--

I feel like being infinite.

Leopardskin Pillbox Hat

World 1:

Ernest Hemingway, Ron Silliman's new sentence, Robert Kroetsch and the carnivalesque, Nihlism, Jacques Derrida's Deconstructive Philosophy, Gilles and Deleuze's Rhizome, Kerouac's "On The Road", Eloquence and Articulation, Burroughs and Bukowski, Jazz.

World 2:

Tires, Radiators, Engines, Mufflers, Constant Velocity Joints, Universal Joints, Dust Boots, Grease, Brake Dust, Calipers, Drums, Flat Rate, Modules and Diagrams, Electrical, Magnetism, Formulas, Coefficient of Friction, Clutches, Power Tools, Air Tools, Coveralls.


How do I reside in these two worlds?

you know...

i do too. and that's about all i have to say, for now.. expect more in a few hours, maybe tomorrow.

yeah, probably tomorrow.

I'm going to [have to] go with whoever's gonna get me the highest

the fact of the matter is, its got mass;

that is, it constitutes everything there ever was, and everything there ever is, and all that there ever is and was is change. as convoluted and copernican as that seems, its all true. and by all, i mean everything that ever was to be contained and constrained in the above sentence, which in and of itself is a convoluted and complicated thing -- which oddly enough, has mass as well - to be messing with. things have changed, that much is true. good change, bad change, call it what you will, but everything changes all the time. change is the only constant, as cliche as it is, cliches are cliches for a reason. you may not like it, and i may not like it, but its true.

i've been neglecting things. my brain, for one. i've been focusing on one area of thought, and i haven't been exploring any other avenues. haven't really been exploring at all. really. i've learned a lot of things though, i really have. i've made mistakes, and made amends, and made more mistakes, and mistreated and misread and misused and misinformed and generally mismanaged a lot of valuable resources. i guess what i'm really trying to say is, i'm sorry. i've bruised and bandaged a lot of friendships, and a lot of romances, and a lot of relationships --there is a difference- and i've made the afore mentioned amends, and a lot of the afore mentioned people have left for good. not all, but a lot. and here i am, going for a perfect record. batting .1000 at alienation.

and that is wrong. but what am i to do? sacrifice a stable existence and moderate non-angst? or merely go with it, and become that piece of a shipwreck that manages not to fall to the sea-floor, and somehow manages to act as a beacon of what was, forever entrenching the memory of an object into the ever-present.... well, present?

and through all of this, there has been change. but there has been a lack of change, and i agree with you there. there is a distinct lack of change in some major areas that there should be change. but really, nothing has come of my experiences and mistakes, has it?

what i mean to say is if nothing comes of it, by way of no forward progress in a life sense. there can be progress... which is technically the wrong word, because progress is usually forward, but in this sense, progress merely means life-travel, and a lack of forward-life-travel would make for a negative experience, by which i do not mean negative as in reverse travel, but negative as in the lack of positive as in the lack of forward progress. a lack of directioned travel, an ambiguous journey in meaning and theoretical morality that really accomplishes nothing, and in reality doesn't even begin. which, in short, means that i --as always-- reside, alone, at the beginning. and this is familiar, as it always will be.

-jr

"She said always remember never to trust me. she said that the first night she met me. she said there's gonna be a time when i'm gonna have to go with whoever's gonna get me the highest.

she said i won't be much for conversation if we go and do the rest of this. she said i've never been much for conservation. i kinda dig these awkward silences. she's got those bones brigade videos. she knew them back and forth. she's slept with so many skaters. she had the place to herself. she had a couple hundred bux. and he had nothing but the number.
she said i like the guy who always answers the door. he never asks you what you came to his house for. she said i won't be much for all this humbert humbert stuff. i've never done so much of this. i have to try so hard not to fall in love. i have to concentrate when we kiss. she mouthed the words along to "running up that hill." that song got scratched into her soul. he's never heard the song before. but still he gets the metaphor. he knows some people that switched places before. she said i really like the crowds at the really big shows. people touching people that they don't even know, yo.

i guess the heavy stuff ain't quite at its heaviest by the time it gets out to suburban minneapolis. we were living up at nicollet and 66th. with 3 skaters and some hoodrat chick. drove the wrong way down 169. almost died up by edina high. "

always remember [never] to trust me.

greetings, fellow cosmic misfits;

for someone who posts with the sort of irregular schedule i do, even the last few months have been unusually barren; devoid of substance, even. my routine has been monotonous, and i don't really get very far into a thought before it is lost forever. i've been half asleep for a while now. i've modeled my exit strategy after that of the american army's out of iraq/afghanistan. two years now i've planned on leaving, and two years now its been put off. and the aftermath has been about the same; the people i've left behind, the things ive done, the time i've lost. is this really worth it?

every morning, 6:30 am comes earlier and earlier, and i somehow drag myself out of bed, stand under a stream of molten water, and boil myself awake until i start to function. after a few minutes of that, i air dry, willing myself to think, process, recognize my surroundings. i'm somehow standing in the kitchen, running the variety of breakfast through my head. nothing seems easy, fast, or tasty, so i skip it again, letting my stomach rumble all through the morning class. somewhere in the back of my head, a thought clicks about gaining weight and working out, but i ignore it. i'm still tired and lazy, no time for breakfast.

i somehow manage to get dressed in the endless darkness that is our bedroom, all the while being relatively quiet -- some people don't get up until 8:30 - and i manage to gather my things, and head out the door at 7:30 or later. depending on the time, the flow of traffic varies greatly, from absolutely barren roadscape, to deadlocked rush hour. its perilous, i tell you, perilous.

so if you were wondering. i'm still here.

barely.