August 8th, 2004

dracular

(no subject)

wow- i get so full of hate sometimes. i mean- i was having a swinging fucking time with little washu & the illscientist. i mean- for real, a cut-loose hang-ten fucking time. there was fun to be had, oh my brothers. we smoked on the roof & made music inside. it was one of those iconic evenings. & i left at a (semi-)reasonable time. i mean, i have to go to this wedding tommorow. but this hate. hanging around my head like a halo. i dare you. my eyes are as narrow as arrow slits. hell- i can't help but think about this human frame in lovecraftian terms. membranes to moisten the eyes, bodies covered in needless bristles. & all this cold fire in my stomach. i keep laying in bed to try & sleep & end up consumed.

so i listen to tinny music through the lap-top speakers. so what.

i don't know what ocean to pour this into. i trump the exxon valdez in my sleep. i rival comets in siberia. i wiped out the dinosaurs with a casual plummet. i'm so fucking lonely. how am i supposed to calm this savage self? jenny, drunk, says i don't know her. well, here is the thing. i'm pretty sure she's at least glimpsed me. loaded & near hallucination, maybe, but she knows at least a little something what i am. so uh- does that mean she loves me? i think so, but here we are & here is my friend doubt. oh its nothing really. its just a fragment of abandonment named pat, named jon. you know me & fragments. i'm so archeologist. i just want to take metal tools & scrape away layer by layer.

basically, what the fuck is going on with me. the whole walk home i was hoping to get mugged. hoping to unleash something. last night on the dance floor some motherfucker was like "hey! you hit me!" & i said "so what? i was dancing!" but what i meant was "come on. come on if you think." oh vicious soul, be settled. i cannot set you loose now. & what excuse would i have? i LIKE things. i've found some kind of fragile niche. you can try to sabotauge love, oh my brother hate, but here is the thing! i am not inventing it. this is not a synthetic love. this is a clumsy, dorkish love. this is a love where i don't think i get laid enough, where she resents me for being a giant mess. this is for real, & i have put my marker on it. this is my bet. if the house tries to collect? just fucking let 'em try. just fucking let them.

so basically its back & forth. hate, unfocused, versus hate with an aim. of course a major linch pin is jenny. i mean- what. i'm not kidding with her. she's my gotham, batman. said in the key of violence. she's the black tar on the stumps of my missing selves, salved on by the tree surgeon. she kicks me out of bed when its time to go to work. which- right? speaking of. bus to catch tommorow. which is why i keep trying to go to bed. but there is this hate, you see? its name is mordicai. mordicai is the shell inside james, mordicai is the weapon of mem, & mem? mem is m, mem is me. mem is the monolith. we wait for perfection, as always. for ife. until then, we will always choose babylon over zion.
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ringwraith

(no subject)

i ain't kidding! for like- five, ten minutes? i was swallowed up. i forgot who i was pretending to be. i mean? nobody talks about this in india. what about the fuckers whose dharma's are impossible to fufill without 16 impossible things happening? fuck, arjuna, you had it easy. but you know what? whatever. i tell you- mordicai fucking yug. after the age of iron will come the age of titanium & bone. i will make this coffin-world worthy of its fucking name.
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