"Nothing is"

Nothing is what nothing does.

Nothing is just because.

Nothing wants what nothing gets.

Nothing does and just forgets.

Nothing wise is nothing done.

Nothing's eyes are only one.

Nothing feels and nothing wants.

Nothing gets and nothing flaunts.

Nothing's heels have got too high.

Nothing's wells (they) have run dry.

Nothing has what no - thing wants.

And nothing's moves are so cart blanche. [Blank check baby]

Mmmmmmmm...    

Mm, I got some - thing on ya babe.  [Da da {4x}]

You look at me like you got it made.

I look at you and I feel a pang oh pain.

But I look at you and I gotta look a-gain.

I know I can't explain

Why I feel this sort of shame.

But I pick up the pace

And I won't be late again

The trick won't be traced

And the case will be closed to pen.

A day of err/and

Just went to the supermarket, and now at the laundrymat.

Guy didn't let me buy a cigarette for a buck, and I told him off.  He said he only has a few left, and I'm like, "Dude! What the Fuck?" And he's like, "Yeah whatever man." And I'm like, Fuck you dude, you're an asshole." And he's like, "Why don't you bum a few more bucks and you can buy a pack." And I'm like, "I'm not a bum.  I just want one."  And he's like, "Oh you don't smoke a lot?"  And I'm like, "Yeah, I just like to buy one at a time from private venders."  And then I left, and he didn't sell me one.

Now he came back inside and I've been writing this thing, and we haven't said one word to eachother.  He's pretending to watch sports on tv, but he's totaly aware of my rufusal to acknowledge his presence. 

Yeah, his phone just rang, and he's pretending to have friends, but he knows that they're really not that cool.

*Commercial Break*

theories of attraction

Opposites attract for three distinct reasons:

1.  If you find yourself attracted to one like yourself you are either...

     a.) Being somewhat incestous or...

     b.) Confused about who you are because of something.     

2.  You either love yourself or don't love yourself and if you are the later and attracted to ones like yourself then you will always be wanting, but if you are the former you will always be wanting more...

3.  They are the unknown wild card that you cannot predict, and because of this they have glamoured you w/o you having the slightest ability to thawart them and they feel a compatible feeling of comfortable wildness from you that enamours them with you in a similar way.

The culmination of this is the understanding of chaos and its finer points ~ especially in terms of intrapersonal (personal) relationships - as far as they refer to romanticism and sexualization ~ the double sided coin at its best.

The separation of church and hate

It seems to me that a lot of people harbor a little animosity towards God.  I don't really get into this myself, because God (whoever/whatever [if in existence]) is God, and because of this, is invested in everyone's "eternal soul".  In fact, God would have God fingers into pretty much just about everything, so the real question that most people get stuck on shouldn't be, "Why me?"  But much more simply just, "Why? (In general terms that is)".

For me, the question of "Why?" comes down to a choice, as in, "Why would I?" Or, "Why should I?" And I think that these questions run about in other's minds as well.  I'm not too positive as to the answers to any of these questions, but I think it's important for us to ask those questions to ourselves - from time to time...

The concern over "why?" is as old as they come.  It's cliché really.  I shouldn't even be writing about it, but unfortunately for you, I am a bastard, and will throw some metaphysical shit down your throat every now and then (even if it is a little dry sometimes).

You see, the real issue here is that the conversational conundrum of whether or not "God" exists, is simply a matter of choice on the part of the believer.  I say this with a small amount of flipancy, however, I got to say that "we" are a part of the equation, when talking about the possible existance of something greater than ourselves (at least).

life v thought

life’s purpose is to not die
life’s purpose is to let other’s live - ( to the best of it’s ability :)
life grows best around other life
life grows in towards itself to make it stronger
life begets more life
life conforms to the physical world
life transforms the physical as needed
life does this primarily without thought

vs

thoughts’ purpose is to live
thoughts’ purpose is to dream
thoughts grow rich with different thinking
thoughts become complex with more revolutions
thoughts beget more thought
thought exists within the physical world
thought creates the physical world
thought primarily does this because of life

Heart of Darkness (part III)

You have managed to concoct a possible reality as to why you, not only have no memory of your life, but also as to why the prior you might have aquired the room that the present you, now exists in.

It was just a matter of simple logic, really.  When you were cleaning the place up from today's earlier festivities, you got a good idea about your motives for having this particular spot, when you stumbled upon an open and mostly empty bottle of sleeping pills on the floor of the bathroom.

The first time you saw it, was during the crescendo of Mr. Puke's performance - Open-pill Bottle was literaly moved and almost had to leave the theatre because of her personal connection to the subject matter, and had you known she was who she was at the time, you would have probably felt obligated to thank her for her generous donation, without which, you were quite solid on the fact, that the entire benefit would have been canceled, due to a sudden onset of  performance anxiety from a certain Mr. Puke, who never seems like a diva at first, but turns out to be quite picky about his particulars on certain extra special occasions such as this one.

In any event, once you had made it to that section of the floor, and found Miss Bottle; you took the time to properly clean her up, and discovered in doing so (by examining the details of her soaking wet bodice), that the multitude of her progeny were solely dedicated to providing a healthy alternative to: operating heavy machinery, and internet porn.  Strange sort of bunch really, but no one's really the wiser, especially since they also seem to wipe memories when people are trying to kill themselves, at least this is what you've figured out thus far.

You have to admit to yourself that, in hindsight, the memory loss bit, is a bit strange by itself.  So during a motivated second inspection of your surroundings, you determine that your lack of personally known history could also have been a product of a collaboration between Miss Bottle's babies, and the prior inhabitants of the multitude of empty liquor bottles, fast food trash, and beer cans littered around the room, which consequently could also account for the illustrious duo's surprise performance this morning, if you were to conceed that the prior tenents of all the housings mentioned above, squatted the night at One Abdomen Square only to be kicked out en masse the next morning. 

You laugh to yourself as you consider that your body became a temple to so many vagrants, and wonder if your present state is the result of some sort of cosmic cleansing ritual, and maybe that is why you can't remember.

However...

It doesn't matter really, because in all supposed realities it always comes back to the same thing.  You came to this place to kill yourself.  It's a solid assumption, based on simple logic.  Then you laugh again - this time out loud.

Heart of Darkness (cont...)

You wake up in a fevered panic, from a dream you can’t quite remember, and quickly look around the room to try and get some clues to help you determine your possible whereabouts, and hope that, upon receiving this knowledge, it might lend some assistance to your mental faculties, so that the you that is in fact You, might succeed in an attempt to possibly ascertain who you are, and why you’re here in this particular Here, as you have seem to have forgotten...

***

He thought the dream was real, more real than than the real world was right now anyway. He was unsure, and unsteady in the ways in which he was dealing with the “real” world, and this forced him, for a second, to reconsider what reality was to him until he could find a better reason (or way) to argue with it.

“It don’t matter,” he said with an emphasis on the improper grammar. His world was destroyed. He had no concept of the here and now. He just wanted to tell somebody that something wasn't there, but he didn’t know who that somebody was, nor what the something was, and just as he started to dwell on this, he became suddenly enraptured by the detail of the room, the detail of his thoughts, and his ability to reason with ease and complexity. It was at this point that he realized that this was indeed, the real world, and nothing was going to change that anytime soon.

A moment of silence had passed during this time, and in thinking about this he began to feel a subtle bewilderment from his speech the moment before. Mostly this reaction was due to a cursory focus on his voice’s trepidation and also what he had deemed to be:

1. An unnatural relationship. Not only to the silence preexisting the exclamation, but also to the newly fallen and increasingly compressed silence falling after it.

To this he added:

2. The subjective acoustic intensity (measured by me) between now, then, and the then before then, varies so greatly that I am about to have a visible and physical reaction to the realization of this and also point 1.

He jumped. Not high or far, but with every aspect of his physical being, he jumped. He then looked around the room to see if anybody saw him jump, and in finding it clear of any equal consciousnesses, heroically stormed off into the bathroom of ill-discrepancy, whereby he proceeded to produce a special benefit concert for retarded intellectuals, featuring the rarely seen duo: Massive Shit and Two-hands-clutched-on-the-shower-curtain Puke. It was quite unexpected actually, and he certainly had no idea. He hadn’t even gone to any of the rehearsals, and now that his great moment was finally upon him he felt extremely sick at how he didn’t deserve the honor.

***

A few hours later, after you clean the bathroom and yourself up, you begin to remember parts of a dream you had the night before. Not any plot, or any other real substance, but almost a feeling of a feeling, or a thought of a thought. You hope you will have the dream again, but you are not really sure of when that will happen, if at all. So in the meantime, you have things to arrange and figure out for yourself and your survival, because you don’t know who you are, where you are, or why you’re so fucked up right now, so get it together, or you’re going to die, because that’s what happens in the real world.