The interstitial crisis is over…for now. The better moments of unrepentent ideology have taken over, and for this sort of mind-fuck, there are limits, if not rules, but at bottom a certain easy code of anticipatory excitement mixed with reverent somnombulence. It is the only part of the word respect with any guts. Focus, naive hope, some mixture of what went up and what went out, because preperation requires me to explore any possible method of transferance. As much dumb shit flows from my fingers and mouth, there is not the first hint of anything but the supreme faith required to join in with this gang of zombies making explicit contributions to the greater good.
Still, this evening has all the signs of a night of rotation and balance. The tall man had something to say, and I listened intently, focusing every breath on the up-tempo music playing in the background while glass lips explained the proper way to synthesize panoramic views. I can’t remember what that method was, but I vaguely recall it being funny and somewhat stultifying. Also the directions were hard to follow. Also, the frontal lobe of my brain shut down right amidst sentence, and my memory failed. No arguments here. Feel the breeze and breathe the seams. Nothing is ever quite traditional here, too many what have you’s, and not nearly enough stability. No need for worry when the check is in the mail, and something tells me it will be a good morrow for the mailman, if not for us all. Funny, because…fuck. I forgot. Tomorrow, a sermon from on high. Where else would it come from?
Quotes are the best places to hide. A dissasociated idiotic paranoid held forth on that subject for quite some time, measuring out some venal logic that felt like parasites crawling between layers of skin, searching in grid patterns for the invisible meal. The shuffle of bodies around becomes a sort of angry dance, prioritized movements leading to a formal ceremony full of sadness expressed as symbolism. The colors slowly change against a tableau of wind and clean sun light while words, gestures and references are the proper operational camoflage covering billions of randomly generated aural fantasies of a place with meaning located close enough to the highway for a short commute.
But the quotes hide whatever formulaic experiences that are screaming to be shared amongst strangers. Places that offer the change of this peculiar intimacy before it is perverted by streets with nature names hiding locks, bars, and keys from sight and discovery. The only way out is the good-time rush brought on by amphetamine fuel combined with whatever mind numbing stimulants can be obtained on the open markets, sold by the over-leveraged sales associate busy humping the imago of sleep while smiling at the thought of what else is required to shove the negative thoughts back a little farther on past sight and sound. It is a brutal adn unforgiving pose. The psychological wreckage alone makes the stark parkways and pseudo-urban diatribes a comedy. Underneath all of the localized infractions is the confident knowledge that everybody belongs somewhere, and it may as well be here.
I can see each person as a reflective diode, apportioning color and wavelength as if they could be fixed at a given point in space, the fool, the athlete, the insoucient motherfuckers out there who can’t converse for fear of a slip-up revealing hellish denoument at the spot where the asphalt becomes memory. The landscape is gas fumes and chicory sitting on a blue checkered table cloth. Creativity is just movement across an imaginary landscape that borders retail strips converging upon office parks. Here is where the checks are cut.
This wasn’t meant for this kind of over-exposure, but I don’t write the words, I just steal them, so control seems vastly illusionary in this kind of take-no-prisoner’s approach. Seriously thought, with all the attractiveness of a used tissue in a garbage can, contentious issues of eminent domain and legalisticly defined reality, it’s only slightly less surprising that more people don’t take the same exits off the same parkways listening to the same songs. Manacles can’t hold a candle to repetition, and here on Green Gargens Avenue, the song remains the same, even when the people don’t.
I want to see something funny, like a homeless man spitting on a refined tradition or a ceremony disabused of its innate charm by a raving angel intent on late eating, late mornings and violent overdoses. Nothing like that is permitted here, where the staid and plain is accepted as the coin of the realm. Boredom? No. No implication that all of this (imagine gesturing wildly around, first one way, then another, then another…) was desired. No grunge inspired suicides or violent abberations, no triggers, no handles, no bleeding. Other people have all of those jobs, and from where I sit, it doesn’t do them any better than it would any other disinterested observer.
There has got to be someway of escaping this place with enough of a chance of success to make it worth it. Strikes and gutters dear friends and neighbors. Cigarettes and amphetamines. Bumper stickers and home decor. Loud noises, fireworks, intangible melodies and lazy rivers. Old faces long gone, new faces long gone. Get it? Do you understand the clusterfuck, the rapt attentive nature of providence and atheistic screeds processed and repeated, a continuum of Joe Henry (he still Love’s You Madly) and that place in Pittsburgh where denial became an allegory for mirth. Panes of glass, horse pills, nasal cannula, and everything else that occupies that region where sentimentality meets smoke and mirrors.
Any small parts that confound the mind and confuse the soul are welcome, and irony is always appreciated. You can’t buy that blanket willingness to say that the world requires as many sons-of-bitches as saints. Now, if the rest of you can simply stop growing up and endlessly repeatng the patters stitched by those who came before, we may be on to something. You can sell crazy right here, there isn’t nearly enough of it to go around.
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Stoned on shell crabs and the scent of fragrant orange blossoms, residing in the only place I can safely store something this important. I’d tell you where, but we haven’t built up anything close to that kind of trust yet, and to be honest, I don’t think we will. Honestly, it isn’t something I’d spend that much time worrying about, and, more to the point, it is only as constraining as you perceive it to be. Exponential, you dirty underachieving bastards. Anyways, I was talking about orange blossoms, and the scent carried on the winds lucky enough to cross vast fields of oranges and other citrus friuts. More implicitly is the vague notion of memory that ascends and declines in seemingly random patterns. The alternation of sated relief and oppressive fear of the unknown is the only way to really know for positive sure where you stanad in relation to the other mobile statues around you. I’m starting to wonder if the only reason time travel hasn’t become more of a beugerois vacation location is because hte future is here, and it seems a lot like the present, which seems a lot like the past.
Wake the fuck! I can’t believe there isn’t someone esle who has come to this oddly placid conclusion. More and more the symptoms of cognitived dissonance seem more articulate on the throats of millions. Questions aren’t being ignored, but we’ve all forgotten the investment of time requires this kind of epic patience. While none of us will get out of here with all the answers, that doesn’t have to be such a negative ideology. Freedom is not so tangible that it can be destroyed with semantic or encouraged by empty symbolic gestures. The tug of war will go on forever, the volatile back and forth that signifies health, the continued search for stasis. The search continues.
In other news, something happier than Richard Cory has to close this absynthe daydream. Instead of veiled hypocrisies and the slow movements of tongues that curve air like illustrious painters, the focus has to be placed with attention to detail. The easiest thing in the world is caring about figurines constructed of convoluted ideas that attempt to explain what can only be observed. Dig deep enough and the only thing you will have built is a hole in the ground. The construction of nothing as an export commodity is the image of a society completely given over to diatribes and gifted but symbolic gestures meant to assuage the heart while disturbing the soul. Nobody can placate the gentle spirit, especially not with an item built to reflect the light that should be absorbed. None of us will get famous for this shit. Too much hassle if you ask me.
Oh, and to all those people who walk through the world looking for the island palm…stop looking. It will find you. This guy knows what I mean.
OK man.
You’ll pardon my unatural style today, but this is something I’ve never done. I am not a religous man. There are reasons large and small for this, but today, I feel the spirit rising in my bones, and my heart is on fire for a temporary cause. Cue the music, we’ll need it to add some context and mood to what I want to preach about.
go to blogmusik and start playing “mexicali blues.” Everybody has to start somewhere, so let’s start right where we are.
The only thing that seperates intelligence from stupidity is time. This story begins at the exact instant sensory overload become institutionalized as attention deficit disorder. Can I get an AMEN for attention deficit disorder? It doesn’t actually exist, but today we are going to give credit where credit is due. A genius is in our midst, and ladies and gentleman. We don’t know his name, but this man came up with a way to transform a minor behavioral characteristic into a disease. Of course, friends and neighbors, this man also had the cure! Off we go, because with a quick head fake, the largest social experiment in productivity studies was off and running.
What does this have to do with anything? Nothing, except a small step back, and psuedo patterns appear. (Can I get another AMEN?) If there was a natural progression of events, we might have snapped it right the fuck off simply by playing the game too long. The harder we fine peace loving Americans tried to lacquer over reality to be a little more family friendly sheen, the farther down the road we kicked the can. What is coming is going to hurt for a lot of people out there in fantasy land, and at the end of the day, I only want to everyone to know that we are only getting the same judgement of reality that can adapt a lot faster than we can. Now who want’s to witness? I see a hand.
(Jerry stands in the corner, hand raised, eyes closed, speaking in tongues. Maybe just with a tongue. That is how we talk around here, especially when the spirits get us really flying. The keyboard is over to Jerry, then Trowell, the priest of Queensbury has something else. Jerry, open your eyes.)
“OK. If we can take anything in the house, I would recomend it be something that won’t lose value as currency weakens. Important to note that. Next, rob all the renewable resources, but only in a renewable way. We already know what’s coming. If you don’t, now would be great time to read about the difference between a slow bleed and a permanent colonic. Remember with increased leverage come increased risk. Shit, maybe we can elect someone who’ll make a law that says its illegal to knowingly destroy the economy for short term material gains. In other words, when the next I-POS comes out, the lines are going to be much shorter. Thank fucking christ man, it’s time. We should all get T-shirts that say “I came to watch the next great depression and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”
The second part of the ADD story is simple, maybe too subtle to see when we’re too close to the situation. Sometime not long ago, a man with more power than brains sacrificed the middle class for the glorification of his legacy and to be remembered for something he most certainly was not; a man of wisdom in an age of fools. Well, he was half right, but to our shared dismay, it was the wrong half. There is a legion of the living dead out there. They’re dead, they just haven’t heard about it yet. Believe you me, they will be made aware both by bankers and accountants soon enough. For now, let them wander the malls and exotic locales. Don’t get me wrong, I really feel for those types, but it ain’t something I am responsible for. You want a liberal nowadays? We outsourced them years ago!
At any rate, before I totally lose my train of thought, suffice it to say we’re about to see a marvelous social experiment ever seen anywhere in the history of the world. We could actually see what would happen if enough people find it financially practical to stop paying bills! I’m not going ot lie, it’s something I have wondered about forever, because the system was always a very precarious balance of knowledge and assumptions. My brothers and sisters, let us bow our heads and ask “What the fuck, man? How did this come to be?” I am not a god fearing man, sirs and madams, but if your god has a sense of humor, this is when we will find out. I think I just plotzed.
OK Trowell. Ladies and gentleman, the drunken harpsichord will speak.
(applause. lightly, perhaps hesitatingly. that isn’t a word. nevermind, there isn’t time for this kind of mindless revelry.)
“I stand before you a man who has seen the light. I have felt the touch and shocked the monkey. It hurt. A lot. The more I got to listening today, the more I kept hearing about the suspicions never voiced for fear of the accusation of panic mongers. But the signs have always been there. If they were whitewashed, we should just look at who buys the most white wash and has a reason to make the simple complex. This has always gone on, and it will always go on. It own’t stop until we evolve or die. Intraspecies competition sucks ass. I suspect the reasons why will become apparent over the next year.
Every good sermon needs an apostate. Something to cast off, and declare as evil. Though this church officailly opposes the linnean urge to label everything, today we are going to label the conspiracy enthusiasts guilty of gross misdirection and false advertisement. The circus must end, and these people brought around to see that conspiracy requires some internal system division. It’s hard to talk over the sounds of god laughing about idiosyncratic novelties, but let me remind you that there is no such thing as division or discrepancy. We’ll refer to this lesson as “Just Because Nobody Bothered To Explain Long Term Goals Doesn’t Mean They Don’t Exist.” huh huh, I said refer.
That’s all I got. The church of the billygoat of the san markakis islands in the south pacific sea is now dismissed. Fuck me, I forgot to pass the plate around for offerings. Well, that blows, but we’ll try again next time. You’ve been a lovely audience, but go somewhere else now, I’m tired of looking at you. See you soon.
Sorry for yelling.
AMEN
