Sunday, September 12, 2010


The isolation of higher order consciousness: that oppressive darkness which gathers at the moonless night of being alone; that void which endless channel surfing or media consumption does not ever quite fill. Until at the point of over indulgence, exhaustion from the tiredness of desperation brings sleep. When all woven narratives begin and end with the self; this pervasive kanker-like sore, which despite the greatest care, gets torn open making chewing more a formality than an accomplishable task. The knowledge that this state of being is mutually produced externally and internally is only a temporary balm; as one may pretentiously qualify as equiprimordial. This hyper-sensitive awareness sees fuel for its self propagation in all encounters; each of these likely situations only serve to further distance the isolated from the various external relational worlds, such as: the "full" knowledge that one is invited to social occasions more as a kind of selfless pity than true interpersonal attachment - of course the whole conundrum is that both parties must necessarily be unaware of this process but the isolated would invariably see the "true" motive were there may not be any. Spiraling into ones self is ever present, and without the ability to balance on that precipice, the tumble is perpetually self generating... a little like the precipice of consciousness on our larger narrative arc of becoming-human.


Saturday, September 11, 2010


The shit builds to the sky - blue over yellow, pink. Profanity lays heavy over my beer numb tongue, buzzed like an empty headache in a tepid evening bath. The world engaged around me: traffic coming from - going to, birds singing the end of their shift, trees nosily calling the cold front with silver hands up raised. When will my number come up in this empty waiting room - for my life to begin again, or did it ever? These loose metaphors, ungainly stitched, split wide, and with no words that fit, the shit covers the floor filling the one bare spot I found to find myself barefoot in calm repose staring bleary-eyed at the vicarious North.