Journal Entry from 1/13/20

@ Battlecat, Monday, Democracy Now! on the radio: J.P. Morgan-Chase lends millions to oil/gas companies to build pipeline in Minnesota across Native farmland, and as wildfire continues to rage in Australia, global warming. Armed aggressors meet peaceful protesters on the plain. “When nothing is done, nothing is left undone,” but irreligious, amoral, and warlike entities continue to proliferate out of fear, anger, and hatred, believing perhaps in transhumanism – that through technology somehow one might live forever in this existence, or that loyalty to the establishment power-elite minority might grant access to comfort, favor, and luxury, or that this is a ‘sick, sad world’ or alternately a world whose abundance is eternally exploitable to those with gumption to extract its black, tarry bounty for firing up the rattling engine that foreshadows massacre, and somehow one will remain untargeted by dualistic forces abalance.  It’s starting to rain. Aramark comes to collect dirty towels, replace with clean ones.  A PT-91 Twardy rumbles down the main landing strip to a vision of unusurpable peace.  A regular menace to society, a Great Pyrenees German Shepherd hybrid eating sticks for ruffage while his owner smokes fags for sustenance. A Mexican with a green Skoal cap marches in, moving quickly, slowly dying to the tune of factory farm combines. There’s the notion that the industrious will has the ability to overpower obstacles or sneak by in camouflage.  Deer moving in shadows of night move stealthily, munch grass, are unobtrusive, a gunshot rings out, but the buck is dead before it’s startled. Meat for a month plus blanket. Split logs for a day, a month of heat and fuel for baking. Simplicity. Boredom seems to be a major obstacle for many, maybe two months for marijuana. Ideas flower. Many mundane tasks are made more manageable, enjoyable even. Many more creative, fearless, and hyperactive publish, produce, and compose; lecture, climb mountains, and scale walls. Across the street from the lumberyard where contractors collect materials collected from the forest, straightened, smoothed, and treated, ready for erection.  Imagining the hotness of now homeless nymphs, now psychotic Jennifer’s who can’t escape black mold, the aging process.  “You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” (“The Dark Knight”) especially where beauty is connected to conceit, that is, how one sees oneself in the mirror or abstractly in society amongst pretty peers one happens to like seeing oneself around. Lesbians exit, one more androgynous than the next, more mannish, into a Subaru, love makes the machine come and go. On the parkway, in the backseat, two children lick each other’s lips, nipples, and labia, age not directly related to maturity with refusal to ‘grow-up’ because who would want to ‘become accustomed to’ the world as it is presented to us? With every daily worst-case-scenario broadcast on the news agoraphobics eternally justified by anchors become Anchoritic, stay close to home, hardly ever go out, worship the cat-headed goddess of crafting, biscuit eucharist, body transubstantiated fat, antennae steeple, private chapel.  It’s not that society has become godless, but that the Pantheon has multiplied, every logo a graven image, every materialist’s list of materials ever expanded, every obscure belief has its own faith, and every faith has its deities, rituals, and artifacts of a specific sense of superiority.  @ Westville, super-church of Oprah on TV, a sold-out stadium full of believers in the motivational force that encourages those of the super-congregation to get up off their seats to dance and jump in place in order to feel the transference of energy, dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins secreted that express the general connectedness of all things as professed by The Secret!

Spinoza Poems

Las traslucias manos del judio
Labran en la penumbra los cristales
Y la tarde que muere es miedo y frio.
(Las tardes a las tardes son iguales.)
Las manos y el espacio de jacinto
Que palidece enel confin del Ghetto
Casi no existen para el hombre quieto
Que esta sonando un claro laberinto.
No lo turba la fama, ese reflejo
De suenos en al sueeno de otro espejo
Y el temeroso amor de las doncellas.
Libre de la metaphor a y del mito,
Labra un arduo o cristal: el infinito
Mapa de Aquel que es todas sus estrellas.

“Spinoza.” Borges

The Jew’s hands, translucent in the dusk,
Polish the lenses time and again.
The dying afternoon is fear, is
cold, and all afternoons are the same.
The hands and the hyacinth – blue air
That whitens at the ghetto edges
Do not quite exist for this silent
Man who conjures up a clear labyrinth,
Undisturbed by fame – that reflection
Of dreams in the dreams of another
Mirror – or by maidens’ timid love.
Free of metaphor and myth, he grinds
A stubborn crystal: the infinite
Map of the one who is all His stars.

Translated by Richard Howard & Cesar Rennert

A haze of gold, the Occident lights up
The window.  Now, the assiduous manuscript
Is waiting, weighed down with the infinite.
Someone is building God in a dark cup.
A man engenders God. He is a Jew
With saddened eyes and lemon-colored skin;
Time carries him the way a leaf, dropped in
A river, is borne off by waters to
Its end. No matter. The magician moved
Carves out his God with fine geometry;
From his disease, from nothing, he’s begun
To construct God, using the word. Noone
Is granted such prodigious love as he:
The love that has no hope of being loved.

“Baruch Spinoza”
Translated by Willis Barnstone

One

basic

truth can

be used as

a foundation for

a mountain of lies,

and if we dig down deep

enough in the mountain of lies,

and bring out that truth, to set it

on top of the mountain of lies; the entire

mountain of lies will crumble under the weight of

that one truth, and there is nothing more devastating to a

structure of lies than the revelation of the truth upon which

the structure of lies was built, because the shockwaves of

the revelation of the truth reverberate, and continue to

reverberate throughout the Earth for generations to

follow, awakening even those

people who had no

desire to be

awakened

to the

truth.

Delamer Duverus

Over-Dude

Hating construction: orange tape, cranes, destroying the landscape for another phallic behemoth that profits few and costs many.  Surveyors on Hole 17, Richmond Hill, aren’t there to plant more trees, zoning.  Zoning out, succeeding at boredom, in the board room, another PowerPoint™ meeting takes place:

“Envision this:” she starts, attempting to impress a group of male colleagues like a well-dressed whore. “3 acres, prime real estate, stripped bare – denuded, levelled, and them… domes!” with pause for effect.

“I’m getting a massive erection!” said the president sincerely, getting attention, “It may be an eyesore, but it’ll get more looks being there which is better for the bottom-line.”

Buckminster Fuller’s communist/feminine geodesics fail to be ‘tried and true.’  Calm me, calm me, commie, can’t we all just get along and share a blanket and a supreme ideology?

A problem with stock markets are that investors are essentially glorified gamblers who desire to stack the odds in their favor, and if, looking back at historical precedent, it can be found that profit was proven to exist in a certain place and modality, the importation of said modality for supposed guaranteed profit trumps all other considerations. 

At least one guy in the boardroom supports getting 3 domes to try it out, but will not voice an opinion that dissents the established worldview of the Russian piss enthusiast, his boss, the one who signs the paychecks (digitally), that pays for his desirable condominium in midtown, in the heart like a fist of it all. He doesn’t love it, but imagines someone will. He imagines some dime will be gullible enough to swipe right on Tinder®, and then with the right lines, a few drinks, and mood lighting, she will fail to discern his shortcomings until it is too late and she becomes emotionally invested like the gullible chick she is and he will get all the dome he wants.  He comes to finishing touches. She puts him in her mouth.  He teaches her a thing or two. She will learn to keep her opinions to herself. He continues to fantasize about the size of his new place, the location, the amenities, the luxuries, his accrued account balance, and the amount of sex he’ll be having because of it. As of now he’s only pulling sixes and sevens, basic bitches he looks at with disgust like his weak-willed mother.  There’s some philanthropic fellatio, but no call backs, just another stepping-stone he thinks as he StairMaster®s the gym, staring off into space with his Spotify® Airpod™ mix blaring crap EDM.  Tedium, ‘getting his steps in,’ a modern phrase for efficiency fiends.  Modern pedometers, Bluetooth cock-rings give a more accurate reading bouncing on the dangle. 

A spring chicken choked for a clear mind and protein, down at the Tyson® production facility, a concentration camp for heathen hens, Sally Sue dumps a tray full of gibbets into the dog-food receptacle and replaces the plastic bin back on the end of the row after chucking the last few chunks into the mass grater, grinder, and processor. Dreaming of the big city, sick of these backwards backwoods clowns who spit and shoot and take seconds without asking.

Many sell themselves into slavery for security, identifying part-heartedly with an occupation that pays some foreign energy conglomerate for their national gridiron, oil-wells, and mining equipment.  Protesters in Chile burnt down the headquarters of “Enel Chile, a subsidiary of Italian utility Enel…” harvesting income inequality, destabilizing by claiming rights to resources halfway across the globe, because apparently Italia est perfecta and has no problems at home.  A father who travels for work to escape/support his wife and kids who increasingly know luxury, but lack guidance.  Generations pass, kindred burgeon, now concentrated in cities, fail to look one another in the eye, fail to familiarize oneself with another, separated in spirit yet sharing common ancestry.

Living in the moment, a Brazilian dumptruck driver dumps his payload of plastic bagged waste into the Amazon Basin.  Living in the moments to come, generations will have to rectify, reconcile, and regenerate the damages. Do we think we can get away with this bullshit philosophy? An atheist suicide reincarnation victim born again against his will in more blood and less spirit (as is his Dharma) struggles with the fact that God doesn’t care that he wanted out.  A consciousness irreparably diminished to a lower order may continue to descend at his or her own animal peril since slaughter remains in vogue at the abattoir.  What does it mean to ‘live in the moment?’ For many it’s a McDonald’s cup or wrapper out the car window. Bye-bye! They go back to their litter of filthy children without a chance they thrust on society like a baby-tossing gypsy crook, bent on profiting from a baby’s ability to evoke sympathy. I’d let that future criminal crash and protect my wallet!

Radio-Captured 2017 Playlist!

Shazam 2017!

Asheville Radio!

Jimmy Cliff – Sitting in Limbo

Jethro Tull – Cross-Eyed Mary

King Tubby – Breezing Dub

The Growlers - Monotonia

The Ventures – The Swingin’ Creeper

D. R. Hooker – Forge Your Own Chains

Sly and The Family Stone – If You Want Me to Stay

Chet Faker – I’m Into You

Jackie Wilson – Light My Fire

Toubab Krewe – Bamana Niya

The Fritz – Sound. Habits. Blame.

The Rapture – The Devil

Dr. Bacon - Peculiar

Jake Bugg – Lightning Bolt

Empire of The Sun - Friends

Conrad Clifton – La Da Dee (He’s Hopeless)

Professor Elemental – Fighting Trousers
Headroom – Flower of Light

Buffalo Radio!

Chocolate Milk – Action Speaks Louder Than Words

Caravan Palace - Maniac

Death By Unga Bunga – Make Up Your Mind

Jean Leloup – La Fin Du Monde Est A 7 Heure

Turnover – Take My Head

The Spitfires - Relapse

Madness – Mumbo Jumbo

The Velveteins – Shimmy Shake

Salt Peter – Funky Magazine

Mom Said No - Cruising

Lonnie Liston Smith – Mardi Gras

Thee Oh Sees – The Axis

The Middle Labor Day Way

4/28:

Feeling funny-fuzzy, partially incontinent, and cold and grey like the weather here in Buffalo today like a regional stereotype and a bad joke.  Emotionally and spiritually fatigued as I am, out-looking positive, and just overwhelmed that everything’s switching off-and-on, as it were, from contentment to desire, from life to death, instead of following the so-called ‘middle-way’.  [Am-bee-ants ambience]  A macabre double-header of wakes where heads are removed and necks are joined and buried as one bitorsoed body like a grisly palindrome in desecrated semiotic decay.  Diabolic efficiency!  But it’s important to be grateful to-for others who put ease in footsteps and add beauty to what could be considered obscene (by perspective) in a dark night of the soul – a metaphysical blindness that constitutes melancholy.  Burping, smoking, with crude physiology, a brick shithouse backhand slapping, desk charging, taboo living, ‘do you wanna get high?’ Smokin’ joints with the old Weezers on their way to wakefulness, back into Barb’s bag with the failure of twisted words to manifest in the moments I remain (thankfully) unawares, oblivious to academic threes, dream quadrants, and holy pentagrams!  I’m confused, aimless, drifting to Tudor drafts, barging in on conversations about Bethlehem steel and Love Canal, chasing a delirious shake with financial pity for the suffering shark.  (Who has time for real friends?)  The madness of science for earning, efficiency, and mechanism solely, when in reality we are all connected in a unified field where we all suffer for the likes of the sadistic separatists who pulverize their human remains for the pulse of entrails and think they can privatize gas emissions and watershed pollutants as they run off to lonely islands with obvious disdain for environment and neighborhoods.  The nerve of superiority!  Atlas shrugs as Oklahoma earthquakes are becoming more seismic with the waste water of hydraulic fracturing.  Industrious savages!  Too drunk to be funny, but jest sober enough to hammer bass. The desire to lay my lips on something sweet overwhelms as I drink potions...

6/18:

Deep Economy: Erin, care of Canada via Peru, at Taza where all worries dissipate into cooperativeness, where it’s popular to be unpopular, because cliques exist past high school, cast your vote where you spend your money.  Cuomo must drink a lot of coffee!  Andrew Cu-omo, that copper (Cu) homo (Nid) has no idea how to live, only how to die; tool, running the devil machine that should be called New Amsterdam if he were doing it better.  Instead the Guido leader of the legal mafia in blue that kills blacks and supports the proletariat hierarchy that was supposed to have been abolished in 1776, “governs”.  If I could put a fork in the blacktopped road I’d create a metaphor that stands for divergence with a little flag that isn’t resembling a Union Jack.  Such is the vicious nature of interconnectedness, and the further we expand the net, web, or globalized economic culture, the more difficult it is to remove the black tar that represents corporate greed, plutocracy and profit; and the heroin that represents psychic removal, black markets, impurity, and incarceration.  The glutinous ‘bigger is better’ mega-list philosophy is further and further removed from reality like an autistic automaton, a manufacturer of the mechanistic, or a proponent of wasteful hastiness.  [Eyeball; I balk.]  Doors off his Tracker, child in the back seat, blasting bachata; must be a terrorist!. What is socially unjustifiable anymore?  Life around a card table full of cheaters, meaningless microcosm, synecdoche of a game, wet 2D symbolism, 3D projection of a 4D world, becoming between destiny and history...

0511Reflection

Choosing my words more carefully, the power in My hands?  Not without discipline, exercise, and stretching?  So the power is in my hands?  That’s a lot of pressure.  Take it back, my libido.  Should I open this up?  Should I open my self? Am I up to scrutiny?  So many questions when you can’t sleep.  There was an outline…

                I really appreciate her present (however abstract) presence. I appreciate her being.  I want to give her body stuff ha-ha.  There will be one day when the laughs will all be mine!  And the horde of laughter (the tour group from the group home) will laugh for the last time!  My competition in abstraction salutes the smashing sun.  I really love her so my!  Oh my! So much!  Forever never-never forever, but on and on into infinity and maybe even eternity instead or also?  What backwards rides everything?  Artificial intelligence shoves gnomes up yoga pants victims near vain, conceited mirrors, a real clockwork horrorshow!  The lost art of fucking-people-over is really lost on her, as I believe in her foot, thankfully, and gratefully I believe and in the flesh, my spirit, Jesus, my Lord, the debt I will owe will be too great!  Two pennies fare o’er sticks!  (Styx) Fuck it, let’s sail!  Frankenstein’s promethean wide-world worldwide getaway-from-revenge scheme against his own spirit made reanimated flesh, another freak unable to find love for the reason that his God was a real son-of-a-bitch. 

My intelligence; my phoniness; the reason I like to party is man is made of mostly water, and while some of us barely know ourselves, I remember that it’s water that carries that charge and alcohol that keeps that liquid spark alive!  If nature has taught me anything; flow.  The difference between having and not having is not so different if you have any imagination, but obsessions, fetishes, and attachments draw me to things like the negative pole of an evil magnet, the one that took your chunky digit on the last day you forgot to skip for not the streets, but for corporate credit, corporeal currency, and bodily Beelzebub.  “Are you proud of yourself?”

The past that pursues a person, like a clown to whatever ‘it’ is or a fool like a dog to its own vomit, what can Solomon do but preach and rule knowing his conviction and the ring he laid down at her feet with supreme deference? I’m a rat by comparison to you, so merciful, so kind…I put pressure on myself to compare…

Later that day:  Jamie’s telling me about Paul Walker de Asheville’s Quatro de Cinco taco ride and bicycle detailing; decal yellow. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” reads my Red King mug.  Little links in the chain cipher decipher, interpret, and fantasize. The early dog gets the pet? The police dog fetches the stray bullet, canine olfactory evidence; C.O.E. (Hapax L. v. 6^th Amendment).  Beautiful molting bug, hanging from my light fixture, will you become as a delicate jewel encased in amber?  Mosquito’s proboscis! The colored (red) guy can barely maneuver the benches or close his dilapidated car’s door!  He may be a member of the mobile homeless.  [Rancheros on Niagara, near the gas station, formerly Rascals (directions to a native Buffalonian)]

Still later that day: At Armory restaurant for the first time to eat food…a disorganized noontime scene, Italian restaurant, is it too late for lasagna? Never (IMO)! Harbison Bros. Appenheimer Ave. (East side) -> L.B.’s urban farm (also East side) where we’re potentially going to grow mushrooms out of logs.  In the interim I’ll figure out a system for pasteurizing straw.  Will need thermometer, siphon (move it), have 55-gallon basket materialized (do I need it?), tub, and weed-whacker for chopping straw into finer pieces.  Tomorrow, try hose-water + siphon system for soaking coffee-oyster blocks (where dehydration seems to be a problem (too many coffee exudites? (didn’t need siphon (amethyst enough to tip)))) Asheville next week, Antonia should be counted upon because she’s great (and I think I love her, (but only fools rush in (as They say (fuckin’ cabal)))).  Butterflies anyway…And turtles all the way down…And the Bruce is loose.

Chickenshit Sailor

What I wrote when I woke up from a dream on 4/11:

At mall with mom, she was talking about a new air conditioning unit for the house and then something Hillary/Bill related when I snapped at her to ‘stop talking’ whereupon I lost her and I started thinking about my ride home. I didn’t feel bad about it. Some other lady offered me a ride and I declined.  Then when I went to call and apologize, my dad picked up and 4 dogs ran out and I was yelling to get them back when something happened where almost everyone went blind with bloody eye sockets.  One dog ran back and was eating its own eyeball on a string calmly.  Apparently there was some new device that everyone wanted that made this happen.  I think of Japan, (the book Hiroshima).

Later I’m driving with 3 people, 2 friends from Colorado - Jen and Andy, the driver I don’t know, someone Arabic?  He’s texting and driving through a crosswalk, narrowly missing 2 (people) then crashes.  I’m perfectly fine, but my two friends flew and were implanted head-first and were completely rigid, Jen into a tree, and Andrew into a dartboard.  The driver I’m mad at for killing them, but he’s a got such a badly broken leg that I don’t chase him too far.  I call 911, but suddenly it’s like he crashed into a hospital, but nobody is really responding to the carnage.  Danielle calls and I try to get emotional, but my sobs sound ridiculous, so I stop and get up, but I start taking someone else’s bag by mistake and I apologize and he starts talking about not doing the regeneration therapy.  Then Rob shows up and he thinks the whole thing’s kind of funny for some reason and so does Amanda, so I get over it and try to take some pictures.

@0855 (8:55 a.m.)

Thermonuclear Holocaustic

Unable to eat shit fast enough, he pulled out all her entrails and kept feasting on her intestines, liver, and keys to her heart.  Tool and die?  I just want to get some sleep or unlock my mind so that I can wrap it around doing the little things that should be done and need doing, needn’t they?

Then on 4/24:

Haven’t been writing since dog Revelations, there has been more room for adventure and sleep. 4/18 found me flying to Mississippi, Gulfport (Biloxi), 0600 flight, after a 4/17 Ghost B.C. concert at Rapid’s Theatre in Niagara Falls.  I just made my flight with minutes to spare.  Spent the night of 4/18 in Nashville, TN, where we (dad and I) ate at the Stillery, then went out for beer and music at Tootsie’s where there were 3 stages and a packed house Monday. 4/20 and post have been kind of a blur,… went to Mutoid Man that night (Weds.) with Kris, Matt P., Jeff, then met up with Antonia, and after the show with her friend Alicia for blunt & joint & beer.  The haze…Thurzdaze…degeneration…Danielle!  So that’s the day we got coffee & beer, talked about (let’s face it) her-Story, where she’s going, what she’s doing, her relationships, her problems & solutions…(I’m being slightly sarcastic here…not all that one-sided).  Talked to Amanda & got my work for Friday…Friday I went to work with Chris (the Greek), Luke, and Sue, on Earth Day, her birthday. We put up and cut drywall (sheet-rock), ate Imperial pizza, and were impressed by the South Buffalo Princess, Queen of her kind, Amanda Mark E. Mark Randle O’Witzy, prince of scandals, schemes, and hullabulloos!  (See brouhahae)

@0353 (3:53 a.m.)

It seems that there’s so much evil in the world that there’s little left to have faith in. Without being skeptical, let me practice my aseptic technique and judge every source of contamination with a blind eye.  Mothers of cathair!  Noqueens, just queers, and righteous queers whom in their righteousness are…different.  Feats of Renaissance men seem insurmountable.  DaVinci’s lore!  Is there anything that man didn’t try? Not Kabbaalism?! Kabaaloom!  Possessing evil weaves, woven evils, not goods, discord amongst men.  The stuff of bloodletting, revenge, and every form of torment hangs from an evil tree, hanging from a noose of discord, hung like a horse of the apocalypse (defeated by the forces of EVIL! HA-HA).  All the vile dirt of dandies destined for a swimming hole, pool of lust and despair, drowned many a man off the coast of Costa Rica in the shit riptide. Pacific, Mariana, Hawaii; what the hell is wrong with me?  Skeptics everywhere agree with everything.  Found without fault by the scrutinizers? Jesus, judge not, and allow me to command forces outside the control of the masses, the common people, or the hoi polloi. Proletarian proselytizers?  Literally sylvan, energy amber, and scale unobtainable. More words count less. The Tao is deep within, the ching, let it out, change already! Like an irate motorist, mad about other motorist’s on i-technology; he waves his wings and catches flies like the missing link.  Like a lunatic late for work, hung over off the full moon, when a robot hung over the intersection of Delavan and Delaware changed from red to green mellow yellow crashed into t-bone traffic.  Ass of a tranny!  Class of a tyrant!  Past of a clown!

@0442 (4:42 a.m.)

Tao Forty-Six

When the Tao is present in the universe,
The horses haul manure.
When the Tao is absent from the universe,
War horses are bred outside the city.

There is no greater sin than desire,
No greater curse than discontent,
No greater misfortune than wanting something for oneself.
Therefore he who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.

0624 (6:24 a.m.) on 4/29/16.