I CONNECT WITH MY BASIC SISTER - Day

2:01AM - i either did it to myself, or did it For myself. which way do you want to look at it.

i didn't do it at all all, i maintain that's how it was and how it is. here, me, where i found me. at least according to the static dramas of maeterlinck and the Bhagavad-Gita, who abolish freedom of will, but who wants to mention those or this. i have dislocation in my temporary let's put it that way; i don't know who or what... the words mate in secret, have intercourse, exchange meanings and recipes. in the end i am left in the dark. the words go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah, they copulate across the page and i lose my head and go in a rage a la la la-laaa. ...and now, our feature presentation. it's either clarity bordering on stupidity, or stupefaction bordering on literature. i've exhausted all my potentials, i am the running colors on all lysdexic mental canvasses, painted or yet to be painted; we stubborn stains. sore at being. quietly absurd to ourselves, our talking composure goes unnoticed, and our gait suggests of inarticulate foreboding. we are accounted drips.

poem of the day

2:13AM

secretly ageless

2:21AM

it's always christmas when i see you it's always christmas when i know it's true it's snowing the wind is blowing and i am in another galaxy altogether, with quite a different pantheon and base set system, well beyond your ken. we have different opinions, different organs, different organs of opinions throughout our pastoral alien landscape of milk & honey. we have flowers, but the flowers are reknowned for being virulent spreaders of low morale. among the folk here we like things subdued; our days are only four hours, we are all grey-skinned. we read plato's republic and all your other books. they're so dumb. it's always christmas when i see you, you're missing for a night. i am in another galaxy altogether, my speech takes light years to wrap around your head, and even then it's missing you. when you read a book, it's really reading you. imagine yourself from the books' point-of-view.

2:27AM - down among the barcode compost heap.

sometimes i think now
i'm mediocre as to be food
for voyeur and i think
'all i need now is a reputation,
from a popular representative,
a good PR agent, an editor and from there
i'm a name, i'm quotable, a commodity
good as corpsed.'

2:51AM

oh, i've begun thinking about how suicide daily again
the problem is i keep sampling my exit cache
and biding time, i don't know why, oh
i want to meet and sleep with you. why can't it
be simple, why can't i have some kind of
idiot happy earthy pleasure.

2:57AM - you stood up for your persecution???

danny j preaches it like it is
the true gospel singer
has a black lung and gaps
in his teeth

3:01AM

don't worry, usually i can hold my liquor better than the bottle. that's a good sign, isn't it?

3:49AM - one of the best smashing pumpkins outtakes.

if i knew where i was going i would already be there

(ah, that voluptuous dark brooding guitar.)

5:12AM - extract from the surrealist manifesto, 1924

...Knut Hamsum ascribes this sort of revelation to which I had been subjected as deriving from hunger, and he may not be wrong. (The fact is I did not eat every day during that period of my life). Most certainly the manifestations that he describes in these terms are clearly the same:

      "The following day I awoke at an early hour. It was still dark. My eyes had been open for a long time when I heard the clock in the apartment above strike five. I wanted to go back to sleep, but I couldn't; I was wide awake and a thousand thoughts were crowding through my mind.

"Suddenly a few good fragments came to mind, quite suitable to be used in a rough draft, or serialized; all of a sudden I found, quite by chance, beautiful phrases, phrases such as I had never written. I repeated them to myself slowly, word by word; they were excellent. And there were still more coming. I got up and picked up a pencil and some paper that were on a table behind my bed. It was as though some vein had burst within me, one word followed another, found its proper place, adapted itself to the situation, scene piled upon scene, the action unfolded, one retort after another welled up in my mind, I was enjoying myself immensely. Thoughts came to me so rapidly and continued to flow so abundantly that I lost a whole host of delicate details, because my pencil could not keep up with them, and yet I went as fast as I could, my hand in constant motion, I did not lose a minute. The sentences continued to well up within me, I was pregnant with my subject."

5:18AM

if you only knew how many lost hours i spend compulsively scrolling up and down this page, struggling in vain to find some identity in my overwrought and cryptic, nervous consorts with surrounder reality. born again impatience the apocalyptic fact of the matter. but i can't derive myself, my spirit, or my daily essence from these texts, no matter what, you can't know me through these bloodless metaphors, shoddy circumlocutions of the self-effacing. everything about me is too corrosive to be repeated, let alone voluntarily recorded and recalled. everything about me... is like a joke about nothing, and everything, that is so funny everyone has a different version and can't remember how to tell it right. that's defeat, that's the specter of divinity, the displaced awe of nature, our petty hand-me-down mythologies. okay, so i am the universal punchline to every conceivable jest, but a joke which always hovers between being discursive and nondiscursive, the sudden laugh: a rude awakening. sometimes i fold into the spectacle, and then it's up to you to shock me to my senses -- bring me out. in the meantime you can gawk and laugh; embody me, objectify me, echo me, reduce me to the writing on the wall. but never ever give directions, just pointers.

2:02PM

wake up in the sun. then realize... painfully, remember--lackluster spare me, repeat, interminable. dream languish, then stress, these are helps. get up and summon up a palmful of my Existenz rebate, confusion pills. disorientation seems to spur a recrudescence of my crudest faculties; schizotypal free association & a kind of maundering thought, that was before a maundering in thought, cosmic and pointless, abstract to the point of being nonexistent, and more than that, an oneiric ruminative spiritual dyspepsia, and before that, a focal unintelligible anti-maxim of the muscles... the racket of being alive simply. call my name and i won't answer, call my bluff and i'll cough it up. i stagger to the fridge and crack open another vodka energy drink, spiked with a judicious amount of bourbon. stare in front of the mirror while smoking a spearmint cigarillo, half last night's joint shoved in the end. review my coordinates: two arms and two legs, yes, all bad, no head, it's blown away--like a tumbleweed. down dusty memory lane. and got lust somewhere. i'm sure of it. no lust in me in any case, you have no case in any case. the world is everything that is the case. the world is composed of facts not things. the facts pictured in logical space are the world. well what in case my 3rd eye sinned, so i plucked it from me, as the Sermon on the Mount said i should? then what do i see? by what means do i adduce you from the hallucination of stereoscopic vision. even nietzsche pointed out, i am afraid we are not rid of god because we still have faith in grammar.

on this regime i don't have to eat, or at least my metabolism is so plodding i never really feel hungry. i've taken the sledgehammer to every monument i've erected out of sorrow and decay, or sheer negligence, criminal incompetence, the cheerful automatism child blindness, obscene chastity. and self-indulgence. but i've been disillusioned to the point of total blindness. i cannot even picture myself in the situation i'm in, let alone as a bare premise. there is no humanity left in me, so there can be no humanity left in my work. "if you meet me on the road and refuse to kill me, you walk away a murderer."

2:15PM

the secret of the human race
is that erections don't
discriminate

2:25PM - silver bullets & moonshine.

i can feel more forebrain
shrink with every drink and
i'm not sure i like it
there's only one surefire cure for chronic alcoholism
shoot him in his right mind.

3:35PM

eternal damnation is the eternal damnation that it doesn't exist.