Tuesday, March 16, 2004

The Pavements They Are a Mess

The recurrent theme continues to play,
organs beat, the dancer in dismay.
Instruments to the bone.

"It is going to happen," says my father
as I walk upstairs.
Were those tears upon those eyes?
I felt his voice faulter, fall and sigh.
Heave.
And on it plays.
On it plays.

When I was a child,
a child of three years of age,
my parents divorced, gave their say.

My father's name was Tom Smith,
my last name is Smith to this day.
Tom Smith's middle name was Grant,
and my middle name is still that today.
He is my true father, the one whose blood is in me.
But I do not know him.
I never knew him.
Not even today.

A music box, open, it plays,
a dancer on the top spinning,
nice legs.
A face that stays the same
and gears that creak names.

The tune, proverbial,
she spins.
She is in a closet,
locked in.

And the recurrent time passes by,
the dust gathers on her thighs,
her eyes,
her lovely spinning form.
She was young once,
now full of scorn.

A hand reaches toward the closet,
opens it up wide.
Down falls the music box,
her inside.

The hand picks it up
plays it and listens.
The tune is slow,
subdued and whines.

In the garbage it goes.
Goodbye.

My real father used to call me,
ask me how my school was going.
A ten-year-old I would tell him fine,
then he'd ask me if I'd like to get my blood tested,
see if I was really his son.
I didn't know then.
Should've known, but now I know what's been done.

He didn't even see me as his son.

Never seen that man, not for a long time.
And he stopped paying my child support,
and he owes us money.

My dad just stepped in here,
there he was crying in his eyes,
he said whatever happens he always loves me.
Whatever happens.
Whatever happens he loves me.

He said it's not him causing this to go where it goes,
it's my mother who's doing it.

I shall not blame the ones I love.
Shall not chain the heart.
Shall not eat the raw tart.

She is the one from what I see
who has broughten things to where they are.
But this is not my battle,
I do not need any scars.

What will be will be
no matter where you are.
And I will take them as they go far.

I do not know what to feel,
I do not know what to do.
Let things go the way they go?
I do not know.

My step father is more a father than any will be,
and my real father he is nothing.
He abandoned me, as a child, long ago.
Never came to see me grow.

He's black as a crow.

Of my mother there is much to say,
she smokes a cigarette each day,
she is depressed and on quite a many pills
which she too takes each day.

She does not love my step father anymore.
How that must be a sore.

How I saw, as I was upstairs a bit ago,
saw him standing there so cold and lone.
And she just would laugh, and give dirty looks.

It's just too much to go over,
too much to say.

I feel fine right now,
feel fine as I could be.

The recurrent theme, the music to my ears.
How it blears.






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Do Not Cross 2

I thought I heard the roses lie
When came you beside
and brushed the thorn's thigh
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And the Worms Digged into His Brain.

What is your name?:	Mitchell Grant Smith
Are you named after anyone?:	I believe I am named after a Mitchell my mom knew in High School whom she had a crush on.
What's your screename?:	Lotus of the Onus, machineofbones, dilapoid, MitchTheWriter, sirmeh, Gurthang16, thanatoscry.
Would you name a child of yours after you?:	Hell no.
If you were born a member of the opposite sex what would your name be?:	Clarice Starling.
If you could switch names with a friend who would it be?:	Bob.
Are there any mispronounciations/typos that ppl do w/ your name constantly?:	They always call me Bitch. I can't figure out why.
Would you drop your last name if you became famous?:	No. MG Smith or Mitchell Grant Smith would be my name.
Basics
Your gender::	Neuter.
Straight/Gay/Bi::	Straight as a perpendicular line.
Single?:	Yes, I am.
If not, do you want to be?:	It doesn't matter.
Birthdate::	October 12th, 1986.
Your age::	Seventeen.
Age you act::	Negative five billion seven hundred million eight hundred and fifty-five.
Age you wish you were::	Zero.
Your height::	About 5'8", give or take.
Eye color::	Green like a tree's leaves.
Happy with it?:	Yeah. You have something against my eyes?
Hair color::	Brown.
Happy with it?:	Sure. I like black hair.
Lefty/righty/ambidextrous::	Left.
Your living arrangement::	Parents.
Your family::	Losers.
Have any pets?:	Yes.
Whats your job?:	Official bum.
Piercings?:	No.
Tattoos?:	No.
Obsessions?:	You.
Addictions?:	Chemistry homework.
Do you speak another language?:	Yes. I speak sex.
Have a favorite quote?:	"Cloudy water/ Endlessly deep/ For someone to keep/ Only underneath/ That cloudy water/ Will You Sleep."
Do you have a webpage?:	www.mitchisapseudomasochisticpig.com
Deep Thoughts About Life and You in it
Do you live in the moment?:	Try to.
Do you consider yourself tolerant of others?:	Yes.
Do you have any secrets?:	Yeah. I like your mom.
Do you hate yourself?:	Yeah.
Do you like your handwriting?:	No.
Do you have any bad habits?:	I like to chew my fingernails.
What is the compliment you get from most people?:	Smart.
If a movie was made about your life, what would it be called?:	Bitch.
What's your biggest fear?:	Fear.
Can you sing?:	Yes.
Do you ever pretend to be someone else just to look cool?:	Sure.
Are you a loner?:	Hell yeah.
What are your #1 priorities in life?:	Be a loser.
If you were another person, would you be friends with you?:	No.
Are you a daredevil?:	No.
Is there anything you fear or hate about yourself?:	Maybe. But I can't remember.
Are you passive or agressive?:	Passive.
Do you have a journal?:	Yes.
What is your greatest strength and weakness?:	Greatest strength= being a loser. Weakness= emotions.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?:	I would like change my like face so like my lips were like more full and like my eyes I would like move them closer together and like I would get like different like hair.
Do you think you are emotionally strong?:	Not really.
Is there anything you regret doing/not doing in life?:	I regret growing up.
Do you think life has been good so far?:	Yeah.
What is the most important lesson you've learned from life?:	That it sucks.
What do you like the most about your body?:	My buttocks.
And least?:	My torso. Looks girly.
Do you think you are good looking?:	Yes.
Are you confident?:	No.
What is the fictional character you are most like?:	Atticus Finch.
Are you perceived wrongly?:	Yes.
Do You...
Smoke?:	I smoke the bones of baby dolls.
Do drugs?:	Oh yeah. All the time.
Read the newspaper?:	No.
Pray?:	Never ever.
Go to church?:	Never ever.
Talk to strangers who IM you?:	Yes. I give them candy.
Sleep with stuffed animals?:	No.
Take walks in the rain?:	Sometimes.
Talk to people even though you hate them?:	Yes.
Drive?:	Yes.
Like to drive fast?:	Yes.
Would or Have You Ever?
Liked your voice?:	I like my voice.
Hurt yourself?:	I do that all the time. . .mentally anyway.
Been out of the country?:	No.
Eaten something that made other people sick?:	Not really.
Been in love?:	Yeah. Writing's my love.
Done drugs?:	No.
Gone skinny dipping?:	No.
Had a medical emergency?:	No.
Had surgery?:	No.
Ran away from home?:	No.
Played strip poker?:	No.
Gotten beaten up?:	No.
Beaten someone up?:	Yes.
Been picked on?:	Yes.
Been on stage?:	Yes.
Slept outdoors?:	Yes.
Thought about suicide?:	Yes.
Pulled an all nighter?:	No.
If yes, what is your record?:	No.
Gone one day without food?:	Yes.
Talked on the phone all night?:	No.
Slept together with the opposite sex w/o actually having sex?:	No, I've never slept "with" the opposite sex.
Slept all day?:	No.
Killed someone?:	Yeah. I killed the little kid in my head.
Made out with a stranger?:	No.
Had sex with a stranger?:	No.
Thought you're going crazy?:	All the time.
Kissed the same sex?:	No.
Done anything sexual with the same sex?:	Nope, nothing sexual with the opposite sex.
Been betrayed?:	Yes.
Had a dream that came true?:	No.
Broken the law?:	Yes.
Met a famous person?:	No.
Have you ever killed an animal by accident?:	No.
On purpose?:	No.
Told a secret you swore you wouldn't tell?:	No.
Stolen anything?:	No.
Been on radio/tv?:	No.
Been in a mosh-pit?:	No.
Had a nervous breakdown?:	All the time.
Bungee jumped?:	No.
Had a dream that kept coming back?:	No.
Beliefs
Belive in life on other planets?:	Yes.
Miracles?:	No.
Astrology?:	No.
Magic?:	No.
God?:	No.
Satan?:	No.
Santa?:	No.
Ghosts?:	No.
Luck?:	No.
Love at first sight?:	No.
Yin and yang (that good cant exist w/o bad)?:	No.
Witches?:	No.
Easter bunny?:	No.
Believe its possible to remain faithful forever?:	No.
Believe theres a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?:	No.
Do you wish on stars?:	No.
Deep Theological Questions
Do you believe in the traditional view of Heaven and Hell?:	No.
Do you think God has a gender?:	I don't care.
Do you believe in organized religion?:	Not at all.
Where do you think we go when we die?:	I don't care.
Friends
Do you have any gay/lesbian friends?:	Yes.
Who is your best friend?:	Myself.
Who's the one person that knows most about you?:	Me.
What's the best advice that anyone has ever given to you?:	Nothing.
Your favourite inside joke?:	No.
Thing you're picked on most about?:	No.
Who's your longest known friend?:	Me.
Newest?:	Me.
Shyest?:	Me.
Funniest?:	Me.
Sweetest?:	Me.
Closest?:	Me.
Weirdest?:	Me.
Smartest?:	Me.
Ditziest?:	Me.
Friends you miss being close to the most?:	Me.
Last person you talked to online?:	Me.
Who do you talk to most online?:	Me.
Who are you on the phone with most?:	Me.
Who do you trust most?:	Me.
Who listens to your problems?:	Me.
Who do you fight most with?:	Me.
Who's the nicest?:	Me.
Who's the most outgoing?:	Me.
Who's the best singer?:	Me.
Who's on your shit-list?:	Me.
Have you ever thought of having sex with a friend?:	No.
Who's your second family?:	Me.
Do you always feel understood?:	No.
Who's the loudest friend?:	Me.
Do you trust others easily?:	No.
Who's house were you last at?:	Mine.
Name one person who's arms you feel safe in::	Mine.
Do your friends know you?:	No.
Friend that lives farthest away::	Me.
Love and All That
Do you consider love a mistake?:	No.
What do you find romantic?:	Romance.
Turn-on?:	Too many things to name.
Turn-off?:	Too many things to name
First kiss?:	I kissed myself when I was about 14 and masturbated the first time.
If someone u had no interest in had interest in dating u how would u feel?:	If someone i knew had interesting in u i would feel u were a assman.
Do you prefer knowing someone before dating them or going:	Whatever.
Have u ever wished it was more socially acceptable 4 a girl 2 ask a guy out:	I wanted 2 eat ur mom.
Have you ever been romantically attracted to someone physically unattractiv:	Yeah, of course.
Do you think the opposite sex finds you good looking?:	I suppose. I would not know.
What is best about the opposite sex?:	They are sexy.
What is the worst thing about the opposite sex?:	They are opposite.
What's the last present someone gave you?:	A brain.
Are you in love?:	Yes.
Do you consider your significant other hot?:	He's very hot.
Who Was the Last Person...
That haunted you?:	Your mom.
You wanted to kill?:	Martha Stewart.
That you laughed at?:	Chickenman.
That laughed at you?:	Me.
That turned you on?:	Me.
You went shopping with?:	Me.
That broke your heart?:	Me.
To disappoint you?:	Me.
To ask you out?:	Me.
To make you cry?:	Me.
To brighten up your day?:	Me.
That you thought about?:	Me.
You saw a movie with?:	Me.
You talked to on the phone?:	Yes.
You talked to through IM/ICQ?:	No.
You saw?:	Maybe.
You lost?:	I guess.
Right This Moment...
Are you going out?:	Yeah. I'm going out with Barney the Dinosaur. What a sesxy man.
Will it be with your significant other?:	Bob.
Or some random person?:	Pools.
What are you wearing right now?:	Pink Floyd T-shitr.
Body part you're touching right now::	Your breasts.
What are you worried about right now?:	Doing this chemistry homework.
What book are you reading?:	Your mom. She's a good book.
What's on your mousepad?:	Your mom. She's a good mouse pad.
Use 5 words to describe how you're feeling::	Numbly bitten finger nails.
Are you bored?:	I like boards. They are made of wood.
Are you tired?:	Yeah.
Are you talking to anyone online?:	No. I don't feel like it.
Are you talking to anyone on the phone?:	No.
Are you lonely or content?:	Lonely.
Are you listening to music?:	Yes.

Really Long Survey (over 200) brought to you by BZOINK!
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Monday, March 15, 2004

Do Not Cross.


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And the Whores Like a Choir

Pink Floyd-Eclipse
(Waters) 2:04

All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel.
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save.
All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy,
beg, borrow or steal.
All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say.
All that you eat
And everyone you meet
All that you slight
And everyone you fight.
All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
and everything under the sun is in tune
but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

"There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it's all dark."

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Everything in Its Right Place

Today for lunch was eggrolls. I just didn't feel like eating eggrolls so I saw what they had in a la carte. Cheeseburgers, fries. I didn't want that, either.

It's like this for lunch each week. They seem to always start Monday off with eggrolls in hot lunch; the things in a la carte vary though.

I feel a sense of tired sadness at the moment. I guess it carried over from last night. Who knows. I just feel sort of solemn.

At this point I am sick of OB and finding the internet to be boring. Yet I still come here for whatever reason. I was talking to Tony about this on a small level yesterday (since he's busy on his computer whenever he's on). He says OB is boring too.

I don't mean to say OB is lame in some demeaning sense. I just mean to say that lately it hasn't been anything at all to me. I find myself more and more going through the threads in Otaku Lounge and finding myself just not wanting to say my opinion at all. I mean, why even say my opinions when others have their own ways with things? Why not just sit here and keep myself to myself, and let the others be to themselves, too?

I said I don't see the point of debates anymore. . .now it's gone to I don't see the point of posting on OB anymore mostly. Period.

I'm sure many of you have noticed that I rarely have been posting there. I'm not sure, but I of course know that I have not been posting there. And it's for the reason mentioned above: I just do not see the point.

I think OB's time in my life cycle is about over. Every time I step into Otaku Lounge, and look at the threads, I look at each thread and think, I've already seen a thread somewhere like this one before, so why even post in there? I mean, my opinion doesn't matter to anyone but myself and maybe a few others. And you know what, I think this voice is right.

The only reason I say my opinions in here, or I post in here, is because this is my place--this is where I come to write things down and try to sort through this mess I have in my life at the moment. I try to sort it out by writing something down, or getting my feelings down. But it isn't helping. What I need to do is take action, real action. Such as: go out and get a job already. Such as: figure out what I want to do when I go to college. Such as: plan for my future. Such as: just quit complaining about things and instead do the things I am moaning about. Such as: try harder at things, try to understand things I'm being taught in school more, so I can make it easier.

So this is my place I come to. Maybe you've gotten to know me by coming here, maybe you haven't. The truth is I don't know myself. And thereby, I cannot show you who I am, since I do not know who I am. And I don't think I want to find my identity as it is. I want it to find me.

OB v7 isn't what's changed my views on OB. I've been thinking this for a while. OB isn't much different than it was way back in v6 when I first joined over a year ago. It's the same in a lot of ways. The only difference with v7 and v6 is that v7 is an entire revamp of OB; it gives OB more makeup to wear, and more is being added as we go along. Makeup in the form of extra features (which, honestly, I haven't even used; I'm too set on my stubborn tenacity of the way things were v6), makeup in the form of new graphics and new skins, and a new setup.

I'm sure most of, some of, you don't know what I'm talking about with losing interest in OB. But I'm sure many of you do. Whatever the case, one day I think you'll feel this way too.

It gets to the point on OB where you just don't care. You've seen every thread you can possibly imagine in the threads you visit, the forum you visit. And the forum where I visit most often was, used to be, Otaku Lounge.

I'm sure some of you will remember I was once a mod there. Yes, those were the good old days.

I'm not even a mod anylonger; I've gladly gotten rid of it, and now Lady Asphyxia is the mod of the Poetry/ Fan Fiction forum, where I once modded.

But, I was glad to be there for OB while I could.

About the only thing that matters to me about OB anymore is the people I've met. And even then, I'm getting sick of the limiting aspects of Instant Messaging, as well as getting sick of missing some of those members who get their internet taken away (Ahem, Erin).

I just find the internet boring. The main reason I like the internet is it passes time. It allows me to sit there and do nothing and act like I have a reason for doing that.

I wonder why I even say anything anymore. I end up thinking I sound like an idiot. From posting to Mimmi's My O, to the inane things I've done in the past with Alex. Although it was both of us, Alex and I, doing that, I'd say I was always the driving force behind it. Most of the time I looked upon it as a joke.

I look upon a lot of things as a joke, though. I'm just not a serious guy. I'm more laid back and quiet than anything usually, at least in reality. The internet allows you to be different though.

I thought I had something more to say. I can't remember what I was going to say though.

I'd just like to say that I have been in much better moods lately. I believe I've finally conquered the essence of me that is the "dark" or "depressed side." Otherwise known as "angsty side." But I still have it, and it's in me right now.

Lately, I've been pretty lonely. Although I'd rather stay off the track of this, I guess I might as well mention it. I am an honest man, and in this place it's mostly me talking to myself. And if I can't be honest with myself, I think there's something quite wrong.

Often, I feel the need to just cuddle with someone or something. Since there is no one to do this with, I end up just lying in my bed, alone of course. But it works out fine.

I've been taught since I was young that it's all about you. You need to learn to sustain yourself and entertain yourself. You need to understand yourself. You need to keep to yourself, be polite, and be respectable to others. You need all you need in you. Self-assurance comes from you. Self-doubt comes from you. Everything is you, and you need to keep you to you, and think more about others than you if you can. That is the best thing to do.

Self-sustain. Survive by yourself. That is what I have been taught, in some essence, since I was younger. And here I am now.

I'm sick of typing in here. I should go do my Latin homework. Then it's off to Chemistry.

There is no reason to complain. There is reason to accept, though.

Austin Fay, the staff artist for our newspaper, gave me Radiohead's Kid A on a disk today. I'm listening to it right now.

I love Radiohead.
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Melancholy the dog blue and Apathy the ghost round my head and Elation the drug user in my shed

I
I give up,
That is what I say to you now.
I am through.

Melancholy the dog blue
has set up in my mind
on his cozy bed.
And what is this here he has to find?
A bone in his jaws called time.
Tick-tock pendulum mime.
The long face and he cries.
But I have never let tears
touch these eyes
for a long time.

I have forgotten their taste,
the salt grace,
the way they fall on the face.

There is no tears from these eyes,
only fears that scream inside.

And Melancholy the dog blue,
he watches with sad-puppy eyes
the tick-tock pendlum mime
of time.
The hour hand moves, the second hand ticks,
the insectile pests in his hair hop.
They lay their eggs with time's care.
And Melancholy the dog blue
scratches as tears whine.

I feel so sad feel so crushed,
want to hug something that matters much.
There isn't anything around
only me here in this town,
in my house in my room nowhere to be found.
It's too late to feel around
the lovehandles of my mind.
I feel the groping hand of time.
Endless and the crime.
I'm feeling raped, desecrated
but fine.

I'm fine, the tears don't need to cry
I can hold them, strained, and sigh.
The time keeps ticking by.

I embrace myself
and feel Melancholy the dog blue
in my head.
And I feel my skin and feel the scars
brush on over and look to the stars
in my head.

I'm thinking I'm dreaming
but the dream's dead.
And I'm wishing I could see
what I thought I said.

When something seems shot
it seems dead.
The gun's in my finger's hand
already spread.

An ulcer I fed.
With bitter eyes.
Ones that wanted to cry.

I swear I didn't shoot Elation
the dog that was high.
I think old Melancholy the dog blue
did the crime.

I want to love something
and pass the time.

And old Melancholy the dog blue,
the bone in his jaws in my head
he buries the bone called time by his bed.
He comes on over and sleeps dead.

There's tears in his eyes
large and bled.
I told him turn off the rain
but he said he isn't going to be a slave.
He said I need to change.
I'm too cold and my tears are like ice
or snow on the ground.
It all falls but doesn't have a form.
Doesn't feel wet in the womb and born.

He looked like he was in pain
old Melancholy the dog blue.
So I shot him and he was through.

I give up.
This is what I say to you now.
I am through.

II
Apathy the ghost
was haunting round my head
she was whispering it was dead.
She came to me clothed in white,
and she was like a coma, bright.

Told her she wasn't my type
but she latched onto me tight.
Told her to let go but she needed someone for the night.
Told her again she wasn't my type.
But she said she would be with me tonight.

I gave her a place in my head,
place where I buried Melancholy the dog blue.
She said she knew there was something there.
Told me she would dig it up bare.
I told her to leave old Melancholy the dog blue alone.
She said she didn't care what I said.

She dug him up dead.
The bone was still in his mouth
and his eyes were closed tight.
She fingered his eye sockets
brought open them slight.
There was still a tear rolling down them eyes.
They beckoned me to join in and cry.
I held it in.
I had told him to turn off the rain.
There were no clouds to blame.
No reason to wet the ground.
And no reason to find tears for a hound.

I told Apathy to leave him be
and I dug Melancholy the dog blue back in.
Covered it in a dirt mound big.
And on the tombstone I put all his years.
And I could still hear the tick-tock of time.
It went over me and I sighed.

Apathy the ghost tried to seize me in.
Tried to take control of me then.
I fought her hard and ended up to win.

As she left me there alone
I saw in my face I felt shown.
Apathy the ghost
round my head
found a main spot
where I felt dead.
She nestled in and since then we've been friends.

She keeps my company
when I need.
She makes me shiver
when she breathes.
She's hard to see
but I know her head's cut off
and she can't feel.
I know emotions in her are killed.

III
Elation the drug dealer
came in my shed.
Burrowed deep in my bed.
He spoke so high and was all smiles.
He offered me some dope to be fed.
I told him no drugs aren't what I need.
He strangled me
and injected the drugs in my head.

The wood all round
the sturdy shed
of my mind
whined in a rush.
Blood templed into me
and mushed.

My eyes went crazed
fell back in their sockets.
And still I could see
Melancholy the dog blue's tombstone
with flowers on it bloomed.
And Apathy the ghost
moaned her deathly whine.
She beckoned me to shove it off
and lose my mind.

Everything was a hustle-bustle
and the pleasure was so nice.
I wandered in a land I had never been.
But then the rush was over
and my eyes came back to see.

There I saw Elation the drug dealer
lying deep on his side.
He was passed out with too much of a hit.
He looked like he might die.

I went in a rage
to Melancholy the dog blue's grave
and dug it up in sadness.

The sadness hit me like a gun.
It seemed the drugs wearing off had me done in somber.
I didn't have anything else to do but have it all dug
up and find it all again.

I found old Melancholy blue's bones.
And found the bone still in his jaws.
It was still tick-tocking sobs.
The pendulum seemed to be a mob
in my head.
Time tick-tocking on.

And I dug in Melancholy's mouth
there was his tongue
hanging out like a breathing living lung.
It was wet, the dog a slob.
I wondered how the tongue was there.

I took it and it was wet.
Sadness came in and swelted like sweat.

But no tears have cried
from these eyes
for a long time.

All there was was held in cries.

IV
I give up,
That is what I say to you now.
I am through.

Melancholy the dog blue,
Apathy the ghost round my head.
And Elation the drug dealer dead.

It's too much to have said.
Too much to have to shed
like a moth in a skin.

The change has yet to truly begin.


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Welcome to Adulthood, Do You Feel Insane?

A large man a large head
brainiac, brains fed.
eat 'em raw
the meat of the smart
them that know their all.

When brains're boiling
on the stove,
simmerin bove their rocking heads
they all stand and say their grace
around the table of their feast.

they bless the beasts
whose heads are big
and brains.
they bless their god
who they knew well
from where they know
to tell.
they bless 'em all
for letting them see
the beauty and
bless 'em all
cause they can eat the brains.

On the simmering pan
the brains hop like frogs
who felt the need to move
and ran.
jumping, writhing, the brains
they feel alive.
but they're about to find
they're only to be eaten
and dined.

Over on the side
on the counter lie
the bodies of the beasts
whose brains have been took
and their heads are open eyes
dead open slides
of a projector played,
splayed.

the dead ones
have no names.
the dead ones
were children
who played.
now their brains
are eaten
to engrain
the need to go on.

dead carcass show
freak show
eating brains
the death of their childish
stupid ignorant claims.

the augmentationed growth
leaves them in chains.

and the pan,
taken,
is eaten from
and children's
brains are exchanged
for a metal crown
that is worn
and controls
their brain.

welcome to adulthood.

do you feel insane?




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Sunday, March 14, 2004

Dyer Maker

I do not feel like doing this Geometry homework at all at the moment. Lame.

I can't complain, though, because I just can't. Or maybe I can but I've come to the realization that it's also bad to complain about things because when you are as lucky as you will realize when you think about it, you will realize that you needn't complain.

Have you noticed how my sentences are longer lately? That's what happens from reading Michael Connelly. His writing style is like that, he makes big sentences with pretty much no punctuation, except for a period. It's catching on me. But I do like it.

What I am fond of doing at these times I am doing my homework is making my fingers into a gun, you know, the thumb and the finger next to it I hold out like a gun. Then I put this to my head and I move one finger like I'm pulling a trigger. And then I plop down on the ground screaming, "Geometry bad, bad, bad! Shoot me now!"

But anyway.

Someone do this Geometry for me.

I think the Muffin Man should. He's a cool dude. Or maybe George Bush would. Y'know, it is the no child left behind, Mr. Bushy Bushes of Bush.

I'm really random at the moment. I am feeling the effects of caffeine at the moment. Thank you Taco Bell. Yo quiero Taco Bell! Yo quiero puella! Yo quiero scribe!

Bah.

I think what the world needs is a swift kick in the head, thereby beheading its head and making it roll down. That would be good.
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But no more.

I have realized that writing will probably never reach some amazing peak for me, nor will it be enough to sustain me on a job-basis, as a financial-basis.

The more and more I look towards college, and the more and more I think about what it is, exactly, I'm going to do, the more I am confused as to the answer to this proliferating question.

When I was a child, I wanted to be a scientist. I wanted to be an Astrologist. I thought that the prospect of planets, and of the stars in the black sky, and of the moon, glaring, full in the sky, and of nebulae in the sky, I thought the prospect of these was so interesting. It was so interesting to think that on another world, at this moment, might live sentinent beings, intelligent beings, far more intelligent than we will ever be, far greater than we will ever be. My imagination would run wild. I would imagine what it would all be like, I would imagine how big the universe is and I wouldn't be able to put my hand on it.

But no more.

Then I wanted to be a Palentologist. I wanted to dig up dinosaurs. I was so interested in dinosaurs. I thought Tyranosaurous Rex, King of the Tyrants, was a beautiful, marvelous reptile to behold. I found it was interesting to look to the past, see what was and now what is, and see how it got here. I found it interesting to learn of the more inferior forms of us as human beings, and how we changed from one evolutionairy step to the next. I found Branchosaurouses to be interesting far beyond my imagination. How their long necks were able to reach toward trees, grasp hold of them, and obtain food. How I wished I could do that. How elegant and large they are. I found the prospect of dinosaurs so intrinsically interesting, so very for me.

But no more.

Then I wanted to be a Geneticist. I found the prospect of gene therapy to be of bondaging interest; I found the entire thought that with the ablility to manipulate genes, you could do some wonderous, interesting, mind-breaking things. I found my imagination would run wild with the thoughts of understanding these genes, of making a difference by doing my job. I thought that DNA, as it was, was the thing that made us what we are. That it makes a bitmap of us and that is what makes us, and that in each cell there is a strand, a helix, of DNA.

But no more.

I have realized that science is too full of certainty of precedures; that it is all about the scientific method, that it is all about numbers that mean nothing to me, that it is all about things I could care less for. I have realized that imagination, while it has its place in sciences, takes a long while to get fully realized when using ways of science. I have realized that I do not like science, the tried-and-true way it is ran, the procedured demur to it, the certain way it is to go. I find, rather, that I liked just learning the big picture. I did not like finding the smaller pieces of the picture and putting them together. I realized I was not destined for greatness as my parents told me. I realized that I was just like everyone else, and that I would live my life that way. I realized that I would not be a scientist.

As a child, one has nothing to worry about; and if there is something for one to worry about, it quickly passes, trivial, as parents resolve it for you. As a child, everything seems new and special, and you are told how great you are and will become. As a child, school isn't so humdrum, it is about doing projects, it is about learning things in a general know-how. As a child, everything is simple, and one has no clue how big, in actuality, the world is. As a child one has no concept of what is to become of them. They simply know they are loved, if they are, by their parents, and they simply go through their life. As a child all is childish, all is of the child, and the child does what it does.

But no more.

With augmentation, growth, comes new sight, new vision of what things are. With growth, you lose something to grow. When a plant grows, it loses water. When a child grows, it loses its imagination, it is likely; it loses its child. Its child dies and goes away. It loses that innocence. It recoils, and comes out anew through the process of growth. Roots begin wanting to set in, but there is yet no place to put these roots.

To grow. And to be bigger. To be stronger. Is it greater than being smaller, weaker, and not knowing the way things are? I would take being weaker, smaller, I would take that any day.

But no more.

But no more is such a simple phrase. It comes from the mouth to the air and is carried in sound waves and comes to the ears. It is read in the mind and the brain sends its signals here and there and gives meaning to it with what it knows. But this phrase has been the Phoenix of my life. From its ashes I come back to where I always was and always am and I find that I am, at heart, a child and will always be. I will not let it die.

But death is inevitable. I have seen plants wilt from its grasp on them, I have seen it finger them in the worst ways and cause black, dying disease. I have seen the sun, and I have read in books that it shall not last forever, that one day it shall, too, be touched by the hands of death, fingered and raped, and be gone. It will be gone: but no more. I have seen worms, after a fresh rain, outside on the cement, crawling, writhing, but most dead. I have smelled the smell of the worms, I have smelled their scent and I have found it reeked of death, of the semen of death as it has raped them, of the embryo death of death in them, always there, remote but now not.

I have seen wars, in the books I have read, and in the documentaries I have watched. I have seen the deaths of deaths of deaths, I have seen the lively die, their pallid, corporeal faces showing the inevitabilities of death, the way it grasps you.

And I have found I was afraid.

But no more.

We are taught to fear from the most earliest of earlies, we are shown to fear from the beginning's beginning. Fear the strangers on the streets, and do not let them do anything to you. Fear not locking your doors, for if one does not lock the doors, it is certain one thing will lead to another.

Fear. The palpable fear as a child is hoistered by the parent, held like an encompassing shell upon their lacerated shoulders. And one day it is handed over to the child, and that is when the child sees an echo, in the distance; an echo that is growth, that is change, that is something that cannot be stopped, that is something that is as inevitable as death, as life, as living, as dying, as going, as leaving, as being here. The child sees the reflection of what he is to become.

But no more. I see no more this reflection. I see myself amid chaos. And it is the chaos of choice, and action. Of carrying a weight and using the weight's inertia to push.

Many dreams have been murdered, and from the murders have came change. And of the dreams being reborn, I have yet to see the finger of death touch, but I feel its conveying hand reaching over, and I feel me fisting my hand into rhetorical finesse, into a fist that will not be broken upon. But not for long. And one day, but no more.

I have said that writing, a writer, is what I want to be. Looking at it in its face, I realize that is not what I can do if I am to be financially secure. I realize that I will have to either choose the venue of creative writing for my major, or I shall have to rethink, rework, and figure out what it is I am to do.

A great man, his name was John Lennon if you do not know him, said, "A working class hero is something to be." Indeed it is. Indeed it is. And in this song, many other things, many great things as to the way things are said are said. But eventually, no more.

Eventually I shall give up on adapted fighting. I shall put down my arms, my pencil, my brain, and I shall sell it away to the preposterous ambiguities of the ones who want it.

I see most of what is left of my child is imagination. There is something in me that still yearns to look upon the world in effect to its beauty. There is still part of me that looks in wonder at all there is to behold. But that side is a fool. A child is a fool, and a fool is a child at heart, a heart at a child.

I would rather be a fool. But it cannot be stopped, what has begun. The world seeks to make us all not fools, and to make us learned in its ways on us.

Writing is the child in me saying he is going to survive. I will keep doing it. If I could, I would escape from this vapid reality, and I would do what I feel I want to do. But, forced to do what this world says, I shall adapt on my ways.

I am in love with writing. But the love shall die like water evaporates from a puddle, leaving nothing but ground behind. I am in love with writing, but it shall die like childs die.

What will I do with my life? They say life is in your control, that one can steer it on any course. And they are wrong.

If I could steer my life, I would grasp this wheel and I would stop it, and I would settle down and do what I want to do. But soon, no more. Soon I shall quiet into the way of the world.

I accept what things are. But I do not agree with them.

I think I was alive once, that I was actually breathing. That into my lungs there went air, free air, and that my heart beat to my own. I think that I was alive once, I was seeing with my own eyes, and seeing things like they are. But I think that I have died. I have been suffocated by the way time wrangles you. I think I am at a half-life, and at a momentary lapse of reason.

I believe I was once a maggot. That I sucked the dead tissues. I sucked from the things that were dying, and they sustained me because they wanted to see me go on and continue the status quo, the way things are, how things go. And I sucked too much blood, I was too nauseous of my eating. And I changed, I changed into a fly. A fly.

If I am a fly, and I am growing each and every day, and I am alive, then why does it appear that I cannot see, that I cannot fly, for that matter? It is common knowledge that a fly can fly with his wings. But my wings, they cannot fly. I cannot fly.

I was once alive. I was once a maggot. I was once a child. I was once stupid. I was once ignorant. I was once innocent. I was once happy. I was once something more. I was once in bliss. I was once a leech. I was once a mosquito.

But no more. Now I am that and too much more. Too much more.

Where I will end up is where I will end up, and when I am is when I am.

I am down in a hole and I am down where I belong.

I shall dig my way out. But I do not know what I will do. I do not know what else there is on this entire earth to do other than writing. Writing is everything to me. Just writing and I is everything. Writing is my lover and we kiss. I like writing's lips, they are so full of meaning.

Suffering ceases to be suffering when there is reason to the suffer.

I suffer for you, writing. I suffer for you.

One day I may suffer for another, and we may suffer together.

When there is reason to suffering, then that is when you have incentive. And with incentive, that is everything. Without effort it all goes nowhere. It goes on a downward spiral.

I suffer to suffer and I please to please. And I fall down to fall down. And I bleed to bleed. And on my knees I am on the ground.

Where I shall be is where I am found.

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