uh oh! spaghettioeth.

a piece of this soul, rinsing down an empty drain.
I swivel, left and right, to charm you tonight
to sweep you off your feet,
and allow this photorealistic dream to wash over me
the idea of beauty, so still framed.

a piece of this memory, washing up on the beach,
I dig my toes in, curling them around warm sand,
rocking under luna, the tide closes in on me
and I sway, left and right, looking for light.

breathing, breathing, breathing deep
sighing so literally

and yet I wake on this floor waxer.
uh oh.

nonsensicals

the state of things, as they are.

I live in a world made of colourvomit, inspired by kaleidoscopes designed by the deranged. My reality is that of a flat tire that allows a wheel to screech and scrape along a street until it fizzles and sparks into chemical absurdity.
I live in a world where a boy can cry baby in a voice that denounces puberty, and will be sad to see said puberty come to pass, and be loved by millions. Where a band that actually uses the line "fuckin' magnets.. how do they work?", simultaneously denouncing science as a whole (especially those dastardly bits that are proven fact, damn them!) and are still revered as a whole. Where a woman can get into shitty clothes, pretend to sing, and be an overall bad role model in general, can be a top selling artist and loved by everyone from twelve year old girls to fifty year old soccer moms.
I live in this world, every day. and honestly, what choice do I have? it's not like I can make the best of a bad situation, because the best of this situation would be the same suicidal tendencies that's held my generation in such an unrelenting deathgrip. you know, all those poor souls with typical loving families, buying them cars on their sixteenth birthdays and getting dumped by their first boy/girlfriend?

I have the unusually bad habit of having absolutely no point when I'm talking, or perhaps it's not unusual, it may just be annoying.
but so often am I being force fed such an unconditional, and totally caring disposition, a facade I'm required to carry on my shoulders on a day to day basis. I'm required to listen to foolishness, and then in turn complain about my foolishness, and somehow try to make mine seem more serious when it probably isn't. something else about the human condition.

the human condition.
conditioning humans since creation, or perhaps evolution?
actually, for all of those religious nuts out there, who somehow think it's possible that we descended from Adam and Eve, two white people in a garden, I'd like to point out that if God is truly almighty.. well couldn't he just orchestrate evolution singlehandedly?
and keep in mind, it really isn't "His" book. it's yours. you wrote it, I think it's time you took responsibility, because calling it his book is one of the many, many reasons zealots are bombing buildings and parks. why can't we all just accept that humanity is fucked and broken?

actually, no, humanity isn't fucked and broken. it's curse is surviving, growing, and learning. we survive, so we grow, and we grow and grow until knowledge is second nature. human culture is so unbelievably varied, that I truly don't think we'll be terribly surprised when we find life in space.
just because chances are, we're probably not as fucked up as they are, or they're just as fucked up. or they'll enslave us, which really isn't that big of a deal because we're just busy doing it to each other anyway.
also, I should point out that there were many many many many white slaves, and I'm sure a lot of white slavery more or less predates the mass African exodus stateside. so stop being mad at us, because a lot of our ancestors didn't enslave you, and fact is a lot of us were descended from slaves too.
etc.

I'm babbling, again.

damn, I do believe I'm getting good at the nonsensicals.

sleep. an irrational beast that depends on the lack of activity, so that one might slip into their temporary off state. it's to "recharge your batteries", so to speak. a way to slowly push your thoughts from the, usually, more comfortable state of consciousness, to the unknown and forgetful existence of the unconscious.
sometimes you aren't ready to let your thoughts slip away, and you're stuck til four in the morning every morning, for a week.

in the first person, I wonder why this is? maybe I'm afraid of what my mind will remember on its own? bubbling with memories best forgotten, while I try to entertain the idea that I'm in control. maybe, my subconsciousness is tired of numbing itself to my common nightmares?
oh, mind of mine, lacking rational matter, and so on.

there are faces and memories best forgotten, both happy and sad.
maybe the mind doesn't want the inevitable darkness to close in?
that may be too bad though.
I turned off my night light sixteen years ago,
and haven't missed it since I was three years old.

please let me drift off to nothing.
let me say goodnight this morning.
let me close these doors,
watching the little red car turn left at the end of the street.
close these eyes,
remembering every moment of discomfort and discontent.
close this heart,
like I should remember, or keep these things close.

in all honestly, I keep very little close to me.
it's a coping mechanism that was passed onto me;
as in its easier to cope when there's next to nothing there.
or something.

good time.

junk.

I'm home, again.
I promised to tell you something every day, but I continue to fail.
It's not that I don't have a million and one things fighting for supremacy in my head, because I don't (but I do have plenty), it's just that when I stick these letters together, paste these words into sentences.. I feel like giving up, because what's the point?
Nothing so depressed as "No one reads this anyway," etc. Because I don't really care if anyone reads this, I just don't know what I'm writing. Philosophically speaking, what does this really accomplish? Am I embellishing myself? Imparting a piece of my soul unto the void of networked computers, to serve the purpose that is null.
Maybe I'm just stretching my proverbial wings, getting a feel for the wind before I take flight? I suppose that's also how I should feel every time I do a major scale on my guitar or bass. Every time I draw a circle on a piece of paper. Thaw the meat for the main course. Lay the base layer for the painting. Frame the shot. Run the drill. Sand the wood. Et cetera, et cetera.
So much prep goes into everything, every window into my soul, your soul, everyones soul. Before you really know what's on the other side, you have to clean the window.

I promised to tell you a story, a thought, paint you a wordy picture that matters naught. And I haven't been, not because I don't believe there's a point - because I honestly couldn't care less if there is a point or not - but maybe it's because my wings have been stretched too thin lately. I stretch, I stretch, I stretch, I stretch until a muscle spasms and retracts, missing my opportunity to fly.
But it's at this point I feel like jumping anyway. Not to a gruesome death, to end this tragedy of missed time and opportunity. But to a reality I can grip in my hands. Something tangible, to show everyone.

Maybe I can write a book. Write a song. Creating beautiful art.
Well, no.
But I can control my stretching, and continue leading all of nobody on confusing wordtrips.

Sigh, and junk.

Damn television.

We're stuck in a perpetual hell of reality television, there's no way out. We're going to have whether or not people can sing, dance, or if they have talent, bad children, ill advised pregnancy, and the like - shoved down our throats day by day.
Jersey Shore, WWE, American Idol (and other iterations therein), Nanny 911 (and other iterations therein), Survivor hybrids, Fear Factor hybrids, Teen Mom, 16 and Pregnant, Rock of Love, The Bachelor, Flavor of Love, and the list just goes on, and on, and on, and on.
It's why I don't see the necessity in watching TV.

Sure there's Bones, House, the original Scrubs, The Office (usually), The Simpsons, and a ton of good shows. But they're not surviving.

Ghosthunters, A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila 1 (and 2), The Apprentice, The Bachelorette, Biggest Loser, Big Brother, The Next Food Network Star, The Surreal Life, So You Think You Can Dance, Who's Your Daddy?

Every day smart, intelligent shows are getting cancelled, because one of two (more than likely) reasons.
1. The average viewers intelligence is now only able to comprehend exaggerated, dramatized real life situations.
OR
2. The average network executive believes 1 wholeheartedly, regardless of whether it's true or not.
OR
3. It's both. There has to be one more than two, I decided just now.

The Simple Life, Rock the Cradle, Blind Date, Food Detectives, Punk'd, Raising Sextuplets, Temptation Island, Whale Wars.

Let me take a second to tell you about Whale Wars.
It's a show where animal rights activists (in my opinion, terrorists) attack whaling ships to discourage their actions. For example, they use chemicals to ruin any and all whale meat the ship may have gathered (which seems extremely contradictive to the cause, because regardless of who that meat would feed, rich or poor, you ruined food that would've fed someone. Now the whale has died for absolutely no reason). They're not attacking rich people, killing baby seals for sport, they're attacking the average Joe, whose only crime is trying to feed their family. They get paid for the equivalent of large scale fishing (I should add that fishermen don't get abused nearly as much, and you could argue that a lot more cruelty goes into some forms of fishing), which puts money in the bank, which puts food on the table.
Random tangent, but that show pisses me off. Animal rights activists, and a portion of vegans, I'm all for throwing them in with the animals they're trying to save. Idiots.



The point I'm trying to put across is that network executives are ruining television. In the 90s, MTV was MUSIC Television. Music videos, music related shows, Beevis and Butthead. Now you're lucky to get half hour of music on MTV2. It's all bullshit shows that promote ignorance and limited awareness.

But whatever, I can look up music online. No super special shows got cancelled that couldn't be covered virally. But now it's spreading. Sci Fi was a good channel. Was, being the keyword.
They put Bonnie Hammer and Dave Howe in charge, two slack jawed, ignorant reality TV jockeys cruising for ratings that aren't there.
They changed the logo. They changed the name from Sci Fi to SyFy. They torched a bunch of good ideas. Now they're walking down the path that was MTV.
Cancelling great shows left or right, pissing off their fans with their decisions. Completely misunderstanding the entire basis that the network is based on. Or even the definition of Science Fiction. That's right, Science Fiction, bitch - not fantasy. Not "things fantastical".
Caprica. Stargate: Universe. A ton of other shows pushed aside to make way for.. Wait for it.. WWE. They cancel fantastic shows, with deep writing and amazing acting. They cancel these nuggets of gold in a universe of pale reality, to make way for what? Pro Wrestling? A bunch of grown ass men wearing leotards beating on each other, but not really? Fake homosexuality, guised as adrenaline pumping action? Or what they think is "action".
Oooooh great, look at him hit that guy with a chair, fucking greaaaat, awesome. Super duper. Now he's bitching about how that guy slept with his daughter/wife/whatever - KICK HIS ASS. WOOO!
Lack luster drama, an obviously fake attempt at reality television.
Bonnie Hammer, Dave Howe, I hope they burn you at the stake when you realize where the medium is going.
And then I hope you proceed to wear stupid faces. And then I hope you say, "That's where the market was going?" And then I hope you get fired.

it's a new year, apparently.

I've been told it's 2011.
No one will really realize this until August,
so I suppose it's an inside scoop for now.
Everyone will automatically write 2010 on
near everything until they finally realize
- hey, it really is 2011 isn't it?
We develop a habit of writing a number down
for a year, and when it's time to switch up,
it doesn't seem real.
And it's because the only real difference
between December 31st, 2010, and January 1st,
2011, are words and numbers. The sun still
rises in the East, and sets in the West.
Yesterdays problems are still here today,
and as much as we kid ourselves with things
like "New Years Resolutions", and a
"Fresh Start" every 365 days - the fact is
that nothing is fresh, there is no do over.

People's mouths are glued to the endless
possibilities of a New Year. Never a
New Month. Week. Day. Hour. Minute. Second.
Millisecond. We're trapped in a sea of
foolishness. I may be cynical, but there's
something special about real optimism, as
opposed to the cookie cutter New Year variety.
We use every January first to make special
decisions when we SHOULD be making those
decisions EVERY day.
It's a proxy for real determination.
We can fake quitting smoking, drinking less,
being a better (whatever religious title you
have), or whatever you think makes you a
better person.
Or we can decide to be better every day.
And I honestly don't know why it's so scary
to do the latter.

And yesterdays problems are still here today.

Sue wants to stay with Sam despite him being
rude, hurtful, illogical, brainwashing, and
abusive. She loves him. I mean, he doesn't
love her, but whatever right? It's a New Year.

Johnny wants his pops to quit drowning himself
in alcohol every night, there're kids to feed,
bills to pay, and only liver cancer and a
bruised wife to deal with it. But maybe he
doesn't need to get help - maybe he can change.
It is a New Year.

Mister Smith wants Susie to quit whoring around
school, and zoning out on whammoh between classes.
To quit shooting up and smoking while pregnant
with her third child since Freshman year.
But hey, let's just let things run their course,
it is a New Year.

It's 2011. A chance to feign effort on dealing
with critical problems in life. To sit in silence
and let these problems "resolve themselves".
It's a bad habit humanity has gotten itself into.
Yes celebrate, but don't kid yourself.
The real point is that Mankind survived another year.
Celebrating the fact that we haven't wiped out all
of our resources. Celebrating that not everyone is
stupid enough to convert to a vegan diet, and hug
giant man eating bears. Celebrating that we haven't
nuked the fuck out of each other.
It's a celebration of survival.
Make yourselves feel better, fine. But the entire
idea of New Years Resolutions is foolish, seeing as
how we should push important decisions like this
every day.

People won't like this - or agree with that.
That's fine, this is obviously my opinion. And
you may not like it, care about it, or whatever.
But after a few debates, I'd like you to know I
probably really just don't care about yours.

Or something? I don't know, much love humanity,
let's go another year without blowing ourselves up.
And hope that South Korea wafflestomps North Korea.

P.S.

My New Years Resolution is to call Sean, Denton,
and Drews, Sean.

Have a good one.