inertia
motherfucker
i need a life. hard to spell it out from a - y. and how to get to z is a whole new speech my tongue is shy to. i can't sleep because i'm playing memory, playing fool, playing detective without any clues. i've been watching movies alone for 4 years, but the images never seem to click together clear. the scenes are beautiful but only snowflakes passing through the projector light without the eye to draw their light points to one another. you steal a kiss here and a phone call there. somebody wins, somebody floats, somebody loses a penny and somebody finds a penny. moments in context but the frame is out of focus. i want to ask all those teachers handing out parent conferences, "do you tell every parent that their child is smart and special?" i want to know whether it's a blur because the world is spinning or because i am. i'd like to grasp the probable statistics of crests and trajectory.
where does one get questioning the placement of one's feet? one foot in the past, one in the present. if you keep running towards the thunderous calamity of z, in the distance unknown, exploding like a sun, do your wonders become simpler, smarter, more streamlined? cunning? concise? cohesive?
cohesion is the girl that gets away. with me, she's slippery. the more convoluted the plot is, the more pages, the more letters, sentences, and paragraphs that pollute you in a daily-annual hurricane, the harder it is for me. of course, i've always felt that what takes most people 3 minutes may take up to 17 days for me. i remember being in 4th grade having to ask the only phrasing of help that i could muster up in mumbles, "i don't get it." they'd ask why and i'd say, "i just don't get it." somewhere in that golden era is when i developed a disdain of asking for help. it's a chip . . . more like a golden tassled lapel on my shoulder that i carry with to this day. i like operating under the radar as much as possible. i can do what i can do, whtaever that may be, without having to ask anyone how or why as long as i never hurt anyone or rouse any sort of peep that may upset the glass walls.
i've always felt that in the artful habits of living, when i became too self-aware, too outwardly deliberate, it meant time to jump ship. i don't take to forcing much that doesn't seem neccessary to force. unfortunately, i think that's what the entire concept of discipline is based on. at least, to me it means simply forcing yourself to do something until it becomes natural. discipline, as i understood as a child, is a pillar of self-improvement. without it one is susceptible to possibly ill whims and impulses. everything is useful when applied the right way.
i think everyone has been a part of something pretty and flirted with the idea of it's demise.
there are two people in the world that can convince me that i'm a rotten person; me and my father. the chicken or the egg. the truth is, i'm as decent as any other given human being. it's just that sometimes the any-other-human-beings can be really careless and stupid. my father is the only singular person that i will ably do the opposite of what i'm told to do. beyond that there are only percieved conventions that i swim against.
i'm asleep. this is the kind of conversation you have with yourself in a dream. it's the movies again. just like when i was a kid. a little kid hopping midnight movies, leaving his dad asleep in the first one, taking it all in but not quite understanding them or how they all fit together. but they sure are pretty cool. sometimes i think of the moments before sleeping when you're synapses are firing, neurosis on overdrive as an epic song playing backwards; a fade in introduction. and then - once you hit sleep, that's when the song starts to play. the thought of it all, the logic of the images is not there but it's not important. the feeling is there connected, high. it plays on and fades out and then you wake up scratching your head to the sound of that distinct sound of a needle scratching vinyl.
i'm going to work in 4 hours and the fate of the universe lies in the weather patterns. i'm through looking through.
i need a life. hard to spell it out from a - y. and how to get to z is a whole new speech my tongue is shy to. i can't sleep because i'm playing memory, playing fool, playing detective without any clues. i've been watching movies alone for 4 years, but the images never seem to click together clear. the scenes are beautiful but only snowflakes passing through the projector light without the eye to draw their light points to one another. you steal a kiss here and a phone call there. somebody wins, somebody floats, somebody loses a penny and somebody finds a penny. moments in context but the frame is out of focus. i want to ask all those teachers handing out parent conferences, "do you tell every parent that their child is smart and special?" i want to know whether it's a blur because the world is spinning or because i am. i'd like to grasp the probable statistics of crests and trajectory.
where does one get questioning the placement of one's feet? one foot in the past, one in the present. if you keep running towards the thunderous calamity of z, in the distance unknown, exploding like a sun, do your wonders become simpler, smarter, more streamlined? cunning? concise? cohesive?
cohesion is the girl that gets away. with me, she's slippery. the more convoluted the plot is, the more pages, the more letters, sentences, and paragraphs that pollute you in a daily-annual hurricane, the harder it is for me. of course, i've always felt that what takes most people 3 minutes may take up to 17 days for me. i remember being in 4th grade having to ask the only phrasing of help that i could muster up in mumbles, "i don't get it." they'd ask why and i'd say, "i just don't get it." somewhere in that golden era is when i developed a disdain of asking for help. it's a chip . . . more like a golden tassled lapel on my shoulder that i carry with to this day. i like operating under the radar as much as possible. i can do what i can do, whtaever that may be, without having to ask anyone how or why as long as i never hurt anyone or rouse any sort of peep that may upset the glass walls.
i've always felt that in the artful habits of living, when i became too self-aware, too outwardly deliberate, it meant time to jump ship. i don't take to forcing much that doesn't seem neccessary to force. unfortunately, i think that's what the entire concept of discipline is based on. at least, to me it means simply forcing yourself to do something until it becomes natural. discipline, as i understood as a child, is a pillar of self-improvement. without it one is susceptible to possibly ill whims and impulses. everything is useful when applied the right way.
i think everyone has been a part of something pretty and flirted with the idea of it's demise.
there are two people in the world that can convince me that i'm a rotten person; me and my father. the chicken or the egg. the truth is, i'm as decent as any other given human being. it's just that sometimes the any-other-human-beings can be really careless and stupid. my father is the only singular person that i will ably do the opposite of what i'm told to do. beyond that there are only percieved conventions that i swim against.
i'm asleep. this is the kind of conversation you have with yourself in a dream. it's the movies again. just like when i was a kid. a little kid hopping midnight movies, leaving his dad asleep in the first one, taking it all in but not quite understanding them or how they all fit together. but they sure are pretty cool. sometimes i think of the moments before sleeping when you're synapses are firing, neurosis on overdrive as an epic song playing backwards; a fade in introduction. and then - once you hit sleep, that's when the song starts to play. the thought of it all, the logic of the images is not there but it's not important. the feeling is there connected, high. it plays on and fades out and then you wake up scratching your head to the sound of that distinct sound of a needle scratching vinyl.
i'm going to work in 4 hours and the fate of the universe lies in the weather patterns. i'm through looking through.