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a detective of perspective i

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(no subject) [Mar. 13th, 2009|11:37 pm]
a detective of perspective i
What I wanted to say is that I'm just so confused about what I should do. I'm paralyzed. Interested in everything, committed to nothing. Photography? Psychology? Brains? Beer? Eyes? Words? All the options All the choices All the opportunities start to seem the same start to seem all together the same seam here as at the start of that other same sane and seemly seam, seemingly seamlessly sleeping and dreaming of the very same insane steaming sea of seams that seem to stream me along, unseemly spiels selling spells spilling pills the same it seems as you've seen since the start of this same endless sea of seams that must be seen to the seeming end all the same, see?

And what's left over is just dregs, words washed up like driftwood on pristine beaches, untouched.

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a churning yearning yawning inside [Mar. 13th, 2009|11:36 pm]
a detective of perspective i
Certain sacrifices, compulsory conformities and scheduled concessions must be made in search of success.

I am now at a point in my life where things have changed for me and all is not the way it once was. In fact, nothing is the way it once was anymore. Seven years is all it takes I hear, and not one cell remains. The magic seven, seven little birds sitting on a fence, you know how that old rhyme goes. So everything's changed. The physical and the mental. Fortunately not entirely a state of deterioration, actually the expansion of mind has been extensive. But dry rot is the first thought, and entropy always enters into the equation if time is taken into consideration at all. My shoulders are knotted and my stomach is soft.

I'm going to destroy something. Not that anyone will notice. A death too small to smell, a tolerable hollow.

Have you ever thought about coming face to face with yourself? My chest aches and my shoulders roll restlessly, feet atwitch, I'm trapped in myself. Shades drawn, aware but unconcerned...didn't you live this life with me, can't you see what might be?

Subconsciously I consistently insist on the persistence of the past, my love.

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(no subject) [Dec. 7th, 2008|11:32 am]
a detective of perspective i
First there's the gentle whir, often only imagined...

A flight from Honolulu into Oakland, little more than six years ago. They asked us to play cards and later the younger one kissed me as we descended, chaste lips tightly closed even in the face of her own action and my pursuant passion. She wrote her phone number and email carefully in my notebook, added an artsy little doodle flourish in the center, and made me promise that we would see each other again. But despite my efforts, we never did.

Definitely seen this before. Just as stale as the first time, just as forgettable, just as beautiful and eternal. I've eaten the first half, what remains will represent the rest. Don't know if I can make enough heat on my own.

Last night I had a dream that I was a robot, a cyborg if you will, still somehow competely human, completely me. But the humans of flesh for some reason began to turn, to wish to destroy us. There was a girl...another human robot. We had enhanced abilities (of course), I sent her ahead out the back. Some time later I followed in large leaping moon moves over fences to land silently. A rustle behind me in the corner shadows, I turned and she was there waiting. I went to her, we came together and I felt invincible.

I want to make love to her again, I want to suck my life back to life through her lips. I want to know love again, to feel it irresistibly in my skin, feel it crackle when we touch and slide together.

Never to be felt again, she says. Complete romantic rubbish, of course. My very presence is a blight upon my environment, this power can be turned to good. A hole in the fabric. A focus not yet felt, a sound fabricated by fingertips, an instantaneous electrical eagerness.

A solo drive down to Los Angeles, a friend of a friend of a friend flown out from Missouri, a shoe store confrontation, a shared back seat, a single singular cinematic kiss only released through intoxication. And another goodbye forever.

...but when it does softly click into existence, it's not long before you'll know.

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sitty [Apr. 17th, 2008|09:27 pm]
a detective of perspective i
So now I sit here and talk to myself about the fallen gods and rising demons. Is there even a difference? Think about it. Down in the subways everything eventually becomes the same color of grey-brown, everything becomes the same color when it disintegrates into dust. Outside, the sounds that people make are low and high and short and long, some sort of mysterious morse code that never stops echoing along the urban corridors. Not since Santa Cruz have I had such a feeling, back then I'd just slow down until I stopped completely and just stood there, thinking, paralyzed. Thinking. Like I couldn't keep going, like even all the everything around me just standing there was nearly too much, like my head could explode if I took another step. Somehow never a fearful immobility, just overwhelmed with wonder. I think maybe I should start swimming in the sea.

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From November [Mar. 31st, 2008|06:59 pm]
a detective of perspective i
When I started writing my book, I didn't really have any idea how to get the words far enough outside my own mouth that they'd resemble anything other than my own thoughts. I didn't realize until later that thoughts come in such incredible variety that all I had to do was scoop out every last little spoonful of synaptic soup and no distance would be necessary to overlap with everyone.

Still, the magnification of momentary dreamings remains an uneasy task, and to engage in such arrogance is childish and self-aggrandizing. Which means it is hard, but it feels really good. Like so much of life, ay? That's right sex demons, I'm talking about movement. Change. Evo-fucking-lution.

Right now I'm running in circles. Well, more like ovals I guess, and the ground is blue beneath my feet, and my back is starting to hurt. My neck. My shoulders. Legs running still, even as the rest of me melts off to

Monday last.

I'm back at my computer, typing madly every thought that passes through my thick skull-fingers onto the poisonous glowing screen, and I'm thinking about how I haven't run in how long? Five, six weeks? A deadly disease of the most curable kind, I realize I'm infected. I pull and push my fingertips on the black keys, and every stroke pushes me, pulls me. Can you hear the tapping at your membrane's door? I don't know how this has come or where it is going, but it's here now, so hear now.

That means listen the fuck up, people.


I mean, c'mon, haven't you ever done this before? What could possess you to hold it all back?

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(no subject) [Mar. 24th, 2008|11:33 pm]
a detective of perspective i
Not sticky enough, we're all frozen and dancing. Write hard and slow, no free flow, no quotes or sugar coats or easy alliterative rhyming when there's real timing meaning to be eaten.

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You used to be all right. What happened? [Jan. 18th, 2008|02:16 pm]
a detective of perspective i
It warms me from such a distance and leaves me feeling cold in the shadows. My life like a tube of toothpaste, I squeeze it out onto a piece of foil and it is less than nothing, something so small.

The bursting bubble.
The overflowing bowl, the smoking gun.

I'm addicted to awake yet can't stop sleeping days away, my thirsty throat endlessly arid I dream that you've returned to me. That we talk and laugh and sleep and eat and never fight, I dream of everyday avocado and flannel. I dream of existing inside your skin. I dream of waking up cold and close, I dream of songs and books and of a love that doesn't leech at my life.

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(no subject) [Oct. 4th, 2007|01:27 pm]
a detective of perspective i
Premise: Any given stimulus applied to a human to a great enough degree will eventually have a physical manifestion in their body. Hypothesis: Any given stimulus applied to any perceptible degree to a human will have a physical manifestation in their body. Have you ever met someone and thought them flat and mannequin-like, only to witness dazzling light pouring forth from their eyes? Electric sockets. You'll never learn. Coagulated pulchritudinous masses; thick, swollen, fervent.

The sound makes such a difference. Allow myself to drown only long enough to really see the sea. The sea of sound, such a teeming scheme of lives. Live it, play it, see it and be it, love it even when you're above it. The most significant nonsense. Totally safe. Do whatever you want. An unattainable level of intoxication, o yeah, exosuicide, is it truly necessary to gain this inner richness, this impossible subatomic knowledge? Zombie flesh, animus soul. Reap then, death child, reap all your toxic worldwinds of freedom, of life, of living.

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(no subject) [Oct. 2nd, 2007|03:40 pm]
a detective of perspective i
It's not quite what I imagined it would be, it's exactly what I knew it would be. What I will never be. Oppositional charges perpetuate polarity, but the attraction is undeniable.

Started taking pictures again just a little, and I can feel a lot more coming. Eventually you will see. You will all see.

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emo on toast [Jul. 27th, 2007|09:57 am]
a detective of perspective i
Every other breath a sigh, this morning. Once again I find myself trying to forget instead of remember, and it seems like regression. Not sure anymore that I can maintain the overwhelming good will and love that I once felt glowing everlasting in my core. But even now, we both know that's just talk. Just the melodramatic words of a broken heart. Life goes on, always has and always will. In the meantime I'm trying to forget.

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