29

I'm in my apartment with a bad cough, waiting for Anna to get back from a night out with our friends. It's one thirty in the morning on the very last day of the last year of my twenties. I have horrible acid indigestion, I've eaten twenty calcium tablets today, I'm chewing on one right now. I missed a promised deadline for a comic by more than two weeks, and instead of writing it with all that extra time I've had these past two weeks I've more or less shut my brain off and barely left the house. I have some reason to believe that I'll have a pretty decent job soon, I have just graduated from college. This is a very big deal to me personally, even if, naturally, it seems to be not so much to everyone I've told. All these big ideas, but when there is time to do them I have no strength of will. Is this where my mind will lie, dead in the water? This is an active age, I must keep it so.

From "Critique of Pure Reason" by I. Kant

"For we are unable from our own consciousness to determine whether, as souls, we are permanent or not. Since we reckon as belonging to our identical self only that of which we are conscious, we must necessarily judge that we are one and the same throughout the whole time of which we are conscious, We cannot, however, claim that this judgment would be valid from the standpoint of an outside observer. For since the only permanent appearance which we encounter in the soul is the representation 'I' that accompanies and connects them all, we are unable to prove that this 'I', a mere thought, may not be in the same state of flux as the other thoughts which, but means of it, are linked up with one another."

Stupid Kitty

Well he wanted to go outside and I'm like fine buddy, knock yourself out. I mean you're gonna freeze off your little toeses. The door is open for three seconds and already the kitchen is cold and I go get under the blankets while he pokes around in the snow and ice. Five minutes later he's scratching at the door and he comes running back inside and I'm like Told you man. Then I'm sitting here typing and he's looking for a warm spot on me but the old laptop's got dibs on all the prime real estate, so he perches next to my arm. His nose seems pretty interested in my breath so I open my mouth real wide so he can smell all the onions I just ate, and he sticks his whole face in there. I wait for him to start licking bits of food off my teeth because that is so something he would do but he doesn't.

Bike Blog: Ugliness and Avoidance

I could have just let him go but my instinct is to do what I can to issue consequence to obnoxious and dangerous behavior. Freezing cold it was, the coldest day so far, 15 degrees, 5 with wind that worked against progress toward being prompt to work. My visibility was reduced as I had the enormous red scarf, the first knitting project of Anna and last year's warmest gift from her to me, wrapped around my face several times so as to limit head mobility. And slowly I pass across the street at a four way stop but a white sedan with government plates does not like that I have gotten in his way and he refuses to arrest his acceleration. So close now to the destination I am riding tentatively as my toes are frozen, I can not feel them, but he hits the back of my bicycle, the back tire, the most expensive and delicate part on the bicycle, and I rush to his window, gratified to see he is pulled over. An older man with white hair and glasses, a gray face with no emotion except a slowness to comprehend the situation, I insist he exit the car and he does after babbling some things to me behind glass. I am very angry, the animated kind when I am another me behind my eyes watching as I articulate rather elegantly how easily he could have hurt me. I do not respect angry people who though wronged do not act rationally with an eye toward productive enlightenment. But still I can not help but to say belittling words to attack him as I feel I have been, but am ashamed immediately. I insist he call the police and he does slowly on his cell phone while asking me why I am swearing at him, my intent is to shame him into being more careful. Again I check my wheel by spinning and surprisingly it is fine, I am almost reluctant to believe this and know there is no need for the police because money need not exchange hands. But I say nothing but that no I do not need an ambulance when the question is relayed from the operator- I am not hurt, I say, just pissed. He is still on his phone, standing amongst the frozen and dirty piled-up snow at the corner, as I walk my bike away without notifying him. I am within sight of my job and unhappy with the ugliness I feel responsible for but as I look back he has put on a white hardhat which he has retrieved from his government sedan in order to benefit from an implied interconnection to the officer who may or may not actually arrive, both servants are they of municipality, versus I who with my karate bandana and army-style helmet and studio headphones which are strapped over my face look like some kind of lunatic participant of a polar rugby team. I assure myself that since though this man did I did not provide my name or other relevant information I can safely disappear into the alcove which protects us from the wind as we wait to be buzzed into our jobs.

DIG dug

Well you thought I was a bee, but there you have it. I am not a bee. I am a tortoise showing up without a shell, or a turtle, if you prefer. I like to think I know the difference, clear enough as day.

I gave that boy an axe and all he could figure out what to do with it was throw it straight into the garbage. That’s all you got, buddy? I’m like who’s gonna give up against that thing, noone now that we think about it. I clicked forward until the battery light went out and lost general track of things. You give me a light and I’ll cast some pretty strong shadows for you, strong enough to get you thinking, at least. What a guy would do with string in his pocket. Not too much.

I left for college with a raincloud over my head that rotted my clothes and made my breath smell like tangerines. Lightning I saw strike out right from the center of it, just over my head, and all I had time to do before it cracked my beetle collection in half was open my eyes just a little bit wider, like if I let more light in the information would be clearer and easier to utilize. I half expected molten asphalt to come gurgling out of the chasm it made, stinking like tar and burned hair- I even coughed. But there was only this extended moan, like a pressurized breath escaping from the lungs of a roomful of asthmatics. It rolled over our ears and set our eyebrows up high enough to balance plates on. It made our mouths peel back over the surface of our teeth. It would have reminded anyone watching from afar of dominating g-forces or waves of flame from a nuke.

Biking Blog

Once again, I am supposed to be writing a research paper on Immanuel Kant and I am just monkeying around on this thing. I'm tired, it's a half hour before my bed time and there is no way I'm going to write it now.

I almost fell trying to ride up the bridge at Halsted and Chicago, because it was raining and my tires were slipping and sliding.

I was trying to cross Montrose right after I left my apartment and I was in the oncoming traffic lane. There was this huge semi truck bearing down on me and I had to get in the right lane but there was this car going really slow toward me there. I kept looking back and forth between the truck and the car, trying to figure out what to do, but the car was going at just the right speed so that I couldn't cross safely and I couldn't tell if he was going to let me go, like he was close enough so that I was just waiting for him to go so I could get out of the path of this big truck. I kept looking back and forth, because it didn't look like he was going to let me cross his path but he wasn't speeding up to pass, and then the truck is getting pretty close and I yell at him to go, and as he finally passes in front of me he's waving at me and he's got this big grin on his face, like he was doing it on purpose. I thought maybe he was acting cavalier like that because he was suppressing accountability for putting me in harms way, like he was slightly embarrassed that his indecision was putting me in enough danger that I had to yell at him and this was his way of dealing with it. But I couldn't help but to suspect that he really did do it on purpose and he had just some kind of dickheaded prejudice against bikers, something I catch wind of from other people on the road sometimes. And I'm like so pissed that I try to ride him down and fantasize about breaking off his mirror with my u lock. I mean fuck.

I really just can't believe how disgusting the air is, and nobody else seems to care.

I'm too tired to write any more.

The Dish Ran Away With My Dinner

There was a duck living under my ranch. i waited every day for something like that to break up the tone of the evening conversation, but all I had to go on was a red and black spider torso and a humid kind of mossy smell that made me think of the lake when it's too warm for winter. The frozen bluffs I used to crawl around on probably wouldn't support my weight anymore, and that would be fine except that what I've been trying to do now for the past six months, ever since the city got evacuated and the air raid sirens didn't warn us anymore before the bombs blew right in our faces, is fish a little bit with this old fishing pole I dug out of the back of a plymouth voyager. Annie told me not to get excited when I saw the walgreens across the street wasn't on fire anymore, because all I was going to find in there would be jars and jars and jars of ladyfingers, and those things have like not nutritional value in them whatsoever, like I might as well be bringing toenail clippings back for both of us to eat. Earl said that he had to do that once, eat up all his toenails. He's all scarred up because of this fire, and his eyes are yellow from drinking too much rum. You can see his collar bones, his clavicles right through the Chicago Bears t shirt he always wears. He said he figured that since it was something that grew from his body from eating food that it probably had at least some kind of vitamins or minerals in it. So he'd bit off his fingernails and his toenails, too, whenever he happened to notice that they were bitable, and suck on them for awhile to get them soft so they wouldn't poke at his insides. Then, he said, he'd snuffle some salty snot into his mouth and swallow the whole mixture, down the hatch. "It got specially bad when this one time I caught myself bitin them down even over the skin, and not just waitin. Then's when I knew I'd been forgetting to hustle me up some food." He asked me to buy him a steak with my food stamps and I was like how the heck are you gonna cook it? and he said he could get probably four or five bucks for it. I was in the grocery store for too long and he came in to look for me, and I just gave him four dollars I was going to use to buy a spatula with.

RAAARRR!

"One 12-year veteran fired his weapon 31 times, emptying two full magazines, Kelly said."

Quote of the Week

"People who live in bamboo houses should not throw pandas."

Who else? NINJA

Bad Kitty

Mister Chillynose was mad at me this morning because I locked him in the bathroom because he keeps eating Mouse's food. He waits until he knows I am engrossed in something and then I hear the tinkling of kibble in the bowl and I turn around to see him eating as fast as he can to get as much in the belly as possible before I catch him. He also eats looking up, which is bizarre because if you think about it most cats look pretty happy when they're on the munch, but not if they have to watch out for daddy who's going to lock him in the dank, cold bathroom. As soon as I get up he runs off with food still in his mouth until he finds a place that's hard enough for me to get to that he can drop it on the floor and eat it properly. Even as I drag him away from it he's still chewing. He is, needless to say, a fatass. I read something for the research paper (that I didn't do that was due today for the class I skipped to write a song, don't tell my girlfriend) on Immanuel Kant about disciplining children, and how for example it's useless to punish a child for lying and reward her for insert good deed here because then the kid will grow up making decisions that are designed to bring in personal reward and avoid punishment as opposed to running her life with dignity and self respect, and that one should instead treat the child with contempt and inform her that people are now no longer going to believe her. This is wise advice, and I will remember it for when I have kids, but it doesn't work on cats because they are too stupid to know the why of things, they just know that certain things make you lock them into the bathroom. Anyway, I felt bad about it sort of but I didn't know what else to do. I let him out after awhile and at first he was really mad at me and kept looking at me really pissed and hiding, but then later when I was laying on the couch reading about Erik Larsen in Punk Planet he came and perched on my chest in front of my magazine and kissed me on the nose with his nose, which in case you didn't know is how cats tell you they really love you. And so then I was looking at him and trying to figure out, if I don't like being hard on him, what the heck can I do? and I decided well how about nothing, because he's a cat, and if any being should have a free pass in life it should be a house cat, even if he also rips up all my furniture and pisses on the floor when I don't let him out and eats bits of fried chicken from the neighbor's dumpster when I do.

Quote of the Week

Jim Munroe, DIY zine publisher and author of the novel Flyboy Action Figure Comes With Gas Mask:

"Corporate specialization fragments a project into several pieces and creates lots of cracks for things to disappear into."

Check out his site: http://nomediakings.org/

Fast Food Nation- Loved It

I appreciated that Richard Linklater and Eric Schlosser made a point to show how people deal with having their eyes opened to harsh realities. Too many overtly didactic movies get caught up in the message without portraying an interesting spectrum of reactions. Being presented with Bruce Willis' character's arguments and Patricia Arquette's character's apathy goes a long way in preparing people interested in fixing things for what they are up against should they attempt to enlighten people who are invested in maintaining the status quo. In true Linklater form, Ethan Hawke's character doesn't dissappoint. The central theme, that there is an industrial machine detached from humanity that is gobbling up decency on the planet, is one that was reinforced by the end credit roll in a pretty awesome way. Best line in the movie, from the most interesting character in the movie, played by Chris Christofferson: "The machine doesn't give a shit." Don't go to see it if you want character driven drama- the many separate storylines don't allow the characters to get up to full steam. Do go to see it if you want to see a movie that does a great job trying to get Americans to be honest about their role in the great many problems we are all going to have to face up to sooner or later, from suburban sprawl to teenage pregnancy.

Fog

Okay, so I wonder if we'll see positive changes now that the dems got more power. They don't seem all that different, but it can't be worse than what the Repubs have been up to. What the hell did people think was going to happen? You vote on "values" you get idiots that don't give a shit about you.

Biking Blog

Being tired is no fun, it makes everything hard. I have a very fat cat who will scratch at the door incessantly an hour or two before I have to get up. I want to turn him into domesticated sausage.

Two fancy tour buses climbed the torn up hill with me on Halsted and Chicago. When they pulled ahead of me their enormous tail pipes were at eye level, and it was hard not to think of buttholes spewing poison gas in my face. I ordered a respirator on the internet, but my friend Dominick says it's going to be pretty tough to breathe through that thing while I'm riding my bike. When I got to work there was a guy eating a sandwich in a huge truck, just idling right in front of the door. It was upwind, and the exhaust fumes were so thick I had a lot of trouble locking up my bike, which is a rather complicated operation, or at least I make it so. I kept coughing and giving him dirty looks because there was no reason for his truck to be on.

I Cannes, I. Kant

I just got back from a rally against George Bush, and boy are my ears tired.

Biking blog

Two old men walking together along the border of the marina, one of them describing something shaped like a box with his arms. I ride by and know I'll forget about him in a few minutes and never think about him again.

constantly worried about the quick release on my front wheel popping while I ride at high speed, and the wheel flying off and the forks digging into the pavement and my skull smashing. That's how my friend died.

Figured out how to hop just before a big bump or crack in the path, don't have to pull the whole bike with me but time it so my weight is up and I can still keep control

speaking from my diaphragm, I can control my speech better

organize my mind with a planner keeps thoughts in places easy to access, reduces mental clutter, able to remember things better

"What's with that guy, why is he so unfriendly?" This has been said about me multiple times. I am sorry. I pushed the taciturn thing too far. There will now be a backlash

Read about suicide again. Ug, how stupid and embarrassing. Still I can't decide what sort of thing to write?

The sensual is to ever present, it undermines my ambitions.

I have a lot to say about gender, but need to organise my thoughts on it before I talk about it again. people are starting to get the wrong idea.

Easy doesn't enter in to adult life.

Plenty of Time

There is never enough time to do everything you put off all those years, all those idea you have that you'll get to one day. That is no new theme. I guess if you're making logical decisions about how to spend your time and are never idle just because it would take too much effort to get started, or underway, and you still have all these things you never got around to doing, that's okay.
I spent the summer writing about nonsense, and it didn't help my brain out at all. If it's to be strong then it needs to work hard.
It's after eight and kids are playing in the alley. They shout a lot. The buildings contain the sound, give it to me. Everything else is unusually quiet, though. I notice when the kids shut up. I can almost hear the ringing in my ears over the keys typing. THere are thumps vibrating from somewhere in the building.
Anna is on her way to TaeKwonDo, here on referred to as tkd, because I don;t like to type tae kwon do. We went to a barbecue party a couple of weeks ago on our bikes, it was really far out west. I didn't like riding on the streets, but it was worse riding with her. He bike is slow and she is overcautious. She will not ride through yellow lights. Twice she said she heard something fall off of her bike. I couldn't tell what it was, but I don't trust that piece of crap she rides so we more or less got rid of it. But now she has to walk to tkd in the dark, which is not good for my peace of mind so I go to pick her up at least, three times a week, which is nice. Her instructor promotes people into higher belts even if they are fat and out of shape and can't remember the moves very well, and I think it's to keep people coming back. She has complained of this also. Everyone wants to just say they are a black belt. One day a young guy wasn't in class because he got beat up. His tkd skills didn't help him at all, he said. He wanted to know why, and the teacher said it takes time. But I watch that class when I wait for Anna to be done and they mostly don't look like their hearts are in it. But maybe I just don't understand the way martial arts are taught and learned.
We went to make some dinner over at a friend's place, a couple we like to double date with periodically. Anna and Gavin were cutting vegetables, the knives were pointy and cold and hard steel, pointed at one another. I know it's because there is something imbalanced in myself that makes me feel this way, but while I watched them cut onions I had to force myself to trust Gavin not to stab Anna in the eye. He is a good friend and would never dream of hurting anyone, but because that possibility was there of Anna getting violently killed and because of what I think that would do to me I had to calm myself down. I always think about how easy it would be to seriously hurt someone in the kitchen. Then I worried as I watched her cutting the peppers, because it looked to me like she was not paying very good attention and that the knife wasn't very sharp, which is more dangerous that way. I thought then that that was the same thing, and I wasn't trusting her to take care of herself. I wondered if it also tied in with a lack of respect I had for her, which I suppose is possible. That is not a very good way to treat people, I thought. Like they are not even capable of cutting vegetables, like I would have to intervene in order for it to be safest and most efficient. And as I watched she cut herself on the thumb, and I saw the blood right away, under the soft orange light it was the exact same color as the pepper. Considering all that neuroticism I was flying with a minute ago I thought I would cringe or get mad at her or something, but I really just felt like it was no big deal. Still grasping at a way to justify all that worry I tried to think of when it would be a big deal but all I came up with was the days before immunizations and antibiotics, etc. Still, I don't think I'll ever not be nervous when someone points a knife at Anna, in even the most innocent of ways.
A number of years ago I ate a dose of mushrooms with a couple of friends and had a pretty dark trip. Another friend of ours, Sean, had recently been killed and this was the first time I'd done psychadelics since. It was night, there weren't a whole lot of people around, and Erik and Matt and I were hanging around and about Erik's apartment in logan square. I went through a pretty tough couple of hours, becoming convinced that people were all angry and greedy and lost and sad, and decided at one point that the only reason I shouldn't commit suicide was to remain strong for my other friends, in particular our friend Caroline, who was Sean's girlfriend. Around the time that I lost the ability to communicate with Matt and Eric I tried to shake off the effects of the drug by taking a shower, but I succeeded only in finding myself imagining the water to be my own blood flooding into the drain because of a picture my ex girlfriend had shown me before we started dating of her dead in a bathtub splattered in fake blood, and soaking the hell out of Erik's bathroom and ruining all his toilet paper because his water pressure was pretty strong and I don't think I shut the shower curtain all the way. I was still fucked up when I got out of the shower. Erik's kitchen was pretty disgusting, and because drugs always give you grandiose ideas about prfoundly fixing your life when you are in ino condition to act on them I decided that the only way to fix my disgusting life was to start cleaning it up right away, and I filled up Erik's sink and started washing his dishes and stuffing glad bags full of all the crap he had everyhere until Matt came out and said something like Man, it's his place, and I could see he was right, and I was freaking out. I tried to control myself, I tried to make a joke. I had this knife in my hand. It was serrated, and was forked on the end. It seemed to me to be the most ridiculous knife I had ever seen. "Look at this knife!" I said. "Look at this knife." I suppose at that point it was pointed right at Matt, or at Erik, or wavering at both of them, who were both standing in front of Erik's room on the other side of the kitchen from me. WBEZ was in the background, coming from Erik's alarm clock radio. I remember it felt like I knew her, like I could almost pinch her lower lip if I reached out to try because I could see her so well, and her voice represented what all of us in the whole world were feeling now that we were all forced to live in such an immoral a world.

Independon't

Rebel yell is a song I was trying to remember the melody for, so I searched in the card catalogue, you know, the dewey decimal system, for a book that would direct me toward an interpretation of this dream I had the other day, the pillars were ornately carved and placed in mystical ways, and on a plate on the platform they guarded like sphynxes were the silhouettes of the charlie's angels and Anna and I had to choose who we were supposed to be, and I held my hand down long enough on the one on the far right for the change to travel up my arm, but my face was bloated and splattered with acne like a David Lynch characature, but when I looked at my crotch the polyester pants shined in the glow, and Anna was old and whithered and gaunt.

Tai Cheetos

I know moves now that will push your soul right out of your butt. Don't even try to attack me because I already know you are about to do it, and then you are in trouble, buddy. I rode the biko today and it made me ten minutes late to class, because the trees were really sneezing this morning, which was no good no good and when I sat on the dancefloor in my polyester pants I left sweaty buttprints I tried to hide and so did the me in the wall that is a mirror. Unfortunately I will be in Boston when the Tai Chi lady teacher will be buying all the wine in Chinatown for the class to drink, so sad. I will miss the drowned duck and the mooncakes, I don't know what those are either but this place has the best ones for the autumn festival for the Chinese, wheat fire.

Vile Mile Und Waggomac

I gave up after fifteen minutes because no one ever thought to teach me how to clean the dirt out from underneath my toenails, as much as I wanted to wait I thought there would be a bang and that would be the end, all I would be able to think about would be understood if it needed to be. But I couldn't help but see the horse's lips curling upwards into a smile, even though I wasn't really going to give him the carrot. I just rubbed it on the rusty bars until they were wet and there was no more friction and cracked it in half and tossed it into the pen, one end of it plunked right into a pile of manure, that was really funny. And the horse was too stupid to be mad at me, at least that's the impression I got. I don't think those guys on the corner were talking to me when they said vanilla ice cream, I'm pretty sure they were not, but I had the flannel tied under between my breasts you know and my belly was showing, like I wasn't thinking I'd run into anyone just going out to talk to the horse, cause Rick was out of town and I was seriously considering just getting out of there, I'm so sick of every day the only thing there is to do is get into a truck and drive to Walgreens, I mean I know I should be appreciative or whatever, living so close to the mountains, and the river, but that river is really just more like a stream you know and there isn't even any fish in it or nothing, and you can't camp over there because that's where all the guys go down to shoot their guns at like nothing, they just like to hear them bang bang bang I guess. I mean it's really just frightening when you have to hear that all day. And plus the mountains are so pretty and I love it, and I think it really does give me a sense of peace, the kind I never got to have when I was living in the city and there were just sky scrapers and leering guys thinking you just couldn't wait to bend over and take it from them, like they know. BUt after awhile the mountains are so far away it's like they're just this part of the air, you can't touch them and it never gets any better than just a bunch of pretty mountains in the distance, and clouds, even when you climb them you see its really just more dirt and cactuses and rocks and heat, and you still can't touch a cloud.

French Idioms

Originally I was set to write this cultural paper about these French ballerinas that were supposed to shack up with us until the day of their French ballet, at which point I would be able, theoretically, to speak a little French with them and get an insight into the life of a French ballerina. But the French ballerinas turned out to be French tap dancers, and they didn’t need a place to stay, and while my friend almost insisted that I speak French to them on the day of the performance I refused because I am most certainly NOT fluent in French and the idea of being presented in that way as the ‘guy who speaks french’ was pretty petrifying.

But as it turns out, hey, someone I work with is an exchange student from France! Rather than doing the whole what’s it like to be a French girl, we went to the park and exchange idioms and cultural sayings, a few of which I’m going to list and talk a bit about. Initially, she suggested that we talk about the differences in culture between French and Americans, but it quickly became apparent that she just wanted to point out all the stuff she didn’t like/respect about American culture, which is boring and easy. For example, she said that a shop owner in France pretty much just leaves you alone as opposed to the American corporate cultural approach being filled with smiles and enthusiasm and “Just let me know if I can help you, really!” While Americans see French people as rude, French people see Americans, in this particular scenario, as bizarre. Also, she went on, American people are always saying “I love you” all the time to their significant others- which is pretty true, there is a whole lot of “I love you”s, Annie Lennox notwithstanding, flung around the airspace in America- the complaint being that it loses its meaning if you say it all the time, which is true, and in fact I have found that the French have this particular taciturn cultural aspect in common with the Japanese. I would further like to assert that I see this as an evolved sensibility, wordless understanding being the idea, one that implies love is more complex and great than three simple words can describe unless they are conveyed through song, where various instruments bear the task of delivering the complexity of human emotion.

But Charlotte agreed and was enthusiastic to trade idioms with me. I was happy with this take on the cultural paper, though I don’t know if I’ll get away with it, because I know that you’re never really speaking the language you are studying unless you can use those weird little sayings that don’t make literal sense but inject real liveliness into language. I was lucky to have Charlotte- I often find idioms in my enormous French dictionary, which I can’t trust because once an idiom is archived in a dictionary it’s probably been around long enough to where if I were to use it I would sound like a total dork.

“Raining cats and dogs.” (raining really heavily)
A bit old fashioned, nobody really says it.
Possible Etymology: Maybe a tornado kicked up a kennel. It rains some pretty weird stuff that way.
Its French counterpart: ‘Il pleut comme vache qui pisse.” (It’s raining like a pissing cow)
In this case, I imagine that when this is spoken in french not many people actually imagine a cow pissing.

“Beating about the bush” (stalling, avoiding the issue)
Still in use fairly regularly.
etymology: From hunting. Beating bushes to get the birds to go flying
It’s French Counterpart: “Tourner autour du pot” (turn around the cooking pot)

“Making your blood boil” (getting you really angry”
French counterpart: “Son sang n’a fait qu’un tour” (his blood didn’t turn)
The idea being the anger is so severe that there is interference with blood circulation

“Never say Never” “Knock on wood”
French counterpart: “Il ne faut pas dire ‘fontaine’ je ne boirai pas de ton eau” (If you don’t say “fountain” I won’t drink your water.)
Apparently, this means a cross between to two english idioms, i.e. “don’t speak too soon.” Also, if one speaks only “Il ne faut pas dire ‘fontaine’, ” the rest is implied, just like “Speak of the Devil (and he may come)” and “When in Rome (do as the Romans do).”

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched” (don’t assume you have won)
Another of many agribund idioms.
French counterpart: “Vendre la peau de l’our avant de l’avoir tuer” (to sell the bearskin before killing it) Again, one can stop at ‘l’ours’ and the rest is implied.

“Hit the ground running” (to set to work as the earliest possible moment)
French counterpart: “Attraper le train en marche” (catch the moving train)

It was my assumption that I would find, after putting these down, a common difference between English and French idioms, but I can’t really see anything on the surface, and I see now that a real study of it would take a lot of research and a much better grasp of the French language than I have as of yet.

Orphantastic

Well there it was, sitting there without thinking. It never tried to, and I never wanted it to. But sometimes you just have to wait for it to be available, without a proper mailing code there is very little that I would have been able to figure out. If I had to I would thank the man with the hat for carroting his fedora and moving beyond the point of madness he received from mercury poisoning. And thus to I put distance between myself and the nagging discomfort I gain on, reaching forward as I realise that age really does matter, doesn't it? Boil an egg, revolve your thoughts around a bank of chairiot riders, think in terms of who was going to be there and who was going to try to rewrite the rules of coupling, not me. And here we stand before you all, waiting as we try to move forward and put everything we have tried to protect at risk, but still the sirens continue as they always have before, and aloud I speak the names of two out of three of the children I've been dreaming I had since I was seven years old, swimming through the air and watching the grass stream beneath me through my eyelids. Muhammad is the blanket name I chose to assign to the two boys I remember that were different, one of them beat up my brother and now look how he turned out. I have now finally decided that it is right for me to get frustrated when he makes such bad decisions, because if I am not thinking that it is a bad reflection on the genes then I am thinking that it is a bad reflection on my influence on him as we were growing up. Too bad the planes are so loud in the distance, I was hoping to congratulate myself for detecting them over the din. There is a strict question of a logical fallacy: Do you plea for mercy because you are an orphan after you are caught murdering your parents?

Semiotock, tick

And then there was a foul inside the branded captain.

Holiday In Hamloafia

A shame you never taught me engines, father, I would have been quite good with my hands. I thought there was a plot of land over that hill, next to a tree straight out of a Robert Frost poem, that I could dig for myself and make my life worth living. When I was a kid I thought I could catch the rays of the sun in the evening, when it was huge and orange, and I thought I could change the direction of the wind if I concentrated hard enough. Extraordinary things are still possible, they just take time and more effort that simply thinking about things to make them happen. But the feeling of accomplishment is the same. No reason to be greedy. Just settle yourself in for some work, and uncertainty, but be confident that you will reach the end in a timely fashion and be impressed with the results.

Wick, Burn It

Has there been a fantasy about being able to see through my eyelids and float just above the ground, smooth. Push I do through the dream like flying but supported by breathing. The faces in the window are often perplexed, but there is nothing I can do about that. Sometimes I think that they can read my mind, and I struggle to hide my thoughts, but that interrupts the imagination I once treasured as so much more pure than that of all other humans, I could hold onto it when I was feeling pleased. For once I am glad to see those toxic yellow jerzis, they slow down the train to my satisfaction and the earth doesn't shatter as often, but I'm still wondering where this is all going. Rickshaws are pretty useless in this town but they use them anyway. All you had to do was ask and there would be a grape on your tongue and a hand fondling your buttcheeks, what do they say about knowing what to say in most situations? I feel that there could be a witty asertation of the facts in this case but it takes just that extra split second too long for me to be as smart as I once was, and so in order to hold a coherent conversation there are going to have to be some really serious changes in this particular curriculum. And all he asked me was just this one half assed question designed to put me on the defensive, and here was a reason for me to forget pretty much everything I thought I was going to say, because without the right sort of alertness I was unable to provide for these people the right kind of work when I blink my eyes you can see that there is a code that we are trying to keep very secret, much like the arrangement of the navajo who have always known that there is a house for the spirit, and what is it that I was trying to say that someone recently also pointed out, that there was a risk involved when you are going to use a real navajo in order to put into practice the interesting parts of navajo tradition, so the stupid easy way to do it is to sho the intrepid american who was raised by indians, an he gets to tell you all the neat spirit stuff.

Soft Drink Expansion

Why didn't they finish this building? Try to look like the Eiffel Tower, no drywall lets the air come through in such a way that slows my descent but I don't mind streaming through it for now, it's pretty easy. If I want I reach out as far as I can, discarding my fear of the rust that corrodes the steel, but it doesn't offer any better grip than I thought I was going to have to have in the breakfast cereal that allows me to cry myself to sleep and the ghost is all I was trying to think of, while quickly I deecide whether the point should be belabored, a concept of which I am quite familiar but there seems to be some distractions that allow my brain to be frustrated, all I want to do is to make something beautiful, and here if I try it will all be me, no matter how I try to hid the inside places where I store all the equale places of the pantric bellowheeze. And here about this time I begin to wonder if the bent concetration is possible without these sort of distractions that seem to want to refuse to create new experiences for me that very well should make me a smarter person but intead of broadening what should be a wide open path there is an obsession that really wants to close my mind in a lot of ways because there are so many things that I have to work out ahead of time in order for me to be able to articulate what I have to say in such a way that any person who has the patience to listen to me will understand and then I look at her with derision because she mirrors this flaw in me, though without the proper area of study you will never know, and here you have touched on an interesting point, you can think that there is a base amount of intelligence but what do you suppose you are going to do when ther eis no more things in there left to read, left worth reading at all, and this is what I was trying to communicate to you whenever I thought there would be the possibility but even now at the end there is very little that I will be able to do with this information, as there was something about the smart people we all thought we were, and here we have a class that starts at the newest possible moment, here in the evening I was waiting for a meteor shower and all we had to do was wait for a bit and under there we could see something there, I didn't understand what he was saying because he talks so fast and I tried to respond with an intelligent answer but all I had was a green thermos.

Arugalormel Cheeli

Want doof traggos? Thinking of yube. Arbello wishes not the bebbest. Which grab dibbint you reegle. Santo break thanks to fore am paff. We are so happy to have you on the team. Since I was waiting for a place that would let me run from my own head I thought I might be interested to know that I still have to think of things as if they haven't happened yet even if a phrase rolls off so easily because it fits together so well. ANd I don't remember thinking about that dragonfly gulping down bugs, and I don't remember hearing the train go by and breaking down on the flammable railroad ties, and I don't remember an enormous wrench that rips open bolts with superhuman leverage, and I can't tell what is past the sky even though it acts like a shell and I can't leave it's hard to imagine an environment less suited for human existence than this irradiated nightmarescape. But here I take an interest in some of the things I was supposed to be exposed to, and press the mind forward a bit at a time, ignore the physical, distinguish the real from the apparent, move past the desire for music because that is strictly emotive and experiential while writing seeks to bring a balance between that an the intellectual, that balance is the strength and the key to existence free from distractions, in a library, each separate book is an anthology of the possibilities of my life, and when I pick one from the shelf I notice mistakes I have made but I feel no regret, because the page serves a purpose and the black text is substantial, and substance is all I the reason I need to exist. A while of wandering and I notice that in one room time moves so fast that my muscles creak against my skeleton and my head feels too heavy and soggy to be supported by my neck, my guts are in turmoil there until I crawl to the next room and I feel the plaque crumbling up and dissolving inside me, and flushing out in rivulets leaving the muscles clear, I watch the fluid drain away from me, reach out my finger and press bits of solid matter against the tile floor, it feels sandy under my finger when I scrape it aside, then find I can stand, and standing breathe deeper and climb to the highest bookshelf, the top of a warehouse, and dig forth, nuzzling between the ooks like a kitten into the crook of an arm, working my body, fitting between them. I can see outward now, from my nest of dark books in shadow, miles of bookshelves that curl downward at four separate points like arms of a starfish, and I am comfortable and safe in the darkness, my breathing energizing my brain, my body beginning to slide into the books, pressed between them, absorbed into them, it pinches me until I am no longer conscious and my eyeballs are pressed flat.

Arugalormel Cheeli

Want doof traggos? Thinking of yube. Arbello wishes not the bebbest. Which grab dibbint you reegle. Santo break thanks to fore am paff. We are so happy to have you on the team. Since I was waiting for a place that would let me run from my own head I thought I might be interested to know that I still have to think of things as if they haven't happened yet even if a phrase rolls off so easily because it fits together so well. ANd I don't remember thinking about that dragonfly gulping down bugs, and I don't remember hearing the train go by and breaking down on the flammable railroad ties, and I don't remember an enormous wrench that rips open bolts with superhuman leverage, and I can't tell what is past the sky even though it acts like a shell and I can't leave it's hard to imagine an environment less suited for human existence than this irradiated nightmarescape. But here I take an interest in some of the things I was supposed to be exposed to, and press the mind forward a bit at a time, ignore the physical, distinguish the real from the apparent, move past the desire for music because that is strictly emotive and experiential while writing seeks to bring a balance between that an the intellectual, that balance is the strength and the key to existence free from distractions, in a library, each separate book is an anthology of the possibilities of my life, and when I pick one from the shelf I notice mistakes I have made but I feel no regret, because the page serves a purpose and the black text is substantial, and substance is all I the reason I need to exist. A while of wandering and I notice that in one room time moves so fast that my muscles creak against my skeleton and my head feels too heavy and soggy to be supported by my neck, my guts are in turmoil there until I crawl to the next room and I feel the plaque crumbling up and dissolving inside me, and flushing out in rivulets leaving the muscles clear, I watch the fluid drain away from me, reach out my finger and press bits of solid matter against the tile floor, it feels sandy under my finger when I scrape it aside, then find I can stand, and standing breathe deeper and climb to the highest bookshelf, the top of a warehouse, and dig forth, nuzzling between the ooks like a kitten into the crook of an arm, working my body, fitting between them. I can see outward now, from my nest of dark books in shadow, miles of bookshelves that curl downward at four separate points like arms of a starfish, and I am comfortable and safe in the darkness, my breathing energizing my brain, my body beginning to slide into the books, pressed between them, absorbed into them, it pinches me until I am no longer conscious and my eyeballs are pressed flat.

Insightolluver's Traggles

Today I am going to today I am going to today I am going to today I am going to tell me what I did today. Thank the beak they were supposed to fly faster, without a doubt I wondered when it wasn't going to take that so seriously but there we have it folks, an no dreams which are good enough can break into the self censorship of the past that I was trying to make with several packets of strange foods designed to allow me to outlast the oh that's right she did die didn't she all I had to do was ask, but that was when it was so hot that I had to worry about all kinds of things like that and the balance I had chosen for my head was not cathartic enough, I had to shave it all off and take a shower in mud, but that simply isn't going to get me anywhere any longer, because on the top it's all coming off, so I ask all around me myself whether those certain things are worth it when I fight against time but there is not distraction coming in here or around here so I think that should win me a bit of leeway should I determine that there are several things worth having in that sort of situation, several times he has insinuated that it was your fault that the certain thing wasn't done, we needed that week, and the symbol comes flying out so there will not be much time after all as they are going to have to pull up the blinds and rip into the minds.

Grebellicue

It was a farce, I tell you a farce, I tell you. No one would have let it rain that long if the green was on still, I ran as fast as I could underwater but the best I could manage to kick up was a current, and the old hatchback roll right over that guy's body. I let it gel in my mind, the light bends through it still focused and the picture is one with hidden brushstrokes, something honest and possibly charming but three dimensional, or possibly not a numerical dimension but an internal dimensionality that never needs to be defined to anyone else, except to project the visual and the impact of the dream. "The next time you turn into a boy, will you kick your brother's ass for me?" I am a tactician, you rely on me at all times to push you through the opposing elements. I will them away from me and they fall like starved gulls into the ocean. I don't care to kill or mind if I die, for this dream I know the end to, and I am not invincible but a force that props up the image, so we can all see through the day what will be left once my legs are broken and my teeth no longer function, I am then a cage to restrain all of the dark matter compiled through my lifetime, it is now a task saved for gods to keep it from rupturing and overwhelming the field of vision.

Inteldogpile

A huge grimy truck speeding up to the red light, I can hear the gears shifting, the engine roar alters pitch. A long line of bikers pushing against the wind. I pass them when I can but the water isn't rippling enough to sufficiently recreate the drama. Feel like dismemberment plan doing what DC bands were doing fifteen years ago with more sophisticated production. Silence settles in when the third person chooses to work. Harder than it was supposed to be. A bowling shirt. An angry look, a stare down from a middleaged mad wearing a back pack, I wonder at how strangers moods effect one another, and smile at all the rest of the people I see, but the smile is a caricature, a joker grin that only confuses people. When will I get to sing on the bike, breathlessness of late, out of shape, should make a regular habit of taking the lake, halsted is an easy route, though more dangerous. Don't get the work out.

Variouseriousilly

With the proper time and motivation all things that conspire together to form ambition will be see through but the question is are there unseen sacrifices or vices which you are unwilling to give up, the answer is yes. And though there you find yourself sitting back and watching things that other people have created, hackwork that satisfies the greed of advertisers and network executives you can see the bones and wires of it, the motivation behind the brush strokes and it dries it out for you, It's not a matter of intelligence but how willing you are to learn from what you have already seen, or so if I dare say to die you will find will to hire for yourself a readily firing synapse that describes it all to you in a flash but lets not take the time to dissect the meaning of the revelation. And when you formulate opinions the lesser pragmatists find you critical and you are inclined to agree with that because you are fucking letting everything spin past you like time is nothing and there is no hurry for anything, and contentedness and the next thing you know seem to go right along with one another like firey bloom, where is your sense of humor, all you can do is to feel either inferior or superior to the individuals you interact with, such the way to dictate the way you carry yourself, the level of confidence with which you project your personality, and at first there is a suggestion that somewhere in the middle if a person who you could find a real connection with, a pal or buddy or mate, but that is a horseshit proposition when to begin with the social perspective is one mitigated on judging others, not the least ofd which reason being that the realigning the judgements as you gain more information is stressful and maintenance of the judgement is bigoted. Do you have an answer why here in this year long anniversary between you and she that you allow yourself to say something that you know is going to upset her, hurt her, no it's because you push for what you want and if you can see a way that you can get it you will take chances like that thinking that you are eloquent or skilled enough to stifle the fallout and patch up the wounds but the danger is that you are taking bits of her away, you know that she will try to change herself for you but then what? Who are you to make another person change who they are, and if they start to change are you going to take hold of those changes and be sure to mold them into this ideal fucking model human that somehow reflects your whim so much so that you end up with a person like Michael Jackson who changed himself around so many times in response to what the rest of the world wanted that the only way he could deal with it is to regress to a state of deluded childlike innocence.

Backlash

Backlash boom we all pay attention and give our input then there is a backlash boom we see something interesting and figure out a way to get people to give us attention by means of it and hopefully make some money and then there is a backlash boom I hear a rumor and there is no cause for it but there it is as true as a mountain top explosion and the people feed from it and add in ideas which evolve into new ideas that cover all ground and then boom there is a backlash you get curious about the wind cracking and look out the window but that is the main thing that usually distracts you from a train of thought that people once credited you with leading to a revelation and bam there is something to ponder but it never takes vey long for new information to discredit your conclusions because while there is evidence to back up a new position which offers a comparitively wide perspective the evidence itself is a perspective that can be interpreted in so many separate ways that it is useless and then you ask yourself what is the role of guilt in your daily existence when any point of view might suffice do induce your peace of mind but the fact of the matter is you know that you are the only one that needs to know that the true crime is that all perspectives have not been considered before you engrave your position into the air for all to live with and somehow that really scares the shit out of you because you have perpetually lived your life as if all things you do are to be considered and weighed in the minds of others. But look back on this line of thinking and then separately apply it to each individual and then breathe the air directly into your brain, the blood will be redder and the thinking not so corrupted with plaquey filaments of doubt. Get on with things and there will be no reason for justification of betraying yourself and widening the unused space in your brain.

I don't know what it is you think you have in that dusty coat of yours but don't tell me to nothing when you think I am the one who is holding all the cats.
Here you have a place where dig as deep as you can and there is something to be founds between those two. Row row your boat. Every town is on the make. Who writes I know what it is you think we are trying to do here but the major set piece that I have been attempting to think about is that there would never have been a man in the window in the first place if you didn't have to go screaming like a lunatic every time you thought you saw a killer in the road. You know how to stare a man down, and you give him what you have when there would be time for it to come to that, but instead of the mix there should have been a melange, for certain that is when you would have attempted a guess but there are sometimes civilized folks out there who would not be thinking that there should be called people but then again here would be your share on the top of the major part of this particular century because all I had to do in order for you to be waiting like the taller person would be when the foot stomps break through the ceiling a dream comes in through the magnificent place and heavy walkers destroy the peace of mind that could so easily be involved in tis kind of thing but seriously what am I trying, what is this that I am trying so hard for a man to find out in the making of the terraformer, I though you and I had an agreement, something about the riteous man just doesn't sit right with the kind of a guy that waits until your back is turned the other way before he clocks all your friends in the head but what is it that you are attempting here, other than the breaking of something that could just as easily be deleted because there is no high concept, just a problem that is trying to make use of something that would have been there but on the other hand it could not have been, and as much as I try to make some kind of a place, one way to get what you want from people is to throw them on the defensive, make them have to justify behavior that any idiot could see is logical but you never thought you would have to defend yourself because of that. YOu find out what race they are but tht doesn't narrow it down at all.

Lycrap

I'm beginning to suspect that there were murderers there, but the shift in perspective isn't all that profound, one person can find killing impossible to imagine and another person doesn't lose any sleep over it. Destroy a person's life that has nothing to do with you, and well if your life ever gets destroyed it wouldn't be them, it would be a random act that has nothing to do with your sadism. Even better, at least you did it in for somebody else if anything horrible ever happens to you, you got your hits in. Pretty easy, see, when you make justification. If the worst that can happen to you is to feel kind of bad, well that aint no kinda deterrent.
Are you writing from the heart, are you writing from the heart?
All the time you say what there would be to say but you are a chicken. You can heave what it is that you want to heave but until down came the suffrage nobody cared all that much.
the toilet there and the sink frozen the people are sitting against the walls because their chairs have been burned, I wasted the maximum degree of time in the arc of the sainthood, leaving all there was to leave behind like dust over th footprints that mean nothing to me. A measure of truth worth more than anything I ever dreamed of creating gave me a reason to continue to work, but when it lead to nothing the death was inevitable, I as impotent as the scholar waiting on the sun for light enough to write by. Given the sainthood and his following situation, the man minus his arms could hardly have been blamed for the sordid places he desired all people to take. And still the question was there, forward, inching toward the stalks of his eyes, does the character have a plausible motivation or are we sitting here waiting to find only that these are the places he wanted us to be taken to, not the places we needed to take him in order that the true sanity could be revealed, and maybe what I was doing was making a word more than it was supposed to be because the memory was not willing to allow me to get away with lying. You in the wavering cloud wait and watch the water come from under my soul until here we find the makings of a cool gelatin.
With wine you have there something that comes from deep within the base of your spine, something you wait for but there couldn't have been a way for you to understand the make and model of a body that pleases you, instead formulating strategems designed to prolong the relative creation of quiet distance between the conscious mind and the part that figures out how to spill, shut all else out, engages in a craft without pretention or awareness, only experience, flexibility, massaging a place that hides peace for you, for me. Who do we talk to when we say things that call for our own deaths, where do they come from when there was a mind once to break kout of and a mind to reconnect? What the hell do you want when you don't give in to the designs that spread out before you a way the determines the species you wish to be, or would have brought into being if it were your hand that swept over the blank page, giving impetus and energy to musccle and mind, creating context amidst a fear of senescence.
sword sway cowering away verbose. confident in the craft, death of a sales people.

Whatever

I woke up several people in the way that I thought I could there was uncles in the morning and I left it alone and time kept passing and in the lake there was no way I could ever wait for it and instead All I thought was that there could be picnics there could not be porks oh I thought you would have a chance to wait but it seems that I could never wait I could never wait and the time it continues to take away bits of my life and so interesting how close the word life is to the word lie and I have some skills that I have been leaving behind and after all the studying I do there is nothing I seem to be able to remember not the way that I wanted to not that way not the way that I wanted to the fuckers got themselves destroyed but there was a way for me to be better that that there was something in my plan I was sure of and I waited for as long as I could but beets told me that as a man I could not be happier than there would be some how sea creatures personality would bring into the steeplechase that you all thought there was jungles in you life and as the time came there was a secret in your face and it made me so angry and I have you have no idea who it is that you are attacking what the hell difference is it to you what it is that I wanted to use my anger for and instead there you found that the steel was having simpletons worth hanging on people get to fight you whine like a mule you whine like a mule you are still alive there was a fight and you couldn’t let any one single person go without being killed without being killed those guys had nothing to do here and so instead of waiting we wait while kevin has his dangerous happenings you see you little fucking deathmobile kids who will wait for as long as they can but instead there is something that you will insist that they reach but they never will find all the anger that I think was inside the injustice I hated nothing less than the way you consistently don’t become anything but a barbarian and so they learn to kill leaving no room for a decent person for learning for reading the places I always wanted to have taken away from me. But I can find more places to hide away from the decision that I made that made me happy for a time but what I did with it is a questionable thing- how much have I even tried to translate what was inside of me into something that I wanted all to read but here we were we could not give everyone enough of the feedback that came from sending the man from his grave beyond the specificity drawing away from the shot. And all I want to do is try as hard as I can to experience the fight that I feel I deserve and on the train I tried so hard to make the art octopuses known profundities I can try to take seriously but there is no output- nothing worth working on and why because I am a loser who will wish for death forever but will only gradually move closer and closer to is as I struggle for a foot in the door and the woman I choose might not know what to do but there is place for me with out death without thinking hurting all those many wonderful experiences are not worth the few seconds of neck breaking that comes from the problems in modern urban society and I don’t even have a loud enough voice to maintain a blog,

so angry right now that I can't even think straight and I am dreading an interruption. Have to chill chill chill even if the babies don't let me go through, have to find something at least maybe anything to make me happy, haven't I am so angry I can't even believe it I want to crash something break something scream, scream at the idiocy, every five seconds I have to be interrupted god I really hate that especially when I am arg.

BBBB beeee that as it may should something be described as that relationship between filling up your brain with things that are actually supposed to be left behind and just like she said if it gets put away then there is no reason to suspect that you are being unoriginal. And the stimulus is unfair, and I have no idea what this is going to do to my longterm peace of mind but honestly I don't like feeling this way and there is nothing but an unhealthy course of action presenting itself before me and so it ends where it ends and left you do the baggage behind like those fantasies I had of running through the door and leaving some part of us behind I think there is some health issues here, wondering what the problem is and instead of waiting around I find that there is no way for me to recover the points I have left behind and as it turns out at this point this has become a bit of a challenge and instead of hating the maximum left right of the sentence there would not have to be anything deeper than that, but when I try and reach for it it doesn't get behind me, just don't feel like socializing much these days, would rather be instead the thing that once upon a time I imagined that the conversation would begin rather awkwardly, and so someone was there to listen and her technique is to be there and to listen attentively and actually really to care and to have many other people to talk to and which of these places should I feel compelled to offer the advice? There is nothing that I can find in there, nothing that there would have been had I not brushed against the glass and gotten some of the grime on my skin, and the texture of the glass surprised me, finding materializing in my mind a vast desert of streaks that criss cross the frame work that I called in to, what a novel freaking idea. angry I am with myself for putting as much of that peace of mind on the line as I have on something as fragile as a pipe dream, and exploring this other aspect of myself is definitely a path to greater self discovery, but I can't help but to assume that the lies are way too thick, something about me is going to change if I keep going, something I think I probably won't like- this kind of change is a good thing for the person but a bad thing for the world that they cling to. Can I leave something behind? I have what it is that I want, and beyond that I know there can be something before the fire and all you had to do was create a place where all the people you knew were no longer interested in thinking about you, and once you begin to see the transitory nature you want everyone to be impressed by you, to love you you do everything you can do get people to love you because you are greedy it isn't enough to have passing respect you as a person have to be continuously considered somehow, this vanity you have is like an unstoppable monster that gobbles up your time and no matter what you do it will not be enough. It isn't enough it is never enough there is never enough love you always need more you are never content if you don't get it you withdraw and lash out and people who look up to you begin to resonate with this mood when they are around you and it feels natural at first but eventually they realise that they are never in a good mood when they are with you and so there is a negative association here at work that can not be denied. In on the kill take is what you decide to have to be, like fur that gets threaded up, in the distance there would be the curvature of the moon and with the walks that you take I would be bound to have something left underrated, the music it is not doing any good, there should be a person here who has not made peace with the master of the ceremonies.

There would you think be a dark place to hide if you had to find one, even without the dark monsters waiting with their disposable beaks and incorrigable fantasies to smooch you without remorse. Intellect being what it is, there could have been some forces to be reckoned with, in all honest, but through out the desert there are people who have planted their feet hard enough to consider home home. Guessing it would be appropriate to beg the pardon of the future wife is never a mistake, but burning up the stomach with a series of nonsensical barings of the teeth can't describe the colors the way they were meant to be activated, ugly though the thought of something like this might be. You seem to never really know whether you are lost, a place that you wouldn't mind getting lost in, because there are so many doors to other places that only need to be peeked at to send your mind soaring in many different directions, places where if you thought to hard the breeze would begin to chaffe and instead of being brought someplace new you find that there are wriggles where there should be no dois. A labyrinth is what I am thinking of here, a place where there are how many books would I have to look through in order to find my own life on the page, what kind of shuffling could I be doing? And someone once said about me that I was an enormous book with a thousand pages, really well written and when you open the book to a random page there is just that one bit of me but there is so much more that you don't know. And the best part about it is that none of it is a secret. How many times have you wondered whether something you have just done has ever been done before, or how many times? The sum total of all infinity is described by the millionth monkey, and what sort of a life do you think he had?

mor eof the same

Into the brink of bananas my tooth runs out of names because there was once a time in which there would have been something to do but instead the decay sets in and tomorrow never comes. Surprised? Fun fun fun this could be, and once again the rules are set, the groundwork laid by the idealism of the inner voice I rarely let free or to stretch like an imagination I had once. To there go I often when it's time to flounder and wonder why it is that I CAN'T handle the noise but I seem to be able to postpone the unhappiness, not to create a time that it will disappear altogether, and little things kick up signals that want me to pay attention, waiting for me to realise that it isn't what I expected or thought it was going to be, and instead of eventually reaching something difficult to find I find everyday just as difficult as the one before, only more or less idle when there would be fewer examples of elasticity. Underside is the same as upside down when I think hard enough to turn off the thoughts, and free myself from vanity, the one that chases me until I am unhappy again, unpleased, unimpressed with myself. The experience isn't really worth wondering about, no. I haven't tried to define the beginning or the safeness of the end, encapsulated like parenthesis, or bookends that want to meet but bend the space between themselves into ever more interesting, infinitely interwoven non-shapes, moving in on myself like the tips of my fingers crushing backwards into the hands, and the shoulders biting back and puncturing my head. An insect describes the arc I am attempting to imagine: sometimes the barbs point in to separate directions that leave me without a clear conception of where my focus is meant to be drawn, and inside I wonder how many times that shape had been drawn by nature by the time it emerged in that form. Who can't take the outside and shut it out the way it was supposed to shut, internalising the worst of the conundrums as whittled down from a massive calcified residue accumulated over the course of six or seven or eight thousand years, until without noticing I lean over and let my finger draw across it and before I realise what I am doing bring it to my tongue and what I expected to be merely salty is actually more caustic than I am prepared to handle physiologically, and the back of my throat begins to swell and cut off the flow of air to my lungs but i don't panic, never would, never would. I die in my dreams and decide that this is not natural but there is nothing I can do about it, or rather there is nothing that I can do to prevent it from happening again in the future so I use my ingenuity which is quite extensive and proven to adapt and find myself though a different and more wary and moody person nonetheless much much healthier for it. And instead of waiting for the hours to unravel I in this thickness of pined for sweeps of long grass eat my own body metaphorically, incestuous is a word that comes to mind but I don't like it anymore because its meaning has been lost due to over use. But still I describe an arc with the tips of my fingers as in my imagination I twirl as if there were no reason to pay attention, again shutting all things away from my awareness but still unable to live completely in the moment. I am tired of making decisions, decisions I make everyday it is what ages us, when we are children the decisions we make are rooted in instinct and an assumption that only good can happen as A result, but not now, no, we have the minds that attempt to out fox the other minds, there are only so many resources for the sharing. And instead of the weight that falls away from the face, instead of the heart that seems lighter than air so that the toes feel useless, there is a sloth that manifests itself gradually like the accumulation of debris around the eyes during sleep. Let them be sealed shut, my eyes, and I will sleep, because even if in dreams I am as unproductive, the waking world is nothing more than a series of moments seen through the lens of chemicals released according to association with stimulae. I don't want death because it would be cold but since sleep is where I spend most of my time it is where I feel most comfortable, if not most alive.

Redefining my lonely unread blog to be a platform for nonsense to amuse myself

? I wasn’t so sure that he could make out the best or the worst of the procedure, all I had to do was wait a while and instead there was a strong possibility that there could be no quarter left, and that no matter how hard I tried to evoke a real emotion the lines just had a hard time making themselves from one end of me brain to the other, and then on down the line and out to the tips of my fingers which if they could glow with brilliant blue bioluminescence nations could do what they would to trust one another, n=not unless there was an equation set in there already set in motion, but you are the laziest writer of them all because you know how to manipulate your mind into becoming a situation maker, a place where the books are hanging off of the walls and the people are afraid to make due with what they have because they are not so trusting of the future, no, not like they once was, and the success of the endeavor brings forth and unbecoming defensiveness that we should no allow, don’t you agree? Callers should be allowed to have a voice now and then, when the time is appropriate, but what I see is green and a streaming gloworm of lights that blinds a short percentage of my vision but it’s definitely dark above the horizon here, and without the leisurely stroll through real facts the story has no root in reality, so you can create something that actually requires real work and research, and a pen, and multitasking and most of all some time that should be put into it, while smoking pall malls and letting the brain get all limbered up, don’t want the lazy brain to fall into the wrong sort of decadence, we must villianize that aspect of ourselves in order to manipulate our productivity. What if not by rending departure but a crack in the sky comes the hail so far away through the breaking of the waves that fall over one another like screaching leaves in the atmosphere, and still I wait to redefine my bloggishness, while pestering the beuford I expect noone to get this far, so there alack a do alack a dee. And into the darkest mood I go without a care for whom I trample, And the leaves follow tiny grey and black upon my foot a bridge of poems they make for good song and dance without the mouth of maximum overdrive.