The Edge...

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Wikipedia will never replace an Encyclopedia.

The Dog Stars...

I love reading the first page of a book and knowing that I'm going to blow through it in a week.
Even at this hour, a late start is a good start to my small comforts.

And the fucking author writes like me.

Fucked up-like. Fragmented and shit.

"I keep the beast running."

i didnt do it on purpose

i told you that I shouldnt have this shit around here

TRUST...

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.” 
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

Fat Free Milk

Way back in 2002, I was fiddling around here. RIGHT HERE. There was a company called Pyra Labs that provided Fat Free Milk (me) access to default templates, back-end-system-fiddling-around-ease-of-use and instant publishing gratification for a measly $8.95 a month, or something like that. This seemed pretty expensive back in the day but I came from the era of "Web Pages". One page. Like

Dude - I'll finish this later...

Today...

I did everything.

"All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade."

George Died...

"Fuck all of this shit, I never wanted everybody to have a big fucking thing."

12 years of conversations with George.

I've never had such a great buddy.

I will always miss you, you hard-ass-bastard-with AN AMAZING HEART.

Everybody that you knew after your wife died - you knew through me.

You fought in Korea. Wined, dined and died with your ladies.

You were a tough fucker but had a heart of gold.

You were always on my side.

I gave you water, transported you to various beds and held your hand.

You hated this and a lot of shit since I met you.

I'm glad that I was here for you, buddy and you were, so HERE for ME in all of those years.

I'm so glad that you're gone.

You told me and thanked me repeatedly for being with you through all of these years and especially through all of the recent bullshit and I thank you for being my best friend. Just fucking ANYWAY.

And now what, George?

The Ghost George isa comin', methinks...

Hell help us both.

SHE SAID from: War All the Time by Charles Bukowski

what are you doing with all those paper
napkins in your car?
we dont have napkins like
that
how come your car radio is
always turned to some
rock and roll station?do you drive around with
some
young thing?
you're
dripping tangerine
juice on the floor.
whenever you go into
the kitchen
this towel gets
wet and dirty,
why is that?
when you let my
bathwater run
you never
clean the
tub first.
why don't you
put your toothbrush
back
in the rack?

you should always
dry your razor
sometimes
I think
you hate
my cat.
Martha says
you were
downstairs
sitting with her
and you
had your
pants off.
you shouldn't wear
those
$100 shoes in
the garden

and you don't keep
track
of what you
plant out there

that's
dumb
you must always
set the cat's bowl back
in
the same place.
don't
bake fish
in a frying
pan...

I never saw
anybody
harder on the
brakes of their
car
than you.

let's go
to a
movie.

listen what's
wrong with you?
you act
depressed.

George...

“I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing.” 
― Neil Gaiman

R.I.P.

I will miss you.

Punch

you are Judy
i want to

Found this...

June 4, 2012

Hi Pooper!

I just thought I would leave a little note.  I want to tell you how much I loooooove you and that I recently saw/read what you posted on your blog, and couldn’t help but wonder if some of it was about us… Or rather me in particular. The post entitled ‘You’?  I really liked it, and whether is was a comment on our love or connection, I want you to know that I have never lost my love for you or us. It may not show as strongly as it did when we first met, but it is as deep and vast as the universe and it continues to grow every second. You are a beautiful man, a loving friend, and a sensitive lover. I am forever grateful for our first dance and couldn’t imagine you not in my life.

Thank you for making me feel special, and for always treating me with love and respect. Now, don’t stay up too late- You need rest!

Xoxoxo

Rachel

------------------

"You were sick, but now you are well again. And there's work to be done." 

It’s a Vonnegut quote. He had a fictional character named Kilgore Trout that is prevalent in a lot of his books. He travels through time a lot. Even though that I have not read as many books of Vonnegut’s as I would like – I appreciate his talent, lack of conformity and his abundant imagination. The picture is my nod to Kilgore Trout. The quote above grabbed my attention and was very relative to an absorption of my own past, present and future.

 “I am The Great Yellow Hope.”

Random thought in my head.

“YOU

can always find it again

anybody can

but what matters most

is what you do with it

now that you have it

again”

I was talking to myself but also talking to anybody and everybody. It wasn’t directed towards you. Kind of a loose, Buddhist Mantra. Like me writing in a journal. Like me telling something to a kid or like me telling something to a friend. Part of it is a reminder to myself and anybody who has to be reminded to recognize beauty and opportunity when in presents itself. To tap into the learn(ed) self and not and to convert regrets into positivity. To be better with love. To recognize how unappreciated it was and cognizant of how important it is?

“I don't really think

that you know what I'm doing
my fear is that
before that you know how much better that I've made things
that you'll be gone before you see it”

I’m a work-in-progress. Yet, worth it. This was also written about world history, human nature and my want to see humans to continue to explore this world and others. Meow.

“men

make beats in the background
we, (wo)men
filled with woe
woo and whoa and wring and waste
our will, wants and wishes
until we're beat”

To make it quick – it was my version of an old-school type of “Beat Poem” about women complaining about men. I write things like this shit above, or at least in this style because I’m lazy/lazier at a certain hour. I like book-ending things or having them come in a dumb full-circle. This just happened to really make me smile though. The women are talking about….aww fuck it. You get it. I didn’t write it like this on purpose. It just came out. I revised it. Sometimes even the tiniest things can take time for me. Sometimes. It sucks and I know it sucks and I either put it away on paper, save it to draft or erase the shite. Anyway…I like it.

Hmmm…I loved seeing something that you wrote to me, all prepped up on the computer for when I got home. I fucking love it. You doomed me though, Love! How can I NOT respond to you? I love you reading anything that I’ve written, I love sharing everything with you. I do. I want to share even more with you! Ask me questions! Write stories with me! Paint with me! Sculpt with me! Do dumb shit with me! You’ve kept me up and I will probably be up when your alarm goes off. I’ve been in the backyard for a long time, kind of cold. It drizzled a bit. The moon is still out even though it’s 4:48 in the A.M. It’s noisy. The Fullerton trains are making a ruckus. Terry Barr invited me to his bachelor party weekend but it’s when your Mom and Caden are going to be down. Why haven’t I called my Dad? I think that I just more Malone history for our kids in the last month. I’m not going to beat myself up over this anymore. They were never a part of my life. I appreciate them and want them to be around for as long as possible. They probably will. Sometimes it’s better. Life is not defined by your past but by the quality of your life today. The battery just ran out on this computer. Your alarm will go off in 14 minutes. I love you with all of my heart, Rachel and I will always be here for you. I promise this. I will be the man that you love and will diligently and constantly strive to be the man that you and I…deserve.

Taos Hum

I will always protect you.

Dead Molecules

Fuck. I was aiming towards something. Really. Totally in a zone and then I woke up my girlfriend. It died. Cigarette smoke was the culprit. The piece is totally stupid, creating a mini poem within a poem, highlighted in red, blah, blah, blah. I had something in my head and it was working well. This was the now-destroyed work in progress.

I had a moment. A movement. Potentially monumental. I'm a malformed malcreant. Not distracted now. Logged in. New formats. Nocturnal Davids to my Goliath daze.
[Me]

Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light. And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the cave. 
[Socrates] 

Personally, I would be delighted if there were a life after death, especially if it permitted me to continue to learn about this world and others, if it gave me a chance to discover how history turns out.

[Carl Sagan]

Wake up! Don't suck. I suck. You stink. Don't sleep. Write something. From beginning to end. Forget who's sleeping. Wear headphones in your backyard. You can't sleep anyway. You brought a notebook to work today and even though that you know that it's impossible to write when you're working at this job...this is what you wrote, "I can't write anymore".

hiodsvlvdlkdvklndvslkdsv I HAD IT

Controlling Fear: Part One

Bueller.

Please Recycle...

If these are the end of times then this is the beginning of them because I'm talking about it right now.
So, if I continue to talk about the end of times and you continue to read what I'm writing about THE END, then an END will never happen as long as you keep on reading what I write, right?

Sooooo......

I Miss My Girlfriend...

I do - but I just got done gardening.
I was helping out our cucumbers.
There are still ants crawling on me as I type this.
I just killed three right now.
I have cleaned my hands and wiped the dirt from my legs.
It is early in the morning.
I just got home from work two hours ago.
I shaved off the fletching from all of my arrows to use as stakes for the garden.
They were old arrows.

I miss my girlfriend.

It's hard to write The Great American Novel when you have a corn dog in the toaster oven.

it makes me feel guilty that I can take George to lunch
and not my own Father.

did

Did I just totally screw everything up by trying to update all of the new darn-fangled options on Blogger?

Welsh: You haven’t changed at all, have you Witt? You haven’t learned a thing … you’ll never be a real soldier.

Witt: I can take anything you dish out. I’m twice the man you are.

Welsh: In this world, a man, himself, is nothin’. And there ain’t no world but this one … we’re livin’ in a world that’s blown itself to hell as fast as everybody can arrange it.

"You were sick, but now you are well again. And there's work to be done." 

I am The Great Yellow Hope.