The rain is too cold to wash me clean,

getting thicker and thicker with every homeward scene.

I see more in Euripides than Man;

does that mean I am motionless and cold?

I feel as though I'm frozen in stance,

but energized when great floods unfold.

Is the language dead because it needs no life,

or because it died at the hands of time...

worn away to bland stereo-effigies un-knived

and lost its taste from the Human Crime?

Brachiation

My mind began to churn,

with the association given to me

by someone I once knew:

Of lonely Man and lonesome tree;

of bitterness and disgust

and the nature of our ways.

When I see branches bare,

I think of skeletons and dust.

I think of washing clear

the hours buried deep in mud;

the slowly cycled breaths,

pushing out and pulling in

instead of being one

with the nature of our ways.

To be alive and seething hatred

for what I am one part of;

surely, hypocrisy or hegemony.

It must be another piece of the bleating love

proclaimed alongside dominance.

I think, instead, it is of my blood,

the blood of every memory

carved into our millennia.

And, unlike the naked trees,

who return as life unsheathed,

we will find our fate so feazed

at the glaring violence of our ways.

Invisible Wounds (Dark Bodies)

Dark bodies floating in darkness

No sign of light ever given

Imprisoned in a world without a memory

Unconscious, or am I conscious?

Cut from the heart I am part of

Sometimes I feel as though I'm frozen in Heaven

And I saw my own face in the dark and lonliness

And I saw my own face like a spark

In dreams, I see myself flying

Closer to the Sun, and I'm climbing

Tried to touch the Sun,

but the brightness burned my eyes

Unconscious, or am I conscious?

Fell from the sky like a star

Sometimes I feel as though I'm frozen in Heaven

And I saw my own face in the dark and lonliness

And I saw my own face like a spark

Dark

Dark

Dark

My life was so dark

Dark

Dark

My mind was so dark

Dark

Dark

My life was so dark

Dark

Dark

Everything was dark

Unconscious, or am I conscious?

Fell from the sky like a star

Sometimes I feel as though I'm frozen in Heaven

And I saw my own face in the dark and lonliness

And I saw my own face like a spark frozen in Heaven

Dark bodies floating in darkness

Dark bodies floating in darkness

Dark bodies floating in darkness

Dark bodies floating in darkness

Dark bodies floating in darkness

Dark bodies floating in darkness

Dark bodies floating in darkness

Man is obsolete.

And so, I stumbled onto a concept album. I was reading an excerpt about a Fear Factory song I was listening to, and ended up reading a bunch of stuff about what the album it's on was about. And it was really cool.

And it shows that it isn't only douchebags that create deeper art.

Days End

The life inside an empty scene,

with frozen skin and a mind asleep;

a heart tormented in endless dream....

Day Five

And so, I reach in and start carving out the older constructs, because although I am in shambles, I do not wish to build more ruins.

Day Four

It is a struggle to find anything that gives progress, because I do not have the same chemicals pushing me forward (or backward, or inward). It's hard to accept a lack of power on your own part, and even harder to resist what you think gives you that power, in spite of your own biology and psychology.

"As I descended into impassable rivers,

I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen..."

Day Three

You are a shell along the beach,
the shattered home of an ignorant beast;
I am the wave that hammers down into sand.
To barrel down, all on your own,
with nothing but the confusion of foam,
They watch the head with baited sight:
The throes of a candle in oil-burning torchlight.

Day Two

The earth knows the taste of falling flesh,
and we are one.
Come to ritual for sanctum's sake:
Habitual; commonplace.
I am death in the horse of Man,
I am death in the eyes of war,
I am death once the eyes are screwed
into spirals of conjecture
from the graves of funeral.

Day One

Indignation always comes in the form of splintered glass, with its origin at our centers. No one ever tries to control that, though, and they feed themselves with self-righteousness and condescension. It is disgusting if you put it into context with the capacity of the brain.

But that is everyone's identity: The ego, driven inward.

If I could capture one thing and place it into an expression of some abstract form, I would envelop the cold autumn morning, the rusted brown and a shortness of breath. These things are together inside of me.

How many times do you want to die? How many ways do you want to die?

Frustration grips me because I have waned in my ability to control my own mind. Even when I have been at my most insane, I could always control my baser emotions. That is getting harder to do. Maybe it's because I'm never sober for more than a few days at a time. Maybe it's because I'm starting to realize just how fucked I am. Maybe it's because I know that I will never have any semblance of normality or happiness in the more concrete sense. My brain is lashing out at me.

I can't ever be your sunshine...

I remember grinding my hand away,
pulling blood through the skin.
Sharp, cold air and autumn clouds
came roaring in their stasis;
my eyes were not on them,
but on the sanguine sacrifice.
'Beloved' is a curse on me,
tied in fetters to my name.
For someone as empty as I,
the word itself is frozen water.
As silence thrummed and pulsed,
I tore until crimson was my pillow,
until my bed was rose-red loss.
I tore until my voice was nothing
more than a rotten wooden cross.
And still, my memory brings me low,
slices through like jagged shards
into my flesh and bone.
And still, I try to bring it back,
as if I have control.

Years and years of a wordless slide;
one day swollen with rain and ice.
The sadness that creeps into me
is the same as when I found her there.
It stabs with the same ferocity,
bleeds as though it never stopped,
and fills me with a shaking hand.
And now, I have nothing else
but emptiness: Luridity.

I have died a hundred times
from living in this skin.
I have cut a thousand ropes
that pulled me near to him.
What I have left is waving glass,
a mirror carved of worthlessness.
What I have left is the lack of reach,
the lack of what I have.

I am delicate, but razor-sharp;
penultimate, but with no end.
And here, I feel the winter coming
to freeze my soul in ice.
Here, I see my own decay:
The endless, faithless night.

No one will ever know what I have seen,
nor what it's done to me.

I am trapped in the idea of untruth,
like the mist that pulls on morning dew
until my bones are stagnant and painfully dry.
The dogma, authority and structure of life,
or rather, of civilization; the knife
cutting selfishly to separate
the stars from gods, water from mind,
our being from dreams.
It rests solely in lies.

The water's deep here
The less of me I show to you,
the more I get to get me through

The stain of my eyes,
burnt deep within
Who will fall?
I asked not to know

I'm sealed away
You can't touch me, now
Wheel and fire
return to me

I have three sins
thrown down on me
Fate frees my heart
Whatever comes through me I will be

Digging a hole
so I can rest
No tears for me
No river to take me home
The stones in my way
reach to the core
of a rising sun falling
through the wind to the soil

As my body leaves me,
I cling to a tree in a dream
I'm screaming to you
Whatever comes through me I will be

--

Did you see your people?
They all turned out for you
We were all together,
not so long ago

In the shadows, we can see you
In the wind, we hear your laugh
When the light reclaimed you,
we were left clawing at the sky

In the ocean, we can find you
For the Sun, we praise your name
In the dirt, we pray for God to bring you back again

I can see you
I can see you

In the void, the stones are turning and turning and turning

I can see you
I can see you

Holy burning hand of wrath,
piercing forever through the heart

and this flaming orbit of shame
ravages and splits the path

Grinding, binding
Taken away
Needles above the prey
Wreath of barbs
Grinding, binding
Taken away
Needles above the prey
A wreath of barbs

The injection of religion
has a coma-like effect
And bodies lay in decay,
dreaming of a greener day

Grinding, binding
Taken away
Needles above the prey
wreath of barbs
Grinding, binding
Taken away
Grinding, binding
Taken away
Away

Open eyes reading nothing
A sky harsh blue grins black

And I bleed and bleed in this wreath of barbs
And I run and run, but I don't get far

I don't sway with a woman's hips,
or a crumbling tower's breeze.
The snake's mouth whispers many things,
but nothing I believe.
To see that we are riding waves
on a poisoned trajectory,
not knowing where it ends
or when we will have time to grieve;
as if grieving is some strong belief....

There goes my head...

What am I doing?

I went on a bender, I lost myself, I lost every sense of bearing and direction.

I have no idea where either of my phone chargers are, and both have been dead for at least a week now. I have no money, My bank account is hundreds of dollars in the red, my bills are unpaid and piling, and I have no idea where anything is. I have no idea where reality is.

My palpitations are worse, so much so that it worries me every time I lay down to sleep. I don't have any real sense of consciousness; I feel like I'm hurdling down a wire at lightspeed, using every ounce of Self just to hold on. And I'm awake at five in the morning, unsure as to whether I should even sleep or not before work.

The last time I felt like this, I was hiding, trying not to think about how recently Death had visited me.

And now, I'm here again, but this time with an emptiness instead of a burgeoning sadness. Pure emptiness.

I'm sorry that I don't deserve you, and I'm sorry that it had to be shown in this way. I'm sorry that I'm too erratic and unstable and introverted to let it end any other way. I'm sorry.

I am the wanderer
bound to burning effigies,
pupils wide in anger,
straining from a winter.
Stretched thin for elegies,
strings smoldering, a lesion.
A lesson for belief;
my skin is leathered myth:
the shining proxy crumbling;
statues of weltered sin.

I can't reach the width
required to douse myself.
Silent fires are burning;
raging storms unyielding.
And I am silent,
for I am a silence.

October all over...

Meet me in October
Now it's nearly over
Maybe in November
if we can remember

When it rains, it feels like shame
Remind yourself after work
to find a new city to blame
Lock yourself in the house

Sometimes, you'll laugh
so hard, you'll cry

Only in October
Now it's nearly over
Maybe in November
if we can remember

Broken teeth for months, it seems
Like you like Hell
Weekend comes and now you feel
like your afterlife
Sometimes, you'll laugh
so hard, you'll cry...

There's really not a lot that I care about now
There's really not a lot that I care about now
Somehow, I almost feel like I am here tonight

There's really not a lot that I care about now
There's really not a lot that I care about now
Somehow, I almost feel like I am here tonight

Too many times when I'm standing here
I can't look back a day to know what it was
All these fucks talk in circles
I won't stand for this shit
and now I don't even know who you are
Who you are
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know

I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know

There's really not a lot that I care about now
There's really not a lot that I care about now
Somehow I almost feel like I am here tonight...

I'm dead in the water,
A silhouette turning over
I'll wait for you here

And I keep forgetting
where I'm meant to be
Oh so far,
yet
oh so near

So tell me,
Just what are these gifts that you bring?
This life is amazing
but the colors keep changing

And I'm sure
we shouldn't be wasting away
My rotting history
will find its place

So don't go
So cold

I'll not be afraid
It's taken this long
to come back again
And yes, I might suffer
the fate of another
The shit and the bones
and all things considered,
I walked with my hands held out

And I'm sure
we shouldn't be wasting away

Living backwards
I'm living backwards
I'm living backwards
I'm living backwards
I'm living backwards
I'm living backwards

I'm glad that you came down with me
I'm glad we recalled our history well
Didn't we know the same God?
I hope we are not Cain and Abel

So when does the message come?
And when do they tear my sweet dreams down?
And I need you there to help me crawl
I am not safe or able

in a desperate time...

I have no reason to have any respect for society, or any construct therein. I have to use the little patience I have in the pointlessness of daily life, catering to idiocy and self-aggrandizing, foolish people.

If I stopped and suddenly changed into the person that displays what I really think, I would have even more to deal with. It seems like this is the only place where people can be so self-important and so worthless at the same time. Domesticated Man is a creature that sits and moans and abuses himself because he isn't a movie star -- or a beast that enjoys feeding off of himself.

The aging drunk, the old one in my past, and my own tendency to become the same; three different people, and three representations of my loathing towards the outside world. People are small, selfish, insignificant things, and the consolation that my own brain has to be reflected somewhere out there grows dimmer and more shadowed, until I start to think its an illusory comfort, and I start to think that I'd really like to see the world go to Hell in my lifetime. At least then, I would know that it would be in more capable hands, having erased the only animal that can stab a sword into anything in sight, while simultaneously wondering why it feels so alone.

It's as well
to be here
It's right here
and I haven't got a thing
and my memory
will be the death of me.

The world feels pejorative...

I can feel one cloud from the rest,
a rolling undulation of flood-water mists,
and I see what no one can seem to define.
I carry the impact of arbitrary, storm-weathered fists
pierced by the spire of two shoulders;
the air breathes in cysts.

For my wants, I bore Longinus;
my needs, Aeschylus.
My mind tears like a blistered rain
beating hard into the earth.
I've traveled far and deep, all for one thing:
To feel as though I'm on my feet.
All I feel are two lonely, broken knees.
All I feel is the waning strength of weakening wrists,
but happiness in discovery:
elucidation, fear, combat and pain;
listless fury and agonizing strain;
trepidation in serene, moonlit waves;
my heart and eyes are the swaying crane.
I won't want for a thing,
for I'll fall prey to my own brain.

Divine promises taking over my life...

The reason we're all disfigured
I will say it again
The reason we're all disappointed
with innocence lost
You're alone
You can feel the resentment
burning a pathway
straight to your heart
I say, kingdom come

Maybe your life is wonderful
I wish you well
Please understand, I won't change you
So grant me the same
I know this:
There's a plain white horizon;
I want it so badly...
It seems, after all,
that You're will be done

And it's done
Reaching out
And it's done

We are all defenseless now
On your own, you left somehow,
with these broken bones
These broken bones

But, I am one with these chains:
Come around and I regain,
with my broken bones
My broken bones

The reason we're all disfigured
I will say it again
The reason we're all disappointed
with innocence lost
You're alone
You can feel the resentment
burning a pathway
straight to your heart
I say, kingdom come

My mind has been at a stalemate for awhile now. I don't really feel the same kind of cognitive progress that I usually do, and I usually chalk this up to things that are no longer present.

I don't feel like pouring over or projecting outward. I don't really know what more to say than that.

Life is coming in small, succinctly amorphous paragraphs.

The sun beats down and panic reigns in this time of ending...

I am sick of being around conceited people. I don't deserve to be shit on because someone doesn't have a fully-developed sense of reality. I'm sick of being taken advantage of, in all of the forms my life assails me with.

I'm sick of what Autumn means to me.

God is in the heart and soul.... (INSIDE.INSIDE.NOW)

Don't you know where I've been?
I have climbed every mountain
Don't you know what I've seen?
The Earth, the sky and the Moon
above and in-between, I'll shine like I should've

In a way,
without hate,
I wouldn't be what I am

Don't you know what I've been?
Did I cause every tension?
But I want you to be
the Earth, the sky and the Moon
in love, and in-between, I'll shine like I should've

In a way,
without hate,
I wouldn't be what I am

Into a world I can do without
Into a world I can do without

Undecided;
Should I pray to something else?
Undecided;
Should I pray to something else?
Fuck the Devil
Fuck myself...

Now,
look at me now
Look at me now
Now,
look at me now
Look at me now
Look at me now
Look at me now
Look at me now....

To my beloved:

I know that I am not a communicative person. I know that I have purposefully lacked any sense of discourse in a serious manner. And, I know you are waiting for an answer.

I can't leave here yet. This is not what you want to hear, and I think that if I told you this in person, vocally, you would try to convince me otherwise. I need the structure of paragraphs and prose to avoid backlash, so that I can send a complete thought without feeling guilty, or sad, or shameful.

My family has always been frayed, but it has become much more so lately. My mom has started taking anti-anxiety meds, and I just found out a few days ago that she's been having panic attacks. As for myself, I am probably going to go back on Lithium, instead of Sertraline. I may have borderline personality disorder, or at least that's what the doctor has said. But regardless, I am watching myself become more and more psychotic and withdrawn. Marijuana always kept my psyche in check, somehow, even though it made me flaky and antisocial in a large way. It still made me feel more level than a lot of prescription meds ever did.

My personality, my sense of principle tells me that I should instantly reject any kind of ultimatum. That is just the way I am. I know that you aren't giving me one to be selfish or impatient, but my nature makes me abhor any kind of forced decision like this. I do want to be with you, and I do love you... but, I can't fall away from the meager life that I have here just because of that.

It's too mundane for me to give reasons like this, but that is the way it is. I can't leave here. At least, not for awhile.

Furthermore, I'm not so sure that I can be the kind of person that you want. You say that all you want is me, but I am empty inside most of the time. I have tried very, very hard to be a better man for you, and it drains me emotionally. My default state is complete apathy and vapidity. I have never believed that I was capable of real, enduring and unending love. I have a hard time just pretending to be in my empty moments.

I'm not trying to give excuses or justify anything... I'm just trying to be honest. I have a hard time expressing how I really feel in situations like these, because a part of me feels like I'm letting you down.

My head is a mess, my life is a mess... I need time to figure everything out and get myself stable.

You just called, and in a way it underlines some of my annoyance at this whole situation. When I said that you can't call this number this late, your first response was that it's not late to you. I sound like a dick saying this, but I wish that you would think about my circumstances before your own sometimes. I have spent my entire social life catering to other people, and whenever I try to get my point of view across, it seems like you immediately put your own perspective above mine.

There are a lot of things like that that I really get bothered by. I can't go one day without other people putting me at a disadvantage because they refuse to think about other people before themselves, and I'm not saying that you do that, but there is a part of you that does, sometimes.

This is what I always do: I board myself up and let the negative emotions build, until I release them in inane ways. I blow things out of proportion. But, this is the way that I feel... and it takes all of my effort throughout the day just to keep from breaking down. It takes everything out of me just to appear normal to everyone around me. And all I get are more hopes and expectations thrust upon me, because I try to at least be receptive to others' needs. It all really grinds and wears me down.

So, I don't really know what I'm trying to say, other than that I need more time, and I can't just throw everything down and run away with you. I'm not trying to sound selfish or like I'm playing everything down. But, you have no idea how close I am to having a severe psychotic meltdown.

Fuel to burn

And everything seems fine
until you decide to
open your eyes
And I'm so tired
of wanting destruction
to fall on the world

It's all fuel for
Man to burn

I will take out your eyes
I will take out your eyes
I will take out your eyes
I will take out your eyes

Get outside
Get outside
Get outside
Get outside

Get outside
Get outside
Get outside
Get outside

Get outside
Get outside
Get outside
where
the air, I know
is for the last time

These strings that strangle an empty chest...

All I can do sometimes
is stare and fall
and follow myself through
the membrane that is self-fulfillment.
And I know that this
is what I make of it
and what I take from it,
but I still find the same things.

Pain.Contact.Backward.Pain

I'm too tired and strung out to think. Time for sleep.

I forgot what such a momentous crash felt like. But, it is nostalgic in a bad way. I needed a bender to help me be more responsible, I think. Hopefully.

Comfort yourself...

What solace lies in the arms of fate -- The ill embrace of uncertainty?
When did I leave this in other hands, to be pulled down at chance?
Ripped away by destiny-claws; am I another of fate's possessions?
Dwelling the lie of freedom -- Just another straw pulled at random

Reclaimed by deceiving time
A silent judgment I cannot overrule

Drawn back into the origin-vortex;
uprooted and ground to dust
Retracted into anti-existence,
a magnet repelled by life's polarity
Denied the self-control of fate,
we float suspended in semi-life
until the ever-imminent day when oblivion claims our breath

Nowhere indefinitely; not dead, not alive
Existence-patterns ripped of symmetry
as Will and Fate divide

Have I appeased the gods of fate?
Am I allowed another day?
Must I die to escape
the scanning eyes of death?

In the spirit of honesty:

I am still an addict. I am still obsessive and compulsive. I am still a broken mind, a fractured being.

I haven't shot up in a long time. I did tonight, though. It felt amazing. But, I will never do it again. No one who hears me say that would believe me, though. That is my stigma: I am the failure, and Human nature defines me as being so. And I don't necessarily even believe myself, or believe in myself.

It is so difficult for me to simply live day to day. I always feel like I am out of balance, like my brain is eating itself with chemicals and neuroses. I always feel like I'm collapsing and falling in on myself.

I don't feel love and affection in the same way that I once used to. I don't feel attached to reality anymore. I don't feel Human anymore, and I don't know what to do about it. All I've done for the past few years is learn to ignore it like a growing disease that I can't do anything about. And, on nights like this, I guess on nights when I go overboard, it really saddens me to think about how much I've fucked my life up. And this isn't the opiate-mind talking. This is really how I feel most of every day, and how I have felt for a very long time.

So I'm forcing myself to write every day, regardless of whether I want to or not. This is the only therapy I've ever had, and hopefully it will shed light to someone that I love. It will illuminate the darkness inside of me.

And, as irresponsible and stupid and childish and self-destructive and suicidal as I ever am, at least this will be my honesty talking, and not my love of hiding.

Gone

The proclamation screams in billows:
A roar to upend a shaken heart;
the tinge of salt buried in my throat,
forced outward in impatient throes.
I am but the want of escape,
and that is my undoing.

I am the king of Roman sorrow.
I am the bird of wings:
The embodiment of self-reflection,
the wasted space of Hecate's definition
on a new moon's birth.
I have no tide inside of me,
save the one that stirs my feet
and disintegrates my foundation.

A vacuum in continuum,
the armor of Achilles
and every other spaceless myth;
my brain is Ouroboros.

Minus

The deepest part of my psyche, psychosis incarnate, stirs after such a long time. I forgot just how gnarled my perspective was, and when I rush back to the imbalance of stress and apathy, it surprises me. It surprises me how deep it goes.

Two things have largely shaped both my self-image and my emotional development: Constant stress and constant, chronic pains. I don't mean pain in the abstract or emotional sense. Physical pain. Throbbing, unending, infinite cyclic pain.

These things have grated away at me for most of my life. I had forgotten just how big of a role they have had on me, because for the last few months I haven't been in that universe. But, I feel myself being pulled back toward there, now. I can't do anything to halt gravity.

Regardless of anything, it exists, and it is part of me. A facet of my own universe is within this conceptually masochistic framework.

It's a very real part of who I am. The sharp, analytical daggers; my journey within.

"You woke me up. Left me naked in a world I don't recognize anymore. Who is responsible for this? The only thing worse than evil is apathy; a crime we are all guilty of, so we just walk along in silence... But now, I cannot go further."

It's always best when the light is off
It's always better on the outside
Fifteen blows to the back of your head
Fifteen blows to your mind

(dog attack)

I'm afraid of never being able to create the life that I think I can for myself. I want to create, at the very least, the kind of comfort and pleasure that comes in being able to proud of yourself, in a very basic sense.

The reign of ignorance, religiosity and fear completely inundates my life. The delicate interpersonal folds that become frayed with time and so hard to keep steady... completely inundate my life. Everything is flooding me.

Closed-Eye Visuals

Unbound to the pale and lifeless day
by the multicolored, multiform.
A spinning antidream unthought --
Exceeding the obsolete reality.
Overheated inner shape-generator
blowing every cerebral fuse.
Insanity filtered and systematized;
Feeding the tools of mind abuse.

Mind-signal transmission peaked, distorted, bent;
unrestrained.
Neuroreceivers short-circuit.
System parametrs overgained.
Neverthreads decoding the stream
of the reality-inverting revolution
The patterned untruth of non-dream:
The closed-eye visual delusion

A frantic, cellular race
down the switchbacks of mind.
Throttling the existence engine;
a propulsion beyond all limit-lines.
Convulsive thrusts of septic energy,
as infected cells collide.
Unleashing the video-bacterial disease: The sinew-conducted pseudovision.

Self unfolds, like a disintegrating dream:
All revealed but the sinister cause.
My lying eyes come apart at the seams;
still, how could I ever regret the loss?

The self, transformed into wavelengths;
reverberate this unyielding dream.
Lost in this greedy illusion,
I'm forever devoured by
the closed-eye visual delusion.

A twirling visual overload --
Explosions of terror and beauty:
Colors of fear and pain within
clash into unanything

Dead Planet

I haven't slept in forty days
Something here just doesn't feel right
This eerie place keeps me up all night
So tired now, I'm losing my sight

Yellow sky
turning blue
Dead planet

I look around and see no end
Signs of extinction appear everywhere
This place called Earth is just a burning shell
An inner, outer, living Hell

We come so far, just to lose it all
This winding road we call Life
So civilized within our frame of mind,
never having learned to be kind

What is up with this hole I'm in?
No one here can hear me scream
What is up with this place I'm in?
Someone, get me out of this scene

Matter

I am struck by perpetually
moving anguish, stuck in conceptual
mist blown forth from grandeur,
or rather, usurped from the matter.
It is me, all I am and will be;
blown currents
moving in cycles.
And here I am...
pulled like I'm tandem.

Fourth

Independence is a lie,
like 'blank slate' and 'pasteurized'
and 'second chance', the westward push,
the selfish lurch to ignore the truth.

Make believe that nothing's real...

It started with a conversation this morning with my brother. He wants to bang the girl at my work, at least in some fantastical, pseudo-real way. He likes to talk about it, anyway.

And we were talking, and the conversation revolved around until it rested on the point that it's useless to want things like that, because in the end, they aren't worth it. That instantaneous, superfluous feeling of wanting someone based on physical appeal doesn't go as far as people think it does. At least, it doesn't if you actually have a soul.

I've wanted people like that, and it feels more like dread than lust the more it develops. You want to get off, to possess an appearance; to relish a body. It doesn't last that long when you despise the person's soul, and it feels even worse when they are more indifferent than ambivalent or attracted. The strongest want is towards yourself, you want to please yourself by having a tight body to fuck.

All of the attractions in my life like that ended with emptiness. Physicality doesn't get me very far. Far more important is the mind and the thoughts that circulate therein. In a mate, that is what I look for more than anything. So, for me to feel not like I am sated or satisfied, nor content, but related to, connected to... is a whole other thing entirely.

I've never felt that way in a relationship. I've wanted things to work, I've wanted things to end, I've wanted desperately to see someone again. I've never felt calm and secure, and felt as though I could plan a future with another person before. My real, primal animal sense of nesting, of mating and settling down... that has never really activated before. I've played house, but never actually wanted it.

And I feel that, now. Although I am not the greatest breadwinner or the most competent mate, I want it and I may want it forever.

Deafening...

The plague that I hide from shows itself periodically, as chronic instability. My brother, the one who was supposed to be the leader, gets too drunk to think and feels sorry for himself, lashing out like a child. It is so pathetic, and at the same time I can see the same feelings in myself.

The first time it was profound, I took it seriously, and I was affected by it. Now, I know that this will all be forgotten shortly thereafter, and I will still be affected by it. It bolsters my own instability by separating me from without.

It is a fracture in our pasts, in our upbringing that becomes such a virulent corpse, rotting slowly in the mind. I have generally found a way past it; at least, temporarily.

But every time I see this... it crushes me again. I'm ripped out all over, to be pulled back into feelings that gave me every idiosyncratic twitch, every neurosis. And I do not know what to do about it.

How empty would I be to just escape? Even if there is no salvation for this kind of life, this kind of reality, would I be able to live with my deeper self if I threw it all away and left? This is where I came from, whether I like it or not.

My roots, and the lack thereof.

I will probably always be stricken with the reiterating sickness of being born in my family.

It makes me so angry that I am shattered by childishness and irresponsibility. I gave an ultimatum, and it was forgotten in the way that a gambler goes back to the den of thieves, to be corrupted all over again.

I self-medicate for reasons like these... so I'm no better, in a way.

I think of all of the things I'm going to say tomorrow, the disappointment and the anger, but none of that really matters. Now is the only important time frame.

I see how much the world is driven by its chemistry. I see people being pulled and ripped apart because of their selves. I see myself falling in the same way, and I don't know what to do about it.

Completion...

My cycle brings me back to the same feeling. The feeling that I've had since childhood has never stopped its domination of me. I want to escape.

I want to be that prince, the savior. But am I... really? Can I do something like that?

To defeat the Dragon, the God and the Thought, I run into circular logic: Fear, inhibition, caution, the reversed sagacity of a hermit. I run into Me.

I will sever though negligence, even though I don't want to. I delve too far inside myself, and everything else is shut out, whether I like it or not. It is the only part of my continual, ephemeral rebirth that keeps me intact. I just don't believe that I am the kind of magnanimous cadence that draws along the best intentions. I can put up that front, but I do not think I can make it real.

And so, my love will smolder and burn and rage, and confuse me. It will never cease, though... believe me. There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.

one day....

this will all pass. I won't be flinching, startled awake by the limp cigarette in my hand that has been inching, closing in and finally burning the fuck out of me. I have mny small golff

my heart and brain... AWOL.....


I toss and turn.
Yeah, I can't sleep.
I don't understand my life,
I don't understand my suffering...
I try to fight,
I try to resist,
but all the hate and all the pain and all the lies;
I can't take this....

Myspace. Pictures.

Sexuality is a very ambiguous thing. It represents our lust, the flavor of sexual desire we find appealing. We can't always choose them, and I believe they are based more on personality than anything. Personality itself is something shaped by your surroundings, the 'nurture' within the 'nature'.

So, naturally, our sexual desires manifest themselves in ways that affirm both our ego and id. The only one who truly knows these things is the person themself. We can only be so deeply intimate when we're alone.

By isolation, you can free every desire in your mind and body. It's like singing into a hairbrush as a microphone, or just doing something you think is very embarrassing... you only feel comfortable doing it by yourself.

Where the internet comes into this, is digital media. You have that same emotional isolation with a video camera, or a keyboard. You don't have to worry about someone watching, and you can present anything you want. There is no limit line, because there is no one there to take offense to your actions.

It seems to me that this is what makes online dating so appealing. But beyond just the dating sites, the matchmaker scams... it appears everywhere. A girl character in an MMO is almost always, at some point in their playing career, asked if they're really a girl. If you put up the front that you ARE a girl, then you're treated much differently than a guy would be. It's pedantic, I know... but it brings up a point.

When opposite genders meet on a medium that can't be seen through, things get out of hand. It doesn't matter if the guy is some fat-assed, thirteen year old nerd, because it's the words he types that defines who he is. On a site or messenger service with video and pictures, it's not as incognito, but the same trends are prevalent. You can infer a lot from looking at someone's picture, especially in this day and age, when pictures are much more informal.

It's invigorating to not have to take the risks of physical growth. It's easier to display what you want than to have someone deal with your full, head-on personality.

So all these children, who grow up learning that their faults are best to be hidden, that there is no complete vulnerability through a veil. For example, the new thing I saw on MySpace, called "IConfessional". It allows people to confess their "sins", completely anonymously.

Now, I can see how this would be constructive-- but I feel that on a larger scale, it just feeds into the complex detatchment associated with congressing on the internet. It doesn't help that most of the demographic these services apply to and are marketted towards don't really know what it's like to form a long-term physical bond with someone. I know that this is a blanket statement, and I'm not saying everyone has lost this opportunity. I am saying, though, that the meaning of physical contact, physical growth between people has definitely been reduced in significance among society today.

With this shameless display of egoism, it's easy to see that a large effect of this would be censorship degredation. Everything becomes more sexual by the week-- the standard is lowering itself because of this "emotional enlightenment". Underaged kids become camwhores, in a sense, because it's a venue that is free to the individual's use.

People use things in these ways, to liberate themselves, when really they're restricting their way of thinking. When you become addicted to an outlet, your creative soul loses power to the lustral, earthly voice telling you how to justify your isolation.

And believe me, it is isolation. I don't care the argument, or the reason. If any part of you is hidden, you are completely isolated. To form a real bond is to have everything about you accepted.

And, to become an advertiser of your own soul -- marketing what you feel is attractive, you have lost all worth as a person. If you hide pieces of yourself from those you want to be intimate with, you will lose those pieces. These words would have more meaning if the problem wasn't so wide-scale. I don't even think anyone would agree with what I've written, because everyone seems to think this way.

But I'm fucking glad I didn't grow up with a cell phone.

But my lungs go on...

This is what I needed, the final cutting loose of our bond. This is what I needed, for real. I needed to be away from you, to be done with this trip, for a painful reason.

I needed to be back in my world, even if only for a short while, because now that I am, I understand all of the confusion and hesitation that I've had. Nearly all of my relationships have involved a good few months, or a good few weeks, that was complete co-dependence, and then ended abruptly. But after the end, we would be shattered apart, whether I liked it or not, whether I wanted to or not. It would be nonexistent from there on. But this is different. Now that I am away, I only feel it more strongly, and I somehow know that she does too. I somehow hold that pure knowledge, of being completely faithful that something is true. I know that we are for real.

All of the times I've doubted it in those small ways that thoughts build up in the back, the small whispers that tell me that it will not last, or I will fall, or we will part, or she will see me for who I really am... these are all moot. We are both real, and we are both accepted on each side. And so, that persona is born: The person between two people, the anti-Gemini twin, the embodiment of symmetry in one formless shape.

True love.

We clasped...

Slow rain; brown eyes see shadows...
they focus:
the seed and the locust;
the hearth and the porthole;
a fire burns with painted eyes.
We fall over
onto each other
once and for all.
And that is my pride,
my sore and my meadow.
You will be my shadow,
to follow me forever,
and blackness will be forgotten.

Your hand in mine...

I'm afraid; terrified. And, for once, it's not because of what may happen, but it is the fear of what may never develop.

All of my life, I've watched everyone do the same things. Reaffirming their ego, reaffirming their projection of who they think they are and should be, reaffirming the image that they want to place inside of other people's perspectives of them. We are animals in that sense: no matter how complex and nuanced anything is, it is almost always broken down into a territorial battle between selves. Everything is done so that they can think of themselves in a certain light. I've always thought that Man was selfish for this reason alone.

I've seen relationships fall away for no good reason, or for horrible ones. I've been at the center of those terrifying things, and I still and probably always will regret each loss. I will always think in that light and I will always want to be more than I ever will. The controls that we are all slaves to, to at least some small degree... the way that life controls us is the only real venom to be afraid of. People convince themselves that their fantasies are true, that they are as important as they think they are, that the world has them as a centered pivot. I am always left alone because of these things.

And now, I may have the chance to become something more. I am in love, to the deepest and highest meaning of that emotion. I think that I have found my soul mate, and I think that I have found the light that could easily cover me for the rest of my life. I may have the chance to be happier, and to make someone else happier.

I am viscerally afraid. I am worried and choked up and lost and hopeful and dying and in awe, all at the same time. But, mostly, I'm in awe. Well... mostly, I'm worried.

The largest parts of my life have always been like this. I am pushed back against a cliff, with nowhere to go, and I jump. I jump right into these arms that await, opened and ecstatic and loving and wanting. They want me to jump right into them.

That is what I am getting ready to do: to jump and scream and plummet and envelop and tear apart everything I think is concrete in my life. It always scares me.

And, at the same time, it is a new, tender experience. I am in the first throes of something grand, something grander than I would ever think was plausible. I may burn myself down, I may compact my own organs until I am crushed alive. I could see the most valuable parts of myself flounder. Maybe I will come out of it all being seen as a child with unrealistic dreams. Maybe I will come out of it a loser, a victim or collateral damage personified.

My entire life, my entire life I have been waiting for something like this. There has never been a companion in intensity or beauty to my heart. I have always been so close, and I have been impaled painfully every time. I've lost everything a thousand times over, every day for the last twenty-five years. I was empty before I knew what being empty meant. I comprehended nihilism before I realized that it had become the core of my being.

In the last few weeks, the bloom inside my soul has terrified me. The way that I feel when I hear your voice terrifies me. The warmth from thinking about you is too much to bear a lot of the time. These are the things I take too seriously, the romantic beast that has raged since the first day I ever heard another person call out to me. And, now, I have found someone that I believe is the embodiment of life's grace. I fall far too short to live up to deserving such a thing, and I know this all too well.

Regardless, I want you. I need you.

Regardless, I will jump.

I pray that I have found that something to jump into.

I am a wreck, a shattered being, a stranded sailor. You are my guiding light, my beloved, my whole.

All I can think about is how I'll fuck this up. And, all I can think about is how wonderful this will be. There is so much darkness inside of me. I think of you, and there is so much brilliance ignited. I will do anything to make this work, I believe. And that terrifies me, too.

But I will try. I will try. I will try. I will try. I will give this everything that I have. I will try.

I can't wait until I see you.

I can't sleep, I can't think, I can't breathe, I can't stay calm, I can't do anything but play and replay the feeling that my heart gives me when I think about what it will be like to see you.

Lead.Me.To.Heaven
The.Stench.Makes.Me.Sick.Of.Conception
The.Factory.Is.Underneath.Our.Skin
Working.In.Coniptions

Chained.To.A.Movement
The Paradox.Of.Being.Complacent
A.Lullaby.And.A.Reveille
A.Formative.Exception

Hold.Me.By.My.First.Breath
Impale.Us.On.The.Crescent

How many times do I have to live through the same death?

How many times do I have to fall off a high precipice?

How many times do I have to let my hopes fall?

How many times do I have to watch self-destruction?

How many times until I've had enough?

Moj Kochanie

In darkness I am far unwoven,

thrust against and into grain;

fostered unrelentingly.

To listen, to choose:

I've none but destiny;

the pull of blood

from in my bones,

it calls to me.

Sugary sweet, but tepid ahead

are the visions that I create.

And soft, unspoken emptiness

is ice; restraint.

But forward holds a different place

from anything I've seen:

Hollows filled with browning leaves,

ageless whisperings,

dug firmly into place;

crushed solely from these things.

Mirage or freedom: both are here,

both are underneath;

both inundating, still;

both are willow trees.

In spite, I palpitate your name,

I writhe and fall and seethe.

In spite, I throw it forward still,

to hope for everything.

And I laugh at the absurdity,

at every luscious following;

the painted, prismatic breeze:

the way you call to me.

Sit on my throne...

Things become irreversible.  That is what life is.

There is no closure, no empathy and no reversal.  There is only forward.

And when those things fall into place to be a palsy on our memories and a sting in our being, we learn then what it means to be irreversible.

I've seen the downward slant, and what it would ever take to re-right that decline.  There is no amount that exists, and there is nothing that can ever be saved.  To be Human is to constantly lose, to atrophy and to degenerate, until you are nothing, filled with the emptiness of what used to be there.  That is how I view life.

Mistakes are not given life to be learned from.  The real mistakes are what give us tremors at night, leave a bitterness on our tongues; we fight the slope of loss.  And we never regain anything.

The visionary lies to himself.

And so, we live.  Wrapped in lies, in fantasy and in emptiness; passing every closing watergate with a want to return, to be whole in the past.  But, there is no completeness, because even then, we wanted something more.

And so, we live:  The kings of emptiness, the rulers of futility and child-like terror.

Death is not arbitrary.

The epitome, the definition and the shadow of this country lies in something so banal that it is both shallow and core-deep.  Something sickening, yet laughable; a line that was once drawn has become its own outline.

The news wants to know, "What grade do you give Obama in his first 100 days?"

We have killed millions of innocent people in our history.  We have killed 600,000 of our own population in a war against ourselves.  We treated a portion of our own people as though they were property, and have still not fully abdicated ourselves of that crime, hundreds of years later.  We have done so many other horrible things that may or may not be justified, and I say 'We', because it is the legacy we have inherited, and it is the responsibility placed on each subsequent generation. 

The stark violence of reality and of history is lost on the rose-colored lenses that Americans have been raised to adopt.  The corpulence that shows in our bloodlust, the detatchment with which we allow a relative few to hold the banners of our many... these contradicting elements have become the only kinds synergistic qualities that we recognize.

And so, we use only the most pedantic floodgate controls to gauge ourselves.  Is it because we cannot bear to confront that reality, and are afraid to accept the truth?

Or is it that we have become our own pedantic escapism?  How can we say that we are anything but our own slaves, bound to disunion and misanthropy?

To be an American is to be forever disappointed in the Human species.  To be Human is to recognize the fatal flaw in contemporary American thought.  The instant you let go of ignorance and shelter, you see just how scorched every landscape is, and how empty the fields inbetween are.

And in that shallowness, I see the arbtrary lines that an entire population uses to help themselves forget.  What would you grade such a country at?

Death personified,

I am the gaping closure;

the contradiction of life.

Our skin worn thin

Our bones exposed

Life reduced to ticks

From forest caves

and azure skies,

we crashed upon this earth...

The years, they passed,

and so did we;

but resistance would be brought...

Always object;

never subject

Can you see us?  Are we there?

Are we there?

Can you see me?  We are watching

We are watching

You are fading

in the daylight,

fading

Always upon you, light never ceases

Lost from yourself, light never ceases

Thousands of eyes, gaze never ceases

Light is upon you, life in you ceases

Through fiction, we saw the birth

of futures yet to come

Yet, in fiction lay the bones,

ugly in their nakedness

Yet, under this mortal sun,

we cannot hide ourselves

Those eyes and tower have seeped into our open veins

Uncoiled was its strength

and our souls en masse

poured down in sheets of rain,

and dissolved 'neath their feet

Spiraling further down,

our wills dissolve 'neath their feet!

Rise in the morning air;

greeted by cinders of the dead

Syndic calls your name;

show your thinned face at the window

Is this the next last day?

Prepare to be carried by the crows!

Heavy hand upon the land;

feel its weight inside you...

Magistrates dream of plague;

tongues loll in anticipation

You are awake in their darker visions

Drool slips from grinning mouths

The plague is forced on us all

Is it there?

Are they there?

Shouts of fact abound,

but whispers of truth burn through...

Is it there?

Are they there?

Is it there?

Are they there?

A cold, perennial flow; the vortex of my soul.

I am the embodiment of poison.  I am the concept itself.

The separation that is so deep between the rigid and the amorphous always seems to be slowly draining me.  I have the gestalts, the epiphanies; they never end up helping.

There is purity in what I believe and do, but that never translates because, regardless of that motivation, I still have a caged beast's chemicals.  I still run on the same contradictions as the rest of Man.  

It's time to go into the 'me' below; my morbid self beneath.

The Rescue

When it comes to pure logic, there seems to be the tendency to separate from the organic aspects of life, as if the logic itself rips apart natural, rhythmic development.  Binary trumps cell division; life is replaced by cause and effect, and thus, inner condescension and abhorrance.

People always want to feel as though they've got everything figured out.  And, since we thrive on the intentional stance, we always think we do have it all figured out, at least to a certain degree, even if our lack of knowledge is itself our reason.  Fear lets people hide from any real truth, while reassuring them through ignorance.  Understanding comes in waves of discontent and misanthropy.  And, at the end, everyone seems to go back to whatever comforts them, disregarding anything contrary or not a corollary.  The organism only seeks to strengthen itself and its intentions.

When logic is embraced, it is with the same ignorance.  People feel as though they can disregard the organic and shout down at it through a prism of objectivity and detatchment, as if the two are inseparable.  Objectivity itself is somehow grouped with apathy or disdain in the Human mind, as if looking beyond Nature leaves the physical personality of the world behind.  This is our failing.

When people as a whole can learn to see with both the objective and the stoic eyes, putting aside all of the reasons they hate themselves for seeing the truth, and seeing beyond everything that is wrong inside of them, then the world will really move forward.  Until then, everything else is tertiary.  To me, it's all pointless with psychological steps forward, and as tangible as that will always be displayed, it will never be real until it is accepted in the individual's own mind.  Our entire civilization is pointless until both logical and organic thinking are accepted as one.

Stars now beneath our feet; we've known the terror and still not stopped...

The thoughts that are built like brick and mortar are the ones that never move.  They don't crumble or age; if they do, it's only to become more intense and ingrained.  As far removed as I am from that kind of life, from life itself, these structures always stand tall.  Most of the time, though, they are obscured and forgotten about.  But they're always there.

There is always the tendency to forget and move forward, to use the forward brain and not the linear one.  The brain that always thinks abstract about the future in a nebulous way.  It's easier to do that than to draw a line.  But from those thoughts come the comparison to the reality of life, and how inadequate it seems most of the time.  Life itself seems inadequate.

And at the same time, to say it's understated is itself an understatement.  Life is the nebula that embodies what is abstract, even if it doesn't show in the concrete dealings of society and the Great Interpersonality.  It feels like I'm trying to use more colors than my eye can perceive, or broadcasting at a frequency that I can't even hear.  But, nonetheless, I hear it.

Orchestrate...

I'm almost finished with my fifth album, and listening from my first up until my most recent project definitely shows that I've gotten a lot better at both playing and mixing. But, regardless of that, they are very contiguous, because they are all parts of the same organism (to me, at least).

The dichotomy in music has always been just that: a stark divergence. There is honest music, and there is self-serving music. Regardless of genre or instruments or style or tempo or anything else, these are the only real categories to me.

There aren't many people who have not told me where and how I should improve, or simply that I'm in the process of getting better. But that doesn't register with me. I don't make music to get better or to find an end point. That is what makes music worthless.

Even my most amateur stuff reveals to me a part of my personality in a visceral way. I don't know if other people can see this, or if it's just my own delusional self-confidence in the matter, but I think it's really there. It is all created only to further my exploration of my own mind and soul.

I always have to dance at the line between servitude and transcendence.

Thank God I'm out of Touch

When you imagine the future, and that point in that future when our lives are kept entirely digital -- no photo albums, no CDs, no journals, no books, no planners, nothing of our personal lives at all in any physical form. All of that will become information, and in doing so it will be a new level of self-representation. I think that transition is conceptually a huge evolutionary jump; a huge abstract leap.

I would assume that most relatively intelligent people who are alive now can imagine that kind of future. We're at a time wheni t always seems like someting big like that is about to happen, and we are at the membrane itself. But, when I think about how it could come about realistically, I'm convinced that it will take an amazingly future-minded company, the kind of company that is mildly benevolent when part of the story of some of the movies I've seen that weren't good enough to remember the name of. They make all of the things possible that seem so mundane when shown in that way. It will be what cell phones are now, and what a 16-bit console seemed like to me as a kid.

But the more I think about it, I think about how I blog on Blogger, use Gmail for email, use Google Video all the time, was looking earlier about putting my programming projects up on Code.Google.Com (and if it was even possible to make an account), and the many, many other different things I was looking at. If there is any company that can really be that company, the linchpin to a new technological era for society... a neo-AOL, but with an exponentially greater impact on life, it is Google. And it would be great if it were.

They are the only people who seem like they can pull off being a mildly benevolent stilt for modern life. They're the only company that I can realistically see always staying on that track, never becoming a monolithic evil force, or being phased out by time, or ending in a flurry of illegal acts. And the best part of it all is, they do all of the things that they do very well. They actually know what they're doing. There are so many other companies trying to do the same kinds of things (maybe not the multitude that Google does, but even at specific things, like blogs), but there is a ridiculously small number of companies for a given app that it's something I'd be really proud of.

So maybe the emotional revolution really is coming in my lifetime...

The Earth Is Not a Cold, Dead Place

I am here, in this reality, even if it is just my own. It is mine. I have nothing else; we all have nothing, save our own sense of reality.

I have that coiling urge to strike against my own untruth and my feeling of displacement, because the emptiness makes me feel as though I've lost my own sense of time. There are always those breaking points, and I never waste them.

Every facet of the world is both unimportant and paramount, but outside of me at the same time. And even though it usually feels monolithic in that towering, overcast way, my own life is on another level entirely.

The hardest thing for anyone who deals with any kind of addiction is trying to find a certain kind of neurosis. The feeling of laser precision that comes with the more introspective and introverted drugs is a very powerful motivator, in terms of self-discovery. But outside of alteration, my reality usually slams into a wall before it can be honed in any way at all. It makes me feel useless because of that. It makes me feel like I am impotent in any real capacity.

But the wealth underneath that is larger than anything else I've ever seen in life, and the longer I'm alive, the more profound I realize it is. I never felt all that grateful for being alive, but I do now. And even though I feel the same inadequacies most of the time, I feel like I've charged myself with my most important purposes and suffered my most significant trials without hesitation or blindness. I am never blind when it comes to myself, even though I am usually delusional.

I love myself. That is a strong phrase; stronger than most would understand. To say so casually that you owe it to yourself to find yourself is such an understatement to being alive. The sheer weight of impact in art is the only thing that has ever made me feel alive, and it is a practice of solitude. Pure solitude. No feigning, no compromise, no dissonance, no capitulation, no falsity. No deception whatsoever.

As much as I ever hope that I will find meaning and love around me or in another person doesn't matter at all anymore. I value it the same, and need it th e same, but I need myself more.

Of all the things that I write down to remind myself of how important my mind is, this is the greatest statement of self-trust. There are such dark recesses within me that will never see the light of recognition, because of their depth alone. People can't handle those kinds of truths, and will always be offended by their visceral nature. That is one thing that has always saddened me.

But it's all so beautiful; life itself is the ugly beauty of being Human. I can never compromise that, and to do so is to cease being alive and Human.

The greatest thing I have ever learned is how to embarrass myself through complete honesty. It is so hard to do, which is ironic and pathetic. To simply be honest is ridiculously hard. I never understood that.

And the day I quit is the day I die. These feelings are where God truly lives; I cannot handle letting myself down by neglecting them.

I wish others would feel that same inclination, even if only to reassure me that it is as important as I think it is....

We Are the Coup

To overcome oneself is what the good philosophers understand as the greatest trial. Life is not made for understanding, but for growing through.

Death is not an end, but it is certainly not what everyone makes it out to be. People gather to console themselves, not the deceased. There is no story for them, and that is why there is no end. The living's memories are the only anchor for them at that point. And yet, I am told to put my faith in the church; to vacillate to a different rhythm than my own. Any discordance is viewed as negative, as tertiary and as misguided. But my own sense is more profound than crutches or displacement and dissonance.

I have seen death, and I have seen the dead. I have mourned for both the dead and death itself in the same way: through recognition. Anything else is deception and self-loathing. And that is why I was never really a Catholic.

What we do here is all the more important when you realize that there is no end to the story, because the story itself ceases. There is no transcendence, because movement is finished at that point. It is an abrupt end to a steady line. There is no point at its apex.

And as empty as that sounds philosophically, it brings me much more wealth than the fantasy of seeing those people ever again. They are gone. Period.

And that is the rest that they rightfully deserve. They are in a better place, because they are not here anymore, not because they have gone to travel the stars or another realm.

Remit the signal...

Even through such a long recurring cycle, everything seemed completely new. There was a sense of discovery and novelty in everything, to a degree. And there still is, and I'm sure there always will be, because that is the dynamic nature of an examined life. But, those potholes that take me back only disappoint me and make me wish I had broken free completely.

I'm not the kind of person that holds unrequited emotions. I'm not the kind of person that leaves embers smoldering for years because of my own inadequacies. But, I still carry appreciations and positivity with me, even years after. What used to fill me with regret is now more of a nostalgic lesson, and a reason to look backward at all.

But the more you try to preserve those things, the more they are revealed to be what they always were: evanescent temporalities based on a false seed. They originate from the Self, and end at that same location, like a loop through the air. Whatever it touches is only reflected in itself and not throughout, but dwelt upon. They are the poisons of purity in the world of Man.

There are times that you have to cut those things loose, not out of spite or emptiness, but out of pity and anguish.

The lowest common denominator is what we're all after. When yours is miles above the next person's, your lowest is never low enough to maintain itself. Your lows are never met with any grounding.

The height, conversely, is always grounded and drives everything forward -- but not without the staggering reminder that it will always be free-form in some way; always erratic at its core. And that is what disillusions me to people, to other people, to others that I have known. It isn't that things move on, or that things develop away, or even that things are shown false. It's that realization that things never were in any real sense, because I have been led by the short-term memory of God straight into a wall that was always there to begin with. It makes the effort seem meaningless, and it makes the meaning of that all the more negative.

Deep within the circuity, there has to be some alternate route. There has to be something to justify all of this, somewhere...

And in that path lies much more emptiness, to be sure.

I can never find that root of understanding in another person, because there is no one deep enough to even recognize its existence. All of my points fall to be shallow puddles in muddied water, filled with adrenaline and the epitome of dopamine. That is all everything ends up amounting to. Dopamine. Fucking dopamine.

I Am a God-Fearing Atheist

The idea of atheism conceptually disposing with any idea of God or a higher power is a misconception. Although the term has been hijacked by both religious people and non-religious, both sides miss the point, I think.

Asexuality, for example, means essentially, "without sexuality". Atypical means something like, "not typical". The prefix simply negates the rest. Atheism means, "without theism."

I make this distinction because the difference between theism and atheism is not the difference between God's existence and non-existence. Theism is an idea that supposes a Creator that deliberately intervenes with Human existence. Deism, on the other hand (the belief that is understood to be held by our founding fathers), is different than theism because deism is a more agnostic approach to the idea of God.

It is still essentially monotheistic, but not in the sense that it is "theistic". Deism is the idea that there is some grand design or God, but it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with Human actions. A "Grand Observer", for example.

To be an atheist, to me, means that you are against the idea that God has given us a specific route to follow. It means you are against any person who believes God has directly spoken to them, or sent them literature, or given irreversible rules that must dominate our actions. So then, atheism is really the rejection of man-made religion and practice.

I am definitely an atheist in this sense. However, I am somewhat of a deist, because to believe that saying there is no God is kind of like saying there is no sense of physics. Whether it is called God or Nature or The Great Flying Spaghetti Monster. Simply because "He" can not realistically be an anthropomorphic representation of ourselves, it does not mean that there is nothing at all.

Agnosticism, however, is more of a buzz-term for being too open-minded. People tend to use agnosticism to say, "I'm smarter than you because I will believe anything, and therefore nothing completely." That kind of thought just shows how flawed our sense of Self has evolved.

So, if there is a concept of God, then what will that be, in terms of manifestation? To us, at least, and to what we have observed in our history, God has only taken one real shape: Rationality. Understanding. Reality.

As we learn, we find irrevocable truths about reality. The way that chemicals interact, the ideas of Human rights that become more universal as we become a global culture, the denunciation of all things inherently negative and self-centered, and our responsibilities to uphold what we deem to be true in the purer sense. Some day, far into the future I'm sure, there will be a single, singular truth; there will be one rationality and reality.

It will be something that is universal enough to encompass all of our modes of thought, yet dynamic enough to adapt to every situation in a contextual sense. It will be the representation of our complete understanding of our own behavior and psychology. This, in the end, will be the only form that God will ever realistically take in our world.

So, I am God-fearing, only because I fear going against what I know is morally right. Dogma is too easy to see through if you take the time to do so, and as a person builds his or her intelligence, such dichotomies are painfully obvious. There is the true and untrue; the right and wrong. While this is almost always hard to apply, it is still there. There is always one wrong and one right, even if we don't understand the application thereof, or how it directly applies or can contribute to a solution. There is only one God, and one Satan. I fear doing anything to empower that concept of the Devil, because I do not want our society as a whole to descend into moral depravity. Not in the Christian sense, though, but in the absolute sense of it all. Slavery will always be wrong, whether we recognize it or not. Whether we do so is whether we admit our obligation to God, our obligation to existence itself. We are obliged to do what is right, because we are here.

This kind of concept is what I believe the post-modern movement was supposed to uncover. However, it has only seemed to be interpreted as a way of justifying moral relativism and self-interest as dogma. But, no matter how many people may ever think that owning another person is right, or abusing for the sake of abuse is right, or raping Nature itself is right... it will always be wrong. It is Humanity's choice to follow The Light, or self-destruct in Darkness.

They aren't all beautiful...

I used to have a lot more faith in Mankind, because I knew deep inside me that I was a part of it, and therefore what I held to be valuable could be reflected somewhere else, or even in a multitude of points. But, I'm 25, and I've never found any real evidence that this is true.

To say that I don't feel the Human race deserves to have people like me alive at this moment in time sounds pretentious, or vitriolic, or bitter... but it's how I feel. It isn't that I'm so lofty and high-horsed that I look down on everything, or that I am forlorn to the point of rejection. But when I look at all of the different ways the world is slowly descending into anyone's conceptualization of Hell, I start to believe this more and more.

I don't really think the world deserved someone like Nietzsche. I'm not sure he really ended up doing any good. I don't think the world deserved Aristotle, because all we've done up to now is rape his ideas for our own benefit. I don't think the world ever truly deserved music in the grander sense.

Because, right now is where we are at. We may have done great things in the past, and we may still do great things, but as of right now, we don't deserve any of our virtues. The only thing we do deserve is a steadfast surrender to death, or to self-destruction of some kind.

And, to pull this feeling around is going to take so much effort, so much optimism, so much innovation that I honestly don't believe that Humanity has that kind of capacity. It's as if we've reached the penultimate point of evolution, but we can never cross over that gorge because we weren't meant to. We are all caught in a protracted cycle of Roman collapse in the historical sense. We are all meant to relive tragedy, but without the familiar catharsis at the end.

All I can do to keep my sense of self is to disconnect and do what makes me happy. All I can do to make myself happy is to forsake the rest of Humanity, and delve within. Isn't that the antithesis, though, of what I desire in life? I would like to be a part, however small, of that great upending; the distortion and final collapse of selfishness.

It would be such a grand movement, and it would be the changing root that gave birth to incomprehensible greatness. But what it requires to take hold is something that I don't believe the Human brain is capable of. Because, for every Nietzsche, there is an Elizabeth, waiting to take every feeling of love he had for her and twist it, posthumously raping his ideals. For every Aristotle, there is a Plato; a more dialectic, but more degenerate form of purity, waiting to drag something into the depths of the Deimos. For every great musician willing to plumb every depth and cleanse Mankind of its ill-gotten philosophies, there are a hundred faux performers, jesters and emotional thieves and playwrights.

For every ounce of truth that we have constructed over millennia, there are tons and tons of selfishness, of emotional egocentricity, of pure sin. And this isn't the kind of sin that we'd like to attribute to monotheism. This is the real kind; the waiting, brooding snake that is a truth underneath our vaguer thoughts.

We'd rather clutch the wheel and watch those around us plunge into fire, not realizing the entire time that we are also headed there, because we'd rather have the spectacle. We'd rather give up, because the end cannot be pure in a selfish sense; once tainted, everything is scrap and trash. There is nothing worth saving in the existential sense, because we are all born into the falsely Human-defined concept of "sin".

It shows in our political structures and movements, our social hierarchies, our prejudices that last even through a barrage of rationality. It shows in everything we do. We are selfish first and foremost. There is no real purity, because that is our current root. Postmodernism is an ashamed idea that was never conceived to give us this result. We are the children of relativism that is absolute only in the fact that it is absolutely self-centered and greedy.

Like clockwork, I always go back to what someone told me a long time ago... that I was too smart for my own good.

We were the ones that marched and fell...

I'm not a vindictive person, in the sense that I do not enjoy being so. I don't take pleasure in the kind of dominance that the primal brain craves and strives for. But I feel as though I always come off in a contrary tone.

I spend so much time and effort honing my thoughts. I come to very complex realizations, but not in a conceited way. I don't think I'm better for having the views that I do. But I respect the rationality of it all.

It's hard to keep real views like mine, because everything in society is built on linking views to personality. The way you feel about something is the way you feel about yourself. And, while true in a basic sense, it should not mean that you are defined by those connections alone.

There are phrases and concepts that I always seem to remember in a detailed way, hard-written somewhere in my brain. One of these is the idea that Western (specifically American) culture is so centered around the association between wrong/right and true/untrue that it equates being wrong about something (even something completely factually-based) with being inadequate or stupid. If you're wrong, then your soul is wrong somehow; you are defective and have defected.

And I see where it can be justified. But the problem is that it leads people to assume that they should always be right, because it means more as self-confidence than anything else. So, nobody learns new things that challenge their world-view, because that is threatening information that promises to impose on their sense of security.

It's the reason that America is only now seeming to wise up to the idea that climate change is real, the reason that religion is such a deadly force in the realm of public philosophy, the reason that I can never seem to explain anything to anyone without their own personal opinion coming into play.

It's so stupid, because it allows people to be so glaringly ignorant, yet never be viewed as ignorant. It lets people choose to be stupid, to be shielded from reality and not feel like they are living in a fantasy world. It allows society to slowly crumble without progress, while fading dreams of irrational, childhood selfishness is the life preserver.

So, I stopped trying to plainly explain anything years ago. I usually say what I think will give the impact I'm looking for, and it's usually only half-true; I usually try to go in for the kill-shot before my voice falls on retracted ears. I believe that everything should be challenged, and if it cannot be defended, then it should fall. The reason for this is that everything in life that is even remotely beneficial or remotely valuable in any sense is able to be spoken for, at least on a primal level. There is always a grain of truth, even in a large concept that is flawed and untrue.

So I come off as condescending, as an ass, and that's fine with me. I don't really care what other people think, and I don't mean that in any way other than the literal. I really am apathetic towards what other people think of me. I don't have time for that. I measure my own worth, as everyone should.

This comes around to sound like a contradiction, though: As if I want to judge everyone else, but don't want to be judged by anyone. I don't know how to explain that idea away, because it is completely false. I abhor that kind of logic... but that's what it sounds like I'm doing.

Most people don't know how to challenge ideas; they only know how to challenge people's personalities and emotions. They only know how to berate and belittle. I can do that too, but I can do it to concepts and abstractions. I don't need to feel better than other people, because I don't really think I'm all that great. I just have a wealth of knowledge and intelligence that I wish I could use in some constructive way. The only thing I've found, though, is that blaring destructive argumentation. All I can do is kick out the foundation, and still, it is for a good reason. It's out of the kindness of my heart, as weird as that sounds.

But, at the same time, the more time I spend around people, the more I see them as not really deserving of real change. I see all of the debased behavior and all of the egotistical self-gratification in everything people say and every pose they make. All I see when anyone acts is them patting themselves on the backs in a myriad of ways; I see them reassuring themselves that they're more important than anyone else. I see them scoff at different beliefs and ideas, not because the ideas are stupid or pointless, but because they believe the people are stupid and pointless. Their sycophantic meanness comes out in that, and it is something that should immediately turn someone into the most unattractive person imaginable. But... it doesn't, of course.

Those are the kinds of people that make it the furthest. Those are the kinds of people with many friends, with many loves and opportunities. Those are the ones that make families. How sad is that? How much sadder is it that I don't think anyone understands what that really means?

To be true to myself, I have to be that sledgehammer. Even though I almost always choose to be silent or apathetic over being a prick, I still have those moments. And when someone does it to me, I do not shell up and defend my childhood self. I still look at the message more than the messenger... and I feel like I'm the only person who knows how to do that.

Whatever happened to real thought? What happened to the connection one was supposed and expected to make between their own personal morality and their actions? Why do I feel as though Humanity has become an empty game, where people can just find whatever they want to justify selfishness and waste, greed and domination, slavery and enslavement? It wasn't always like that.

The death of God is part of that equation. Nietzsche meant that people no longer fear that literal specter. Societies no longer move in unison with transcendental beliefs in the way that they once did. I'm sure that one day in the distant future, the Pope will announce that abortion really is alright, and the Church will keep a few more stragglers. They already did it with the idea of unbaptized babies sitting in Purgatory for all eternity...

Is that really what the height of the Human mind results in? Will we always just be a society of territorial children who can split atoms and alter the structure of nature itself? What a contradiction it all is....

I still like to tell myself that if I can exist with my state of mind, if I can see that deeply into thought and what it means to be a part of Man, then there has to be other people who think the same way. There has to be a reasonably good-looking chick who thinks like I do.

With my luck, she's probably overweight, homely and too introverted to realize anything substantial. It's nights like these that I relish all the opportunities I passed up to get laid from an empty relationship or a one-night stand. Even though sometimes I would regret it, in the long run, I'm so much happier knowing that I didn't sacrifice a part of myself for the same thing that everyone seems to be alive for (and only for).

Ever since I started writing again, I started thinking like a writer again. And once that started to happen, I realized just how base my surroundings have become. I realized just how dumb everyone around me is. I realized just how empty society has become; even moreso than I last remember, which I didn't think was possible.

The Irreversible Voice

Self-creation trumps everything.

People take too much solace in the cover of trends and labels. On an individual level, there are only two types of art: Truth and untruth. The first is the only one that matters; the latter is the antithesis of art.

Being accessible is confused with being pedantic, to the point that completely negates the idea of creation. Something can be accessible without being shallow, and something can be overtly deep, but pedantic. This is the paradox of art, and the contradiction in any type of self-conscious attempt at expression.

The new music movements are all centered around self-consciousness, as if that alone makes it self-aware. These are two different things. Artistic expression that is self-aware has a sense of its own structure, but is not embarrassed at that. Self-conscious art carries a tinge of inferiority about it, and is so painfully narrow that I can't stand any part of it.

This is where the vocal-centric movement in music has failed. I guess vocal-centric tendencies have always been around, but the postmodern approach violates every sensibility in anyone who knows anything at all about art (at least, it should). The dance, drum-n-bass and hip-hop facets of this are pathetic in that self-conscious way. Words become their own posts, instead of what grunge made into its own art form: The ability of lyrics to be amorphous and organic; so much so, that it becomes a part of the music itself.

But, this new generation, I feel, doesn't know anything about that side of music. They are the social herd in the literal sense. They only want self-reflection in as shallow a flavor as possible, so that they can relate to it. Four-beat structures, no real innovation, stolen rhythms; sacrilegious in its banality. And with those ankle-deep expressions, the failed interpretation of a failed post-modern society and the way the social herd seems to carry everyone's fascination around with it, art suffers a slow, poisonous intoxication. But not intoxication in the sense of Eros, or the Bacchanalian ecstasy in organic expressions. It is the intoxication of a dumb-downed culture. It is the intoxication of anti-intoxication.

Sex has become a form of possession. Women have become a life-form that delights in being subjugated and dominated. Morality has become a tunnel-chamber, used to fire out any self-justified relativism that reinforces selfish desires. Depth has become an analogy to a lake filled with sediment; inch-deep water that encompasses the breadth of existence, and is thought of as the penultimate. The voice has become a means of expressing that self-conscious drive, that pathetic, shallow reflection based on an undeveloped mind. Art has fallen from Victorian to cattle-driven. And music, for the most part, has fallen to a level of market-ism, of social consciousness akin to believing that the most inane pseudo-philosophers were the greatest prophets of Human existence.

Salvation...

The death of the individual mind comes with placing priority in the social mind.

Most people are raised to believe that the social mind is most important, to the degree that their inner dialogue becomes nonexistent in any substantial way. Opinions begin to originate as a conceptualization of what the social mind should think, and what outside reaction is. And the multitude becomes a hive.

Critical, non-apologetic, individualistic thinking has been snuffed out. Even the extent of individual thought is something that is so shallow compared to the purity of real individuality.

Our categories, our opinions, our recognitions, our freedom itself... becomes a hive.

I haven't written in a long time. I haven't wanted to. I have become so carved out because of the emptiness of society that I haven't even felt like committing the act of extroversion. I find only emptiness outside of myself.

Sensory deprivation; isolation is the key. There is no other path to enlightenment. The social mind is the antithesis of progress, especially when the social mind has become reactive only to knee-jerk emotions and propagandist control. My truth has never been reflected in anything outside of my own creations, and so I have suffered in development due to neglect and apathetic surrender.

I haven't composed anything in months. I haven't written in a serious manner in probably a year or more. Everything has become trivialized, and I never even noticed, because I have been trying to understand the social mind; I have felt outcast and wanted back in. And now, for some reason, gestalt as it may be, I return to my stance of rejection of the hive.

Where is real growth in a person? How have I never found it? The mirages that I manifest in other people throughout my life has always proven fruitless and melancholic. It's depressing.

But all I can do is build a universe of my own thought, because that is the only thing I have found to be truly amorphous; the only treasure discovered.

My preconception of killing creativity through mood regulating medication has built psychosomatic responses, creating that reality within me. But it doesn't have to be that way. There is no reason that I can not delve deeply, no matter the circumstances, no matter the chemical. Because when I reach my end, I feel I must have a record of both my descent and my own salvation at the final moments.

I have felt inferior because of my destructive nature towards thoughts I feel are misguided, because they are shared by so many. My own ideas are never shared by others, in my experience. This has caused me to doubt my own psychology and philosophical grounding. To be a disciple of Nietzsche is to occasionally lose oneself to a tumultuous thread, that once was split into two easily discernable strains... but now seems joined together in a stream of nonsense. It takes a lot of discipline and focus to find subjective truth, not in the sense of blind, relativistic conceding, but in a mighty self-obliteration and subsequent rebuilding. To hone yourself as an individual, not as a working insect: To put your individualistic mind before the social mind is the real truth of being alive. I will never be apologetic for that, no matter how sharply I condemn others for their folly, no matter how often I am berated for looking down my nose at untruth, no matter how many times I'm trivialized because of my "lack of understanding". There is truth in real appreciation; not in hive-mind opinionation.

Somewhere Along the Highway...

Will America ever really, truly change? Will the sycophantic notions of disconnected observance ever be eradicated? They permeate everything. We are just the voyeurs that have sat down in front of death for decades. And even optimism is the same disingenuous, disconnected apathy.

I take politics too seriously, I guess, because I actually want things to change. Everyone would rather talk about a plane crashing into a house, and stare at photos of gigantic infernos, and gossip about tragedies. The American psychology, I thought, was broken recently. Now, I'm starting to think it was always broken.

Where is the outrage that lasts longer than a few weeks? Where is the purpose that doesn't lose itself to any leading emptiness? Where is the iron fist to bust through all the lies that our country has become?

I think it will take much more violence, despair, suffering and slavery for anything to really change. I do not have faith in the Modern American Way. We are still empty relativists, we are still ignorant, wide-eyed watchers; we are still infantile. We are still the consumers of information, and have never learned to produce our own.

The most realistic vision that I can contemplate is that we will be passed by, phased out by the rest of the world. We will lapse from our own complacency, and become a footnote on a failed concept.

America was supposed to be the Grand Experiment; a beacon of free life. We can't even protest without being arrested, or have personal liberty, or have justice dealt to the multitudes that destroy our systems of government and currency. It's pathetic.

As horrendous as it will ever get, as horrendous as I can imagine it will get, I would rather see the country descend into chaotic fervor, into violent misery than watch it go on any longer as a walking corpse; a walking, optimistic, relativistic corpse.

How to Operate Your Brain

You might catch yourself sliding in and out of a hallucinatory state... Relax and enjoy.

The Human brain contains 100 billion neurons. Each neuron is as powerful as a large computer, and each neuron has around 10,000 connections with other neurons. Within our foreheads, there's a chaos. Inside our brains, there is a galaxy of information, which is incomprehensible to our linear minds...