elements of things to come that have been

The (metaphorical) gun to the head roulette of male vs. female war bespeaks a dowery locked in a chest each person wishes to fully possess.
the spontaneous remission or eruption of language structure
you should get some nice fog sounds for your phone, she said.
stalin driving the arts to produce retouched paintings and photography at the increasinly frenzied rate of his executions, driven by his time honored brand of self-induced paranoia, which becomes and procures itself. The extermination of political rivals blurred freinds into enemies, and enemies into allies.
Found a case of wheaties on the street and ate them for weeks, during which time the song which tore me apart hit the top of the charts, and since I possessed nothing but a radio ... I cried a lot in my wheat flakes. Heartbreak. Jesus! A soul-shattering hangover is easier.
"A resume means nothing. Who cares? How do you feel when you see the art? What is its sound, it’s color in your head? I carry nothing but my sketches, the ides to the ideas I’ll soon be painting, so show a gallery owner. If they can’t see what they want in simplicity, I will have a bad relationship with them, in the long funnel of compromise, which constitutes most people’s dealings with art."
The film which included the random stuff which led to the first line, at which point, the film ends.
we worked the etymology of Porter beer until
the Frank Zappa claymation began
bigger drama Neil entailed, started with our ousting.
Select the edge of deciding what to see, and what not to, then remain motionless there.
Gramma got me high when I was eight—‘Oh shush you, he’s old enough girl!’ What’s wrong wid you? E’s a man. Ain’t you huh?
Brain tainted on The Barvarians Restaurant fare at what used to be Esalen, we were painting bold black swaths with sumi brushes on willing troubadours’ t-shirts
his attention for details had the resolve of a pocket microscope on a first world field study

as light is a particle and wave, time is a contracting expansion, pulsing to the constant movement of the cosmos, it’s breath, if you will. This ‘resonant pendulum’ of small forces in subtle concerted pulls shift space-time backwards and forwards through
imperceptible tugs over immense
periods of time.
Indian punch daggers could pierce the skull of an elephant
The other sex ... glad they’re here, but painful to behold, like ...The pain fortuned by being overwhelmed by a Matisse exhibit ... do you know what I mean? Tears in the eyes a single brush stroke invokes, blurs our appraisal of pain. When it’s for beauty, is it a blessing or a curse? It’s difficult to create or possess what they represent. I try to think of beautiful people, or those who have manufactured their beauty, as paintings; the Fauvism of the world highlights wild beasts for distinguishment ... who am I to argue with it? I see violence in painted ladies and petty generals. It is the way we proceed, to remanufacture that which has been.
A still frame of early motion morphing in pen and ink, black sand I imagine a stylized porn, taken from the abstract, which would invoke the goddess.
The ratio of PHI in nature
terry said, two people are 50 dollars more.
"We just don’t do it at home any more, now the kids are the age." It took me a moment to realize they were talking about crack, not sex, so to speak. The conversation veered.
The way you do things to cover change becomes habitual; I noticed as my hair thinned, I didn’t run my hands though it the way I used to, for it acknowledged how much less I had. What happens first? The telemers shrink, and we age, or we age, and they shrink ... the stresses upon us affect them,
add drugs and alcohol, forget ... for more fear bespeaks more impending release. The alluring aspects of sex to forget our problems wears a variety of costumes from food to sports
he cried for a week afterwards, the stress in the moment was so shattering... the deafening silence following a firestorm... whispering a latent homosexuality of the material world unfulfilled by male/female interaction ... and people abstruse with authenticity at late night pizza joints, bypassing the terminal fact connection is all that counts as oevure. General Grant meant it when he said, No superfluous flummery.
life trails the moments we’re too afraid to succumb to, as the nature of the unknown is itself.
The Maleus Maleficarum, a historical handbook chronicling 600,000 to nine million women’s violent deaths, is a testament to the Christian hard line, and what it’s capable of doing, to preserve its maligned power structure.
The reason women are subdued, is they know too much. When polished by freedom, they’re bloodhounds for bullshit.
The Knights Templar stash of secrets is nothing, compared to the ability each of us has, to pierce the veil within us.
I head the wives tale of the lifesaver candy heir who drowns, after suicidally jumping overboard. The whole thing was too weird and ironic to muster initial doubt, so like a virus, it got me, and I passed the disturbance on. [See Tragic comedy, how we love it, and why, page 31]
A firearm completely changes the rules of engagement ... imagine seeing one, where they didn’t exist before ... the arm must have spouted flame, to the untrained eye, for the weapon is an extension of it, like a pike, or a spear.
Realistically, I have fifty books at all times I’d like to read. My shelf has to be hidden, or sold, to keep myself grounded in the reality of what is possible to attain in this limit-stricken world.
Short, stocky identical south American Indian twins walk lock step, each with an identical baby in arms, their jaws grimly set, side by side down the Mission District’s cluttered sidewalk. I shook my head at the oddity of it—like a quadruple clone spanning two generations, they wore similar colors of clothing, and clutched their children as others hold purses through dark rain swept nights.
The precedent of fickle choices rewrite those who desire what’s uncompromised; we actors want to be associated with the unknown possibilities of our professions. Rewriting the language of the word we call LIFE, is the rally point of film. One picture lasts a twenty fourth of a second not counting the negatives between—question: how do you define ‘focus’, without hitting the key frames of ‘flaw’? What is a flaw? Is ‘perfection’ if it exists, even desirable?
Every art piece is spurred to life by an archetype piece the Gods have long since endorsed. Old ideas were ruthlessly hijacked by eery means and malevolent hands, to enforce their vitality in the world.
The mercenary rap artists laughed when the heard their music videos made young teenaged girls 57 percent more likely to engage in risky behavior, and how can you blame them? Lie to profit, and if you believe enough, you aren’t lying. Ask the religious leaders, and the heads of state, if (in a perfect world) it applied. I wondered if the rap artists wrote anti bush rhetoric if the record cokefiend executives would see how the brutal public opinion would polarize them out of a job. After all, the president’s a dangerous Stalinist fool, unacquainted with higher education’s embrace of ignorance. He makes no
mistakes, because God fuels his hubris he’s chosen for this holy mission, to liberate the forces of evil intentions, to subsequently nail them down. Too bad the mirror’s broken, and we’ve inherited his years of bad luck. You’re too right.

It was four o’clock in the morning when my house mate accommodate the silence with stories, fueled on a crack pipe unlikely hippies dispensed on the dance floor’s manna of endpoints and starts. I thought it was pot, she laughed. And we both giggled, then cracked a bottle of wine, irregardless of work in the morn. Car headlights ripple through Edwardian era glass, spraying dreamy crinkles across the walls, and the radio played old seventies tunes, we associated with junior high crushes. The carefully erected boundaries began to collapse; I was laying in catatonic repose, unable to move two days later, every muscle cell tired, but my mind alive. I cant’ use it. Wanna go? I knew nothing about them, except Victoria, whose life passion was live music, sleuthed the little known musicians of fifteen states, raved about them. No pressure, it’s just that ... The reasonable part of me said no way. You’re twenty hours of sleep short this week alone, you stayed up till dawn, partied like a rock star, worked all day, and had the flu. I lay there quietly, awaiting my intuitive voice. Get up before you’re down to the count.

I sit up; you’re rallying?! Why not? It’s just dumb enough; and with it, the evening begins to reach out, and ratchet us up—the mutual reluctance spurs a growing passion, for each of us were right on the edge of puttering an evening away, succumbing to the reaction of counting how few hours of sleep, and how many hours of work (need to be accomplished still, to validate us [internally] and so on. Riding though the drizzling night, retracing the spin of my earlier commute, radios blaring over our heads, we cut a chaotic freeform path, die hard biking everything wheels can run over, pausing for a quick one we pour into a water bottle, and sneak inside. At some point I think : I can’t believe I’m doing this. Where is this energy coming from? Then I realize, the answer is : The Dance. This is the proverbial, we’re entering early on, being completely abandoned, as we will be inside the venue, where the band provides a focus we recognize as ecstatic. It’s no longer your energy which is fueling the endeavor; the universe is subsidizing your passion with its source code, for truly, they are one in the same thing. When she dances, Victoria is a flame which burns with all the things humans find worthwhile. We go inside, and she immediately runs for the stage, where she hides to the side, pretends nobody is around her, and gives the full force of herself, to the band members, as a gift. I’ve been transported to the very place you’d want to be, ushered there spontaneously, on the wind of a gift, and I realize ... if I had a lot of
inemoney, I wouldn’t be here in this state, mind exhausted, and body opened. The idea of the wasted ticket, how seldom I let myself indulge in films or live music, the fact I’m exhausted from work a wealthy person, wouldn’t have to endure ... I might have taken a taxi, not ridden by bicycle, which engendered something ... who can isolate divine states’ ingredients? That dive bar we stopped in ... the people next to us ... I was transported to the paragon of the edgy New York club, they feel was a turning point in art history books; we imported its state, as did the musicians, others would mention with awe, years later. I felt suddenly glad for the maddening turmoil and poverty I’d elected to live, pursing art.


The place is teeming with souls; the smell of reefer wafts from scrums of stoners, people dutifully cue to check their coats and packs ... five bucks?! Fuck that, and I toss mine behind the amp, which warmed it with music for later. If I had too much money, I would have dumbly stood in line, and had my enthusiasm zapped, both going and coming. Victoria has a vodka-something in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other, offers both as the musicians pause
There’s plenty of time for that, when we’re part of the ocean again.
The vibe is decidedly uptight, but likewise loose. This is odd subculture, the musicians and music goers nod and know each other; the comment on N’arlins Jazzfest this year, the energy is high, but few people are dancing; fear invades thousands who want to. In our culture dancing’s a learned skill, not simply something you do. I can feel everything occurring around me; I block it out, and sonically concentrate on the sax, for dancers seek the state forgetting what they look like, or how they should move. We all court the wellspring which moves us, when we stop thinking or looking at ourselves.
[dude behind me, dude to the divisive side, woman erupts, shockwave moves forward, speaking without words (beautiful black spirit woman) aggression akido resistence, sharing, cool and trying to, encore energy, one absorbs by radiating, one exudes. Life in the beautiful people crowd accepts or promotes a controlled narcism, where this live music scene, tolerates less crowd hubris.