A Cicada's Life For Me Every Twenty Four Hours...

Me - "I just had the weirdest dream. I dreamt that I was in an old apartment with some other people and that it was haunted. I saw things move around constantly and there were, like, doors opening all of the time by themselves and it was totally scary and awesome because we knew that what we were seeing was actually happening and it was because it was really haunted, like the things were all totally happening, like all of the time and shit, but then towards the end, Joel told us that he slipped us some drugs and told us that was why we were seeing what we were seeing but that it actually did happen because if I and everybody else saw something happen - no matter if it was because of what he slipped us - then it was true, because in a way, we experienced a reality that, no matter how it was, like..instigated or created - WAS real because it was a lived and...shared experience. So if we did think that the apartment was haunted and saw what we saw, then it was true....isn't that crazy?"

Her - "I dreamt that I met Jake Gyllenhall."

If All Of Our Browsers Didn't Enable Cookies...

Than The Cookie Monster would drop-kick you in the weakest spot of your body.

He'd be pissed.

Nobody should ever deny a being his addictive sustenance or his monstrous posturing and/or identity. What particular spot of your glorious body would a monster decide to feed upon? If you had one, maybe the only - but most likely one-of-many, vulnerable, atrophied or already weak parts of yourself -which part would your imaginary monster choose to feed upon?

Vampires and necks.
Zombies and your brains.
Chupacabras and livestock.
Primate feces and face.
Fingers and nose.
Great White Shark and topless 70's screaming actress.
Red Lightsaber and poorly-acted Jedi death.
Werewolf and poor peasant.
RAID and cockroach.
Kryptonite and Kal-El.
World and Boy In Bubble.
Zeus and mortal women.
Life's societal, obligatory demands and personal/artistic freedoms.
Confrontation and resolution.
China and everything.
Forgiveness and forgetfulness.
Patience and TIME.

Writing drunk and SLEEP.

POWAQQATSI...

Frustrating not to be able to share my simple joys with complicated people.

Frankenstein's monster ended up confusing flower petals with brittle, little girl necks.

Lenny wanted to share the soft and soothing experience of petting cute bunny rabbits with hard, callused ranch hands.

The satisfaction that you get with filling a house full of new furniture does nothing to quell the vast emptiness of my soul.

Your fast food gives you ths satisfaction equivalent to my frustrated headache.

What noisy gardners give me before waking dreams is your extra hour to get a cup of coffee before work.

Nintendo to your Wii.

My Mad Libs to your Blackberry.

I breathe lung cancer.

You live.

I am too far-sighted and not hungry enough to follow a fucking carrot.

I see six million blind and beautiful shuffling mules.

Not even aware of the shit that they're leaving behind.

I see me forever mulling over the potential beauty of six million animals blinding me with their unstoppable momentum.

Frustrating

confusing

hard

nothing

headache

noisy

I breathe

You live

I am too far-sighted

and not hungry enough

blind

and beautiful

shuffling

behind

forever mulling over
the potential beauty of
six million animals
blinding me with
their unstoppable momentum

Frustrating not to be able to share my simple joys with complicated people.

Me So Hanso...

Note to self:

Self, Hello!
Hope your day went well!
Remember to check who you're emailing Dharma Initiative logos to next time.
Your boss was a little puzzled this morning when you came in.

There are leftovers in the fridge and please remember to take out the trash. Thanks!

Love,

Self XOXOXO

And The Slow Days Do Nothing To Erase The Constant Changes In Your Face...and he asked himselfquietlyand politelyto Stop for a second.whatwhat's wrong?don't bother meI'm busyy' see?No. I don't see.I see what you don't - and more.This is the reason of my being. I am the outerworldy essence that exists within you. The outsides of your insides that we all hope that you may, one day, spread to others in your outside world.I'm not really getting what you're saying, man. You seem like a nice guy and all - but...I'm, kinda like, really doin' a lot of things right now, y' know? Maybe I'll have some time later or sumthin'...No. You won't. I know this, have seen it...lived it. That is why I speak to you now. I see you. Know you. Am you. I am THE OLDER you. The FUTURE YOU.......really? Wow. Cool. Huh. Ummm...so, are you, like - rich yet?(sigh).........

My Spirit...

Is a bag of tortilla chips in the backpack of a clumsy man with one leg, three toes and a horrible case of epilepsy.

I Hate Music.

All of it.

iF yOU tOOK...

wHATS HER NAME - THE BLONDE FROM lost AND THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WAS LOOKING FOR HER FATHER ON SEASON ONE OF deadwood AND PUT THEM IN A GLADIATOR PIT TO FIGHT TO THE DEATH...i HOPE THAT THEY'D JUST GIVE UP AND END UP HOLDING EACH OTHER IN THEIR UNDERWEAR INSTEAD.

Let Us...

rise up
and be thankful,
for if we didn't learn a lot today,
at least we learned a little,
and if we didn't learn a little,
at least we didn't get sick,
and if we got sick,
at least we didn't die;

so, let us all be thankful.


Buddha

47...