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A swift glide to the next train

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(no subject) [Jun. 2nd, 2005|04:26 pm]
[Current Music |Beatles- These Eyes]

"I saw her film today, oh boy

the english army had just won the war

a crowd of people turned the other way

but i just had to look "-Beatles

Last night I sat in the middle of the road, smoked a parliament, crossed my legs and just...sat, as one...

 

Update on Life Of Emily. )

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(no subject) [Jun. 2nd, 2005|04:17 pm]
[Current Music |Beatles (Sgt.Peppers LonelyHearts Band)]

Happy Birthday Sgt. Peppers LonelyHearts Band... Album of the Beatles (1967) keep us always on a journey... "do you need somebody to love, could it be anybody? I want somebody to love...i get by with a little help from my friends"

 

I love Boulder.

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(no subject) [May. 21st, 2005|09:55 am]
[Current Mood | contemplative]
[Current Music |The Postal Service/ The Shins...]

Last week I had the strangest dream
Where everything was exactly how it seemed
Where there was never any mystery of who shot John F. Kennedy
It was just a man with something to prove
Slightly bored and severely confused
He steadied his rifle with his target in the center
And became famous on that day in November

-Postal Service//Sleeping In


Mac left this morning; I guess he got to see that gorgeous algae colored sunset as he flew off or something. I've had a great week...It was amazing seeing him.
I slept at Alysses', I didn't want to be alone.
This is the first serious update I've done in a long time.

I watched a beautiful moon last night; I watched it dissapear behind a mountain
and then I watched the sun come up too; and it looked like 5 feet under sea corral, and it was beautiful.
The cat is trying to get itself out of the bathroom, by clawing on the bottom of the door non-stop.

It's just alright being where I am.

and I thought this song was by Iron and Wine (or at least it was in Garden State; who knows who came first?)

 

Bummed out today; but still smiling, read if you want. )

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(no subject) [May. 19th, 2005|11:46 pm]
People have been engaging in more conversations about existentialism with me lately, like i'm wearing a big sign on my forehead that says "Hey I've got theories; you've got questions; and i'm almost done searching and just accepting" And then the questions pop up again. Craziness.

"twistin' twistin up the lyrics of existance."
-sage francis
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Don't Forget That. [May. 18th, 2005|04:09 am]
[Current Mood |i need turntables]
[Current Music |Sole- Plutonium]

[Makeshift Patriot - Sage Francis]

chorus:
makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself at half mast.

makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself, via live telecast.

coming live from my own funeral, beautiful weather offered a nice shine,
which is suitable for a full view of a forever altered skyline.
when times like these arise, i freestyle biased opinions every other sentence.
journalistic ethics slip when i pass them off as objective.
"don't give me that ethical shit!"
i've got exclusive, explicit images to present to impressionable american kids,
and it's time to show this world how big our edifice is.

that's exactly what they attacked when a typically dark skinned disney villain
used civilians against civilians and charged the trojan horses into our buildings.
using commercial aviation as instruments of destruction,
pregnant women couldn't protect their children, wheelchairs were stairway obstructions.
now i have to back petal from the shower of glass and metal,
wondering how after it settles we'll find who provided power to radical rebels.
the melting pot seems to be calling the kettle black when it boils over,
but only on our own soil so the little boy holds a toy soldier,
and waits for the suit and tie to come home. we won't wait 'til he's older,
before we destroy hopes for a colder war to end. "now get a close up of his head."

chorus:
makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself at half mast. ("how does my hair look?")

makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself at half mast. ("run that tape back!")

makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself at half mast. ("it looks just like a movie")

makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself, while the stock markets crash.

the city is covered in inches of muck,
i see some other pictures of victims are up,
grieving mothers are thinking their children are stuck,
leaping lovers are making decisions to jump.
while holding hands to escape the brutal heat, sometimes in groups of the three.
the fall out goes far beyond the toxic clouds where people look like debris.
but all they saw after all was said beyond the talking heads
was bloody dust with legs looking like the walking dead calling for meds.
but all the hospitals are overwhelmed, volunteers need to go the hell home.
moments of silence for fire fighters were interrupted by cell phones.
who's going to make that call to increase an unknown death toll?
it's the one we rally behind, he's got a megaphone, and he's promising to make heads roll.
we cheer him on, but aspestos is affecting our breath control.
the less we know, the more they fabricate, the easier it is to sell souls.
we're sellin addictive 24 hour candle light vigils in tvs.
freedom will be defended at the cost of civil liberties.
viewers are glued to television screens, stuck, 'cause lots of things seem too sick.
i use opportunities to pluck heart strings for theme music.

i'll show you which culture to pump your fist at, what foot is right to kiss.
we don't know who the culprit is yet but he looks like this.
we know who the heros are, not the xenophobes who act hard.
"we taught that dog to squat. how dare he do that shit in our own back yard!"

they happened to scar our financial state and char our landscape.
can you count how many times so far i ran back this same damn tape?
while a camera man creates news and shoves it down our throats on the west bank,
with a 10 second clip put on constant loop to provoke u.s. angst.

so get your tanks and load your guns and hold your sons in a family huddle,
because even if we win this tug of war and even the score, humanity struggles.
there's a desperate need of blood for what's been uncovered under the rubble,
some of them dug for answers in the mess, but the rest were looking for trouble.

chorus:
makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself at half mast.

makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself at half mast.

makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself at half mast.

makeshift patriot
the flag shop is out of stock,
i hang myself..
don't waive your rights with your flags.
-Makeshift Patriot / Sage Francis

---
"Intellect is like a major city
Laden with concrete, metal
Advanced modes of transportation
Shining buildings, and fenced in parks
Spirit is the mountain's forest wilderness
and vast countryside that surrounds it
Too many people live in the city
Struggling day to day for mere existance
Most have forgotten how to live off the land
They only experience nature on class trips
and short-term vacations
For those that live in the country
Cities are like amusement parks with high prices
and temporal satisfaction
At the end of the day, they are tired
and ready to go home, and relieve their ringing ears"


Saul Williams

----

[Hopeless- Sage Francis]

I played connect the dots with your beauty marks
And I ended up with picture perfect sheet music
I read your musical notes with a composer's eyes
And heard out song for the first time
My spine is still tingling, mental images of your fine tune
is what I've been nodding my head to lately
Every now and then you can catch me humming
your nudity under my heavy breath
I heavily suggest you resurrect
your ancient neglected dust collector
If you distrust the distance in my seldom plucked heart strings
Sit stripped before your full length
Perform your reflection backwards
Maybe then you will understand the rhythm in my movement

Listen when the news is sent
Extend when the rules are bent
I'll be waiting to take your leave
Make me a victim of your two step
Make me an apprentice of your body parts
Teach me to dance to your beauty marks
I'm stepping on toes here and I don't care
It's hopeless, it's hopeless
It's hopelessness holding this openess to blow a kiss
So close your lips but don't get pissed
and throw a fist at this vocalist
I'm not emotionless, in fact I broke my wrist
when I wrote the list of all those I miss
This is my poker face, Mister Feel Nothing

Evicition Notice )

[Aesop Rock- Night Light]
Night Light suckas..
Put one up shackle me, not clean logic procreation
I did invent the wheel, in a previous generation
While the triple sixers lassos keep angels roped in the basement
I locate my old halos and pass em out to the pavement
Y'all catch a 30-second flash frame
Dirty cooperative Neptune bloom head-trip split
Fantastic! Fathom the splicing of major league low lifes
With anti hero earthworm mentality (Godzilla!)
I paste my game to zero all completion
See a cretin's still a cretin even speakin' altered moniker
American nightmare lost in the monitor
I'll hold the door open so you can stagger through
Then ten berserk and bread cookies in after you
It's the gutter and I spell it with the 'G' I stole from "Get the fuck up"
Noise crutch stolen wretched refuse of my teaming dumb luck
Still I promise temperance storm breed still bleeding Amish
See the freaks sucked out the bottom dropped 3 bears and a baby in a cottage
And I can't sleep now
Yeah, the police'll laugh
You won't be laughing when your covered wagons crash
You won't be laughing when you're hosted by the ghost of Christmas past
You won't be laughing when your blow up doll's
got a headache and won't give up the ass
And I lay my kicks to rest when I'm impressed
So I staple-gun them to my feet
This origami dream is beautiful: pull the tail watch the wings flap
But you really can't do a thing with that

All I ever wanted was to pick apart the day
Swallow up the pieces
Spit 'em at your species
Reachin' the city of lost barnacles and leeches
Night-light got me when the daylight went to evening
Night (Light) Day (Light) x8

I'm pretty sure I got a pulse.. plus
We Shimmy cross the centerfold, and our night light engulfed
Just let me keep the crumbs (Please)
With seven deadly stains
To hear the plane to crystal conscious
The results a dead-beat trying to make a dollar off a bomb threat (OK)
Lift me to activism chain activate wild-style Pluto orbit
Set a course then push the button
I swallow spores born by the laws of a morbid glutton
I can spot a drunk battalion by the Charlie Chaplin waddle
Zig zag and zig 'em again before they can pull a badge out
But I lash out
Another thick installment of one night in Gotham like
"Houston we have a problem"
They're buffing the trains the same days the graffiti writers bomb 'em
Who split how many freaks on box cuts of a high road bellow?
Heads ripped! Watch red bricks turn yellow
I'll try to meet the wizard
But a tailgating tit-man holding an oil can
won't let a hermit crab break in his new shell-toes
Life's not a bitch, life is a beotch
who keeps the villagers circling the marketplace
out searching for the G-spot
Maybe she didn't feel y'all shared any similar interests
Or maybe you're just an asshole; maybe I'm just an asshole
Kiss the speaker wire, seaming swashbuckler or pagan thresh hold
Stomach full of diner food
Wings span cast black upon views
Here to help release the rabbit hounds or pick apart your mood
I got this friend of polar nature and it's all peace
When I seek similar stars but can't sit at the same feast
Metal Captain!
This cat is asking if I've seen his bit of lost passion
I told him: "Yeah" I gave him one last look and smashed him

All I ever wanted was to pick apart the day
Swallow up the pieces
Spit 'em at your species
Reachin' the city of lost barnacles and leeches
Night-light got me when the daylight went to evening
Night (Light) Day (Light)..

----

Do You Connect?

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(no subject) [May. 16th, 2005|12:35 am]
[Current Mood | tired]
[Current Music |modest mouse.]

"It's no secret that cold cereal was invented to help nineteenth century Victorians stifle their rampant sexual desires. Any breakfast historian can tell you that. Sylvester Graham (1794-1851),a so-called "philospher and nutrition crusader" was the kind of forward thinking wackmobile who saw an indiputable connection between a person's decadence and their eating habits; this was partially augmented by his perception that the medical proffesion is wicked. "Disease is never the legitmate result of the normal operations of any of our organs," he wrote, a sentiment that would eventually spawn the creation of Quisp.

Mr. Graham suspected that bad food and innappropritate sexual desires-particularly maturbation- were the true case of every major illnes. This made the cure for all sickness relatively simple: sexual moderation (ie: less that thirteen orgasms a year for married couples, which actually seems reasonable), daily exercise, and a proper diet."

-Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs *A Low Culture Manifesto by Chuck Klosterman
(Chapter: 10 Lady Or The Tiger 1:19) Pg.119
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(no subject) [May. 16th, 2005|12:27 am]
[Current Music |Modest Mouse (old style)]

"On the waydown they saw a lot they don't remember
and if you asked them how, they couldn't say how they got there
and if you want them now you could just pull on the lever
and say, "I'm hung up on gravity."
you move your mouth and you start to talk
you close your eyes and then lose the thought
what's mine is mine and what's yours you probably got
and we all fall
on the waydown they saw alot they don't remember
and if you asked them how, they'd say gravity's how they got there
and if you want them now you could just pull on the lever
and say, "I'm hung up on this decade."
they found some shelves on a school's sand house
they created pagers to collect all their calls
what's mine is mine and what's yours and we all always fall
and we fall"-Modest Mouse
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My Name Is.. [May. 15th, 2005|11:24 pm]
[Current Mood | excited]
[Current Music |Saul Williams]

:)
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(no subject) [May. 9th, 2005|01:12 pm]
[Current Music |The Pixies]

I didn't know what I wanted to wake up to, (obviously, alive.) I didn't know if I was planning on a bright and sunny relaxed day, a busy cloud filled air, who i was looking forward to seeing, I had no idea. I've been up for about 30 minutes now. It's that gorgeous sunny but not quite-sitting-around-relaxed-yet 1:00pm, and I want to see Wiley and Emily C. Ko too, I really of course don't care which of my friends I might run into (it's always nice) but I think the mentioned will be called.. It's the Pixes and I LOVE THE PIXIES IN THE MORNING.
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(no subject) [May. 8th, 2005|10:28 pm]

I was trying so hard not to update on livejournal, I've banned [info]mindprosthetic from being any longer written in, some thoughts just had to be put down. The paper and the pen (my greatest friends), i just didnt feel the motivation to take out and spill, for some reason the technological paper stares at me, almost tranced and asks me to put down some words.

I just watched "I ♥ Huckabees" and was intending it to be a goofy love story. It turned out to be one of those movies that made me think alot. It's an existentialistic movie, how could it not get me thinking? I start off about Chuck Klosterman, and the era of "What does it all mean?" generation of hollywood/and cult movies that have come to rise, this is one of them, but in that reversed, straight-forward and sort of Garden State way. It cut through the bs and asked right away: How is it we get this way, and it all has to do with our surroundings.  I don't know, it made me justw ant a simple thought. I'm not even thinking about the existentialism as much as I am just with a  cloud over my head saying "that movie was intense"

Thats about all I am going to say tonight.

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(no subject) [Mar. 2nd, 2005|10:05 pm]
I just want something good to happen; all the stuff I get myself into piles up and I get lost in a swarm of duties. I put myself into this; yet it seems near impossible to dig myself out. I want to break down and cry, and have everyone watch while I sit on a tower unleashing all the anguinsh the world has ever seen. I really don't have it that bad, I 'm just really good at over-reacting. I can barely remember the last time my mother and I did something together, just us. Scratch that, I can't rememebr it. We have no time anymore, and love fills up in the cup so much that it tips over and someone gets angry because it got spilled. I want to watch movies, veg out, and wake up in teh mrning with the cmfort in my heart to start the day. I am grateful not to have to work tommorow; yet I can still groan and wince into the future. I worry too much; but who doesn't? I'm tired and uninspired and I really pray that some people I used to know still love me. I hope Noah and Sarah still love me. I hope Patrick stills thinks about me from time to time, I hope Mac tries to find me. Maybe I'm just insecure.

And Nostalgic.
In need of Vacation.
Tired.
Maybe even a little lost.
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(no subject) [Feb. 22nd, 2005|06:54 pm]
I sometimes put the wrong foot in front of the other. As opposed to stepping forwards or backwards I end up with two feet in the same place, standing in the middle of a crossway. I'm confident and full of an ego but I know I'm just alone and standing off hand wondering how I got to be here. I'm either way above or below what you are, I'll never be where you are, ever. I drink to get rid of the pain, I take more than I should and I get lost in an abyss of thought. I'm the image of my father. A perfectly intelligent artistic creative person that just can't seem to hold together. We're the same you and I. I drink to mask things, and I know how wrong it is, when I do it and afterwards. I don't even need a party. I just need something to hold on to. I tell myself I am somethign but my head sometimes runs and wonders why I do the things I do. Forbidden things are too exciting. I could make a living off all the wrong things I do, and it's a sin, and I'm sorry to whoever is up there. What if I put everything together, what if the peices magically conversed and become one, where would I be then? I'd be the same mind in a different point of view. Action is the enemy of Thought, so I attempt to keep myself busy but today I'm the thinker in the actions body. I'm the world without gravity, and I can't hate life, and I don't. I LIVE life, I love it, it's everything to me, peopel can walk aroudn with a cloud in their head talking about how much they hate their lives. I LOVE MY LIFE, I just sometimes wish I didn't thnk so much at once that my brain hurt and cared to implode. I need some nicotine to strap me down and get my head back to earth..

I'm confessing all my sins here, I don't have anywhere else to put them, or anyone else to lie too. I'm not as wonderful as you thought. I'm just a fucked up kid who looks just like you, we're mirrors of one another, we're artists, you and I, you can stand dissapointed or ashamed of my actions, they're yours too so don't get too hypocritical. I am the writer. I am the drinker. I sit at my typewriter and write, I smoke my Camels, and I stare at that empty handle of Jack on the desk.. It's just what happens when you let go.

"Your life is on the verge of being like a Tom Waits song"
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(no subject) [Nov. 20th, 2004|03:00 pm]
So Far
I found it inevitable to escape you
Pungently wrapped around your finger
waiting for the day I'll turn cold without
furthermore, I know now
you belong to others,
and never to me but always
I woudl seek revenge on my own sul
for tricking me
allowing me to feel something unwanted
the necessary process
underlying some great force.

Fuck this process
which I am watched under
UV lights blinding me to cold insanity
I was nevermore in love than I was
bittr about leaving myself
to join you in that waltz
they called Half-Life.


I'm bored.
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[Untitled] [Sep. 16th, 2004|09:26 am]
Deep, Drive, Drink, Drunk, Smoke stacks leap forces to the Urasian Army. Divine statue of our Lady is Desolate crutches, limping over to the next train station. Blocks are long and full of unfamiliar faces. I asked a woman for directions, she was short and foreign. Oh Lady Divine, Where is...Where is...I didn't remember the name of the street. Hobbling backwards and forwards, rights and lefts, mind boggled by a street name. Oh Lady Divine, I ran into her again. "You lost?" She whispered to me in a deep foreign tongue. Scared in tears I dropped the coffee and ran back, backwards and forwards, I rain into the store closest. "Was I in this store a few minutes ago??" I begged the Indian Man, where was I and how did I get back? Puzzled, Indian Man looked at me, "are you lost? No, You were not in here, You bought no coffee here. Drugs? Where are you searching for?" All my faded memory could conceive was a green bridge, cars and robots flooded beneath and a giant store reading "SuperFoods." I was in unfamiliar territory, running forwards, right, left until I kept seeing the same faces over and over again. "Go two blocks that way, take a left." a random man approached me, he looked Honduran. I was lost enough that his directions couldn't lead me anywhere but in the right direction.

I burst into the door, Empty Handed. The man who concieved me stared me down, a helmet on his head as he looked viciously for a bicycle. "Where the hell were you, its doesnt take a person 30 minutes to get a cup of coffee. Did you get lost again? I see the grocery store is closed, you should have came straight back, fuck pleasing me. Please yourself. Are those tears? I hoped on a bike, I almost went to look for you. Where is my money? We don't pay you to get lost, we pay you to be here and work, c'mon now...blah..blab...taking forever and a day to leave and blah..." He babbled and battered himself away a storm. I sat there empty as the coffee I had spilt, pretending to pay attention. All I could hear was the clattering of his teeth as my drugged up father rambled enedlessly about my elongated absence.

I would dream endlessly of that kiss, planning ways to sneak it up on Confused DeadBeat. Nights were spent wondering if such innnocence would ever be stolen from me again. When it had happened, it sneaked up on me, opposite of my grand master plan. Passion sneaked away from me, as I lied there thinking hard of what was next, what action I should partake in. Would I foolishly give myself away to him, or would I emit all of his fluids with my lips? My mind took over and I was frozen. Action could not be taken in this mind state of sobriety and confusion. Confused DeadBeat used his writing utensils in the private papers I hid from the world, asking my lips in return. I froze, and plans where broken as plans usually are. The foolish girl dreams ended there. Nothing ever thought out happens just so. Lying the bed, I felt overwhelmingly empty. It was time to buy a Braughtigan book.
I remember confronting my old man, he was up to his foolish tactics once again. What the fuck was he thinking, ruining more lives than one man should be allowed? A midget version of Hitler, running the world, ruining it one bottle of Jack at a time. "Your sister has anger problems."
One Track. One Way. This Way. Backwards.

At Jake's house, a jock was snorting blow. How to react, How to react? Snort the coke, slide the line, sniff, inhale, exhale, clean, shot of Jack. Back to the old routine, make a fool of yourself. No fear in embarrasment, I'm embarassed already. I couldn't fidn a RockStar's basement in Brooklyn, what else is there to live for?
Slide. Cut. Slick. Snort. Wipe. Shot. Repeat.
Euphoria of the fastended heartbeat. What is love, and why does everyone shrink their laundry? Colors in warm, cold, black hearted, decietful. What am I? Who are you? God doesnt exist, but you do.
No one stares down reality, not in the face, not the way they should. Appeal to Surreal, Fake what's real. This is an actors studio, director-anarchy. There are no rules, just put on a smile and fool everyone else. They do it too. Jake thinks he has a secret, thinking that his insecurities are hidden, he hides them with an overly egotistical mask, everyone knows. Everyone sees through him. He's the worst actor you could lay eyes on, yet he manages to fool himself. Oh Lady Divine, she's popped into my head again, wearing nothing but chains. Old, Foreign woman breaking from her cage, but still masked in chains. Her eyes attack, in pale purple/blue innocence. I feared to run in terror.
"Don't tell your mother about this." The old man told me once, swigging down Jack in that cold New York Aeroport. All the smiling faces, thousands of people filled with hellos and goodbyes, and here I sat, eleven years old with a drunken father in a plane station. "I'm going to miss my flight, old man." "The pilot can wait, you're a princess, he has to wait for you." my drunk told me, a sappy smile on his face with eyes refacting emptiness. Had I known Oh Lady Divine, had I known her eyes, her smile, her chains. Had I known her, I may as well ripped my father in half at the young age I was.
James Dean once said, "Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today." If we died today, what would happen and who the fuck cares? We waste our lives thinking about dying instead of living with the time we have. I've got friends who waste their time. Some actively partake in death coming sooner, and others sit around scared out of their wits for the day it's going to happen. We all die sometime, sitting on your ass thinking about it will only bring it closer. Hozomeen only knows if anything actually follows up death, but Hozomeen is only as dead as Kerouac let it die. We're all stuck in the thing we are trying to find.
Bang. Bong. Blitz. Baptists.Bars.BANG.

And you are dead. It doesn't have to be that way. In the city, at least five people have been shot on every street, I've seen a few shootings, drive-by, walk-by, you name it. Everyone to step foot in Brooklyn has seen it. And here we are in lucious Boulder. All the minors are afraid, pissing thier pants for a ration of stale knowledge. The Pen fell down, and it was time for a rest. Sleep/Drink/Smoke/Drunk/Die/Dead..Which ever comes first, followed by the euphoria of coffee in the morning.
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