Turnin Over a new Leaf

So, after many years of neglect and self loathing, I am re-purposing this blog for a slightly more positive and less introspective of life. Rather, I will now use it to talk about my artwork, and my hopes. It has seen a lot of change over the years, and I have "grown up" considerably since that time of constant postings on the other side of the decade. I will leave them there for prosperity's sake, as it was an important, if childish, part of my life. Here then sets a new era of  Ich Will Nicht.

I've Gone and Done it Again

I have hurt myself with reality once more. These dreams dashed upon the icebergs of the now, notwithstanding my inability to recognize the waters sailed would be dashed upon the weakened hull of my conscience. I knew the route was impossible, but that didn't stop the blind optimism from common sense. I would like to say a lesson learned, but know that I learned nothing. Icy waters of self loathing engulf the once brave spirit enthroned in shimmering ineptitude.

I knew this would happen, but insisted on the outcome anyway. If only my dreams could reconcile reality to formulate an outcome beneficial to my delusions. All this on the ones that got away. I am sure they sailed this way only to find an impassable sea of heartache and doubt, but I could not follow. I just want what it is that everybody else seems to have, knowing my riches I forsake them for the promised glitter of a by gone era, and those mistakes that I committed when I was young and foolish, now that I am older yet even more the fool I can't but help my deluded style and fathomed depth.

So step right up and laugh while I dredge this new mistake into the light for all to see, hurling myself to the masses and ashamed of my silent quandary, bereft of a once again heartache and long live mediocrity, I am resigning myself once more to a chosen misunderstanding. Melancholy memories of a beautiful person who I couldn't quite speak up until it was too late, I've lived with this heart on my sleeve to damned long and wish for it to reside comfortably where it needs to be. All the mistakes I've made seem to pile up on me when I least expect but blindly knew to be coming.

Old Liars Club

So here I sit unamused by the belittled movements of the planets. Under no circumstances shall I reveal to them my thoughts, oh no. I know what Jupiter does to those who trust him. I saw it with my own eyes. What is it you ask? If I told you, then the bad will happen to me. Don't believe me? Tough, you will have to take it on faith. I am sure that if you can conjure up enough faith for deities, then so you can with me. But that is neither here nor there, my point was that I don't care what you or the planets think, because Saturn has it in for me, I know it.

What were we talking about again? I forget. You see my mind just isn't what it used to be. I can't be responsible for my ramblings you see, I haven't got the knack you see. Why I remember back in my New York jazz days. There wasn't a lady I couldn't woo with the sultry tones of my saxophone, its deep rumblings of the baritone bounding across the room. Satchmo and his trumpet were no match for my screaming alto. I was the best there was, and no man could claim otherwise. Do you smell that? Anyway, it was one night at the Saxon when... what is that smell? It seems to be getting worse. What were we talking about? The planets? Ah yes, Jupiter is an ass. There I said it, and you can tell him I said it. I...my god no... not after all these years... I escaped you once, I can do it again, I urk, ugh, cruaaaaaauuugh!

As Louis Armstrong played in the background, the old liar could not escape the truth of the nikinikikatungung. For no man can escape its awful truth, and the bejanzzling will be the worse for the wait. The smell subsides, the old man is dead, and the nikinikikatungung has struck again. Louis Armstrong fades into the night.

Burden of the Mind

It is a sad truth that sets me here today. I am unable to recognize the intents of others and bring myself to the reasoning that I am what I thing I am. I seek what anyone seeks, I want what anyone wants, but it seems that I am unable to accomplish these ends because of my lack of ability.
What brought me here today? Of this I am unsure, however, I do know that my being here has altered least not my perception of not only myself, but others that I could care less about, as well as those that I care most for. Drinking in these thoughts I realize that I am lost confused and most assuredly alone. Can anyone else understand my concerns, my doubts? I speak so surely of myself around others, but my thoughts betray me, if only to myself, then that is enough.
I can only hope that I endure the fate that I have laid for myself. The weight of my mind is to great to comprehend, yet it is that very weight in which I wish to increase, while that of my location wishes to decrease. Understandably I haven't given myself the opportunities to release that which lies dormant within, that is a shell that is to hard to break. Twenty eight years of solid defense from others has successfully isolated myself from everyone else, but it has had the unfortunate consequence of trapping me inside. So much so that I am unsure of what I truly am. This frightens me to no end.
Can I say that I truly regret my decisions however? I think that perhaps I cannot, for me to be any other way is simply to not be me, and that is the basic foundation that I have. But even if I have no regrets as to my decisions, that does not mean that I am happy with them. It is the unfortunate reality that most of us live with a deep and foreboding hatred of ourselves and everything that we are. We are unhappy. This is the destiny we have burdened ourselves with simply because we think to a degree that dissatisfies us.
Our humble upbringing has us questioning everything that we do. What is this? Why does this do that? Etc. ad infinitum. Were we that of other creatures that think less about everything and think only of living. Oh the life we could live of a simple beast. Is this still possible if we had no language. Could a child raised by wolves be happy? With no greater understanding that what the next meal involves. The burden of the mind is the fate of mankind, and we cannot avoid the responsibility of it's use in a manner that makes us more that our sum parts. Creatures of this world we may be with our bodies, but beings of infinite power we could be with our minds.

And the Beedrat Argues Thermodynamics

With the rustling of the bushes, the knippewhil sat ensconed by the mutterings of the beedrat. The knippewhil had been floloping, but was just floloped out when it came across the beedrat. As far as it could make out, the small indistinguishable creature was going on about science, namely something called thermodynamics. Unfortunatly for the knippewhil, this was something altogether unheard of.

Why can't these little creatures be happy with the simple things in life, like floloping, thought the knippewhil, but the beedrat would not be diswayed. For hours the young little beedrat sat there, with the knippewhil looking over its shoulder. Never once did the knippewhil notice that something was differant. Not until the beedrat dove for the bushes. What a funny reaction thought the knippewhil. Altogether to late to notice the soft sculptural sounds of Charles Mingus. The dreaded nikinikikatungung was already done bejanzzling the knippewhil before it realized what had happened.

The moral, never argue thermodynamics with a beedrat, while Charles Mingus plays in the background.

Whatever has to happen Mustn't

Woah, I forgot I had this thing. Then there it was, wasting away on the vestiges of the intrawebs. Wew, I guess I shouldn't my things languish like this. I'm sorry my little blog, I won't ignore you anymore, at least for the next week, after that is anybody's guess. So, onward to the point dear friends! I have decided to begin this again, with a certain series of mind craps that can be found lurking in the darker regions of my subbasementconscience. What I mean to say is, nothing drastic not with sandwiching, I will post stories and or observances again here, and there is not a damn thing that you can do about it. So you should sit down, relax, set your sanity aside, and fall in. For now I am going to say if you haven't been here before, read some of the older posts, they are entertaining, or so I thought, that is why I edited them.

Enjoy this rebirth!

plagiarized from the person living under my skin.

What Now?

Dreaming instrumental of the transient lifeway. One step further down that inescapable road of intermediary restlessness. Drained from the long live treetops and a sense of duty that percolates in the unknown masses. Delved by the quadratic, inspired by the attempt of dogged distant débutante's desires. Harumphed, harangued, and halted. Misquoted by the moon while in conversation to the sun but the clouds had no say. Gold seamen and a desperate attempt at naval metallurgy. My face wiped to blight the sight of all whom it touches and the soul should sunder from the unwavering understanding that I shouldn't but already did, no wonder the wonder to wander in wanton wishes. Crushed in all embraces this spring has ground me up yet again. I'm not bitter, I'm resigned to a life of solitude and separation. To be engulfed in a field of drugged deviants. So life, this is what we have, what now?

!

Who are you?! How did you find me!? Nothing to see here! Move along! I'm hiding now! And who the hell was that on the telephone! I'm scared! I'm not shouting, you are!

Sick

Tired and annoyed. I completely forgot that I had a class starting on the 4th, so I missed the first week of it. I feel like I have bitten off more than I could chew with classes and assignments, and on top of all that, I need to find a part time job. Which is to say that the only time I can work is before 10 am, and weekends. I just want to curl up and fade away. When do I have time for all of this? I wish I knew, but I had better find out. I know that I will be able to do all this and get everything done. I just feel ill from the pressure. I don't know. I really don't.

1 2 3 4

Just a short poem written last fallish. Plagiarized from the person under my skin.

An Accord

Some accordance of isolation is keeping me away
This lonely sigh is but my destiny
I haven't understood all these passes
Until they have already passed
Looking at her I only see me
Alone and mistreated by all except all
So I huddle within and hide from myself
In the hopes that if I can't find me then nobody can
I want it so much that I deny it from me
So quiet I still breathless and free
That the darkness I see engulfs not just me
But any image of her, you and he.

Last Breath

A little fiction for you all, plagiarized from the person living under my skin.

Breathing deeply is the only way. All the pain, the nausea, to heartache, it can go away if I breath deeply. I don’t want to suffer anymore, but the very remembrance is enough to bring back everything. Deeper, breath deeper. I look forward to a day when I won’t suffer for this anymore. Even if by my own hand that I suffer, I try to shrug this, but it seems that I’ve developed a habit of it. Suffering for you.

Walking down the street, I catch your fragrance, the smallest scent of you, and the nausea returns. The physical illness brought upon by your memory. I will it to end, but want it forever, all my love for you lets me feel. The love is deep, pulsing, all encompassing. The loss somehow goes deeper, tapping into the darkest reaches of my soul. With icy clutches of bony fingers it slowly steels me, to be tempered by ice and frost. Only the effervescent memory of you keeps the fingers from taking me completely.

But it was you that let those fingers find me. The icy hands are the result of your decision. The choices you made, my failings toward you, the choices I couldn’t make. I thought I saw you yesterday. I couldn’t breath. My vision went black, and you had gone. I know now that I love you still, but that I wasn’t strong enough to admit that, even to myself, until you had gone. This pain in my chest is but the legacy of a fool, gone now are the proud thumpings upon my chest in the presence of men, and arrived is the desperate clutching of an impoverished creature.

My misunderstandings and blind pride hid from me what I knew to be too precious to loose. I claimed happiness, but denied it out of sheer fright. You were the one, the all, and now you have moved on and found happiness anew. But I, I failed, and am now faltering. I had, and now I don’t. I don’t blame you, how can I? I still love you, but these icy fingers claw at me once more. Breath deep. Close your eyes don’t let them know they have you.

My breath is failing now. I can’t seem to get air in. Gone are the deep breaths, and in there place, short gasps. Everything is too bright. The hands have me now, the cold isn’t so bad once you get used to it. The claws don’t dig in anymore. A tear? I can smell the warm saltiness of this last drop. The tang of the salt is overwhelming. Is that you? I can smell you now. And in all the light I swear that you are leaning over me. The cold is gone, replaced by warmth. A smile is trying to steal its way across my face, but the effort is too much. I want only to sleep now. The pain isn’t gone, only distant.

My breath stops. The cold steel of the gun in my hand is the last thing I feel. Your face the last thing I see. Your fragrance the last thing I smell. But the lingering doubt…

My Farthing Has Stated Fare Thee Well

I really have no idea what that is supposed to mean, but nevertheless it is there. Well, let's see here, what exciting melodramas have I been in lately. Ah yes, the inevitable return to Wyoming, with snow, ice, wind, and drifts. Fun. I-80 was a bucking fun sheet of lumpy ice, with white snakes of snow tumultuously racing about it. What fun says I. Not really says the person living under my skin.

What else, let's see here. Maybe my return to Durango soon? Yes, quite good, January 6th. Back to sane country. Where snow falls from the sky, not the ground, or the next town over (which is no less that 100 miles away, see for yourself, I am NOT exaggerating.) Well, nothing else really, I guess I'll be spending new years here, which means I'll be in bed by 10 at the latest.

Ok then, thats enough of this non silliness, now, get the hell off my lawn you dozy brats. Er, um, sorry guvner, no offense. Once again plagiarized from the person living under my skin. Selah.

Home Sweet Snow

I am now happily back in Colorado, away from Wyoming, so that is a good thing. And it is snowing, Ah the good white stuff, that makes the roads slick and the world quiet. Anyway, I just thought that I would post something quick, long trip, got in late, sometimes it is worth it. Selah.

I'm Not Pretty in Pinkin'

I'm so happy to be here, I could just die. But seriously, more uneventful monotony in lovely Wyoming. Ok, so I will be arriving in the San Juans soon, and couldn't be happier about it. I know that I will only be away from here about a week, but when I return, I'll only be here about another week after that, with a good chunk of change in my pocket.

On another note, I am looking forward to more art type stuffs in January. I have two planned paintings and am currently working on one digital illustration. "Hot Times!" said Joe. I am really enjoying the digital art stylings. It's different, and seeing as how I intend to make a living off of it, had better practice it.

Well, I guess I should do something constructive. Like attempting to understand deconstruction. False Realities and all. Actually, I prefer to construct reality in the Faucaultian way. Once again, this post was completely and shamelessly plagiarized from the person living under my skin.

Who's that Rube in the Bushes?

Must be me. Seeing as how I can't sleep, thanks to Amy... just kidding. Before I have an existential meltdown, I decided to spew some mental quandaries. Boundaries? Not being able to see the keyboard? Or having the internet crap out on me for the 1248th time today. I am ready for that saucy puppet show now. Time to delve into my madness.

For a hundred years preceding this menagerie of mental monotony, I decided to become the kind of person who misunderstands the very fabrication of reality and give it a go anyway. Reality that is, not fabrication, or was it the other way around? I've already forgotten. Maybe the person under my skin could let me in on the decisions. I just need to get that promotion of Not Being In The Dark All The Damn Time. The occult creations of platarian insubstantially and the very thing you know are interested in the mindless greed of designer harps. Head vs Heart = Bicycle vs Car.

Now, where the hell is my Tab, and how to I get to that saucy puppet show?