1/26/11
Die Antwoord...
You know what sucks about writing whilst one of your Pandora Radio stations plays in the background?
You start to pound the keys and sometimes a song comes up that totally sucks ass.
So, you can either continue to pound away to shrilling Harpies or...
You start to pound the keys and sometimes a song comes up that totally sucks ass.
So, you can either continue to pound away to shrilling Harpies or...
1/19/11
I don't know how to explain pkd/lights in corners/static/ghosts/etc/blargh/justaskme/Quartz Lane
http://www.scribd.com/doc/3230/Robert-Crumb-The-Religious-Experience-of-Philip-K-Dick
This is too big of a project for my mind to mine and to fathom...
I don't know if I can continue to put the puzzle fragments together...
It does involve characters in a movie that I dreamed for hours while I slept
replaying, rewinding, nostalgia, danger and bad elements that...god, I sound like a psycho...
I keep on remembering things and they piece together with other things that I've experienced and with things that Ive written before.
It really involves Philip K. Dick - which is FUCKED UP. Because....some of his biggest, craziest moments changed his life and affected stories that he wrote AND I lived down the street from where he used to live when I experienced a BIG thing in my life AND....I am so screwed...I don't know if I can write this - so far, so good, though....
Two nights of writing in a row. I'm excited for the dreams that I have tonight BUT scared, also..
What I'm going to write after I get off of this...I NEEDED TO TAKE A BREATHER....will put me in a crazier, creative state...
This is the weirdest thing that I've ever written....
and it ties into my life and the dreams that I had last night and PKD's experiences?
okay bye....writng....nnnnnnNOW
This is too big of a project for my mind to mine and to fathom...
I don't know if I can continue to put the puzzle fragments together...
It does involve characters in a movie that I dreamed for hours while I slept
replaying, rewinding, nostalgia, danger and bad elements that...god, I sound like a psycho...
I keep on remembering things and they piece together with other things that I've experienced and with things that Ive written before.
It really involves Philip K. Dick - which is FUCKED UP. Because....some of his biggest, craziest moments changed his life and affected stories that he wrote AND I lived down the street from where he used to live when I experienced a BIG thing in my life AND....I am so screwed...I don't know if I can write this - so far, so good, though....
Two nights of writing in a row. I'm excited for the dreams that I have tonight BUT scared, also..
What I'm going to write after I get off of this...I NEEDED TO TAKE A BREATHER....will put me in a crazier, creative state...
This is the weirdest thing that I've ever written....
and it ties into my life and the dreams that I had last night and PKD's experiences?
okay bye....writng....nnnnnnNOW
1/12/11
oink
I need to start writing regardless of how late it is.
It's better then nothing, eh?
Tomorrow I will read this and vow never to sling slop in this trough again.
It's better then nothing, eh?
Tomorrow I will read this and vow never to sling slop in this trough again.
12/22/10
the rain the rain the rain keeps pouring
and words keep spilling into my ears
and they are wet words
slippery, slimy things that my atrophied brain
doesn't want to absorb
HOWDOISTEMTHISFLOW?
this boring trickle
HOWDOISTEMTHISFLOW!
boringboringboring drops
all you
and not me
a reign a reign a reign of cattezz' and doggzez'
a drip and another drip always
flooding hope patience my will
i don't want to drown
to sail this vessel past the edge of The Earth
or to cast my sextet into the void, frustrated
i want warmth
shelter
security
and an empty ARK
so that I can sail a world anew
ALONEALONeALOneALoneAlonealone
and
ALONE
please
12/21/10
12/15/10
repost
My Best Christmas Ever...
Might of written about this before. I know that I have, but I think that it was in one of my notebooks. Maybe I wrote about it in a magazine or school paper. Somewhere.
Back in the day. When I was young. When the top of my head probably came to my fathers hip - my father and I went down the street to the Xmas tree lot. This was a REAL lot. One of the ones where you actually picked a tree and a bundled up gnarly neanderthalic man sawed it off for you and lugged it to your car. Not one of the drugstore parking lot lots. Something that you didn't do in combination with grocery shopping.
It was cold. But Southern California cold. So that means, like...60 degrees. My father and I had trudged deeper and deeper into this mini-forest looking for a nice, full tree to take home. I don't know where my older brother was. Probably playing Atari or watching football. Definitely not dating girls. My brother was a very late bloomer.
We found one. Not a girl or a late bloomer, but a great-looking tree off in the distance. Looked huge to me. Gigantic. As we approached it, I realized that my father wasn't around anymore. He was behind me, crouched down on one knee and had his hand placed on something by the ground. I crunched back to where my father was and heard him speaking in a strange voice. A tiny, soft voice. My father's eyes were misty. He had stepped on a baby rabbit. It was probably no bigger than my hand and was jerking spasmodiacally on a blanket of pine needles. My father was softly saying that he was sorry. I'm so sorry, so, so sorry...
I kept on looking back from the dying baby rabbit and to my father's now alien face. I couldn't figure out what was more of a shock to me - the little thing dying before me or the glimpse of actual emotion on my father's face.
My father eventually barked an order at me to KEEP ON GOING. I did, because he was my father. My father told me to not stop looking back. I did, because he was my father. I didn't ask any questions. I did, because he was my father.
We got our tree.
Do I remember how it looked that year in the livingroom?
No.
Do I still remember that tiny, twitching rabbit?
Yes. Perfectly.
Best Christmas ever?
Yes.
Why?
Because I'll remember that one for the rest of my life.
Might of written about this before. I know that I have, but I think that it was in one of my notebooks. Maybe I wrote about it in a magazine or school paper. Somewhere.
Back in the day. When I was young. When the top of my head probably came to my fathers hip - my father and I went down the street to the Xmas tree lot. This was a REAL lot. One of the ones where you actually picked a tree and a bundled up gnarly neanderthalic man sawed it off for you and lugged it to your car. Not one of the drugstore parking lot lots. Something that you didn't do in combination with grocery shopping.
It was cold. But Southern California cold. So that means, like...60 degrees. My father and I had trudged deeper and deeper into this mini-forest looking for a nice, full tree to take home. I don't know where my older brother was. Probably playing Atari or watching football. Definitely not dating girls. My brother was a very late bloomer.
We found one. Not a girl or a late bloomer, but a great-looking tree off in the distance. Looked huge to me. Gigantic. As we approached it, I realized that my father wasn't around anymore. He was behind me, crouched down on one knee and had his hand placed on something by the ground. I crunched back to where my father was and heard him speaking in a strange voice. A tiny, soft voice. My father's eyes were misty. He had stepped on a baby rabbit. It was probably no bigger than my hand and was jerking spasmodiacally on a blanket of pine needles. My father was softly saying that he was sorry. I'm so sorry, so, so sorry...
I kept on looking back from the dying baby rabbit and to my father's now alien face. I couldn't figure out what was more of a shock to me - the little thing dying before me or the glimpse of actual emotion on my father's face.
My father eventually barked an order at me to KEEP ON GOING. I did, because he was my father. My father told me to not stop looking back. I did, because he was my father. I didn't ask any questions. I did, because he was my father.
We got our tree.
Do I remember how it looked that year in the livingroom?
No.
Do I still remember that tiny, twitching rabbit?
Yes. Perfectly.
Best Christmas ever?
Yes.
Why?
Because I'll remember that one for the rest of my life.
11/20/10
laz e
Fuk. I relly dnt lik this com pumputer nd th smoeks all poring n my eys nd i guss its cld otside r at lest cld fr asouthern alifornia nd evn thogh tht ths sntnce wsnt tht gloriou it stll tk me mor tme t blw acros the thje kybrd. to blw ashs acrss this Mc kybord thet I fuckg hte. i'v wrien n prchmnt. imis cnieform. imis arrnging big St\nehenge bloks. i mis my CIA focallity. iam fuckng cazy andI am nts. I neeed t diee, aloonend wih mny petsz nd to b coverd wthvultre p]\ckings nd rdiation tht wll pngpingping pstumosly wi me nd yor grate gddamn granchildrn wen Richard Branson n Octobabies r mining ore n th Virgin Moon.
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