Thursday, April 8, 2004

Banging Your Heart

We’re actors. Every one of us. The actors in Hollywood are frauds. Any one of us acts better than them. We all have our acting down to the improvising.

Walking down the hall. “Hi,” they say.

“Hello.”

“How are you?” How are you--the words come from their lips. Flutter from them and catch on the skin of the brain. The pigskin. Didn’t you know evil lives in the motherfucking pigskin?

“I’m fine.” Liar. Fine is far from it. But still. The words come steel cold metal from the mouth. Premeditated. There’s no stopping. The feet move and the feelings stay. No one cares. This moment was brought to you by the normal conventions of society. The each man for himself mentality. We hope you have a nice day.

Sitting in the room. Hands on the keyboard. Typing. Working and writhing. The door blows open. In comes The Man.

“You need to get a job,” says The Man, His face moving. The jaw muscles move, the circuits in His brain blink and murmur in action. His jaw muscles, steel beams of complex fleshly life, act on meticulously unflawed instrumentation from the brain, pivoting the right way to show mechanically stern resolution. His voice is emotive with flair, but deep in the metal dead eyes there’s a flickering light of something almost human. What wasn’t taken from the poor carcass of a man. “You need to get a job. So you can pay for gas in your car. So you can get money. I don’t know why you aren’t excited. Most kids are. It’s freedom. You should be excited.” I should be excited? The Man is telling me I should be excited. What if I’m not? Then what happens?

The Man careens his neck. Centers his eyes’ vision with skilled perception. “Tomorrow you need to go back to Video Action and ask the woman if she’s going to hire you.”

And ropes hang to keep us all alive.

Sitting in the back of a car. Country music blares. The station is changed. The Man didn’t like the song playing. Classic rock emanates. We drive by Gateway Mall. The movie sign is there. Passion of the Christ it reads. The Man’s Other Child speaks. “The Passion of the Christ is rated R.”

Discussion surmounts. The Man tells how he can’t believe You don’t believe in God. How could You not believe in Our Lord and Savior? You’re going to go to Hell. In The Fires of Your Hell You will realize You turned Your back on Jesus Christ. And because of this You will Live Your Afterlife In Hell. You stupid, insipid fool. How can You not believe in Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior?

Deus ex Machina. That is why. God comes from the machine. Just like you came from the machine. Just like I did. We are slaves to the machine. The machine made this God to give us Hope. Hope which doesn’t exist.

We are all actors. We have our Hopes. We have our Dreams. The Karma Police will steal them all before the end.

In the car again. The Man tells the divorce is going to happen. It’s a reality. He doesn’t seem so much like a machine in that moment. He seems vulnerable and penetrated.

I remembered. This was history repeating itself. A veritable and touchable history.

At the age of three, This Man Whose Name Does Not Matter’s Mother divorced His true Father. His true Father was by the name of Tom Smith. The name does not matter. He could care less about This Man Whose Name Does Not Matter. He would call me and ask me how was school going. How were my grades.

Then he’d ask me to get my blood taken.

To see if I was his real son.

Being the Child This Man Whose Name Doesn’t Matter was then, He didn’t understand. Now He does. But now He does.

The Stepfather This Man Whose Name Doesn’t Matter has now is more of a father than he’s ever had. Now history repeats itself.

“Who’re you going to live with,” asks The Man to This Man Whose Name Doesn’t matter. How am I supposed to answer? “Myself,” It says. The It turns and looks out the window of the truck. Pushing it away. You can’t do that forever, It.

It’s just as I thought. Love doesn’t last. Happiness doesn’t last. None of it lasts.

The Flies seek to be Maggots again once they’ve matured. The Maggots, The Children, are happy--happy because they do not know. Happy because they don’t understand. Happy because they are ignorant, stupid things. But they think they are so pretty. They’re so much Maggots they can’t see how ugly they are--how utterly stupid and servile they are. They can’t see what they‘re eating. How tied into The Machine they are.

The Maggots are born into the world to eat the Dead Decaying Tissue. From this they grow. Augment until it is time to be a Fly. Because of The Maggots turning into Flies, and spawning more Maggots, the Human Race survives--the festering amass lives on.

Be a World Child, Form a Circle Before We All Go Under.

That’s what it’s all about. Push it all aside and that’s what it’s about--Survival. And the Circle that’s made because of it.

The Flies, they seek to be Maggots again. Most do not know it, but it’s what They search for. To be Maggots again.

We cannot make ourselves happy alone. This Man Whose Name Doesn’t Matter cannot make himself happy alone. There is an inert need for other things. Other pretty things to use and abuse. To make hurt. There is a need and there is a want. There is a lust and there is a love for it. The need needs feeding. It needs flesh to chew. The teeth need to sink in.

So They make Their Walls. Two hands, two flesh-beings. They coalesce together. Come together. Become one. Form an anomalous entity. An Alien Thing with its central parts the largesse of the hearts--two hearts whose beat is One.

I have a Wall with a Child in it. You are so stupid, child. You are a Maggot. You should die Everything dies. Let it all die. There is nothing keeping You alive but yourself. Why not die now? They will kill You. They will surely kill You. Why suffer?

All The Pretty Things Are Going to Hell.

I keep this Child alone and alive because he is all I have. The Child is more alive than any thing other in this Machine. The Child can do Better Things than This Fly can. The Maggot--the weakling--is Stronger because It is Weaker. It is Weak with idioteque, and that makes It Stronger. Stronger than The Flies.

The Child is behind a Wall. The Wall is built with the intention to keep Flies out. To keep Them out. To stay away from The Machine. The Machine wants The Child’s heart. It wants to rip It from Its Chest. It wants to probe in and put an Iron Heart in once the Bleeding Heart is taken out. It wants to Maraud and Steal it all.

I will not, shall not, allow it.

The Child is in a small corner of The Wall. Beside His Corner, He sits with His head against it, hearing the noises outside. He is lulled and cannot hear much of what’s going on out there. Out there he can hear Himself--the part of him that’s a Fly--going about His day. With a crayon in hand, The Child writes on The Wall. He writes in riddles. No One understands them. He is writing this on The Wall right now. It is coming down because The Maggot has control.

This Man Whose Name Doesn’t Matter hasn’t cried for years and years. This Man has become Comfortably Numb. He used to have a feeling, his hands used to feel just like two balloons, but The Feeling is gone. This Man is slowly being assimilated into The Machine. He is sure one day The Machine shall arrive in all its glory and steal from This Chest a Heart. And when it takes This Heart it will first cradle The Heart as if It’s a baby The Machine has nourished its whole life. Then it will puncture the Vena Cava--the largest artery in This Heart.

Then This Man will take over. Change to a Fly. The Child, The Maggot, will be Dead as Leaves.

There is No Future left at all.

An Optimist is One who thinks the best is yet to come. A Pessimist is One who knows the best has already happened.

Child, do not cry. I see your Tears outside the wall. I know they thought The Berlin Wall was taken down. That the Great Wall didn’t imprison. I know. I know they were wrong. The Fear--needled in and usurping--is There. It is There--in The Great Wall. The Berlin Wall. It is there.

This Man doesn’t care. He does not care about Education. He does not care about The Future. He does not care about His Heart anymore. This Man doesn’t know how He is going to go on.

This Man sits here each day and learns. He acts like He cares about what he is learning. He Respects His teachers. He enjoys his Teachers. But He does not care about the Facts anymore. He does not care about It. There is no enjoyment in Learning. This Man wishes he could be Stupid. He wishes he could be Stupid. This man is Stupid. The Ones who are smart are The Most Stupid. Stupid because they are so Complex. Because they cannot come to Understand why things are the way they are. Stupid because they always Question. This is what This Man feels. And He is sick of Acting. He is sick of Being Part of The Machine.

This Man is Numb.

Tear down The Wall. May The Child be remembered. The Festering Crawling Maggot--the Useless Being--may He be Remembered. Soon He’s going to be Dead. And the Fly will have Control--The Insectile Slave to The Machine will have control. The Heart will be Dead. Replaced.

In the end, it’s just beating my fucking heart against some mad bugger’s wall. I guess it’s time to Climb Up the Wall. It’s time to be Climbing Up the Walls.

Would I were a Maggot, Sucking most Sweet Divine. Oh, Would I were a Maggot, Sucking Most Sweet Divine.

The Morning Bell--I’m glad I know you’re coming.

Release me.

Release me please.

Cut the kids in half.

---

“All alone, or in two’s
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall
Some hand-in-hand
Some gathering together in bands
The bleeding hearts and the artists
Make their stand
And when they’ve given you their all
Some stumble and fall, after all it’s not easy
Banging your heart against some mad bugger’s wall.”

--Pink Floyd, “Outside the Wall.”
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Wednesday, April 7, 2004

Radiohead- How to Disappear Completely

That there
That's not me
I go
Where I please

I walk through walls
I float down the Liffey
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

In a little while
I'll be gone
The moment's already passed
Yeah it's gone
And I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here

Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes
I'm not here
This isn't happening
I'm not here
I'm not here
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Radiohead- I Might Be Wrong

I might be wrong
I might be wrong
I could have sworn
I saw a light coming home

I used to think
I used to think
There is no future left at all
I used to think

Open up, begin again
Let's go down the waterfall
Think about the good times and
Never look back
Never look back

What would I do?
What would I do?
If I did not have you?

Open up and let me in
Let's go down the waterfall
Have ourselves a good time
It's nothing at all
It's nothing at all
Nothing at all

Don't look back
And there again
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Radiohead- Karma Police

Karma police
Arrest this man
He talks in maths
He buzzes like fridge
He's like a detuned radio

Karma police
Arrest this girl
Her Hitler hairdo
Is making me feel hell
And we have crashed the party

This is what you'll get
This is what you'll get
This is what you'll get
When you mess with us

Karma police
I've given all I can
It's not enough
I've given all I can
But we're still on the payroll

This is what you'll get
This is what you'll get
This is what you'll get
When you mess with us

For a minute there
I lost myself
I lost myself

Phew for a minute there
I lost myself
I lost myself

For a minute there
I lost myself
I lost myself

Phew for a minute there
I lost myself
I lost myself
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Subterranean Homesick Alien

Check it out.

Oh, and supposedly my parents are getting divorced now. It's a big deal but it isn't. I'm just so perfunctory lately, I'm just blowing it off like it's nothing.

My mom came in here and yelled at me to get off the net, and then she was arguing with my dad. Saying some expletive drones in her uninhibitioned intoxicated yawp. Then she came in here again and yelled at me more.

Then my dad came in here and asked me, "So who're you going to live with?"

Right. I'm supposed to give a straight answer.

I love Radiohead.

And I'm going to sleep.
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Tuesday, April 6, 2004

numbed sore

numbed sore
this is
killing me
slowly killing me

death-bringer,
he don’t wear black
death-bringer,
he don’t bring it back

this isn’t the
same old
time i knew

this isn’t
the same old
place i knew

what’s happened
hey, what’s happened?
can you tell me?
can you
tell
me?

the emptiness,
the looking in
find it--claim it
own it.
how empty a heart
is that’s full
in the world .

how empty
a heart is
in this world.

this is
killing me
slowly
killing me
i feel i will die
on my own.

don’t need this
anymore
don’t need this
anymore.

numbed sore
i’m

numbed sore
i’m

nu
mb
ed
sore

i’m
i am
i’m
i’m numbed sore

and this--this is
slowly killing me,

i am a cannibal.
i’m a

i am a cannibal
i’m a

i eat myself.
shove it in me
shove it down me
feel it in me

feasting was
feasting was so
feasting was so good
this evening

feasting is
feasting is what
feasting is what i do
each day

i’m a pig
you’re a lamb
let’s make friction.
i’ll be fiction
it’ll beggar belief
beggar belief
it’ll

it will beggar belief

oh
how
my bones

oh
how
my bones
how i
get closer
to them
i can
taste them.

the muscle’s almost gone
the brain cells’re dead.
i’m braindead
lack of brawn.
i’m still
going on.

wanna stop me?
stop me in a red light?

you better stop me in a red light.

you’re a lamb
i’m a
i am a pig
you’re a
you are a lamb
let’s make friction
let’s do what we’re meant to
do here.

i’m your slave
i’m a
i am a slave
you’re a slave
i am your slave
you are my slave

we bend each other
we eat each other

it’s still all about me
it’s still
all
about
me.

i’m a cannibal.
my own flesh tastes
to my mouth’s
rough ends
and my teeth
puncture
the
skin.

kiss the lips
say goodbye
we’ll eat our hearts
we’ll dine.

and it’s all about me
and to you it’s all about you

too bad you’re not real
fake plastic sheets
cover you whole.

you’ll get ate one day
don’t you know
you’ll get ate one day

don’t need this
anymore
don’t see it
anymore
don’t have it
anymore

I’m circling
The Flies
Buzzing
Around my
Head
And I’m
grasping,
holding,
clenching,
fighting, folding, bloating,
bending, rending, tearing.

I’m a planet
of capillaries
bones, mallow,
tendons, muscles,
I’m a planet

I’m not habitable

i’m
i’m not
i am not
i’m not
i am not habitable

the conditions are too harsh
too harsh--they’re too
harsh too
harsh.

alien you’ve come
alien you’ve come
come on, come on in.
come
come in.

let’s fill the serenity
of nothing
with the serenity
of chasms.

build them deep
till they hit
the heart
till it bursts.

the single movement
of the heart’s beat
is the single movement
of each and every one
that’s come before.
we’re no different.

we’re such whores,
my sheep--such whores.

habitat me.
we’ll grow
our own
field
of

field
of
sores.

of so
res.
of sores.
sores of
sores of
sores of
sores.

of sores.

and me
me, i’m
me i’m
me i am
i am a
cannibal

i am eating
myself
whole.

you can hear
the skin
tearing,
the bones
crunching.

this is beautiful
i am creating
a scaremonger
scaremonger scarecrow
visceral me
i am
i’m creating a scaremonger scarecrow
of me.
i’m
i am killing myself

i blame it on Them.
i blame it on
i blame it on Them.
Them Them
Them i blame it on
Them.

there is nothing anymore.
They took it away.

i am
i’m
i am i’m
numb
ed
sore

numb
ed
sore.
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Monday, April 5, 2004

All the Pretty Things Are Going to Hell

I don't feel well. Either nap, walk, shower.

I can't even do my homework. I just don't have the will.
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It's gonna be a glorius day/ I feel my luck could change.

Hey
who're--
who're you to
tell me
to tell me that i'm

Hey
who're--
who're you to
tell me
to tell me that i'm

going to do something
be something
get something
someday

who are you tell me
who do you think you are
to tell me i'll be something
someday
do something
someday

you take the imagination
from my head
you take it and bury
in the dirt
and then

then who're you
who're you--
to tell me
i'll be something
someday

you're making me
die--you're making me
choke--you're making it
hard to breathe
sometimes
i
have
to
breathe
in
heavy
just
to
get
it
back

who're you
to tell me
i'll be something
someday
who're you
to take it
away?

you're
going
to
fade

you're
going
to
fade

i'll be with my friend
i'll be with my friend

HE'S DONE MUCH MORE
FOR ME
THAN YOU

HE'S DONE MUCH MORE
FOR ME
THAN YOU

you can take
my heart
from my
chest
hold it
in your
metal
gripping prying
hand

you can mess with
my brain
put information
in there
i don't need
brainwash me

you can
puncture
my lung
i have
and force me
to use
an iron lung

i will still function
my heart will still beat
in your dead prying hand
your metal hand

my heart will still beat.
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Radiohead- Idioteque

Who's in a bunker?
Who's in a bunker?
Women and children first
And the children first
And the children
I'll laugh until my head comes off
I'll swallow till I burst
Until I burst
Until I

Who's in a bunker?
Who's in a bunker?
I have seen too much
I haven't seen enough
You haven't seen it
I'll laugh until my head comes off
Women and children first
And children first
And children

Here I'm alllowed
Everything all of the time
Here I'm allowed
Everything all of the time

Ice age coming
Ice age coming
Let me hear both sides
Let me hear both sides
Let me hear both
Ice age coming
Ice age coming
Throw it on the fire
Throw it on the fire
Throw it on the

We're not scaremongering
This is really happening
Happening
We're not scaremongering
This is really happening
Happening
Mobiles skwrking
Mobiles chirping
Take the money run
Take the money run
Take the money

Here I'm allowed
Everything all of the time
Here I'm allowed
Everything all of the time

Here I'm allowed
Everything all of the time
Here I'm allowed
Everything all of the time

The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children
The first of the children

---

Does this song ever kick my ass. Wow. It's really growing on me.
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Idioteque

Deanna Laney faces two murder counts for using stones to kill her two sons 6 y.o. Luke and 8 y.o. Joshua. Her 14 month old son Aaron was stoned but he survived a skull fracture. Police discovered that she smashed the skulls of the two sons who died.  

The woman claims that God instructed her to do this. Her lawyer, whose building an insanity case, asks: "Does she follow what she believes to be God's will or does she turn her back on her God."

The prosecutors say she knew right from wrong.  
The night she attacked her sons, Laney called 911 and said "I killed my boys." Her husband says he thought she was changing a diaper when she attacked her 14 month old. He has vision problems. Experts say she had 4 previous psychotic episodes.

---

Another reason to hate religion.

And I think how you can plead "insanity" to killing your kids and probably get away with it is sad and unfair. She should get life in jail as far as I am concerned. I don't care what you say. You know God doesn't tell he shit, and you know killing your own life and blood is wrong. If you can do it once, you can do it again. And again. And again. What is the difference--what difference is there? There is no difference.

She called 911 right after she killed her kids. That's just it. That's so "insanity" I can't believe it. Being insane is being able to know you probably did something wrong, and then calling the police, as if you're trying to act like you accept what you did. "Oh, hi, I just killed my kids--no big deal, no, not at all--I just thought you'd want to know. Oh, and God told me to do it. By His will I was able to do this. I only do what my God says. Jesus died on the cross so I could kill my kids." That's "insanity." The woman knows she did something wrong, and called the authorties, but she's in court now and using this case to plead she was "insane" while she killed her kids--that she was mentally unaware at the time.

And the irony stings like iron teeth to my knees.

"God made me do this!" That's all God's good for it seems. These days, it's always, "God made me do it!" This woman's just using God to blame for something she did. She needs to get real with herself and understand she's a murderer. There's a murderer in all of us, but this woman's is physically manifested.

God's so omniscient and omnipotent that he's used as something to lean on in any case. Hope--death--killing your kids. What's the difference anymore? Might as well blame him for how I'm tired right now too.

All this is is another reason to hate religion. People don't even use religion for what it's meant. They simply use it as their hope, their thing to lean on. They don't even believe. They act like they do but they don't.

I think God probably is the one who told this woman to kill her kids. I mean, that's just how God is, isn't it?

I honestly don't believe, if there is a God, that he's "judicious." If you ask me, God's a self-serving twit.
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