|Monday, November 3rd, 2003|
6:49 pm - i wonder till work
so. for some odd reason the number of people who listed me as friends only INCREASED after i did the whole purge thing.
some life giving may be in order.
i thought hard about what to do with all these mudrafucking journals iva been stacking up.
i decided that the journals will be divided into individual wills.
alchemillia will own the streets of mood bent rambling.
ghovinda will dedicate his life to the forcasting and dissemination of art terrorism.
excrvciare will be keeping his mouth shut. since he does know all.
mortualis will be left like a piece of trash. nobody did their homewerk anyway.
amoralists will remain for those who wish to join. but none do.
we are that much closer to realization.
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|Tuesday, September 30th, 2003|
11:02 pm - the beach tide
i feel like talking to some one who i no longer have strong and sometimes no emotion for has put some needed clarity into my life. i like to call this clarity |
first, i will be removing everyone from my friends list.
second, i will begin to rethink what i plan to do with livejournal. this rethinking means no more posts until i have resolved the issue.
I believe that livejournal brings sickness to my mind. i must vomit out all the shit to keep the poison from killing me. i am purging. you are being purged.
the constant looking for content within the mode of a public journal only shows me how hollow i feel.
do not expect any form of response from me. i will be sending no more emails, or instant messages. i will no longer publish anything over the internet during this hesitation.
the hollow internet only distracts me from my focus.
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|Monday, September 29th, 2003|
10:33 pm - damn the days
the other day i saw a pigeon with no toes on one foot and all toes on the other. he just had a stump heel. and he walked on it without losing a step.|
since i lost my poems at MAM i decided to start putting up lost poem flyers. like those for animals. how is this?
L O S T
P O E M S
two poems were last seen at this location. the creator truly adores them and is hoping that an informer knows information about the situation. i must stress that poems are what help poets eat, and keeping the poems is an act harmful to my wallet and stomach. if you feel guilty about possessing the poems, do not hesitate in contacting me. if you have them and plan to keep them, PLEASE, still contact me. the details of how they are to be returned are completely negotiable. i would just like to talk. please don't hurt my poems.
cool huh? if anyone wants to give me some pointers, splurge baby.
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10:20 pm - for some reason my dates are a day behind.
|Sunday, September 28th, 2003|
1:48 am - tertiary life.
today was intense. IN SUCKINESS. and the entire city of Miami smells homeless.|
i went to MAM and did some artistic venturing.
i wrote on the walls, wee. and typed on the typewriter, weee. and left drawings. weeee.
EMPATHY HAS DIED! LOVE NEXT?
BAD DREAMS ARE THOSE IN WHICH MY FAMILY LOOKS GOOD
i drew a picture of a wild girl with detached steering wheel in her hands. black spray paint on her mouth. next to it a painting of a large mouth opening wide to consume a cloud of black spray paint straight from the can. captioned beside it:
ON THE ROAD OF LIFE THERE ARE NO SURVIVORS
last night i walked down collins when i heard a women scream from an suv at some patio cafe.
"you asshole, youll come crawling back tomorrow. we had a family together motherfucker."
the other day my sisters boyfriend cut the strands that bond. now she crys. i don't know what to do, because all my opinions are cynical and they make her feel worse and me stupid. who gives a shit if im a fucking pieces, im a god damn asshole.
while she cried i ran out. there were these gang latin kids at bay park saying nigger this and that. they inspired me with a few thoughts. very handsome, young, violent, and high boys. they own a special place in my hart. i listened to them talk for hours and did not partake in the blunt.
Toby sat on the couch, a filthy stinking thing. a few guys sat around him at the crackhole. coke covered the table. a loud banging rapped the door. Brian pulled a gun out of under the couch. how different than three ways and street fighting this was.
i wrote poems that ended like these. the real wholes will not be recovered. i feel so bad because i have truly lost something. those poems took my hart out, and now i don't have them. i only pray that the trash and rotting earth enjoy them as much as i did. these poems do not reflect the MAM ones, but i hope they feel as good.
fuck it. never mind, id just get dissapointed. time to rest.
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|Saturday, September 27th, 2003|
4:28 am - troy tragedy
i just meditated while listening to J IVY.|
i went to my first bar ever. i just walked in. oh my god the people dancing at the club. i sat fascinated for hours staring at ass gigglings and hand groupings. i loved it. that was the first time i tried to move my hips, ever. a few break dancers lit up the floor. some latin dancers and hip hopsters added a good after taste. i simply sat, and after some time tried to sway myself looking like a damn fool. every one else seemed pretty pro, but i bet there are better dancers in different clubs.
i got the body, it wants to move. my mind is all frightened though. i learned a lot from just watching.
in J's words, just write.
i chatted him up a bit, unfortunately we didn't get far. i got the impression he didn't want to talk much and i doubt we would have had much to say. BUT i do feel one step closer to performing on my own.
lets try some unedited free something something.
coffin nails got me down with the doubt
wonder in bliss what that shitz all about.
noize in my skull screaming toys to keep me round
i need to split and get out of this crypt.
but sometimes the dreams
just seem like a freak
accidents spilling car crashes
damn suspense keeping me thrashing
myself go to hell
a dragonfly landed on me tonight.
also a prostitute.
and i scribbled on a shop window.
i went to see a movie under the tuscon sky
i met some people.
lost on the page
of ordinary days
finding my way
costs in the cage
im dream talking
without rest in the lowest coffin
my mind is barking
without places for parking
filled with noise
of toxic pollution
for death cruisin
lost in the verse
in a pillowed hearse
deep in the babble
the truent song
twice the route
choices to make and prices to rake
cant see pain streaked across my face
but i keep trying
convincing myself the best of what im buying
welcome to hell
keeps you from crying
ignore the road walked
adore the cheek fucked
inside of me
over the kitchen sink
over the whippin reed
got strange fruit
between those star sung leaves
my mind by the boot
straps made to shot
up all the loot.
cant you see
the life i lead
all the ordinary work
is killing me
and i can't believe
my dreams never came true
that kind of crap hurts
more than play ground turds
mocking the girls
and beating them blue
escape of the thoughts
from bellows so hot
they pulled all the stops
when building that spot
and what kind of world
am i describing so well
so how much blood curled
by that anguishing damn hell?
i call it the magazine
girls and boys lived up
but inside they scream
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|Friday, September 26th, 2003|
1:09 am - yawn.
1) First Grade Teacher:missus crush|
2) Last word(s) you said: you implicate a lot for me saying so little.
3) Last song you sang: my own, i called it.
4) Last person you hugged: TUI MUNDAY!
5) How much do you 'dig' homicide: very much.
6) Last time you said 'I love you': maybe a few weeks ago. before that, years.
7) Last time you cried: i don't remember.
8) What's in your CD player: probably Barbra Streisand.
9) What color socks are you wearing: flesh tones. no sox.
10) What's under your bed: i sleep on a futon, on the floor.
11) What time did you wake up today: 10.14am.
12) Current taste: i can still taste cranberries, i burp pepperjack and alph alpha sprouts.
13) Current hair: soft dutch brown, unkept.
14) Current clothes: underwear. earphones.
15) Current Annoyance: pre-work.
16) Current longing: she knows her name.
17) Current desktop picture: it should be feet with hena on them. but nothing. fuck.
18) Current worry: i worry about nothing.
19) Current hate: and i care for the same
20) Story behind your LJ username: im a spy.
21) Current favorite article of clothing: rags. the homeless look.
22) Favorite physical feature of the opposite sex: good form with a dash of pretty face and a sharp bite of style. also antistyle.
23) Last CD that you bought: more like last cd i wanted to steal.
24) Favorite place to be: in the laps of aging spanish beuties.
25) Least favorite place: in the sun.
26) Time you wake up in the morning: it's not often the morning.
27) If you could play an instrument, what would it be: the female hart.
28) Favorite color: green. black. beige. im more into schemes.
29) Do you believe in an afterlife: hella no. i believe in afterparties.
30) How tall are you: 6'3"
31) Current favorite word/saying: somatic/men can make gods by the dozen, but can not form together a single worm. well, so far.
32) Favorite book: im digging Chi, by Alexander Besher.
33) Favorite season: april showers.
34) One person from your past you wish you could go back and talk to: Pa/ula. she was one fine brazilian woman.
35) Favorite day: rain days.
36) Where do you want to go: where don't i want to go?
37) What is your career going to be like: conformed prisoner turned author.
38) How many kids do you want?: as many as you can eat!
39) What kind of car will you have: a gauss cruiser.
40) Type a line you remember from any book: i borrowed it from you, just now.
41) A random lyric: wrap me in your deathloins.
42) Identify some things surrounding your computer: sleep.
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12:47 am - some relatisfactation. x,\
after some meditation in bay park today i decided to go on a stealth mission in south beach.|
first i defined my mission perameters. "go on top of one of those apartment complexes and get a good fucking view of the ocean."
then i scribbled out some mantras.
"i have dissolved all resistence."
"i am apt for warfare."
then i meditated on the beach. i had thoughts such as this.
"no one makes you who you are."
"society has no influence on it because you are not a part of it."
"you are inhuman, and take whatever you need."
"your mind is a water surrounded by beach. the beachs are boundries and rules. flood them over until there is nothing left. nothing left of them, and nothing left of you."
then i thought of ways to disarm the enemy: those who would prevent me from entering the complex.
all my stress was released, and the Direction took ahold of me.
my body was moved towards the complex by a force i could not control.
First try: a female guard stops me at the vehicle entry. i chat her up and she smiles. i ultimately fail, and walk off to target two.
Second try: the two road directions are obscured so the guards can not see the exit route. i walk up it and past them. i get inside the building and walk past the clerks. there are electronic keypads protecting everything, even the elevator. i saw my sister use an electronic key wand on once, and this one looked the exact same. so i chat up the clerks, no success. i think that if i can get one of these key wands then entry will be very much easier. theyre supposed to be different for each building, but some people have used a single key wand to get into multiple buildings.
so i go home feeling beat, but i have future reservations. actually it ends up that maybe i shouldn't be up there. news is that the construction contractors bribed inspectors and used faulty supplies, or none at all. all of these towers are apparently falling apart, and lawsuits have followed. oh well. so much for thrills in south beach.
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|Thursday, September 25th, 2003|
3:58 pm - what does livejournal eat?
my head feels like all kinds of shit.
my sister is going to come home and bitch at me for doing nothing all day when i could have "gon to the mfing urban outfitters or the mfing starbucks on mf lincoln road. the mfing oceandrive is just waiting for you to eat up their jobs mfer!"
i went to the interview at publix. the lady thought i was on drugs. i won't be called back.
i spent my day scanning shitting freeware rpgs. i used to love the god damn internet, but now all i think is "someone is trying to call you for an interview. go clean something and get off."
by god my head is all ate up! i aint got a fuuked up morsel left.
on the plus side this girl has been calling me. i have erotic dreams were we don't kiss or fuck, but just feel each other eyes closed and smell. i want a long drawn out excruciating relationship were we don't have sex for 8 years, then binge ourselves to death. im glad i had the idea to start writing a memoir last night, because if this gets as fucked up as i hope it will the book might sell.
i started thinking about the next time we meet. maybe i will anonomously show up, demanding a show. pay for it and leave, her never knowing who i was.
hahhah. now that would be something else.
day dream ejaculation:
working on diode has my thoughts all in knots.
ALL IS WELL.
i have loose knit ideas that i blast up on the keyboard.
it is like scat, but sci fi.
HEAD GEAR! So there are giant disembodied heads with trees growing out of them and a person can get on top, grabbing a tree. The heads are psychic and know exactly were you want to go, even if you really don’t. They take you some amazing places, as well as some pretty amazing hells. Some people just get on to see where the heads take them, and they always have a time not to be forgotten. Sometimes the heads zoom to alternate realities and bring their patrons back. Sometimes they crash and kill their pilot. Everyone gets delivered to exactly be they want to go.
THE EATEN OUT PLANET! There is a world in which no one lives on the outside, but everything lives inside the peach colored orb. Giant worms enslave other denizens. Wee.
THICK WATER! One reality is nothing more than a giant ocean of metals so dense that nothing will ever penetrate it. The surface is sometimes slippery though. Not only that, but massive metallic tidal waves float all over the surface, usually killing those who get hit by them. The motherfuckers travel at 60mph! Cool to skateboard on.
how bouts that mofos?
beat that shit neegra.
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|Tuesday, September 23rd, 2003|
1:21 am - hot and bothered.
i just had some icecream and am about to wash up after myself.|
i really don't feel so great. i tried to tease the honorata and things got a little dark, now i feel. er. weird. regretful.
i think however
from this occasional defilement
i may make something out of it.
first i write, then i will go try to grab the abstract machismo into some kind of visual manifestation.
: : :
the long hall lacked light but firefly cigarettes. mutters echoed into a low rumble like
she had come her several times before, to smoke a nail. some club music bolted in ugly bass. cheap smells covered the patrons. the place was highly synthetic. some barely met friend smiled at her. but they were not well known to each other. she could not understand her mind. he could not understand his own, but it could understand itself. the mind heard heel clicks. she came around to smile at him. his body convulsed to spray foul smelling ichor. she walked away violated.
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|Monday, September 22nd, 2003|
3:57 pm - i just started DIODE, and feel good about it. ALL OTHER PROJECTS ASIDE AT LAST
some of you mudrafuukars. out there are going to have to turn your lifejournal codes OVER TO ME, the vastly superior of the all of us. |
i need them please!
so everything that i do from now on is going to be dedicated to my Forma Project.
which includes one book.
one art terror portfolio.
and maybe a cheap azz 'zine.
the details are sacredsecret, so if you would please just help!
contact me with your love. oh god i just spent the last 4 hours drifting around the library writing and thinking and occasionally peeking. i don't want it to ever stop.
tell me what kind of scratch you can throw in. i have to eat lunch. xow.
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11:32 am - cybretuuth
beer makes me feel stupid. expeciale when i spill it in my lap.|
i have been in south beach for over a week now, and still not commited a SINGLE ACT of artistic vandalism!
so the other day i a talking
guy: so what are you interested in?
me: my own special brand of art terrorism.
g. oooh what a dirty word.
m. yeah i like it.
g. so don't you think that its bad to force your opinion on others?
m. no, some people are just to lazy to listen.
i see it kind of like the theme of Focus, by Arthur Miller.
this guy buys some glasses and people start to notice he looks kind of jewish. soon people are dicriminating against him. this guy would have NEVER fought the fight. he was lazy, but he was forced to stop and think. the ordinary man soon became a witness and picked up a banner.
art terrorism accomplishes the same thing. it MAKES people stop and think.
so im on the bus coming from adventura mall and there are these two school kids talking to me. they are going to go to this backyard wrestling thing to fight, a dangerous sport indeed. it seems that you get to bring your own weapon.
so i ask: what would each of you bring?
the cute jap girl says: id bring a wine bottle and a lighter.
the gnarl toothed guy: id bringa a base ball bat with "goya" (or something) written on it.
i saiz: id take a painting of a sunflower.
then i saiz. along with a wine bottle, why dont you buy some fortune cookies? you could empty out the bottle and stick the fortunes inside so when you broke it over the guys head the fortunes would fly into the audience. if you got a baseball bat you could inscribe the directions to a romantic dinner onto it, soon after the fight you could go and have a nice supper. or hell, even fight in the dining area. they didnt have many ideas for my painting.
some concepts for art terror:
Lincoln road has several lights in the cement sidewalk, and today i saw a road crew working on them. i could make translucent film slide style things and then put them inside the lights so they are projected to the sky. i would have to do a lot of screwing.
also, i could get a roll of paper and write poetice terror phrases all down it, then roll it up. i could go to second floor at adventura and throw it over the side, watching it unravel as it goes down.
i was also thinking i could design a
A R T TERRORISM
visit a groundzero near you!
flyer, and steal a million copies from kinkos. after that i would go around town stealing all the newspapers out of the vendors, and replacing them with a ton of flyers.
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|Thursday, September 18th, 2003|
5:10 pm - a note to those people on my friends list.
get more fucking exciting you bums. rob a liqour store or something. take heroin ONLY SO YOU CAN GO THROUGH WITHDRAWLS and chat about it. i am about to die lost at INANE CITY and you arent helping. fags. that is the problem with life, not enough ecstatic schitzos in it. dare to shoot the president in the face. i am so sick of this tired old shit, im going out to buy a gun and some paint. maybe a porclein toilet as well. hell, im going to ACETHEPLACEfuckingHARDWARE and i am going to STEAL a god damn toilet. 20 of the fuckers. everyone of you "humans" make me god damn sick. ima gonna chow down on a bucket of maggots. i wonder if the alarms at the front of the library really work...|
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4:54 pm - tired
my time here stinks of something foul, but im tooooo bored to even bitch about it. florida is a drill to the head. god damn. my sister is a bossy dunce, and everyone is bad company. i still love people though, despite how "raw ripped off skin" they make me feel. i dont do anything here. not draw or write. or even commit my special brand of artistic urban terrorism i love so dere. bless hakim bey, how to kill my neighbors dog, and some other shit for ever putting that desire in my holy head. rats know when to leave a stinking ship. lucky for them they wont board a rotting wreck. i am that bloated raft.|
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|Friday, September 12th, 2003|
12:19 pm - from southbeach, with *...*
yesterday the washbasin in my sisters bathroom took a swandive to the floor. very funny, kinda fun. unfortunately ugly. other night i took to the beach in the dark. that was great, i got some of that emptiness of mind. on my way home i passed some kind of art center that rented cheap studio space to prospective artists. i talked to a young mexican artist named alexi, he seemed nice. i'm interested in maybe submitting an application. high chance in hell i would be accepted, but it would be a fun and hopeful way to waste 40 bucks. i have the same problem that i have from city to city ANGRY BUMS AND NO ONE TO TALK TO. the other day i slipped a piece of paper that said "i heart u" into some guitar armatured homeless singer's case. he screamed, a lot. "git that fucking shit out of my bucket" or some such thing. i ruined my socks by walking home in them, and my clothes are still caked in sand. when i walk down the street i notice that i am the one with the most pallid skin and the only one sweating. i sweat a lot. talking to the ocean was humorous though. the joggers and shoppers all looked at me like i'as nuts. ha.|
well fuck, i am in miami now and everyone is completely psycho. i vow never to go out in the sun again, which means i won't be able to update or talk for a long time. people are running lights and signs, honking, screaming and for no complete fucking reason. at least in knoxville the people were nice. when you ask anyone for directions here they only give you the uberleet stare or say "no comprehende." i don't think that it will be easy to get a job, as every store seems to be filled with young machismo or extralite fem clerks. maybe i'm wrong though, i can only hope i'm wrong.
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|Monday, September 8th, 2003|
11:13 pm - fecal chains that weigh.
to day was shite. long and complexion. to live comfortabely i have to glide easily through many open windows, hoping no one will close to fast. |
i don't want to go back home OR to miami beach but it looks bleak any other way. i want to be on my own and have a venereal friend that conprocreates with me. art. true.
i want to go songtrance, but there are so many people around, and people walk in all of the time.
today i saw a man. shit ran down his leg. he stank and smiled at me. i scoffed. who am i, i guess? why didnt i smile back? i think that maybe if i came true to my amoral morality, i would have smiled. people always ask me for change, angry when denied. i want to ask them for change myself, to see how they react.
i want to sing ugly songs sometimes. when i am comfortable with everything else. i want to paint ugly. talk ugly. sing ugly. fuck ugly.
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|Sunday, September 7th, 2003|
9:27 pm - lame!
this has to be the coolest response i have ever garnered from the internet. apparently the weak minded idiot who made it didnt have a lot of time to spare on his pet project. i should have got "you are neo-dada ass rape: you like to spray paint and wreck cars. this is art to you. you are probably an innercity poor malignant narcissist. the last time you saw the grave of andy warhol or that loser from the doors you spit on it. who likes guitars anyway? or shirtless singing?"|
Why are you even taking this test?
WHAT TYPE OF ART ARE YOU?
brought to you by Quizilla
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9:10 pm - hollyhock viletude
my days are slight weird now. soon i will be under big stress, and i haven't spent any of my time in knox writing. i want to but art supplies but have to worry about eating instead. faith consumes me though and i know this will work out. even if for the worse. time passes no matter how i spend it, but i hope to spend it in the best way possible.|
why is it that the only people i can have a good spirtual/philosophical conversation with are complete drug goners. their minds have been eaten by their expensive desire. but it seems only these people who seem to be willing to prosper on the philosophical field. maybe the only have philosophy left. mayhaps all their other mental resources were destroyed by constant perceptual change. it could be a complete fluke though. sometimes i think that i just happen to talk to the best drug losers around. and the worse straighters. or it might all be in my head, and i simply undercredit most people i know.
i myself being a hypocritical straighter.
(comment on this)
|Friday, September 5th, 2003|
11:45 pm - hrmn
it seems that the journal monster has eaten up my last post. |
if you give a damn about what i have to say, just ask and ill try to repost
otherways, who gives shit?
(comment on this)
11:16 pm - dire night gets hungry
i want to make a shirt|
*greek letter, not entire word.
i remember when i first got off the bus yesterday how good i felt. everything new and humming. people actually told me i was a nice guy. today was crap. i got some job information, very good indeed. then it went sour when i went to the fair. i wasted 6 hours of my life i could have spent trying to make myself happy. being there alone only reminded me what a stupid and lonely kid i used to be and mostly still am. nobody knows me here. some homosexual wouldn't leave me alone and made me very uncomfortable by hitting on me. a cute girl i met dropped everything and left to be with some "hunky guy." worst yet: i went to see a hypnotism act, and the performer called me on the stage by saying "you, the goofy looking guy." FUCKIN ASS. i only had a good time when i asked some man how to leave the fair and get a bus. there were some other things that happened that were kind of nice. i argue with some fundamentalist about how i felt that christ was both a taoist at hart and an atheist. i ripped apart a six page pamphlet, sowed it back together with a sowing machine in the 'art hut' and the drew all over it. i finally thumbtakked it to the sign leading into the "young dumb student artist" section. cute phrases that randomly came to mind.
this is what you desire.
it is here, can you see it?
god, tao, whatever
sweat smells of rots and stinks
underpass in the rain
i am in love with pathetic things
heaven is only in your mind, but oh well
i thought the art was typical me stuff. to bad you cant see it. oh well, maybe that is best. everything transient.
cheer up broken down me.
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