination proves disharmonious- it just wants to be released- it just wants to TRY.

A chance is all we need and that is what we can have. And not just one, but as many as we can rightfully take before our time expires. Or until we give up. Which is basically willful expiration. Why not then live a million lives in just one day? That way when the final day eventually does come, we will have lived deeper and greater; a million times a million in the span of a hundred.

Recent Dreams

1/17/2011

Struck by lightning, fingers on right hand (pinky, middle and ring) curl up, back of shins red and irritated. Other people struck- people die. I become statically charged, superhuman strength. Running into a falling apart building to get out of storm with other people.

Swimming pool murder

My family there- pool shutting down but I still jump in

Jumping through spots of water and concrete, floating/flying and flapping my arms like a bird

With a family, two twin sisters, feel part of their family- living in attic- but their mom makes me leave

On top of roof, old house, little nook leading to outside but sheltered. Covered in leaves, homeless- scruffy dog with me.

1/18/2011

Finding Jamal, wanting to sign up for archaeological trip- end up going to Thailand – really an area in Georgia with Thai population and cultural center, buy traditional clothing and food to fit in.

Transforms into somewhere in central America. Taking pictures in center of a town with other tourists. Beautiful blue waters from bus windows, workers everywhere, always looking at water through windows. Walking around streets, seeing poverty, maps and papers on roof of houses. See beautiful mansions, catch glimpse of attractive man through window who is looking at me.

With BK, running to zoo. Dark at night, zoo animals are roaming around zoo uncaged. Big bear outside of entrance. Kissing, MB is there, we run away in embarrassment- he follows, we fall in the grass outside and pretend we were just drunk.

Long winding road, wooded, damp. Lots of cars waiting in line, people everywhere- huge festival. Dogs running amuck. Present from Wyatt- tons of magazines including one about quitting smoking.

1/19/2011

At senior prom in high school. Some guy causing problems. Says he wants to kill me. I go alone with him into an isolated hallway to talk. He starts to slice at my neck. I have scissors and lunge to attack him. He says I won’t do it. I cut him, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to kill.

I run out- go to staff lounge and try to find someone to talk to. Very upset. See Professor Johnson- try to talk to him but he’s wasted. No one seems to notice me or care. See another man walking towards us from outside, he’s with a girl who’s hanging all over him. Turns out to be Prof J’s brother- I am able to talk to him but everything with him is sexually charged and it doesn’t seem he’s really concerned with my situation.

The guy who cut me lingering outside of the room (all glass walls) leaning on a gravestone fucked up, falling over. Graves outside.

Picked up by a police officer in a purple car. I am happy to be with her, she says she’s arrested the guy. I’m going somewhere to give testimony.

Huge building, lots of windows, lit up at night. Can see inside to staircases and rooms from outside. Nuns and nurses walking around. MB at one of the entrances- I run past him. Run up the steps fervently.

Old man in priest tunic at very top of building. Bridge leading out into the sky. Bridge is black, mechanical, imposing. He’s holding a device that will “turn the bridge on”. I have a premonition and implore him to evacuate the building- that the bridge is going to malfunction.

In a grocery store at close, trying to get food free but unable to. Someone gives me a crazy haircut and I love it.

With Pat and Paul at some old stoner guy's shop. He has our bong and we watch some series that just came out. Motif of watching this series through night in different situations- alone, with parents. Cross between Weeds and Boardwalk Empire.

Memory of dream from months ago- flood, entire city devastated, under water, toys, household objects floating in the river that became the town. In a house, under water, room with little girl floating out window, chasing after her doll- drowning.

Today: French Flapper

A wee bit sad...

New Hair for a New Year!