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.