Notes from underground, Dostoyevsky

Human--A biped, ungrateful.


What comes between us

is only memory


Inspiration comes best from all back alleys...or bad physical states mixed with good mental states

today I got up with the intention of reading and writing ALL day. I woke up at 10 am! which is early for me...got all the bullshit out of the way in 1 hour and was out the door... but it was so FUCKING hot I couldn't concentrate, thought maybe I had heat exhaustion, probably didn't drink enough water...was getting tired and so lethargic I thought I should just drink a shit ton of coffee and make it iced to cool down...had some cigarettes for fun but it wasn't fun in the heat...kept going into the freezer section at QFC sticking my head into the ice cream door to cool down...all this all this made me tired so tired...went to the park sweaty couldn't sleep tried to pass out heaving exhaustion...probably didn't drink enough water felt like blacking out constantly but couldn't cause I ddrank too much coffee.....went back home to try to pass out and not have to worry about all my shit getting stolen..still couldn't sleep cause of all that coffee but was so tired decided to go for some porn due to hallucinating some metaphor of desert and sex, or just the latent tie-in of languid dull idiotic states and dumb bliss pleasures like masturbation, but still was too tired anyway....too tired for anything and still couldn't sleep...

well, but, well! when I finally recovered after lying down in my room with movies and water and fan on full blast, I tried to write but couldn't, brain still melted from the sun though my body felt more or less normal, I decided to watch another movie--besides Naked Lunch which I had just watched--which was THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU, which I felt bad about because I told myself I would be writing ALL day today but haven't yet got a single word down and only read 3 pages of LIE DOWN IN DARKNESS the book I'm reading too, so I says to myself, I says, okay, I'll just watch about 15 minutes of this movie and try to write or read again...well needless to say the whole movie goes by, or nearly the whole movie, 1 hour and 16 minutes to be exact, because right at that moment, and it's been building up to this point throughout the whole amazingly engaging movie, I know something, I understand something, it has been made clearer, or clear enough, of what the ending to my novel will be like! the ideas have been laid bare, stripped by three key things--Time of the Assassins, a study of Arthur Rimbaud by henry miller, History of ART by elie faure, and the adjustment bureau...(coincidence plays a facile part in my wonder of how perfect these works, and few others, have engaged in the conversation my own novel is bringing to life, or I could say instead, sewing together, a mere combination of previous ideas into my own sort of cohesion). I started writing...............and the horrible day of mishaps blossomed in the end...its fucking hilarious how it happens like that...(and other days when I can actually stay in one place all day, sitting at the computer or with a book I probably get the same amount of work done as I did today anyway, I fuck around with distractions so much I guess all that matters is to keep the ideas stewing in the brain rather than SPECIFICALLY sit down and try to beat it out of yourself)

well shit. I kind of forgot where I was at. maybe I said all that I needed to say, maybe all that shit above doesn't make an ounce of sense, I'm too lazy to go back and read it. Now, instead, I'm gonna drop a bomb on you, the one I intended to drop on you anyway before I spontaneously started to type out all this about my day. I present you with! the outline to my novel! It's a fucking mess, and I think it's awesomely terribly hilarious that way, and wanted at least to send it out to someone...well well well! as for me, I'm done now and gonna watch the ending to that movie. I hope it doesn't suck.


thoughts on the new generation of writers...

I think stating that you think something before you write what you're thinking is repetitive and sounds stupid and is stupid and is a waste of space and a waste of letters and narcissistic.
"that's a thought I just thought"

when will words start to jump off the page again? come at the reader with knives and cleavers! Unplug the deadpan sinkhole! Are authors attempting this today? Are they in the twenty-something generation? Who are they? Allies, come forth, or lie down and die! Bring your words to life, come out from the shadows, move out from your parents shelter, your prepped up and cotton filled studio, unzip your hoodie, drop your diapers, lay down your pansy gown and drag on...show me your guts you filthy swine...yes! I like those dirty teeth you bare...take out your earplugs...show me what you're listening to and play it louder, aw that stuff is shit man, come on, get some soul into ya self, god dammit, get on the floor! jesus...get some blues in your bones, (and you there with your blue boner...HAH) death don't have no mercy in this land! Be a rolling stone, what? You gotta move! Go fall in love, and bring it on home to me....give me shock treatment, you brat...and I'll come right back and beat you up with a baseball bat.... think about the laws of motion:

1) a body at rest will stay at rest unless acted on by an outside force
act and let yourself be acted upon (or, you sit and rot, unaffected and unaffecting)
2) F=MA
become a force, and USE the force!
3) for every action there exists an equal and opposite reaction
challenge other forces! Don't assimilate mindlessly, eh?!!!


comatose stigma

the blinds stick still by the window, and I am all about them
in my room, dead, dog, laughing at commas, lit trend heroes, 2 second gifs, memes,
thinking alternatively about maxim's hot 100 women,
and behinds, fine, fine, yoga booty...
curve, hip center, sway inward like record revolution, music melts at the center,
distracted by bladder. pee in the dark.
taco meat smell faint through the kitchen back to my desk.
back stretch and again crumpled in the chair. 
fart cushion, flattened cotton, the 2 dimensional qualities of
your mom...
that's what she said...
the gap is bliss...and holes are everywhere....
I'm only walking so that I can fall accidentally.
something about the way of the body...pleasure IS the time killer,
and I'm encased in glass, a glass man,
forgetful, wistful, meaning less and less when night deepens and turns...
everything has bellowed out their bottoms, and emptied out to reform what they truly are...
which is...



People get so lost in




every once in a while,

when you've found yourself not thinking of it
make sure to take a walk
to somewhere you haven't been.
closer to the trees, listen,
be a bird hopping on the side of the road
let people stare at you from afar
make them wonder dreamily
about your progression
as you look towards the sun
and pick at the ground
and take some arbitrary steps
to where you haven't stood before