fly fast, east- buddha ranting. wind just blows away hopes and dreams one had. had it. had it all. had all then lost it, in grip, then let slip away. wind blows it all, away. had to- past obligation. love less, live more, loveless, lifeless, immobile. in a second, everything will be memories, fading slowly. in a year- unconscious, hidden away. wind blows everything away. time had. had it all then lost. on an island, ghosts scream to loves abandoned in the crowd now gone away forever. 07.28.02.
antichrist dream, land filled with heroes. crumbling idols, worshipping symbols of an empty people. manic-depressive, obsessive compulsive. crucify time to better explain now. how to explain? how to understand the past and the present without eating up past the future? send time into a void to travel through space. from this island it’s hard to see -to hear the sea, to smell the flesh, to taste the soul, to feel alive. to be engulfed by infinite energy. is it a dream or a living desire? -to see it all perish and await resurrection on top of a mountain or deep in a jungle away from the concrete and synthetic plastics, but inside a universe breathing. entertained through thought, avoiding some action, hoping for peace by hiding from war. remove all the masks and how does it look? so, living in darkness is not what it seems, when shades begin to frighten the soul of the child; one needs to scream to perceive energy. to be engulfed by infinite energy.
truth seeker, freedom fighter, make self laugh with idea of words, used to dream of being like che, or some kind of castro, but now, most desire to be free of all ideology, and not have to hide behind political identities, ‘cause what does anything matter as long as it smells like human, but always have to include own personal quirks and preferences, making things such a horrible mess, thus stalin was a dictator, and castro, republicans, and democrats are dictators all as well, and there’s nothing, no one can say to change my mind.
masturbating ego (playing with oneself).
I. and by god, i swear, i think, i wish we could. II. note to self, everything you do is a note to self. you’re so selfish, self absorbed, i want the world to know it. clear off all meaning, just to be able to listen, but always speaking. never stop to listen, and start thinking i’m the star, the star in movie, the protagonist in novel. (what a novel idea- breaking oneself to feel special.) III. all a special joke, you know. planned out everything said, all movements, preplanned motions that don’t understand the commotion. trying so hard to play it off, and be disconnected, making mental relations, while avoiding physical interactions. are you a lot closer than i thought? (can’t see what i’m writing. hand don’t move on instinct. don’t trust reflexes.) everything is filler, through filter in between the middle and the end, forgetting the beginning. so afraid of it ending right now. am no artist or hero or no thing. am so prehistoric, but the modern world keeps trying to change with the times. but just wants to stay the same. remain like rats and roaches, and survive through the nuclear age. IV. waiting for shadow to resemble regret, wishing i wasn’t so mad at the oceans of my days. everything so insincere, but really just wanting to connect. you connect to me, me remain so disconnected, so unaffected. so fuck it. fuck it. (was, just been trying to make the moment special for self.)
forget the tomorrow.
nothing should matter, nothing should matter, nothing should matter. weeds grow, everything else deteriorates and decays. gonna die soon so then guess (guess what?) forget tomorrow. forget tomorrow. forget tomorrow and fuck tomorrow. and all children will arrive at same conclusion because if, because if tomorrow really mattered, then all one would be allowed to speak of would be love.
engaging in conversation.
can we talk? can we? wondering the same question? keep thinking; people even talking to each other anymore, or just waiting for a turn to speak? no one listens. so is anyone engaging in conversation? are we just companions/ spectators for each others’ monologues? everyone as everyone else’s psychiatrist.
but what happens then to our sacred privacy? is anyone willing to risk their precious self? so i guess, yes, we can talk. but will we be listening to each other, or simply reply with preplanned conversation techniques learned to respond with, so as to seem interested or attentive in situations when one is not?
will we give a fuck about each other’s conversation? will we just bore ourselves?
humanity is mediocre and that’s it. so why not just get lost in mediocre conversation, and listen as well as mediocre selves can? listen our little mediocre hearts out. so yeah, we can talk. what you wanna talk about?
just a standup comic whose weaknesses mock poetry, but some things you have to take seriously. just a stand up comic, whispering empty nothings into a larger void, but some things, not me, some things you have to take seriously. like nietzsche, dostoevsky, hell even freud, you have to take that seriously? socrates, aristotle, maybe jesus, aids or nuclear threats, do we take those seriously? just a stand up comic, a clown, not really funny. sorry but joke lacks punch lines. am court’s jester prepared for abuse, awaiting jury of non-peers to reach a verdict because some things, not me, whether anyone likes it or not, even though i’m quite sorry to inform, have to be taken seriously. but then, just maybe, one day i’ll grow to be old enough and detached to not have to care or give a fuck. cynicism and sarcasm no longer defenses but a way of travel and plans for living.
color stupid (out of lines).
“hello students, you have a new classmate. he is red.” teacher called me red, and i didn’t know why, but i should have realized it meant i would die. kids were all different. violet was mean and violent. yellow- shy. pink- sweet but silent. but no one got along because the teachers wouldn’t let us. teachers pointed out differences. and what the teachers taught us would only end up killing us. the kids made fun of everyone. yellow-green was a mutt, but didn’t understand what that meant. blue and green were always fighting, but didn’t understand why they fought. didn’t understand why no one got along. and in school--had a friend, they called him purple. and teacher said, we couldn’t play because we were different. teacher said colors weren’t supposed to mix. so when i got home, i ran inside, reached into my bookbag got an eraser and erased myself. and now i am invisible. and now i am invincible. and now i am invisible. and now i am invincible. and now i am invisible. and now i am invincible.1996.