Recipes for Concrete: Building Bridges Out of Bread and Oatmeal

Ape 24

2009-04-24T09:31:00.001-07:00

I was raised in a democratic state

With an ounce of tomatoes on my plate

Tomato, tomahto

Dorito, Dorado

A league of a log allotted fate

Yea's chicken

2008-12-22T14:20:00.000-08:00

Yea, the great midwest-midwife widow-maker was a window breaker.
Where minutemen went to meddle over meadow land, the wet metal window met the widow-makers hand,
Shattering some by where the men scattered seed
"At once the winnobego," 'says referring to the chicken.
-"well wyendette cute"

"Nah, why-andotte, Theser Buff Columbian, blue, barred, buff, white, buff laced."

"ah well..." widow maker window breaker put his finger on his teeth.
"How much to get him in here?"

"Well, the wyandotte'sr a process like all chickens to prepare."

"ah well...Fairs fair at the fair."

"So yell takem?"

"Yea will."

TV or not TV, that is the question

2008-12-11T22:44:00.001-08:00

Data-day
mine eyes've seen
thug-glory,
of unrequited love.

The human soul is endangered.
education is standardized, in edited dead id.

Board Game

2008-08-22T08:07:00.001-07:00

Aug. 22-

"What can we do, us flesh and blood, but act as if we're made of steel?"
To become metal and robot parts?
It is what is expected of us- to forget our personal preferences, to cope with the qualms of American culture that we despise, to put down our dreams and pick up W-2's, to get jobs; to get jobs that we are not equipped for: to get pointless jobs, to get unethical jobs, to do menial labor for corporate monopolicia-megalomania-opoly, poli, poli.

"Work is work!" say the baby boomers, "give back to society!"
I am encumbered by the false image of myself, the "bum" me I am tried by the public as, the "bum" me I am tried by my family as, the "bum" me that I begin to believe exists- the antithesis of posterboy, the antithesis of $uccess, the antithesis of machismo politico,

( stubborn in the refusal of norm-values, lost in ambiguity; the seminal years of my own megalomania)

The refusal of the rat race! the anti-image of U $ wArmerikkka!:
It's a board game. There is one direction, one set of rules, one prize.
Deviation means failure, dissent means you're a bum.

(I am an proselytized, disarmed, and creedless to an imaginary radical movement.)

Johnny Appleseed, Eddy Cootcha Catcha Kamma, Bonny, Clyde, Hazel Rah, Fiver,

2008-08-18T09:08:00.000-07:00

Standing on a chair, with his left hand in the air,
Johnny-Johnny Appleseed, who-what-why-when-where?
Eeking out the cracks, wafting from the bell
smoky trumpet burning from the 3 day stay in hell.

Kissed a gypsy princess,
Made it up the stairs,
but Eddy Cootcha Catcha Kamma fell into the well-

So Johnny made a dive
And found old Ed alive,
made the climb again. Bonny, Johnny, Clyde

Homeward bound to town,
made it to the Down,
but Hazel Rah and Fiver
were no where to be found-

Thwarted by the fuzz
Crutchie on a rug,
lowered through the ceiling, to touch the prophet's mug-

Cuffed outside the door,
for sitting on the floor
Bonny, Johnny, Clyde, and Crutchie,
Hazel, Fiver, Christ and Dutchie,
Huff and puff and bust the cuffs,
fistacuffs, and fits-a-lust,
busted, crusty, punks,
Drunk off the prophet's fine red wine.

statement

2008-08-18T08:53:00.000-07:00

Not pitchforks; plowshares!
Ham radio, morse code, xerox copies.

Subliminal messages; patience, temperance, balance, grace.

Consciousness,
Unconsciousness,
Consciousness,
Unconsciousness;
movement, repose.

Clock observations

2008-08-08T08:02:00.000-07:00

A clock, a circle: O:
360 degrees in a full rotation.
and
24 hrs. from 12 am to 12 am.

The long hand goes around 24 times in a day.
The short hand goes around twice.

A day is 8640 degrees for the long hand.
and 720 degrees for the short hand.

For both hands a day is 9360 degrees.

The time is 3:12.

3 arguments

2008-08-08T07:58:00.000-07:00

argument 1
"God is dead!"
-"God is alive!"

argument 2
"God is this!"
-"God is that!"

argument 3
"God is not this!"
-"God is not that!"

2008-08-02T09:55:00.001-07:00

Red Bull: mark of the beast?

2008-07-27T00:06:00.000-07:00

Red Bull at the festivals,
they hand it out for free
I wonder if this marketing is masterminded, see

You'd think by now it's big enough;
In shelves, in every store,
But they just keep on handing-out, and handing-out it more

There's something here that must be said for holding in your hand
A gift from Baal; the Red Bull god: his name on every can.

Weird GRIND

2008-07-20T23:17:00.001-07:00

Weird GRIND

Never get old

Never get sick of life’s discoveries

GRIND, GRIND,GRIND!!!!

RELAXxxxx, RELAx, RELAX…

Real-eyes, real-ise, realize

We are brotherssssss…..*snap fingers

1.*point to your heart

2.*point to your brother’s heart

3.*look at him and, repeat:

“brotherly love.”

“Peace.”

“Reconcilation.”

“Understanding.”

RESPECT.

HOPE.

TRUST. LOVE. BE YOURSELF. BE FREE, BE FREE.

Let us all believe in love again.

Could we try it for one day?

Could we set aside the differences and let each other play?

Could we stop to see the beauty, in everything we see;

And be, and be

and be and be

and be,

and be

and be…... (etc.)

Moving Out, Moving In

2008-07-20T19:56:00.000-07:00

He stood in the dark, pretending that there was someone standing next to him:
Someone standing with her hands on her waist, wearing her favorite dress, who cocked her head to the side and tapped her toe on the dog's chew toy.
Him: in search of the pull cord, Her: reaching up with the pull cord between her fingers, holding it just high enough to be out of reach of his blind groping, standing on her tip toes on the chair in the corner.

He struck the match against the matchbook, stepping further into the closet.
Someone unnoticed standing on the chair in the corner, trying hard to not make noise, who held her breath and shut tight her eyes, thinking, "I hope he doesn't take this the wrong way."
"...I hope he doesn't think I'm making a mockery of him," with the cord in her hand.
Him: reaching higher and touching the tip of the pull cord, Her: making a swift motion, lifting her hands up, that he does not touch her skin and discover her company in the dark closet;
Her: fearing that there would be hurt feelings and questions impossible to answer, and him: discovering the company of someone in the dark closet with him, a stranger.

He pulled the cord hard, expecting a confrontation, but there was no light.
He reached his hands up, but he did not touch her.
"I am imagining things."

He pulled the cord once more and the light bulb flickered yellow light into the room, as he leaned through the threshold and scooted in his stereo, pushed it against the wall, and left the closet to get one of his boxes.

From behind the shadows of the coats she held her breath.
She hid her face in his suit jacket and he did not hear her rustling.

The young woman at the bar

2008-07-20T00:14:00.001-07:00

Why should she be scorned today?
She was only stretching for the next big hurdle.

She used to think that life would all end in one big graceful, moment of letdown; in a single sweep her house of cards tumbling over,
her with her sunglasses on, submersing herself in the bathtub gin; a Bonnie tired of waiting around for her Clyde.
But it wasn't that she was tired of waiting, she was just beginning to lose hope that her Clyde was still alive-across town in similar escapades, him with his sunglasses on, neck deep in firewater.
If you'd have scorned her then, you'd at least have a concerned-sounding health related opinion to tack on her. "That's bad for you..."
And she, "mmhmm..." speaking as a hibernating motor.

But you should know for your own good and for her's, that if you scorn this girl today you underestimate the sleeping giant that you're standing on. If you scoff at her ideas, treating today like you treated yesterday,
your world will be sucked into the cracks of the earthquake of the giant's boot and you will be squashed like a bug on his sole!

2008-07-18T19:47:00.000-07:00

2008-07-18T19:45:00.000-07:00

2008-07-10T17:37:00.001-07:00

"I wonder how old Rodney is."
"I wonder how old Rodney is."

Squirtle

2008-07-07T12:37:00.000-07:00

Squirtle squirted a shifting square from his circular shell. A bubble of magic pooped out of Picachu's mouth, "Mew too!" "Yeus?" May I bless you? "Yeus, of course."
"Mew-too, do that thing with the coins!" Ash said with a fire in loins,
I'm just a boy, but I've got many monsters! (smile, peace sign, Matel commercials)

Deep dish

2008-07-07T12:13:00.000-07:00

eight note, lymph node
skip rope, Joe!
keep your hands on
home row bro!

slow-mo
dome grown
pick lock-cho-
glowworm sowed her spit fast flow

Running water, go go go!

get, go, gone! the beat-front fro
Fits the fads, but don't you know
this crescent gristled amble, rumbles
ping-pong balls to pithe:

that dish you brought, that pish-posh flaunt
now jaunt the font, you hosted hide

who boasts the horde of mooring prose
Get gone! You louse!
Out of my house!
The hours of time marose, and lime.
A coke drink croaking broke and brine.

The brooding clock, the steeping crock
Inside the smoking cyclop's pitfire pulled pork's cooking eye.

Gustaven

2008-07-06T13:39:00.000-07:00

Gustaven, a Speck of Dust, Rides the Wind and Lives Up to His Name

A south-eastern 15 mile an hour gust of wind knocked Gustaven into a garbage bin, and he rode inside a dump trunk’s lid through the tundra until the driver of the vehicle did see a trundle bed in a scrap heap over a hill on the side of the interstate. As the driver of the truck slid, parked, and threw apart the pile, Gustaven caught the wind again and took it for a mile, the driver all the while saying, “I could sure use a new trundle bed.”

Gustaven landed in a sort of pothole pool of water in a grove where respected professors were known to congregate yearly to lecture, greet one another, and drink wine from the vineyards. This was a convention of the greats. Gustaven knew the place, for he had seen it once in a brochure.

“Maybe I should try and learn some things,” he thought, and landed on the largest wine barrel he saw.

A sea of spectacles, white-hair, and bearded faces intently listened to a lecturer’s aside on fluid mechanics, taking notes in notebooks and on clipboards, sitting shoulder to shoulder and tape recording. Gustaven on-looked, content to be where he was, when a rumble was felt from the barrel underneath him. He must have caused the crack that had already started to form, to trickle down the wood somehow, he thought, when the largest wine barrel of the professors’ convention exploded all over the crowd, in a spray and a wave of dark rich red wine.

In this way Gustaven demonstrated his namesake’s irony, a true Gust-a-vin!

The professor’s dress shirts were now red, some were speckled, and some had beads of wine dripping down their faces.

The respected lecturer wiped the wine from his face and put his finger to his lips for a taste,

“Great stuff,” he said.

As roar of laughter swept the crowd, the connoisseurs among them were deeply offended, and a couple of the men got up to leave.

More shell madness

2008-06-29T21:31:00.000-07:00

"Yes, oh yes! I did bring mine!"
screamed Brian, irate, from the counter to the toll booth worker.
"And here it is!"
The toll booth worker finagled and hexed poor Brian, hissing like a snake,
"you must pay!" and at that, shot shells; tortoise and turtle shells, at Brian, from his booth.

Mud Room Rules

2008-06-25T08:50:00.000-07:00

Mud room rules: do not leave your shoes on the carpet.
A play by Nate Henricks

Dooe: "Gosh, he harangued me in the garage!
Yerxa: Who, oh... Hill? Say, what did he do?
Dooe: "Yes, Hill did. He started going off about mud room rules..."
Yerxa: Oh, the cellar rules?
Dooe: "Yes, but not all of the rooms in the cellar. Just the mud room..."
Yerxa: This is not so strange to me. Dooe, this is something I understand. This is something that has happened to me, harangued by him..., Bane Hill, I mean.

(Hill sits at his kitchen table. His apartment is dark and seedy.)

Hill:

"1999, I first notice the flux of tenants, these teenage types came from far and wide to get a crack at the safe. This safe, you know...? (Hill points toward the mud room.) Yes, this is the one...."

THE END

Impossible System

2008-06-24T14:41:00.000-07:00

"The sleep-tunnel's forward direction leads first into abstraction. The darkness behind the eyelids spawns splotches of green and red-orange afterimages. Soon flecks of off-white and lines of purple appear, transforming the blankness into amorphous shapes and rays. Our eyes dart back as we attempt to hold onto the deciphered images in the myriad afterimage shapes. We find ourselves moving and without realizing it, we are over the threshold."
-Fr WH

-

2008-06-23T07:47:00.000-07:00

Impossible System

2008-06-22T15:15:00.000-07:00

Crowd-surfing young men and women shake static from the fabrics they inhabit.
They mend the patches in the layers of cloth, and they can be seen in the illustrations of their country's demographic graphs.
There they are with scissors, needle, thread, and fabric pens! They are circling the places that need work, they are cutting them out, and they are sewing new patches of cloth in.
They appear as bumps under a quilt, moving quick like moles make hills, and like Bugs Bunny.
They make hills, and string them with Christmas lights.
Some work on schematics, some work with long rippling sheets of linen.
The thing appears as underwater slow-motion layers sandwiched together.
When the model is dissected little legs poke out kicking.
Look there's a Buddhist punk! There's a genteel pariah! There's an independent and at least another thousand!

This whole system clanks in a tank and kicks like a Tang 2 gallon jug going down the grooves of a Plinko machine.

Clear a throat!
Give a spit from the depths!
Hold up an ergonomic handle!
Smile for a picture is being taken!
You are on a magic carpet!
Park it on a sea of hands!

brother Roger dodges shell, Scott yells at him to "watch out!"

2008-06-22T14:35:00.000-07:00

A tortoise shell shot across the lot.
Toll-taker Scott got out of his booth and said, "Watch out!"
"A tortoise shell! it would break you half, Roger!
Believe it? My brother, you're tiny! A tortoise shell twice your size would bring you down!"

Roger got a call on his cellular phone.
"Hello?" asked Roger, it was his brother the digger, the toll-taker Scott.

"Did you spot the shell, friend and brother Roger?"
Roger did not, he was deaf in a way.
"A shell?"

"Yes brother, a fiend with a clipboard used magic on me.
From across where you parked he let loose the thing."

said Roger, "reminds me of Mario."

"Oh, haha," Scott laughed, "you can call me Luigi."
"But seriously brother, it came so close to you. I would warn to watch closely next time you are near, and definitely stay clear if you can, from that fiend with the clipboard."

"Right-o brother Scott."
"10-4, Roger."

Impossible System

2008-06-21T09:31:00.000-07:00

May 30, 2008

TO ALL CONCERNED WITH THE IMPOSSIBLE:

Dear Friends,

Greetings from the Threshold! Lately I have been hearing rumors of the remarkable things that have been happening to you. I write my findings to you now in reciprocity of the inspiration that your stories have brought to me and our people.

When we close our eyes to rest, behind the pitch black of the eyelids, we find our own personal tunnel to the subconscious. Every time we sleep, we travel down the hallways of an infinitely complex tunnel system that connects every being that has ever existed.

It is a truly absurd thing: this unimaginable system that connects men to ants, and every animate something to every inanimate something.

This system is impossible, but it exists as a plausible framework that can be fully operated by the imagination of the individual. Within the framework of The Impossible System, any variable connection is possible. And with that, any meaning can pair with any variable.

Anyone meets a stranger in the realms of a dream and wonders who this person might be. Any human, bird, or ox dreams of a far away place, and knows little of its attributes. But these places are! They exist somewhere, and for some sort of function, or at least for not function at all. You see, whether they function or not does not concern us. Rather, it is their mysterious being that we simply attempt to observe.

The question before us is not “how is The Impossible System?” as much as it is “How is the impossible?”

In the first stages of approaching impossible situations, any attempt to describe The Impossible is applicable and permissible; as wrong and right and correct and incorrect are simply variable signifiers of a system not yet mapped. But keep in mind that this system cannot be mapped.

I look forward to the day that we will finally meet.

Best wishes,

-Interpreter H.

PS: I have enclosed a chart and a helpful quote from my mentor, the renowned entrepreneur and Interpreter Fr. Way Hill.

“When we sleep we shut off all stimulation that exists external to our self.

When we journey through our tunnels we meet our memories and our stored experiences. We meet our idols, our myths, and our secret schemes. We meet others who dream. We meet ourselves in unknown situations or in reoccurring situations. We face perplexing mysteries.

When our tunnels connect to other’s tunnels: when we share dreams or the experience of meeting in some way, our journeys connect. Those connected in dream share something profound.

You hear a strong wind blow; and, lying in your bed, you wonder if the gust was a true gust, or a dreamed gust...”

-Interpreter Fr. WH, On Tunnels

CHAPTER ONE: Interpreter H. Dreams of Mary

As the darkness began to dissipate I attempted to call out to Mary one last time. I could see nothing but an image of my self being pulled back into wakefulness, and arriving in bed, disappointed by the inability to hold onto the most beautiful, fleeting image of a dream: the proof of a woman who could instantaneously see me, understand me, and love me at once. This is something that I long to believe in.

Her name is Mary Fleece-wood and she is a basket weaver.

As I stepped into my morning shower I heard the faint echo of Mary calling back to me from my dream. I sang a tune under the shower head:

When I’m in the country

I’m a city boy.

When I’m in the city

I’m a country boy.

When I’m on the plains

I miss the mountains.

But when I’m in the mountains

I can’t say that I miss the plains at all.

When I’m in the company of men,

I’m feminine, oh yes.

When I’m in the company of women,

I’m masculine, oh Lord.

When I’m far away from Mary

I’m in love with her.

But I’ve never been close enough to know anything else.

Lately my days revolve around cups of coffee and packs of cigarettes. I wake up, I take notes. I begin my first cycle of studies at 9 am with stretching, rest from 12 pm to 1 pm, and continue my second cycle of studies at 2 pm.. Around 5 pm I start the kettle and charge my flashlight.

Lack of sunlight has begun to take its toll on my morale, but I have just begun to see the rewards of my discipline of meditation: last night I met a man in my tunnel who I believe to be connected to the incidents that led up to the arrests of John Fleece in 1979.

I hope to meet him again this morning at exactly 2:31 am. I set my alarms now.

C'mon

2008-06-20T18:12:00.000-07:00

Muses

2008-06-20T12:25:00.000-07:00

Saw eligible nice girls along the way, all to act as muses and to perform certain magic tricks.
Enough good luck from charms of sweet smiles to assimilate and march on clutching some good memory of a sweet moment.
Two of these women make up the four hundred that one spots:
tall, aloof eskimo omens with trustworthy blind impulses and gut reactions.

One says: "I went with my gut and and I threw up all over the place."

Interpretive Piano playing

2008-06-19T14:43:00.000-07:00

Go somewhere with it.
Make the moment percussive, emphasize it.
Utilize the movement of life-
use the character,
spin it a little,
notice the rhythm in your step:
What does it say? Emphasize it.
(piano part starts with a gentle funk)
There's a stir (pause)
of rhythm...(pause)...
In the who you are (pau) and who...
you want...(pause) to be...
let the be be emphasized
rhythm-(pause)...how you talk
Yes! Its true! (pause) Its you!
(Yes) make it light in a major key
(Yes!) Throw in the seventh..dun dun
(horn hit) "Ow!" A man howls with soul
("Whoooo!!") Yesss... David Simison's on the drums (pause)...
dun dun, (Yes!) Its a song...
("Unh" Says the man- He's a beatnik dude-)
"Woo!" in a beat bar...dun dun
A barry sax now comes in- there are people...
kicking back...drinking beers...
(pause...) and there's a beautiful girl who walks in the door in a homemade dress...
(rest) You rest for a measure..
Wait for her melody- (rest)
And you just sense...
Its getting good (barry sax single note hit)
And the girl smiles at you... (pause)
Like she's never smiled before- (rest rest)- to anyone
and you just sense its getting good...(horn hit)
and David Simison screams from behind the drum set
("Sheeeuuuutttt....")

Central Park, New York City

2008-06-19T08:35:00.001-07:00

Smirks in Central Park cause skirmish between unnamed Navy Seal and Esau Lawrence; Native American North Carolina resident and activist.
Esau smiled to show certain passing kindness subtly to the unnamed Navy Seal, and he was soon to be spotted squatting in corner of park smoking and conspiring against all said Navy Seal stood for. In true New York irony, those around involved in any cause took arms against Hippee-looking stranger except for an older gentleman, a soft-spoken educated conscientious objector.
Straightaway the old man helped Esau out of the predicament and into the safe quarters of his meek apartment. Marijuana was supplied by a neighbor and the three brothers passed the pipe.
A measurable gesture of serendipity was celebrated when the likelihood of a 'better world' was suggested, and the three, in unison spoke the name Ammon Hennesy upon the conversation's impromptu question concerning ideological patriarchy.

Fishtown, Philly

2008-06-16T15:16:00.000-07:00

I wonder, "what am I doing here without Mallory and Dan?"
I answer myself, "very little."

Ridgely's Delight

2008-06-16T09:40:00.000-07:00

I wake up to a bird outside of the window whispering "Nate, nate, nate."
I say, "Yes?" thinking it's a friend standing at the top of the spiral staircase, calling my name. We awake in Mark's three story apartment. Mark is the president of the Ridgely's Delight neighborhood.
The neighborhood is just down the street from Camden Yards in downtown Baltimore. This is the neighborhood where Babe Ruth was born.
Not far from here, off of the B and O Railroad, pigs used to escape the trains and wander the streets. The locals would snatch the runaway pigs whenever the opportunity arose, "Pigtown," pig entrapment.

Last night we walked the streets and Mary told us of milk flowing between the cracks of the cobblestones. Fivel laps it up.
When we make it to Mary's apartment we discover that Fivel got into her beads, they cover the floor. I also spot a smear of peanut butter on the wall. Mary makes us tea and screwdrivers. We draw on her walls with chalk.

Andy and Gabby and Mary and everyone else from the Baltimore Chop; beautiful and kind people. We imagine together what the 60's were like, we sit on the floor in the bookstore, we speak easy about family and anything else.

Last night I dreamed of meek apes in the liminal stages of becoming human, performing in some sort of festival sideshow. In the dream, their good friends are the glass eaters; (this may be psychologically spawned by yesterday's conversations with Andy and Gabrielle, who are both glass-blowers.)

We leave now for Edgar Allen Poe's grave.

Travels

2008-06-15T12:26:00.000-07:00

In Charleston, a man on a bicycle rides up to me.
"Hey man."
We shake hands. We shoot the shit for a couple of minutes.
"You want some marijuana?" he asks.
I say, "Oh, no thanks man."
After an awkward pause,
"You want some oxycotton?"
I say, "No thanks..."
"..."
"You want some weed?"
I say, "No thanks man..."
"...."
He looks at me. There is a 30 second pause.
"Well, gotta go, take it easy man."

In Chapel Hill the smoke from the forest fires fills the streets of downtown. A man walks by and curses me, "fucking faggot." He does not like the way I am dressed.

In Winston Salem I feel young and handsome, I feel welcome.

In Fairfax Virginia I get dirty looks for waving in the neighborhoods. It gets dark and everyone shuts their blinds and talks about dirty bombs with their families.

In a cave deep in the deep depths of the internet!
Long, dark tunnels covered in moss from ceiling to floor where frogs jump and rats dodge the feet of wanderers with flashlights and headlamps.
I am doing something here, but I don't remember what it was I was doing here.

June 11

2008-06-11T15:00:00.001-07:00

To be misunderstood by the words I use, by my actions, or by my attire: to be presupposed, to be pegged, to be written on by other men: to be simplified to a name, to an action, to something undesirable or unwarranted:

To be understood,
To be encouraged,
To be free!!!!!:

Friendly people leave your houses and walk around! The world needs you! I need you!

in Asheville

2008-06-11T14:51:00.000-07:00

Made it to Asheville.
Last night in Charleston the drunk man from the crowd yelled at me:
"Hey kid- that guitar is seventeen years older than you! Why don't you grow up!"
He proceeded to tell me that he was going to take the guitar away and show me how to really play.
I smiled and was embarrassed.

I met a soul brother in Atlanta the other day.
He was a tall and lanky tattooed kind of guy with long hair and cool shades. He was walking his puppy down the street. I said, "you have a beautiful dog."
He responded, "yeah, thanks. He's a little stubborn but we get along just fine."

to Nashville

2008-06-09T20:31:00.000-07:00

My reflexes are on the fritz. Sometimes I wake up shaky. Sometimes I have trouble holding onto the guitar. Sometimes I'm too shaky to lift something heavy.
I decide I must find a more productive channel for this energy that's building up in me:

Heed it as a warning, you labelers; heed it as a threat, you refusers of beauty: I will roar
And I will knock over the busts of the gods that you've been building as a life's work, all in one gust.

I spy a solid black billboard and a Rain-Blo truck covered with the colors of every gumball of the rainbow. I see the skyline of Nashville through a fog of dust, and think, "What am I getting myself into?"
Nashville, Music Capitol Capital of the nation, I will take sneaky notes on you and further fuel the mockery of your monopolies.

June 8 Atlanta, Farsighted Woman

2008-06-09T20:26:00.000-07:00

Far-sighted woman hold me close
Tell me that you love me the most
pet me on the hair and say
"I will stick around with you."

Far-sighted woman walking a blind puppy with blue eyes. He stares at nothing and cocks his head in irregular ways. He is confused about everything and will never fully mature.
That puppy barked and she pet him on the head,
She tucked the puppy into bed.
The puppy saved her life, the puppy gave her life a new meaning.
Their friendship blossomed like a precious and delicious flower.

Mummy mommy, silver dragon dog, tiger cub

2008-06-03T11:06:00.000-07:00

June 3 2008

We will leave for Nashville tomorrow morning in Samantha's land rover.

Dreamed last night about a middle-aged man who was having trouble saying goodbye to his elderly mother as she passed. Her body was like a mummy's-gray and shriveled looking. She sat in a rocking chair placidly. I had to look away when her eyes rolled to the back of her head. It was a chilling sight. The man looked like he didn't know what to do. There was a handful of onlookers.

Later in the dream I peered from a window upon a village green and observed a large silver animal romping down a winding street. The animal was about 10 feet tall and 10 feet wide. It moved playfully and slightly disjointed like one of those giant dragon costumes that are used in Chinese parades. There was a group of about five or six children running along side the animal, and Theresa Holden followed the little procession. She saw me in the window and donned a proud smile.

Later on the green I sat in conversation with someone next to a child wrestling with his pet tiger cub.

Sleepwalkers

2008-06-02T10:23:00.000-07:00

Rats and bats and starlings, underneath the steps

Of the spiral staircase covered by the lattice fence

Holy Rolly Pollies roll around the light

Of the front porch lighting up the lawn at night

Right above the doorbell, buzzing like a blimp

A June bug sees the light and hovers in

And having heard the doorbell, you rise up from your bed

You rush to let the midnight thief come in

To you the faithful,

Who rise at night

You heed the value,

In the plight,

Try and stay healthy,

You always say,

Wake up early, start your day.

You wake up in the basement of your mother’s house

By the stirring of the moth, and the chirrup of the mouse

You never can remember how you end up there-

But it happens now and then you wake up by the basement stairs,

when you recollect what you did the night before

You say its just psychology and probably nothing more

But listen up you dreamers

Who sleep walk through the night,

Heed the secret messages in light!

Youre being called by nature,

Youre being called by fate

To awake and take the day!

To rise up and stake your claim!

You are being called by name!

You are asked to stand and say:

“The mystery is blistering my ways.”

Sun Jun One-waking up in Perryville for Sunday lunch

2008-06-01T11:48:00.000-07:00

Sun Jun Wun

Had a dream last night where I traveled with all of my family members in a van. Mom said something in the dream about being a "syphonist" upon being asked a question about religious views. Later in the dream I stood on my father's shoulders.

I also met a woman who was selling baskets in the marketplace. We shared a moment of understanding as we locked eyes and communicated with hand gestures. Thought to myself as I woke from the dream that the woman with the basket "must be a muse". I tried calling back to her after I had started to wake up, and she responded, telling me her name was Mary Fleece-wood and that I would meet her again.

Ate a delicious meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, cooked carrots, hot rolls, deviled eggs, coleslaw, tea, and strawberry shortcake at Jacob's grandparents.
Jacob's grandfather is hard of hearing and he shoots the birds that eat his cherries with a Bb gun. He told us a story today about someone he knew who made fake IDs and was caught by the FBI. Also said, "Yep...Shot my brother with a Bb gun once... Told him to go by the barn and act like a deer..."

Perryville MO May 30 2008

2008-05-29T21:59:00.000-07:00

In Perryville I realize for the first time that I have lost my bearings!
These new situations make me grow a wart on my middle finger. Tonight I observe the sound of flying beetles clumsily hovering and crashing into the things in Jacob's garage. Saw a HUGE unidentifiable insect this evening. I am severely allergic to something here, and I itch my eyes and sneeze onto my computer screen.

We stayed up late last night singing songs in the bar until the early hours of the morning.
Heard some crazy stories from some incredibly interesting people.

Samantha brought me a toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
She told me a story tonight about how she jumped down a laundry chute in a hotel. Thought to myself, "might want to try this sometime if i get the chance."

Tomorrow I will sleep in. Those of us who are the way we are need to remember that rest is a necessary part of the cycle of life.

My compass spins in circles: another night, another porch.

-----------------
Aspire to be a defiant child in a piano lesson who acts like he's looking at the music, but makes up a song instead of playing what he's supposed to have practiced.

May 27 Greenville, IL- slinkies

2008-05-27T19:01:00.000-07:00

We aspire to someday be

bebop trip-hop chilled-out men in raincoats directing landing planes with flashlights in each hand,

those who scream into echoing canyons after breathing in the smoke of man’s first fire,

young and hopeful Johnny Apple Seeds with the need for stopping to view the lake in the shade of a tree,

Drinking wine from our canteens and pulling weeds from a property that belongs to the government,

Finding flipping pizzas most fulfilling when we pretend together that we're in a cartoon doing it,

building our takes on popular needs most often met by machines,

using the change in our pockets resourcefully,

expecting soul things to happen,

Directing traffic to slow down after the sight of the piles of dead deer and foxes,

treating animals in reverence and expecting mystical answers from them when they come to our windows with character

embracing man's and woman's need to rest

embracing man's and woman's need for song

embracing man's and woman's need for man and woman

blowing bubbles to get each other's attention from across the room,

cutting the strings and wires.

Greenville in true form this evening. I note the color of the trees and the cold, humid temperature. I observe friends gathering, I observe through a lens of the late sixties.
Josh and Karl use strike anywhere matches to light their rollies. Rachel and Anna prepare hotdogs and baked beans in the kitchen as it drizzles outside.

How great, the hospitality of friends who let you crash at their place and offer you food: Dustin and Megan's house will be one of the warmest and most welcoming places to sleep this evening. It does me so well to sit in Jon's apartment again. Dav sips on a nectarine as dub music plays in the background and we slide over the horizon like a slinky into the future.

Packed the Briefcase

2008-05-26T10:08:00.000-07:00

onions, onions, tons of unions
piles of leeks and miles of melons
seeds and sprouts
beets and roots
cabbages, cabbages, cabbages!

Today I am packing to leave the present for infinite future forevers!

I found an old Samsonite briefcase that I believe had once belonged to my father. It is baby blue, a little beat up, and the cloth on the inside reminds me of a baby blanket I used to own. Inside the briefcase, I have placed old photographs of friends, a yellow gecko the Dav left in my pillow case, Revolution for the Hell of It by Abbie Hoffman, A Field Guide to Western Birds by Peterson (given to me by Keely), a post card from Steph Plant, a picture of a sweaty Southern American boxer (given to me by Travis Hall), a water coloring that Kelly did of Rosa Parks, Josh's arrowhead, scissors, tape, colored pencils, papers, and writings from nights spent at Jon's house. I have fastened Dan's patch on the inside flap and that Hooked on Phonics sticker that Mallory gave me for Christmas on the outside of the briefcase.
I found the key to the briefcase inside when I initially opened it, so I have that for safe keeping.

Present thoughts: Should I take this? Should I take that?
Am excited to spend one more night in Greenville before I leave for Jacob's.

Future Recollections of Things that haven't Happened Yet

2008-05-25T21:17:00.000-07:00

May we meet on the plains of tomorrow
With an olive branch each in our teeth
May the nocturnal animals sit by our door, and screech, and screech, and screech.

May you hear of The Rumors of Movement
Of people uniting in peace
May the songs of the birds be deciphered: "you will see, you will see, you will see!"

May I borrow your insights for wisdom
And carry your thoughts like a bulb
May the sway of the trees in the wind be a hush, with soul, with soul, with soul.

Sharing clothes, you and I will let the wild weeds overgrow.
Our children will smell like peanut butter;
We will let them discover the world naked.

With their tinker toys they will reenact the rise and fall of industrialization in America,
Using walnuts as H-bombs in mockery of extreme violence and poor decisions.
These walnuts will marry the garden bed and sprout immediately, in bursts of confetti and flower petals.
Young men will be spotted wearing top hats and pocket watches by our oldest daughter, and her response to the sight will be a song about the dangers of a patriarchal society.
It would sound like this if it were set in present day:

Dare I stand to offer
Aye, it has been begged
That you are quite the dipper
into your father's brain

And how you take a picture
and how you cut your cake
You learned it all from mother
Who kneels at father's legs

So what is man to do?
But grow up in dispute,
Of what is right to do,
When he can't even tie his shoe!

Oh me, oh my, O, Cross my heart and hope to die, I'll never say 'I do'!

This tune will be sung sweetly by our oldest daughter, and the rest of the family will sing complementary vocals with additional Oos and Ahs. This song will be sung at dinner parties while entertaining guests and ourselves.

May we answer the questions that threaten
and smile at the faces that mock
May the closets that keep all the secrets, unlock, and unlock, and unlock

May we understand how to grow melons
May we keep lovely things on our minds
May we stand on the largest convictions
And burn all our cash when we die

May we lift up our noses in anger
When grown-ups kill bugs just for fun,
May we find enough strength to utter to them, "What goes around, comes around: love!"

Airing out your t-shirt for you in the sunlight,
I observed a hummingbird land on your bare breast.
You were sleeping peacefully, but the tickle of the hummingbird's wing woke you suddenly.
A bug dropped from a tree and landed in my hair. He danced there a second because he did not understand where he was. You looked at me and smiled with soft eyes.

When our youngest daughter gives birth to her youngest son, neither you or I will be alive to witness it.
He will wear overalls when he is to have his picture taken, at his mother's request.

She had absorbed our collective knowledge by the age of 19. She has figured out a way to grow healthy vegetables in an oak cylinder of a six inch circumference, and she makes sturdy hangers for a living. Further accomplishments include receiving numerous awards equal to the weight of twenty Nobel Peace Prizes. She once took a photograph of a female tamarin using a hammer and was offered twenty thousand dollars for the rights to the film-negative, but she refused the offer in yielding to her conscience.

Once you argued over the lyrics to a controversial song with her, and grew in time to regret it; later realizing that you both were suggesting the same meaning for the word that was being argued, though you were each phrasing it in different ways.

Do you remember the song you used to sing to me late at night when we were young?

Reversing Westward Expansion

2008-05-25T18:19:00.000-07:00

I slept for a week in a closet once. I thoroughly enjoyed the comfort of the hardwood floor under my blanket and hearing the reverberations that bounced off of the space’s high ceiling. I couldn’t fit much into the closet, and was quite happy to leave my possessions outside of the tiny room.

With no room to place my belongings, I was able to utilize the space of the closet precisely: laying my blanket on the floor, and calling it that.

At school, I accumulate a large quantity of unnecessary possessions. Papers that should be thrown away spill onto the floor, dirty laundry piles up, and cups and plates remain unwashed on my desk and on the floor. This is when I realize that “my territory” is becoming a nuisance.

When you’re a college kid and you return to parent’s home for the summer you lose your territory. When this happens to me, I might find it more difficult to function creatively. More often than not, I revert back to the laziness of my teenage years; and opt to sit and watch a movie over attempting anything materially productive, or I just try and sleep in as late as I can in the morning. Likewise, when you move to a new place you lose your territory (your lived-in space), and should attempt to make due.

In these cases we should not claim a territory that is already occupied. We aught to claim unused space. This space may be private property, public property, or property “owned by the government.”

It is important not to forget who the original owners of these properties are: the Native American people who claimed them first. Of course, since the European felt that he was so much more entitled to this territory than the pagan “Indian” tribes were, they bullied them and took this space by force. Too often we forget about this injustice and continue with the urban sprawling and paving of highways. We are creating a nuisance with the way we live. We are making messes that we can’t clean up, and we are being stubborn as hell about it.

I guess I’m beginning to sense an absurdity in claiming ownership to land at all. “Who owns that lake? Oh, the state does? Ok, I better not go swimming then, because I may be arrested.”

Native American territories continue to be immorally claimed. What’s more; since it’s not illegal; since it’s the state that’s inflicting the injustice, no one thinks twice about it.

I spit on man’s intentions of selling property in outer space.

Man cannot claim the earth as his possession. Man aught to claim himself, and not much more.

At present there is unused space all around. Why can’t billboards be used for creative purposes? Why don’t we decorate their bathroom stalls for them!? Why don’t we rearrange our living rooms to accommodate more people? Why don’t we give space to people who would like to use it? Let’s say we start reversing Westward expansion and the ideals of Manifest Destiny!

More on Cultural Criticism Number One

2008-05-25T13:57:00.000-07:00

Immobilization is a threat and injustice to the American public!
Why is immobilization an injustice?
Because there is a life to be lived! Think about all of the bizarre, exciting, and beautiful things and that there are to see in the world.
Can't think of something you want to do? What about those dreams you had as a kid?
Feeling lazy? Sick of life? Change your life.
No room for comfortable change? Try uncomfortable change.
If its a matter of living life or dying off unhappy what is there to lose?

Cultural Criticism Number 4: Options Pt. 3

2008-05-25T13:55:00.000-07:00

Which is the better option in a simple situation:
A. Having a "bad time"
or
B. Having a "good time"?

Cultural Critism Number Three: Options Part 2

2008-05-25T13:45:00.000-07:00

Which is the better option:
A. Going over to a friend's house who is likely to say mean things about you-
or
B. Going over to a friend's house who is likely to say nice things about you?

Cultural Critism Number Two: Options pt 1

2008-05-25T13:41:00.001-07:00

Which is the better option:
A. Sitting down at the dinner table with friends or family and sharing with them certain things that you don't like about them-
or
B. Sitting down at the dinner table with your friends or family and sharing with them certain things that you admire about them?

Cultural Critism Number One: Personal Responses

2008-05-25T13:08:00.000-07:00

-I don't need to know about Ricky Martin's social life. I probably won't watch a show about that.
-I don't feel like I relate to the attitudes of the characters of most television shows. I probably won't watch those shows.
-When I was a child and I was looking for a role model, I observed something endearing in many television personalities. Often I would play the game "Real World" with my friends and request to play the role of my favorite character from the show. As I grew older, I asked myself what would a character form the "Real World" do?
-Some junior high aged girls watch "High School Musical" and imagine that their experiences in high school will be very similar. Some of these girls will try very hard to recreate their favorite scenes in their own lives.
-You can learn the latest fashions and cool catchphrases from so many different television channels! With so many options, you can choose who you want to be in life from the following wonderful options: Flavor Flav, Paris Hilton, and Donald Trump! These don't suit you? Don't worry! There's an infinite list of people with character and integrity that you can be like!
-Some days I sit down in front of the television when there is nothing else to do, and find it difficult to get up off of the couch after a couple of hours.
-Hungry? Why not grab a bag of Lay's potato chips? "Betcha cant eat just one!" These delicious chips will make you want to eat bagful after bagful, until you can't even get up off the couch!

Cultural Critism Number One

2008-05-25T12:48:00.000-07:00

In an attempt to speak out against the adversaries of full life, beauty, and diverse experience I will start out with an obvious case in point: the immobilization of the present American lifestyle.
Here, two simple factors will be examined: American diet and excessive television viewing.

Too much sugar and fat can give you gas, can make you tired and mopey, and can make your body mass heavier. This makes it harder to move around, and can result in immobility!

Excessive television viewing can cause the individual to form a strict routine of living room-living. In some cases, this routine keeps the individual shut up in their home, and plugged into a media of a specific variety (namely, all of the components represented by the numerous television networks). An exclusive relationship with this specific variety could shape the individual according to the values, worldviews, and ideologies of that medium.

May 26 2008- Approaching conscientous creativity

2008-05-25T12:26:00.000-07:00

The appetizing pencil that I write with now caught my eye as I passed through my parent’s living room. It is a Papermate number two, with a new eraser, made with the perfect wood consistency for a pencil. The lead is an increment softer than desirable, but it is a great pencil nonetheless.

I knew at once that I wanted to feel the tool’s potential between my fingers and my mind!!!!$)#@)($!

I want to write about the topic of intentional creativity.

As I prepare for a summer tour across the United States and anticipate further journies with guitar in hand and songs to present, I find myself thinking skeptically about the lifestyle of such journeying.

For surely, there are attributes of ‘music business’ that I find quite unappealing. To generalize, one who assumes music playing as a ‘career’ should be prepared for many games, tricks, and ‘screwings-over’ of the persons on all sides of the ‘music business’ interaction.

I for one, am much more interested in creativity and edifying communications over the type of cash transaction that one must understand. I am much more interested in existential function than ‘fashion’.

The word and song and clothing of the musician are the tools used to convey character and to signify values.

Any sizing-ups or deconstructive criticism pertaining to character or value is to be welcomed and faced as answerable inquiry. These could be faced not as defense for career’s sake or defense for defense’s sake, but rather as questions begging to be answered- as potential for the declaration of personality. Interconnectivity will be a key theme, as well as the importance of the individual and the necessity of subversion against shoddy laws and norms.

May 25 2008- Diary of a College Dropout

2008-05-25T12:22:00.000-07:00

Written in large block letters on every newspaper and magazine of social change, aspiring youth lifestyle, and righteous love-child ethical concern. All bearing the same title; not excluding: race, sex, and cultural factors of identity. All founding firmaments that appear as towers of Babel proudly reaching to the heavens. Can you blame us? We just want to be closer to God.

Are we risking Icarus's demise? Are we seeking Icarus's demise?

Isn't the Jesus Christ in this way like Icarus? An idealistic/mystically/powerful man concerning himself with true meaning, and taking his last stand in battle with it. Jesus Christ becomes man indistinguishable from God- and understands the necessity of his idealism, just as Icarus flys too close in bravery to the sun, the source of all of the earth's energy. And then Icarus crash lands, but Christ just takes the beating. Like a punk kid with fists pumping in outrage to the injustices of the system. Like a junior high girl who defies the sexual norms that are forcefully projected onto her by her culture. Like a revolter(non-military revolt). Like an inventor of something new and mindblowing.

"With no religious intent."

The above phrase was found written on the hearts of some of our world's most influential people. Like Martin Luther King Jr., who was not concerned with saving a man from "hell" as much as he was concerned with the injustices of his community. Like Dorothy Day who cared more about feeding a man than convincing him. Like Ammon Hennessy and Herman Melville. Like the Buddha, and Ghandi, and the animal guide who visits when you find yourself in dire straights.

I hear that there is some baffling new thing that Psychologists have found out about the brain-I don't really care too much about that because everything that I've learned from psychology so far pales in comparison to what I've learned from sitting around with friends and dreaming. Being free with our outlooks on the world! Being free with talking about how great the future is going to be and why: because we know that we will have the power someday to make a significant change for the better.

And so I find myself leaving school in an attempt to find out who I really am. That is to say that I do not find the role of the student to quench my grandiose hopes of self-discovery. As in, "I want to live my life as opposed to just floating by like I have been taught to do."

Oh, this desire to do something incredible! We all have it. Some of us have this urge that's too suppressed to reach. These are those of us who have stopped believing in the excitement and mystery of life, and sort of just gave up living. But me, I am not one of those people. I'm the type of louse that sees and hears the injustice and stands up to it, even in my soft-handed weakness. I want to be listened to. Fuck the idea of the greater good held over the single soul in the case where the greater good is brainwashed and needs to be criticized! We must do this in love and care.

And to answer your question, yes I am different just to be different! Since when is that a bad thing?... Oh yeah…when you're in a police state.

No more mind control! No more market on creativity! No more limiting the human being! Written in large block letters on every equation of social change, aspiring youth lifestyle, and righteous love-child ethical concern. Choose your own tools, choose your own medium.

Half empty or half full? Who gives a shit! Just drink it! Or pour it out! Or fill it up! We could sit around forever and talk about it.