26 November 2004

Samo Hung a Head on the Alley

Rebels are we, though heavy our hearts shall always be
Ah, no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We`re the rebels of the sacred heart
I said no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We`re the rebels of the sacred heart

So I wish that my shower faucet would end its tireless demonic posession and let me enjoy a nice hot shower instead of alternating between freezing fucking cold and completely skin peeling, bacteria obliterating hot. I take it by it's current, sudden spew of water from the shut-off nozzle that it knows I'm thinking ill thoughts. Rot in hell you craptacular piece of plumbing. I'll plumb you. Plumb you reeaaal good-like.
Simplicty is the order of things, not like the order of things really changes. Surely it seems to, with people coming and going and objects traversing the sky and stars, policies made and broken, friends forgotten, etc, etc, etc. I must remark how little it changes. It seems complicated, the whole lot of it, yes, but it isn't. We just can't resist the layering of the actions, one atop the other, that make it so, we expect to see such fantastic complexity that we will never fail to see it. There are desires, but they are merely desires, there are dreams, but they are but dreams. Life is life, it is unexplicable and delightful, and sodding hard without any doubt, but it is life. I've congradulated myself in this realisation, because it has been a long way to have come this far, a great exploration in idea and belief and abolishment of all restrictions. Brilliant really, because all along there is just life. Quiet and innervating, shy and firm. I am diluted, perhaps, well, more likely than not, simply am, without the perhaps, sans the corollaries. But at this point I fail to see where I should begin to be concerned.
I am restless in a new fashion. When I am truely tired I sleep and I sleep well, dreaming in black and white, vivid yellows even at times, all traversing and settlig. When I am restless I am unwearied and startlingly clear of purpose at any moment. Very unlike the insomnia, I almost welcome it, this trace of energy transducing to thought that recently just flows without hitch, weightless and streamed.
A pint of Hoegaarden and a window over the city of Glasgow was all I needed and had the other night. I was burning to do nothing but sit and listen. No clutter of thought, no digestion of motive or action. I looked out over the quiet campus in the wee hours of the morning through the lit glass of sleeping buildings and found it absolutely the most beautiful thing. So much like a toddler gently and slowly curling into slumber. So tumultuous, violently erupting into fits of tremors and howls, just then so absolutely silent and fading from the world, ignorant of every pain and parting that had and would occur. I could never do justice in human language all the things I see, or at least the way in which I have witnessed them. But I will sleep all the easier for their occurence, for their existence in these late evenings. Mush it all seems in retrospect but I have such clarity these past few days that I feel your foul opinions of my banter are just quite irrelevant.

21 November 2004

Life Carries on in the People I Meet

The universe is shaped exactly like the earth
If you go straight long enough youll end up where you were

Moments of clarity, utter uncongestion of thoughts and mere emptying of all emotional channels. This weeks theme it seems, so clear and definite, a final sort of cathartic release that I still don't quite understand. Point A suddenly traveled directly to Go and missed all the rest of the universe. I could recall for the first time in some years all the facts about anything just effortlessly, so nietzchean, so pure. I almost fell over at the opportunities it presented, but I was completely too enthralled in it to realise all the potential of the moment. Only days before I had a shorter moment of such that I suddenly in class just stood up and decided defiantly that I would got to Tibet and Nepal. No real reason other than that which propels me seemed to call it so strongly and I for once was clear of consciousness enough to hear it. That is what I think I am to seek, the final absence, a sort of cleansing, a swift breeze to shuffle the litter out and allow me to hear it all for once, see exactly what lies before me.
Not to competely detract from the humour that once was in these spots, but I am coming into my time of year, it is winter after all. And recently I have reminisced less and less, deleting all the memories that seemed foreign and extraneous this time around. The useless is useless, no? or if nothing else merely needless for the moment while I have the distance to examine it. One more week til I'm at home again, back with my feline cousins and playing as I used to. So simplistic those two are, so oblivious to all the hardships and happy as well. But then again, I am too, or at least closer to it. Very satisying in that post-coital way. Like a clove and Stella in my hand with a bit of sweat on brow, I am a man hard-worked and underappreciated, but it matters little with a true sense of home at heart.
I'm still a step ahead of you, like an evening shadow as you walk east. I'll be out of your way soon enough, just as sure as the sun will set on me, it will set on you as well. But then again, I was always partial to the twilight and afterglow.

17 November 2004

With Walnuts? With Walnuts?!!

Look at slow motion asleep at the door
Next to destruction, reach for the source
Get up, get up, get over, take me to your blackened sky

There's not enough fairy dust in the world for you to fly now. You're too much Dustin Hoffman and not enough Andrews as a boy. Yeah you may jump on beds but I doubt you could ever knit a dinner from thin air, now could you, tiny one. But maybe yet you can sew a shadow onto your face at night and make it all so very not Rufio. No more swords or words of hurrah, it seems, all ordinary and paisley-tied in tongue and cheek. Cat may be at play or a frog about to jump, but what can you do about it all as you fall faster asleep. It's all a lovely tra-la-la without the Pan, just a whistle in the distant hung aviary blue traveling along a thin wired wheel to a never seen land of ne'er do wells and thieves of soul.
So you simply see there's no way for you to quite get the jist. Straight lines are too few and far between in mind for you to tread lightly and blindly, blonde. Pick up the penguins and the moose, a few elk, and a whole score of ambiguity in boxes of overweight truth. You can't capture Marx or Monty but you can surely gleen that life is more than the obvious and extraordinary when there is absurdity in the pilot seat and hysterical glibness along for the ride.

11 November 2004

Indiscreet Ingrids

We peered through the windows
New bottoms on barstools
But the people remain the same with prices inflating, inflating
As if saved from the gallows
There's a bellow of buzzers
And the people stop working and they're all so excited, excited.

I came across the realisation in cinematic mirror shards that as long as Bergman is beautiful and London is the scene for intrigue, I will always want to be Cary Grant.

So, I edited the post, sue me, I do it all the time you just never notice.
I realised that with all the things I've seen and done, with all that my still unaged eyes see, I seem to take the awe-striking moments for granted, and only later do I appreciate them in my memory, replaying every second. So here's what you are going to do. Come to Scotland. Fuck the cold weather, fuck the rain, fuck the sodding food and everything else. Come. Go to the highlands, or even the midlands, just to see the sun rise and set. It cannot be paralleled. Come, visit, stop being arses, and I'll stop editing posts when I get bored.

10 November 2004

If One Were to Coagulate the Viscera

Anyone perfect must be lying,
Anything easy has its cost.
Anyone plain can be lovely,
Anyone loved can be lost

I'm all vaclempt, yet strangely not Yiddish, hmm, how odd. And another thing, my fingers are cold, so I may have some typing issues, don't laugh you jackhole in cunt, I kick you for it.
Just ritz bits and corduroy snaps
like goldfish and whale bone sails
complete and utter nonsense, no?
eight year olds and portrait memories, nevermind the sturdy wooden legs.
At any rate, I wis quite excited about the whole thing of my final box arriving, but it was doomish, oh so doomed in doomishness. It came, opened and resealed, and most importantly missing some things that I's like back. So I appeal to you almighty internet, return to me my pen needles and tattoo art, most assuredly long lost already. Blah, Glasgow still shimmers, though, brightly these days as the sun sets now at 4 and rises around 8. It's really brilliant in fact, seeing as I am as always a bit of a shadow myself, what with the creepy looks and whatnot that I'm purported to have about me when I where a baseball cap. Nonetheless, maybe I'll seem more preppy once I own a GUVMA rugby jersey and get all muscle-y and calloused after hits and tackles and scrapes and cleatings.
I have to endeavor to pull my act together and resist the temptation to go and sit for hours on end after class tomorrow afternoon. I am a man on a mission, a mission to City Centre to retrieve several tickets for Flogging Molly in Edinburgh. It will most assuredly rock my nuts off hardcore. I wouldn't be surprised if I came back with a urinary problem. But then again, it may just end up being the clap or something. Traveling does so have this effect on me, the few instances of excitement and anticipation. Again to push on east over the hills to the coast once more and find ocean and sky tangled up and rolling again like some lovers quarrel gone awry. Hmm, poetry in motion perhaps much like Kerouac or Murakami. At any rate, I have an anatomy exam with my name on it which means I apparently need to accept responsibility. Fuck that, I'm gonna go do something non-productive. It wis the sole option in the whole bloody affair, hyah. Cheers at any rate, and watch out for your wee cotton socks, lass.

6 November 2004

Saganaki Dreams

Here we are
Foreign to their world
Straight and composed
Your sermons I can do without
And I finally found that everybody loves to love you
When you're far away

So what, you may ask, is an average Friday night like in my city of warm weather eternal? Well, for one, it's toasty in so many ways, for another, well... I couldn't tell you seeing as I spend the majority off my tits in drunken debauchery with the multiple hotties that follow my every move. I have a sweet ass, I can't help it!
Apparently today, Saturday, was some holiday called Guy Fox day. It's like the fourth of July in the states, except their reason for setting off fireworks while freezing their tits off isn't as well grounded per se. Apparently, way back in the day, some random guy, let's just call him Guy, decided to try and burn the Brit's parliament to the ground. Possibly it was a good idea, maybe it was just plain assinine, I can't say cos honestly I couldn't really bring myself to entertain any sort of interest in the subject. At any rate, he, like all Scots, failed miserably much to the joy of the Brit wankers. So every November apparently, the Scots celebrate this grand failure of an event by setting off fireworks and drinking until they vomit profusely. Now maybe this strikes you as it does me, completely normal. But it is the only occasion that I know of that the Irish don't take part in but the Brits celebrate, only because they're so happy to have their fugly yellow building intact, go figure.
I personlly celebrated by going out to eat at a decent greek restaurant, still somewhat tainted by the British idea that everything different can be homogenized, such that the mousaka had a light tomato sauce over it... yeah, cos its oooooooh so normal. Nonetheless it was cheap and filling when coupled with a nice Pinot Grigio and a glass of port with chocolate gelato. I'm a lush I realize, but it's all in an attempt to prevent my expounding upon my new found hatred of all the "friends" (aka "aquaintances") I left in the states save one.
For now I shall wish you a wonderful Guy Fox day, go burn down some government buildings, blame it on me, I'm good at pissing those G-men off anyhow.