autochthonic

tick tock tick tock. sleep knocks. i am so tired yet i do not wish to close the blinds to my eyes just yet. i suppose i should write. about what. i do not know. just write. and write. and write. ramble really. on and on and on and maybe something will come forth. fathom. i want to set my house on fire. i want to take two crates and fill them with my books. placing them on the green before it turns brown buried by white. and watch. as my house goes up in flames. perhaps i'll rest my ass on Faulkner for the show. i want an over-sized bean bag chair in the middle of  a moderately sized room with tall empty light brown walls. and. a stack of books haphazardly stacked along the side of one wall. i want to climb a mountain and rest my body on the curves of a grand grey boulder and feel the hard trace of it along my spine. i want to combine myself with this feeling and forever fold it in the frame of my mind as one. i do not feel at home. this house. falling apart. surrounded by so many things. clutter clashing chaotically without the beauty. "and because my hands are autochthonic/i can never wash them enough." autochthonic. originating where it is found. i fall in love only with poets. written or living. mirroring. awareness in whatever medium unveils the universe. yours. i want to lay on my back in the grass at the park in the dark and stare at the silhouettes of trees transversing the wall of stars. a canvas. painted by imagination alone. i want to listen to the world. vocal cords unnecessary. unwanted. unnatural. here. i want to listen to my own heart beat sync. and think. nothing else exists.

FUTURE HOME

FUTURE HOME?

I want to glide like leaves from the street to the gutter during fall showers shipped somewhere downstream.

hands tied.

"Someone should tell you, the bridges most often travelled are the soonest to collapse. And whether structural or hereditary, those same bridges, once fallen or falling, take many down with them. And that every Casagemas must eventually say "I've had enough of this life and this love." Every Casagemas whispers himself to sleep with "Tomorrow is the end, I have had my-- I have had my fill"."


This dejected lack of language from within weighs heavy.

history
my fickle friend
                   she'll push you out
then pull you in

I like looking up and branches and not talking best; and if you are careful, to not be too careful in your thinking, the trees, they will dance for you and your mind will wander and wonder on and on and on, and no negativity will break this bond.

my gaze detaches these white walls from their anchors and a box is formed no longer. gravity ceases to exist yet i remain fixed along with those things my skin touches. i watch as the ceiling floats into black space and the stars speak volumes of history in my eye pierced through with bits of illusionary many and few. things. i want to lay back and view a world detached. separated. filtered through my perception of physics. physical. phantasy. phicton. phony a word negatively connotated in comparison. i once wished to be a great oak, a flock of birds. something grounded. something graceful. yet inseparably combined. my energy can not settle on any center any longer. transformations broken that once easily flowed forth. flow, even my writing lacks this component and must i write and write this choppy mess of thoughts tangles tangible nothings. i am getting so frustrated with my lack of ability to put forth what i want to say. i reread and read again what i've already put down and am filled with discontent with what is now being said. there is no flow. the river is a rocky dried up thing with fish flopping about trying eagerly to maintain life where there is none. i miss spring. i miss feeling as though merging was more logical than not with the natural world around me. i miss the sound and scent and feeling of absolute that complete concentration on the transformation brings forth. why do i now lack this ability for the absolute? absolute a term i have redefined for myself. i do not know its physical definition, only its pheeling. a feeling i feel is far from my fingers unfortunate touch. and for what reason? what is it that i let sap my mind of this for that which is not.

There is an ache in my brain. I miss. I want.

I have nothing new to say. I dig through past phrases, rewritten words to find a language for my thoughts. Its all the same. When my originality fails, I grab a book, I read few lines : “childhood youthtime age & eternity/would open like sweet trees/in the nights of another spring/and dumbfound us with love”. A phrase to snuff an ounce of sadness in an ocean. Someone is bound to misinterpret its meaning for me and project their own, but isn’t that exactly what I’m doing? A stagnant pond is not illogical, it is not unreasonable, it is not depressed. It is veiled, settled so sweetly a layer of green growth masks the third layer of life. Mirror reflections in puddles cease to exist in this static station. And what can you do? Winter is coming to kill off the growth. Shadowing green with grey, proving all is temporary. “Accept loss forever” in the face of a snow storm there is the sun rising and setting and rising until the young buds blossom, where summer was forgotten it again is risen. Will I settle with the pond, stable yet frozen in the arctic, surrounded yet shrouded in the warmth? All options viable but where is the motion? When winter ends will I have a reflection? Move move move.

The novelty of sleeping in your car after a show in a random state is much more romantic than the reality of sleeping in your car after a show in a random state. Moral: don't take babies on distant trips with alcohol swayed gentlemen in the mix. Two heads are better than four and cozier than one. Story time will be much more adventures now that its invented itself. Optimism sure has a pretty face but damn her body. Hip kids have all the cool hangouts. I dig beat poets and will fall in love with faces forgotten and names unknown just for the sake of it. I have to pee goodnight and i thank the universe for sleeping bags.

Hey blog, i am sitting in a car with two tiny girls and a boy on a grey stretch of painted tar and cement on our way to the land of little rocks. Thus is the commencement of our trip to far away lands of names begining the same as from whence we came. Crouched down in my seat with my eyes cast to these words my peripheals pick up the green tops of trees wildly thriving through the weather of almost spring, interrupted by the tale tell signs of civilized telephone lines and mechanical gliding of gears and rubberized accelerator enablers.

absolute

sleep lacks shut eyes at 1:16 in the morning. entheogenic is keeping my ears company. ramble words here we go. the days are warming as is my heart. uncontrollable aching in both my shoulders but at least i'm off the couch. chemistry is trying to kill me but i shall conquer it in my last moments before W finds itself on my transcript. someone told me i was purple but they are wrong. i know my soul and it is smokey blue like summertime eyes. someone find me a pump for my bike tire so the huffiness of my breath will quit existing when i find things on my feet. adventure time is calling my name with great ease begging me for some quality time. i need friends who like being broke asses so we can be dirty bums in the forest with our tents this summer. please quit your job and join me. i am super excited about things in my future. i'm super excited about things right now. someone told me that i'm not stuck up at all and that made me feel happy. also surprised, i use to be more than i realized. positive feelings interrupted that negativity and now i feel like cheesecake and frozen lemonade inside. i want to climb a mountain and sit at the very top on a giant boulder in complete silence until the thin line where my skin meets rock fades into oblivion. eyes shut, shoulders poised yet relaxed, fingers curved inward marking the current of energy to and fro my body and the world. what are you doing for spring break?

Existence - Everything, riding one big wave length through the cosmos maintaining life and light. Everything, each individual organism, is connected on some deep incomprehensible level and there are a few, in this race of rats to the finish line, who tap into it and maintain an awareness of that wave length, while others go about their daily lives believing in coincidence and maintaining steady oblivion to the far out connections around them. A few, out of millions, who through a recognition of a cumulative existence, an awareness of...life, and a desire to understand the world around them without being told how, tap into that realm of depth that exceeds a world of social constructs and mind pollution. A conscious, daily effort to understand a universal structure that cannot be fully comprehended in multiple life times let alone this one. The ability to believe in a life sustaining entity without personifying it with manmade identities escapes the mind set of our western culture. It’s hard to relate to an unnamed shapeless wavelength passing through the soul transmitting energy to matter, as opposed to a distinguishable "God" with humanly features. It takes recognition that the entire universe IS the identity of that energy. There is no matter no existing physical feature that was not first a shapeless force waiting to be molded into its present state of being. It is something not separate but within. 

Sometimes i feel as though if everything in my life was completely reversed i'd still feel exactly as i do right now. In some sort of inner balancing for the extreme opposite wings of existance, my emotions would even out to the same degree of intensity for each parallel i encounter. So, even if i were in a state of severe depression wishing to change every single aspect of my life would simply be moving to a different plane of existance only to encounter the same emotion for opposite circumstances. On the flip side, if i was in a state of extreme joy this argument is clearly not well thought out and being sent from my nokia brick so i shall leave it at that and perhaps when i find myself at a computer i will rethink my claims because i am already finding a wealth of holes in the short stand I've made thus far. Goodnight.

um so i don't even know anything. i just want to type things because i am feeling really restless and i've been playing the recorder all night and randomly deciding to get up and prance around my apartment making all these sounds that aren't at all pleasant to anyone but me. i like that if you keep your cheeks in you can make higher sounds, i learned that when i played flute in 9th grade or something. then my brother broke it and now i can't play but i might snag a cheap one off ebay or something so i can again. i'll learn to play and join a metal band and make them include flute just to be fun and kind of ironic. i don't even mind that it'll be really shitty. today feels weird. i really want the sun to turn on and make the cold a little more warm so that outside won't be miserable and i'd ride bikes to the swing set and be a bird for a minute. hmmm i think that if i were to die all my energy would go into a flock of migrating birdies right now. i don't feel at all grounded enough to become a tree. and the sound that my energy would make before it transcended into mass would be the sound that is not made by two things striking each other. it would be "aum". open sound uninterrupted. i picture it in a gray color but not dreary, soft like a baby blanket with smokey white tendrils and probably some blue too. do you think that sounds or the lack of sound can have a color too? somebody else is logged into my pandora but i don't remember my password anyways so i'm just listening to their music and i'm okay with that. i like that all these letters are baby sized but i have to check my tips to keep from accidentally hitting the shift key and sometimes i do anyways but i just backspace. lla eht dlrow si a tnaig allitrot and yademos noos a gib etib si annog eb nekat tuo fo ti ot eb chewed up and swallowed and recycled to begin again with something new and that is okay with me too. i hate being fancy. i want to run around in the dirt with no shoes and sit in grassy yards and just not talk for a minute and then maybe do but only if there are things to say and voices aren't just being used for no good reason. i think those are the best days. thinking days. i want to only wear my moccasins and the same sandals and not care if they smell like shit from the rain. i want to not impress anyone. man, maybe i'll just evaporate.