Massive outpouring Before death!!

I LISTEN TO MUSIC THE MOMENT I SLEEP
(The sky is a ghostly black, and I feel like a remnant of the past.)
I LISTEN TO MUSIC THE MOMENT I WAKE UP


#1. Where are all the Poets?

Are there twenty-something year olds out there who have sold their soul to the art? who are constantly careful, crafting their words? with immense aspirations, dreams that breath, that gravitize, I want to meet you, I want to write with you, I want to write to you, I want to get hammered drunk with you, I want to go on the road with you, I want to see your future unfold. I feel lonely and I don't understand myself very well. (help me help you help me help you help me help you help me help you love me love you etc.)

#2. I See All my actions in Third Person (what is that in the mirror)

I have a inner conscious that has split itself into three: the reflective self, the confused stranger, the overseer. Reflective self thinks on behalf of the body, sorts through today's memories, as well as yesterday's and all of the past. He has a lot of folders to deal with and they never stop coming in--he is overworked and subsequently fucks up a lot. Confused stranger looks upon my body, and wonders what this body is thinking about, what the hell is it doing, it looks sad, it looks bored. The overseer tries to bring these previous two together, tries to account for both of their thoughts, and then tries to give me a plan on how I can grow and become wiser, smarter, etc. The overseer is mostly a lazy asshole--he doesn't much give a shit, and so Reflective self and Confused stranger remain at odds.

(eg. I look towards the sky, I see myself looking at the sky, I wonder what that human is doing, I search for a greater meaning, a "why" question and then an answer, and instead I move on with my life, forgetting that this ever happened)

#3. the Thing about God

I make deals with that thing (man? woman? alien? thing). Not because I want to. But because I have to. It will not leave my head (a world without a God? a meaningless existence wherein I don't give a shit about anything, or a world wherein I eventually enter psychosis from eternal illogical computation, or will I just embrace the world...am i doing that now?). So it creepy crawls about my cavernous caboose, I scream at it, and blame everything that I can never understand on it. It sets up balances in my head, says if you do this then I give you this, If you stop doing this then you get this. It plays tricks on me, it sometimes imitates the sound of my own inner voice, so that I cannot tell who is doing the talking. I don't want to talk about this anymore.

#4. My face is Dying

My bed is a grave. I etch-a-sketched dreams in my shoulder with my hands. I woke up with red on my hands, red on my covers. My body has terrible urges--when my conscious leaves, my body is a wolf licking the blood-soaked blade. My shoulder did not have a rash. but there is a rash eating up my face, and my unconscious hand leaps to it like horny teenagers, and i wake up in a sea of skin, and I think (confused stranger thinks), how gross how disgusting, and I store a little bits of frustration in my back pocket as I drag myself through a daily Monday Malaise. People in the world see traces of my demise, traces of my rebirth, my skin regenerating, spreading itself about the earth, and I am lost in transition and scaring away all the pretty girls.

#5. Happiness in Shared experience (being a stingy asshole closes all the doors)

I put shit in my body, I alter my state of existence, and I only want to take a trip with you (you!). You are tender and enchanting--you said something yesterday that really made me think, gave me a new perspective. I don't know you well enough, I haven't made up my mind about you, and so I can't stop thinking about you, I want to grow with you, and want to make something out of this.
I am sitting in my room, and I want to see through your eyes, I want to write about it and show it to you, I want to slaughter the leaden circles of time with the soft murmur of speakers, under ceilings, in this very room where the God of Karma, where the Confounded Stranger has condemned me! I could love this room, it could be like heaven.

#6. the Moon was there then it was Dead

I paid homage to the moon tonight, for Seattle skies rarely accommodate it. I turned off my lights and watched it slime across the sky. It left ugly trails in my head that faded quicker than my cognitive powers could function, and so I will never know what those bad feelings were that tonight's moon awoke.

The moon has left , will I ever see it again?

#7. Make your own way, Son

my step-grandfather wrote me a letter and included a hallmark inspirational quote:

Life itself cannot give you joy, unless you really will it. Life just gives you time and space, it's up to you to fill it

I was repulsed. Words from greeting cards that make a mockery of sincerity, that make profit on manufactured sentimentality! But Herbert is one of the sweetest and most humble grandparent I've ever encountered, and these were his words, these were his words, this was his handwriting, and I am jaded, and I let Karma God reign as king, the fucker, and I need to grab life by the throat because I am young and agile and my thoughts race and fly with my body, with my pumping legs, I careen through sidewalks and fields, up buildings, up mountains, to shout from up high, to shout nonsense, to prove my existence, to prove that I have passion, that I am human. and as the sun is my witness I will take to the street burning under what mother said was heaven, and I will give love, I will give love as best I can, as weirdly as I can, as subtle as I can, as honestly as I can.

#8. Life Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow

Overseer wakes up, and does not know what to do, what to make of anything, doesn't know what decisions he has made, or which he has taken back, so he puts on headphones, and lights up his cigarette.