A Cold Heart

Pent up energy.  It is this feeling that wells inside of me but has limited ways of getting out.  A bomb of emotions and thoughts.  Fixation only fuels it.  Neglect only makes it stronger.

So how do you think one attains a cold heart?  Is it the constant beating from outside sources that strain and pull on your nerves? You get sick and want to cry but you can't cry because that would make things easy.

Hearts can go cold after they burn too hot.  Feelings that make you happy can also turn around and betray you.  Not only do you start to hate those emotions but you want them to disappear. You get used to it and you go numb.  The grand gestures you dream of seem like stresses on your daily tasks.

I'm not cranky I just have a heart that is hard to control.

What does one do with a rebellious heart?  –it refuses to conform and rather go off on tangents dragging the rest of your meat carcass behind it. You can call that love.

Love:
The broadest fucking term you can find to describe the pulses sent to your brain. 

Used and overused, rinsed out and used again, put through the spin cycle and then used again when the toilet paper ran out –but wait there is another side so you hang it up to dry and hope the sun will give it life but it still looks like a melted shoe.

A really old shoe left on the street and a road crew comes along and pours hot asphalt over it and realizes it was your shoe and hands it back to you while it is still a semi-liquid.

So how is my pulsating apparatus feeling right now?  Well it varies.  I'll be minding my business and a thought will jog casually through.  And then I have to get up and do SOMETHING or else this lone jogger will bring all their asshole friends and their friends of friends and then everyone is partying in your head like it's the first college frat you ever stepped into.

It helps to have outlets.  Thus, when I spill some blood and try to make them into legible characters I feel better. It feels right.  And I hope nobody reads this but hell I'm putting it on the internet because the internet has an air of comfort to it.  This can be contradictory when you factor how many ugly things emerge from the digital space.  But, I like to look at it as a vast, ever growing universe larger than my hard drive. Which, I tend to break often so this is good insurance.

Until next time.

Weathered Ideas

My goldfish was 15 when it died.
I was in Japan.
My dad used to call him Mr. Fish.

Can I name one of my children, Mr. or Mrs. Child?
Is that too forward?

Hell if i know.  I've been watching the same Olympic game every night.  They always show swimming and gymnastics while I'm home.  Why?  Are you trying to tell me to get off my ass and swim and jump and do twirly things so my muscles can become bubbled and toned?

I'll drink a beer to that.

Do you know when you meet someone.  And you talk... then the conversation gets real weird real fast.  So weird, that it becomes comforting that you are able to continue this strange ass story with another.

I think those are keepers.  Keep them in your life.

I've adopted some moss babies.  If you don't know what I'm talking about then you don't know me.  Which is great!  I hope no one finds who out who I am.  Though, it's not hard.  And yes, if I'm approached  –then I'll react in a manner one can only call "unique" with a long stare and irregular breath.

I talk a lot to myself.  More than one would think is acceptable to talk to one self.  I stumbled on this gem on my quest to find a salvageable piece of writing :




Now, why would I send an email to myself like that?  Did I really feel the need to be my own best friend and give myself advice via email? HA yeah.  This is when I was sad as shit thinking about a someone I had no real chance with because you know, you can love someone so much and the return is that you are sitting on the floor of your shower drinking a beer wondering if aliens would beam you up and give you a pity party.

Then again, I wasn't grown myself.  I had a hard time handling feelings like that and tried to find everything in my happiness checklist to get over it.  Time was the only thing that healed me.  It wasn't another person.  And it wasn't playing music on stage and making new friends and smoking cigarettes till dawn and drinking beer like it was oxygen and exchanging punches with your best friend and riding the train on an endless loop and singing into a little mesh device that projects voice along with light up words and wandering for hours lost because THAT was not the right train track and doing the same damn thing again because there are way more train tracks than you think and pushing the flight back hoping to live longer in a dream and then finally getting on a plane and texting that someone goodbye before takeoff and landing in a familiar territory and sinking into depression faster than sinking into the old self before any of this happened.

Now i know better -- and the reality sucks the real world is not a story you can really control.  But you can guide the damn thing.  Advise it.  And live through it.



Fuck it's Wednesday.

Night Stream Dec 9

I've ordered food again...overate again...and want to lay in bed like a sad banana peel that is yet to find the trash receptacle.  It's the time of night when I can hear chants of children from down the street and a stranger leading them on a microphone.  I believe it is a Jesus camp of the sorts but I cannot help imagining a young Hitler regime.

You know I don't frequent this blog anymore.  After writing such a powerful peace last time I felt no urge to keep up that kind of quality material.  This blog was born from the very mature mind of my 18 year old self...so why make it something it's not?

But then, I got this keyboard.  You see,  a writer is a musician and they need tools to create their art.  One would think pfff a keyboard?  Really?  Are you going to make that as your excuse to why you will not write anymore?

Lemme tell you something about this keyboard.  Have you ever stroked a sensitive part of you body and was like  –this feels pretty good and then kept on going?  Well this keyboard is kind of like that.  Organic and mechanical, it takes each depression with a refined feel.  You are no longer typing on that mushy potato.  Typing up words on this creates the sense that you are putting physical effort to your work rather than transposing what you would write with pen and paper digitally.

And that is my short sales speech on mechanical keyboards.  An old technology that has resurfaced due to nerds like me and that shameless market of selling overpriced "gaming" technology to children.  I can get special branded o-rings for 20 dollars. O RINGS that cost fractions of a cent to manufacture for this keyboard.  Well, I guess there will always be people who think so microscopically instead of stepping out to look at the big picture.

What is the big picture though?  Is it that new flat screen you eagerly planned your whole Black Friday acquiring like it was a rare Pokemon that filled your brain with so much dopamine you might as well have been snorting coke off your Game-boy screen?  Everything of this nature is opinionated and impossible for me define for everyone.  So I'll just define for little ol' me.

 The big picture is so fucking big that if you stare at it too long your eyes will shift east and west respectively then circle around the earth before jumping between a couple of worm holes to send them out of sync for as long as the universe is.

I guess you can call that anxiety or a midlife crisis too.  While it is useful to step back and look at the entire game of RISK instead of your friend's overwhelming decision to mass troops in China, there needs to be some balance.  If you are too anal and try to laser gun the dust particles from your desk every 5 minutes people would look at that as a little obsessive.  However, if you let those dust particles build up because it is such a small aspect of your life you'll soon create the next dust bowl or more important for some -- not get laid.

So I guess today's self reflection is about balance.  You know, that things you tried to achieve when you thought Buddhism was cool and perfectly represented how you feel man.  But Buddhism isn't about taking acid and distancing yourself so far from reality that everything seems to make sense and then you get the grand idea that you will be able to implement it into your daily lifestyle only to realize you cannot be sober to achieve that kind of happiness because of how fucked up the world really is.  I never studied Buddhism in depth enough to preach it.  But balance is something anyone can learn to achieve.

Now you may be thinking.  Are overly balanced people boring?  Are they so content/discontent with everything that they become the grey blob that is injected into my veins when I stare at a vending machine at work so I don't give a shit about what falls through the trap door because all the choices are equally as shitty as the one next to it?  I don't think anyone is boring, though.  When I stand on the crowded subway I doubt everyone's mind is thinking:

"Subway subway subway oh they're cute subway stopped fuck the subway I hate the subway subway what's that smell subway vomit subway subway..."

...or maybe they are.  That may just be a special case.  I think it's safer to say we don't all think about poop while we are pooping on the toilet.  Unless you carry a poop diary which actually would be pretty cool.  I mean, a diary you only write in while you poo.

Anyway my brain is pooped.  Thanks for listening to my thoughts tonight.