For a reason or two I'm here. Hah, how could I even say something like this? Imaging somehow every force that has been put on every place and thing that has pushed, prodded, guided, skipped, or shimmied me in this direction... But... I can say this one thing, at this moment. It is to express my gladness. I really am a blessed person. Beyond this we all have our wretchedness and craziess and whatever we have ourselves stuck in (some sort of kraZyglu3 perhaps) , there is great many things that are here in front of us if we claim them. And some of that I began to saw tonight... Not something that was entirely new or earth-shattering, but, something that is real. And I saw it in so many people around me, be musician, crowd, or inanimate object..... well, maybe not those, they thinglys aren't important enough to make mention of. haha, sike!

But, I think I was saying something before I became detracted. Oh yes...

I'm:


:feeling fine.

To speak of music music
without this thing thing
of something real of real of something   


something here.
in listening. in some sort of communication. or an open line.
Focus.

There are connections between all.

All: Sounds people inside outside punkrock and hip-hop transendental rock whatever the stock can amount. Leave it and let it alone.
there will be an eraser not.

So here the music combines and its something that is quite real.
But so strange and commanding.
It will not be commanded, only guided.
For whatever that large hovering, yet quite active, conglomerate blob
blobbing and being the blood for blob.

Beautiful.


Or just.


Just by radiohead?

Or finding some kind of:

Justice/Creation.
Placing these together is strange and diffult to feel a connection.

Perhaps its a need for justified creation. Reason or Purpose.
Purpose is not a definetion.
So then what is?



***************************transmission failed.

So here comes something that wants to come out and there will more than this singular thing...definetly ...many other little heads are just waiting for their space in the spotlight of the attention of my brain. And typically I will write and it will be erased, and forgotten, but, I want to hold it, here...

What that here is is kind of a mystery,

but,

how else to get to know the area than staying...


Staying.
Sitting.
Here
not moving,
or, trying to and not to
display images of some sort of pompus graduated profound life,
or lighten upon the world like a pink helium ballon.

I love singing Pump up the Jam after sucking in helium.

And here we are.

So,
here
is a something.
Something that feels like akwardly portioned puzzle peices putting parts of their peices together.
After the peices fall I may want to sit and be happy with what seems to be completing one of the windows of the Eiffel Tower...
 I enjoy the feeling of warm sun in the window.

If  human interactions were as tedious as putting together a 99 cent puzzle
(because its really not a dollar yet, I swear to Jesus)
together of some scenic beach scene, or perhaps of the White House, then I'd have to kindly ask for my money back
even if I can perhaps afford the one cent from a dollar which is probably 1.07 with tax.

I'd allow some room for consideration if it somehow involved dinosaurs eating ice cream in front of the white house on a beach scene. And who said brian synapses aren't delicious?

Yet and here...
With every connection
there seems to lie only a bit of the puzzle...
But we can't deny that to experience these connections can be strange, functional, beautiful and absurd...
 They can be something that seems like it always was,
or something from a distant planet,
or they can feel just like a public nicety,
or place all and none into a blender and whir you around until there are no more of those ice chunks that get stuck in the straw.

 Humanonic Connection and Consumption.

Irregardless, with all of these feelers, and parts, sencing out back and forth, finding places, or just making them up until a real one begins to form, or being reckless for the sake of living and actualizing exsistence, there lies something special and truly divine that two humans can share with one another. And its exciting me everytime, finding the place of contact and understanding between every indiviual outside of me and inside.

And what I'm really trying to say is that something is making me smile.

Period.

And as the source funnels and breathes, the time is now for a rest in peice.

This evening has peeled back my skin, to show underneath pink tissues that bleed and pulse. They whrithe and bleed vigorously reacting to these white peircing eyes of life. Cold and beautiful suffering, Here I see with you.

But when it sleeps I sing:

Moon Moon Moon calm and stable,
Let your waking dreams walk alongside me.
This is the water that will guide fire through veins
Power grows here through these balanced strains.

Yet when the balanced beams begin to lie, this blood here clots cold and drives the current deeper and deeper inside, transforming any feelings of a true endevor into some selfish feeding desire.

But I must be clear

able to see my fear

and use it to draw me nearer

And awake.

(recent lyrics)

I stand while colorless vibration spreads softly
underneath sheets of ice below me
they illuminate in beats
they multiply and breathe
through my body
I will hover quietly

and be expanded in between the beats
I will feel them growing
and see them attatch themselves to me
I will see myself in parts
and be a million perspectives, beating hearts
mathmatical formulas, the color green.
A country, a planet, and a magazine.
Time, language, creation, a drawing.

I whisper into the beat, and then become partially aware of my body.
In no time, It rips me back into me, locks the door and hurls the key.
with that action I'm back, and tied to this things rules, and necessity.
And I breathe, and recompose, "for these are the means of living."
It says.

And, there are times, where all these things become the space
that ebbs and weaves through particles so evenly placed
and I see myself stepping in and being blanketed within in its grace...
But I still remain within the box of blood and behind this woman's face.

I'll shift around something round, turning ovals into unrecognizable shapes and then multiply back into innumerable shores of spheres. When one dimension goes and digests the second the eating of change changes it back into the same thing. A point, a dot, and beginning, the end, the everything, and space and change is nothing new, its nothing strange because its all the same so why am I afraid?

I layed in the sun, in the grass, seeing the dead skin cells float in my eyeballs while I squinted. I made them wiggle and could see their intricacies. My body became the body of countless bodies, all sharing the same experience throughout all times. And through that I was timeless, yet now I feel stuck again. Eventhough I know my words have been repeated and echo in the future and the past and present.

What space have I put myself in?
How many times has this been repeated?

Its just a mere flux, I know. And perhaps I won't be able to fully experience it in my lifetime. None the less, I try to embrace my impermanance, and appreciate the cycles and patterns set before me and those elluded to me.

Overcomplications of self and ego and desire and faliure and relationships and government and activity and progression seem wholly unnecessary. If I can swim and not have a direction, or destination, and be content, what I think as "I" will be free for a capsule of experience. I want so badly to open that rarely achieved capsule and spread out the fine granules over evenly the space that I habitate for however long I am in this body. I know that once I'm out of it all of these distractions will turn into a fine dust and turn instantly into general enegry. But this thing ties me into it, and with that action it ties me to its necessity, its insecurity, its passions, and when it comes down to it, its impossible to fully release.

I have fleeting experiences that aid me in realizing this seperation, but, it seems more of a burden of knowledge than a freedom. Through these I realize that I am no longer fully in tune with my individual spectrum, self, and what that body-self is through what it wants because I'm too focused on the connections, commonality, and pattern of everything. Sometimes things become the space that ebbs between and weaves through the particles of space, and I see myself stepping and falling into it, and it fills me with a zealous peace, and angst at the same time.

Its a dicotomy that rages in me always. The understanding of the reasons for a desire, and its unecessity, but then yet still being submitted to it. The logic being aware of the instinct but the instinct still presiding. Femanine and masuline traits, opposing forces, but thats the balance. If its all balanced somehow why do I feel so unstable?

...in the stalls of a generic high school bathroom... And it was nearly finished, they had transformed back, and i was an onlooker... I found something on the ground after they had all vanished, and concluded their journey. I go to pick it up, and see it to be a small piece of paper, with strange hieroglyphics on it... It was a napkin that was sent back through time, and documented on by ancient peoples I thought... I decided instantly that it was not something that should be left here on this plane, that it may change everything here forward. So, I went to place it in the garbage, and something happened. I felt my face and my body begin to transform, and I saw someone else, the same thing had happened to them, they told me to get quickly into the stall and hide, for there was someone coming.... So I obeyed, got into the stall and placed my feet on one side and my back on the other, so they could not see my feet on the ground and hopefully not know of my whereabouts.. yet, there were strange slits on the stall doors, ones from those before, marks from some strange battle, but, they were so even, and precise on every door... perhaps just to expose me at this moment... Or perhaps encoded messages, but I had not time to consider these in great detail, because she was at my stall.. she looked through and looked at me, but, didn't seems to see me, and I felt relieved.. Yet only slightly, because I knew my shape was not me...

I walk outside of the stall cautiously, and look for my companion for an explanation... They proceed to inform me what has happened, and what I  must do to change. We had transformed into a modern day concept of a monster. I didn't see my face, but I knew: My nose was knarled, I had warts all upon my skin, my ears were chaffing, my face was large and it hurt.... They said that the only way for us to change back is to get the students within the school to know us, and hate us fervently. That once we convinced them that we were as cruel as monsters, that we would be able to be ourselves again... and so, we left.

I remember walking with this person through the hallways and feeling insecure, one, because of my form, but, mostly due to the acting required for my survival...This person seemed to have already been transformed for a while, because alot of people seemed to know them. We talk to a boy, and I try my fervently to be somewhat mean, but, I come out with... "SO, what're you all about?" Then realized that that wasn't really mean at all, and walk away out of frusturation. We go to a study hall where roughly thirty or so students were deep in their studies, all sitting evenly, at evenly lined desks throughout the room, it reminded me of a graph. I sit in an open space and decide to pull out my mole-skin book, and draw a bit. I see the boy next to me looking at me, yet, he actually seemed interested in who I was, almost as if he knew...I continue carefully, and put my calligraphy pen to the paper right as a teacher comes up to me, and asks me where is my textbook..."this doesnt seem to be any one I recognize.." and proceeds to mark on the front of my book with a pen. I lash out, How dare you feel like you have the right to mark on my belongings?!" and she says, "well.. you'll just have to get a new one then." I get up, and walk off abstaining from my desires to hurt her, or at least give her more of a verbal lashing. While this is going on I see, in the corner of the room, computers. Steve is at one of them, and James is upstairs researching in the library... I play out in my head talking to them, what I would say, how they would respond. Just as if it happened, it was like I experienced the potentials of a new dimension without actually following it, I just saw the opportunities, and had no real obligation to any of them...and I decided that I didn't want to be trapped by that certainty... So I left, and created my own path, different from anything I thought before.

I left the school, and I started walking. It was a long dirt road. Both sides had fields stretching and swaying softly over the slight curvatures of the terrain, broken slightly here and there by shoots of wheat and dim yellow stalks. The sun lit it perfectly, what I would imagine the golden hour to look like within our obscure concept of heaven... I see a few cars coming, and i decided to halt my ideas to run and fly... They pass and I try to run, yet its difficult, something doesnt want me perusing this path... I can't jump, because my feet are weighed to a foot above the earth. I continue, and begin to sing, something about the wonderful places I will go. I get distracted by the image of what was behind me...and linger on it for a moment. I stop myself to understand that what was then was then and not now, and now was all I had. What that now was, and the potential it brought with it, was much more than I could of ever wanted... So, I proceed...

I lead myself through a forest, and see a negro tribe across a small lake. It was nearly fifteen feet in length and width and roughly four feet in depth.  They were on elevated terrain, in a pavilion manufactured by articles from their surroundings. A boy is transporting a man across the lake by using a lever system, and a wooden board suspended in the middle of the lake one foot underwater... He stepped on it, and it pulled him across... Then he came back for me... I was afraid to put my foot in the water because I felt there could be creatures in their with means to eat me, but, I trusted him, and began to go across the lake.

and I woke up.

Grey is a comfortable union between extremes, its a middle path, the natural consistency and communication of everything.

Why are you me?

I asked myself this, and everything around me, every idea, symbol, artifact of history, religion, person, animal, plant, and machine this over a thousand times, I wrote it on my flesh, on paper, in my mind and upon every surface I could think. I mourned this question, as it struggled through a million different places of my conciousness, and wished that everything that I saw as myself could see themselves as me, and vice versa. It seemed a stretch, but, in my state, I felt that if everyone knew this that there would be no reason for discrimination, for any kind of hate, because we all exsist in the same plane as the same thing. We all are space and endless possibility.

Why is it then, that this union, this color, is viewed by man as the color of insanity?

I am tying to try, to vacumn this digestion of space. My head pushes through millions of other heads searching out a flash, a violence, a communal space to pour out bodies over flesh, and release space, mental affixiations, consumption and affection. Bite by a bit and bit, then go. It will spin and weigh and break cells. little circles, ity bity orbs, tiny globs whispering light to off and on, and on again. speaking in vibrations. I hum, they hum, and it goes, it stays.

I don't know how to live outside of my body, and it plauges me.
It hungers and I hunger.
I am dependent.
And I'd like to experience myself sans body, and maybe interchange between the two.
But I guess we all want something impossible.

I've died once in myself. I just took off my body like I ease out of my clothes at the end of the day.

"Those are not me," they said.

And thus spake my body to me, and I nothing.