Thursday, March 25, 2004

Lucky.

The way I feel right now makes me breathless.

I guess I never knew how much I missed my walks until I started doing it this week.

I walked another two hours and then some tonight. At first there was nothing in it. But by the end I was just walking on and it was all in a haze. And I didn't want to stop.

I listened to Radiohead's "Let Down" about seven times. Then I let OK Computer keep playing. I went though "Climbing Up the Walls" "No Surprises," and basically the whole CD until I finally came to "Lucky."

Radiohead is a fucking amazing band. I want to get some of their music uploaded somewhere so I can share it with you. Those of you that haven't heard it yet at least. "Lucky" holds a very special place in me. It's just fucking amazing.

I wasn't even seeing anything by the last part of my walk. I was just listening to "Lucky" over and over again, and I was hypnotized, I was in a haze, and I kept walking and walking forward and forward, my feet moving mechanically an fast, my head swooning down and everything all hazy.

Images flew by in my head and it was all about wanting to share this feeling with someone. To grasp it and keep it and make someone else feel it. The feeling was passion but it was beyond that. It was desperation. It was a passionate desperation that made me intoxicated with its touching of me. And all my muscles felt loose and my legs ached in the best way. Walking felt a lot like sex--at least what I have expierenced of it. At least what I've done from masturbation. Sex is about using your emotions to just thrust them out and let them out in an exchanging way. What I do when I masturbate is, of course, hump my bed. I'm not sure how other people do it but that is how I do it. And doing it like that just gets you in a hazed feeling. It's just your emotions guiding you. Your mind is free and you simply push your body up and down and you grab ahold of things in a want of feeling and release and exchange and release. It is a primal feeling and when you are truly into it it is amazing.

That is what it felt like, walking. I felt only my primal instincts grabbing me, beating in me, holding me. As I was walking images popped into my head of just going up and down and of what it felt like to masturbate when it felt the best, and I realized this feeling was a lot like that. It was just my emotions I felt. Emotions that were too strong for me to understand and too amazing and powerful to fully ever have. The emotions were so potent they numbed me, they made me keep treking on as I was walking. I wasn't even walking for all I knew. I was somewhere else. It was sensual and spiritual and it had no god and it had no rules and it had nothing but the feeling, the emotions, and the way my body felt all loose, and the way I was walking, and the way it hypnotized me and made me swoon.

I could never get tired walking like that. And when I came to my house I didn't want to stop walking. I wanted to keep walking and screw everything else.

In those moments when I was walking in that haze, nothing mattered but what was happening then. I was living in the moment. Nothing could take that from me. Nothing, not a thing, not a thing at all. It all didn't matter then. It wasn't even in my mind. My mind was clear, numbed with feeling, with real feeling, feeling that is always buried up in other feelings that are brought on by monotony and annoyance and meticulum and tedium. It was all aside.

None of it mattered then but the feeling. I did not care about the future. I did not give a fuck about school. I did not care about living. I did not care about getting a job. I did not care about College. I did not care about teachers. I did not care about Geometyry. I did not care about you. I did not care about them. I did not care about me. I did not care about this. I did not care about that. I did not care about anything and everything but the feeling and how I wished I could share it with someone and how I wished that I could keep it forever and how I wished I could keep on walking forever and keep going until I could no longer walk and I fell to the ground in a deep feeling of being tired. I wanted to keep going and never stop. I was beyond anything I had ever felt or needed or cared for, and I was only feeding off the thing that continues to drive me, the thing that continues to make me live, make me breathe, make my lungs feel like they're taking in true air, make it feel like I'm putting down words in the right way, make it feel like I'm doing it all right. It is the feeling. It is the pain and the elation and the suffering and the conquering and the controlling and the holding and the emotion and in a broader general sense it is being alive, alive and not being interdicted by anything else; not being encumbered by anything else, not being weighted down by anything else.

The feeling is a penetrating one. It gets in you and it takes control and you can feel it in you. And it drives you on. It gives you detrimination, it gives you life, it gives you breath, it gives you everything in a visceral sense that you need: it gives you the crude fashion of your fleshed being. It gives you what you are beneath all the crap compounded cumulatively over the years and years. It is a feeling buried deep away and one that only comes out for the best things, for the things that really matter, for the things that really make you alive.

I feel really sensual, I feel really out of breath, I feel really sexy. I remember as I was walking I would grab my chest and it felt so good; I remember I would feel my leg through my pocket. It's a very sensual feeling. This is the feeling of something beyond passion, beyond everything. This is the feeling you would all live for. This feeling is one that is too far and thin between, one that is snuffed out too often by outside forces, wrecked and crashed by the way things make you be. This is a feeling I wish I could share with someone, anyone, that I could get to know intimately. It is an intimate feeling and it gets inside of you, you can feel it in you.

I feel the need to physically manifest this feeling. To give it off to someone else and have an equal exchange. Instead I'm left with just myself which I've become accustomed to using.

Just, download Radiohead's "Lucky." It's so fucking amazing. It is so fucking amazing. It is amazing because it means so much more than just what it is to me. It's one of those songs that has always gotten me feeling paranormal and outside my own skin, as if I'm floating around and I am feeling the most powerful, impeding emotions that seem like they could never die but do.

Passionate desperation is such a great, great feeling. I guess that is what I would call this if I had to name it.

If I could, I would just stay like this for as long as I could and savor it. I am savoring it but I know that I need to sleep in about an hour and that in the morning it will be gone, just like a subsiding leeching thing that has ungrasped itself from you and left you back to what you have to feel everyday. When this feeling leaves, it's back to the veritable feeling of mechanical reality. That feeling that there is nothing amazing. That everything is based on the laws and the ways of things. That you're to go from this place to this place and do this and do this and learn this and learn this all the day instead of doing what you really want to.

I think what you don't know, what you don't understand, what you can't see, is the most beautiful fucking thing you can ever have. When I learn how animals reproduce in Biology, I find it isn't something amazing like I thought it would be. When I learn that all my body is is a teeming mass of cells fundamentally working together to make me tick and make me function, it is not as good as what I could create with my imagination. When I learn that language is supposed to only be used for education, and that I can't write exactly the way that I want the way I want it when I'm going to be publishing it, or am writing an essay, I find that it just makes me so fucking cut in half and feeling like I'm a dead rock mass floating in the dead void sky with its black holes and its twinkling dead stars telling you there's something more to it but there isn't. I want things to be amazing. I want them to be something that's fucking from the normal shit existence that is this world. I want to be able to feel this feeling that things aren't so mechanical as they are and aren't what we label as "reality."

This is why I write. I write to create my own reality. One that's so fucking better than the one that's here. One that I'd rather spend my time at. That is a reality that has its pain, yes, and it has its anguish, yes, and it has its deaths, yes, and it has every single human brim of emotion: but it is so much more. It is what we call "reality" and so much more. It may be from dreamer that these things are created, but with it I am able to express what I am inside. What I am once you get inside me and feel me and can touch and grasp me and actually feel into me.

That is where the images come from. The images come from another world that lives in me head. That literally exists because I need it to get away from this so-called "reality" of ours. In it, there's maggots turning into flies, there's lips kissing one another and there's a cigar smoking sky, and there's a man named Sylivan Taylor who killed his father and put a dollar bill in his head when he did it, and there's a boy who grew up and was mentally disabled and watched his mother die in front of his eyes, and in it there's suffering and tragedy and pain, and there's acceptance and adaptance and happiness and loving and every single little tiny human notion and thing that I can possibly feel and have known.

The world I create in my head is so fucking much more beautiful than anything thing in this shit world. It is greater and nothing, not a goddamned thing, can steal it from me. Reality can make it fade from me, it can try to rip it, pry it, rape it from my hands, but it will not win. It will never win as long as I can feel like I feel right now. It will never ever win and I won't let it. I won't let it. It'll have to pry my world that I have from my cold dead hands. It'll have to kill me before it can take it.

My Latin teacher says language is a form of communication. I wrote my sentence on the board, the one that said, "The crash turns to the cold boy; the boy is the sky and is nothing as no one." She asked me what it meant. I told her it meant nothing. That it was just me using language.

She then told me that language is abot communication. That it's about saying something so you and someone else can understand it.

I wanted to tell her it's so much fucking more than that to me. I wanted to tell her that words are creation for me, they are release, they are grasping, they are understanding, they are escape, they are everything and all I've ever found that makes me feel something. I wanted to tell her that language is expression to me. That it is exprssion and that sometimes I feel very lost and I feel very alone and I feel I need to write something jumbled down that will make sense out of things. I wanted to tell her that that sentence probably did mean something, but it was for you as a person to find out. I wanted to tell her that without language and how I can use it and how I can listen to it in music, without that I would be nothing. I wouldn't have any power over anything. I'd be a regular person just as stupid as anything else upholding the status quo. I wanted to make her understand that I don't give a fuck about rules of grammar or parts of speech or anything and everything that makes language mechanical.

I wanted to tell her that I've already mastered the communication side of language a long time ago. That English is like fucking breathing for me. It's like putting something in me that feels me up. I wanted to tell her that I don't even think when I put something down, when I put something down to make a point clear or say something. I wanted to tell her that. I wanted to tell her that langauge had long ago gone so much fucking bigger than just communication.

English is my native language. I learned it since I was very, very young. I started reading since I was very, very young. I started building and building and building on it since I was very, very young. I know it down by heart, I know how to use it, and I use it without even thinking a single bit. I don't even see the words as I'm writing them down. I write them one word at a time and I let them come out and I let them breathe and they feel so alive, so very alive and they aren't even words when I use them. They are just pouring and pouring out of me. I don't even have to think to spell most of them. They come freely. It's intuition.

I don't care what anyone says. I don't care what you brainwashed college students have been taught as to the formal and proper ways with language. I don't give a fuck. Language is so much more to me than that. Language isn't some mechanical thing that I can always control and own and have and know. It is something much much much much more than that. I don't see a verb when I write it down. I don't see a direct object when I write it down. I don't see a past participle when I write it down. I don't see an incorrect use of a word when I write it down. I don't see a word that doesn't even exist when I write it down.

I simply see me pouring my heart into something like a fucking madman. I see it and it makes me alive. And when it gets down to being able to know how it works and why it works and what makes it work, that ruins and and that makes it not so special.

It is like that for almost everything else. else.

I am still breathless. My hands tingle. My face tingles. It's so numbing and beautiful.

I think I'll sit here a while and feel this and then I'll sleep.

I love you. I love everything. I love it all. I love I love I love.

There are no flowers on your grave,
there are no chains,
there I keep chanting for the the forgotten names.

You won't make the chains on me. You won't put the flowers on my grave. You won't make me shut up and quit chanting about the forgotten names: about the Poes and Reznors and Democrituses and JFKs, and Bob Dylan's and Ernest Hemingway's and H. P. Lovecrafts and any and all other names and people that didn't just label something in a mechanical way. In a stupid fucking logical way.

For those people, and for you who read this, you deserve to be remember over any fucking other people.

You people are fucking geniuses. You are fucking geniuses and don't let any of those stupid bastards take it.

Wow, my hands are so tingling. I am so breathless. My heart is beating so fast. My face, it feels so amazing. I feel like it's hard to get oxygen. Amazing. It is amazing. Wow.
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