chess lessons 00001

As soon as you get in a position where are convinced you are either winning or losing, this is when you will make a mistake, you have lost your focus, so play the game keeping in mind the potential of each move, avoid the mentality of win or loss.

we live and breathe the soundtrack to our life

change of local circa 95ish

what brought be here, you may ask. And by here I don't just mean this moment in time, this point in my life, althought I have been considering that a lot lately, it's possible a clue to that mystery will be presented here, but what I am refering to is this place, Oregon, about a decade ago. It seems like ages, and starting how different and yet the same I am, everything is. The simple answer is a 3 days on a greyhound bus, 2 packs of cigarette, a couple of carry on bags, I believe 3 other bags of luggage traveled with me on this trip. It seems that my father chose the worst time to send me away. It was the week of the high school prom, and althought I had already dropped out of school, I was planning on going with Dirni, my girlfriend at the time, and a group of our friends. There was also a KMFDM show the following weekend that I was hoping to go see, but he had bought the ticket and I had no choice that I could see at the time. I had a good group of friends, many of them where involved in the writing guild and enviromental clubs I was in while attending school, most all of them when by handles, codenames, there was Autumn Silver, Silence, the twins (thing 1 and thing 2 as they where commonly refered, Steven and Karen, Dirni of course. Most of us where writers, poets, readers of Anne Rice, scifi and fantasy. I was refered to by a number of handles myself Bloodlust, Tizoc, Stylor, I would have to say this is before the days of Chaosguarian. Many where used on dialup BBS's that we used to communicate and play games, I was a forum op on one, called Centrifugal Meltdown, if I remember correctly. I was also associating with other dropouts, musicians, and well that not relevent to the story at had but lets just say my future here could led down a path I would not like to contempate. I think my father came to the final decision for sending me when me away after learning that I supported my mother leaving him when she did. Having been witness to the beatings she took and been a brunt of my father's violence for a number of years, of course I supported her. I can't say I was doing much to further my life at the time, I wasn't working I was mostly sneaking out and going to parties and spending time with my friends. My mother had been kicked out of the church, which I had stopped going to myself, another reason my father didn't want me around. His hiporcisy, thier hiporcisy only furthered my contempt. Somehow it was her fault, she was an adulteress, despite the fact that she did not start seeing anyone until after she left my father, because they where still married. At this time I had began to study Tarot and Astrology, and had read up a bit about the Wiccan, and other pagan religions, as an alternative, and also started reading existensial philosophy, such as Sarte. I remember there are things I had to leave behind, I did not take my copy of the complete hitchhikers guide, or a Doctor Who graphic novel. There was a few other miscellanous artifacts I remember leaving, such as my breifcase that was spraypainted in tiedie. I remember trying to spend as much of those last days, after I found out I was leaving with Dirgni, she was a very sweet girl, an amazing artist with a soft voice and soft demeanor. To take with me she made me a couple tapes, One with a copy of The Lemonheads, Come on feel, and Mazzy Star, don't remember the name but it's the album with 5 string seranade, and a mix tape with some Simon and Garfunkel, and Don Mclean, more then likely I still have both of these tapes. Dirgni would and I would spend hours on the phone and I remember that on a number of occassions she would read me Grim's fairy tales until I fell asleep. I often spent hours talking on the phone, from which I was perpetually grounded, it was a way to stay in contact since it seem nearly impossible to get out of the house, until I learned how to sneak out of the second story bathroom window.

The trip itself was long, I remember not being able to sleep for the first day, leaving Texas. I remember the night sky in Arizona, one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Passing through Hollywood at 2am. The LA terminal, ugh. Many layovers, stops and McDonalds. A lot of listening to my headphones, some writing, playing cards. I believe at one point I did engage in conversation with a fellow traveler who was going to San Diego. I remember the transition of scenery from California to Oregon. And seeing all of those trees, the hills, the beauty of it. I arrived at my destination in Cottage Grove, Oregon, early in the morning if I remember correctly. My grandparents, mother's parents where waiting to pick me up. I was going to live of their farm, 40 acres out in Saginaw, on the top of a hill where they had lived most of their lives, I had lived there before as a child with my mother while my father was in Nebraska looking for work.

This would be the start of a whole new life, a long period of solitude, long walks in the woods, with Chelsea a half greyhound half lab mix as my only companion. I took to writing and reading through my roleplaying books, one of the hobbies to pass the time was making RIFTs characters, a very drawn out process would could take hours, since many of the skills gave attribute modifications. At first, for several months I recieved lengthy letters from Dirgni, she even sent some artwork, some I still have. I was to spend my day, woken up at 6am every morning assisting my grandfather with farm chores, a lot of this involved loading and unloading wood for the wood stove, and finding shorts in the electric fence, chasing down cows when the got loose, and helping with various tasks in the garden. Gardening was my grandfather's passion, and his garden was extensive. I spend a year only going to town once a week when they went in for groceries. I loved the oregon weather, I was fond of the rain, always had been, it seemed so cleansing. After a year I decided with the help of my Uncle John to enroll in high school, this was my chance to get out to meet people. My grandparents where also very conservative Christians, and it was not optional that I attend sunday services, I remember faking ill on a number of occassion to avoid being there, and when I was there if not napping I would engage myself in writing satire such as the 10 commandments of Kermit. When I was able to say home I would surf the sattelite tv and often settle on a Columbo movie, which I really enjoyed. I eventually did make friends with Josh, a younger kid who lived down the hill, we would wander the woods, I introduced him to Dnd and the Magic the card game, I clearly remember the time my grandparents found my cards and tried to burn them convinced of their satanic influence. I at one point tried jacking into their phone box and running 75 foot of phone cord to the computer I bought from John's dad so that I could attempt to dial onto a bbs. Can't help but miss the good old day of pre internet computing, with classic Door games such as TW2010.

Well there are many things I could say about the time I spent there, it some ways I find now that I miss the issolation of being surrounded by forest. I learned a lot while I was there, I learned a work ethic form my grandfather, who was always at a task, something to contrast my father who obviously hated his job, and well I can only imagine his life. I am glad that is where I ended up as difficult as it was, life I mentioned early I don't know where else I could have gone if I had stayed in Houston. And well the smell of cow is something you can get used to but they are truely one of the dumbest creatures I've ever seen. Since the passing of my grandparents this past year I have thought much about that place, and what it meant to me. I hope to revisit their property sometime in the near future and hope to have something more to say about it.

when walking up hill rocks roll down

Sometimes all it takes is effort, I almosts lost my job today, or at least my position on the team. The effort that I've been making the couple weeks saved me. It was noticed. Once you start making that effort again, start that uphill climb that's when all of those forgotten challenges those monters you've tried to hide from let you know that they are still there, still yours. I know it was my own decision to make this start again, to take those steps I have told myself to take, listen to the whispers of dreams, regain footing on that ledge. And today I find myself in tears broken down, dodging, and having to decide to pick up that heavy armor, carry the sword of self authorization, write these words, and remember all those words spoken and unspoken that where offered up with love, despite my fear. I may have lost more then I know this day, and I will except that, and continue. So many of the people close to me may never know thier place in my heart, I hope one day to be better at saying the right words. So for now. Thanks.

I should have hit.

Okay, here is a story many of you may have heard already, I will tell it as true as I can remember and try to throw in any details I can. I am tempted to rush through it and get it done. This is a story of defeat, fear, perhaps weakness, for which I find strength courage and some triumph in the telling. Perhaps I can throw in a ficticious ending to make it more exciting we will see. Many details I do not remember, the event took place in my latter days in the hell I refer to as Spring, TX. I can't say what time of year or what much else other then I remember I had just come home, and I came in throught the back door through the kitchen, and was heading towards the stairs to go to my room. I don't know what it was that my father said, or who else was in the house at the time, I only remember me and him, but now that I think about it I am sure others where there because, I had grabbed a piece of cherry pie to take with me to my room. Whatever it was that he said my response was 'asshole' , that was the word I spoke as I headed up the stairs toward my room. Next I remember he came up the stairs after me, he was angered by my show of disrespect, a disrespect that I had felt for some time, a contempt even for this man. I hated him. What I remember next is that I had enought time to place the cherry pie on a wooden desk chair, the old style school room desk chair combo, that sat next to the corner of my bed. When he made his way up the stair I was standing in my door way inside my room, him in the door way just outside my room. We stood face to face, I cannot say what words where spoken, but I remember that fists where raised. Eye to eye, each with a raise fist ready to strike, I remember the struggle that I felt, the interal questioning, can I hit this man, he's my father, that would he hit me. I could not, was it fear, was is some semblence of respect that I say I didn't have, a weakness, cowardice. It seems like we stood in this position for quite some time. And then it happened, he punched me, I was across the room and on that chair, covered in that pie. I could not believe it. To this day I my collar bone is still a bit out of place, from this incident, it must have hit the chair when I fell. This wound is a reminder, a scar that may carry with me for some time. I have thought much about how many times I backed down, avoided confrontations such as these. How much of my contetions towards this man sprung from wanting to defend myself, my mother, my siblings from the violence of this man. I have some understanding of what it take for someone to live like this with such self loathing, fear and insecurity that he must compensate with violence, and I do everything in my power not to be that man. So maybe the answer is not that I should have hit, maybe I was the stronger one for not doing so. Who can say.

six underground

Something simple I grasp for, never wanted more, never thought I should
can't take back, can't be undone, is it best to forget and just go on. Woke up angry and tired frightened and alone, all lies, and you can't cure me of any of them. Banging my head against a brick wall, It's so easy to just be so wrong. I can't do this to myself. Why won't everyone just go way. I don't need a fan club, an audience for my destruction. I dreams the night before last of a lover and friend, who while haunting my dreams has now words for me in daylight. In the dream she came to warn me of another of her of absense and void, loss....I think I know what she meant. I must choose a mistake, for myself, what will you choose? This is not my world, this is my life, and the choice to suffer for it is own. Back to that word, resolute, I guess it also means a willingness to stick by a decision, even knowing it might hurt. Forward is the only way from here, straight through to something different, this is not the time for statis, this is the time for growth, so where will we go from here...every day it feels like something left behind...but the road is long...I seem to keep coming back to this one simple thing, beyond all of the frustations of the day, like a grain of sand, or a tear welling up in the corner of my eye...something that is as vast and infinite as a single moment, and a slap in the face for trying to reach beyond that. I want to appologize but maybe that would serve no purpose, I want to undue the hurts and unravel the mechanism...all these words are just that...so I am fin.

....and resolute

so maybe this is one of those words that I could use some better understanding of, so I reach for a definition or three. Resolute: firm in purpose or belief, firm or determined; unwavering. So how to stand resolute, firm in purpose.

engaged and resolute

so these are my words of wisdom for the moment, sifted bits of inspired words that I have decided to fix in a given position so that I might come back to them and a later date and be reminded they where there. My life right now, well for quite some time as seems to be about a disillusionment of persective, a disintigration of what I thought I was, now I'm not so sure if it's about building up or tearing down anymore, but certianly it about being involved in the process, something my friends have heard me mention 'the dialog' which I see as an endless conversation, much like the axiomatic concept of 1>~<1 'the argument', there are some things that we may never agree on, if fact true agreement 1=1 nullifies the equation, A DJ friend from LCC was fond of the phrase 'I'm not like you', and you know what who is, who needs to be, the thread that ties up all together need not be so evident, and you could argue all day the differences and simularities, that's not the point. The point is that it is possible to touch the thread recognize our differences expand well beyond anything we might be able to ever know of another person. There are many people I have thought I've know well, only to find that I knew a preconception, an idea. Change is the only constant. Wow I think i'm off topic again, suprises there, but engaged nonetheless. One of my fascinations of late has been ideas of man machine identity nature culture society, of which I will write more. I'm still sorting, this reorganizing for me is also personal, it's reclaiming the parts of myself I've buried or ran from, it's about staying engaged, it a process of self discovery, and resolved to make something of it, what yet I'm not sure, and I can tell you the process itself at least is going from being something totally scatter to something that at least I can envision being a variety of interest, ideas, concepts, projects, that are a network of some sort, an extension of myself somehow. I have often been quite to excuse myself from the resposibility of this work, this art that is my life. And yes I guess I am an artist, I mean what other time of person would take recordings of the sounds of a soda can being crushed, or draw all those circles....and an artist I once met told me that the responsibility of an artist was to be a witness. To perhaps add illustration to the world, smash the mirror and glue the pieces back together. I promise I'll be getting to the interesting stuff soon, stories of personal fear and self loathing, of overcoming ridiculous misfortune, and more the likely a lot of fragmented abstractions, and try to avoid getting beyond my scope for the time being. Well to all I would like to say, take care.

lately I have been doing a lot of digging through the treasure chest of personal memories. Memory is something I struggle with, it seems that I have manage to learned to repress many of my memories of childhood, and since I have spent so much of my life trying to create that gap, to seperate myself from them, from my family. There are things that I do remember, and there are things that I really just wish I could forget. But one thing I have learned as I throw myself out into the community and start to try to relate to other human being is how many people's self identity is strongly grounded in how they relate to their families. And as I try to explore my own sense of identity, and I have to answer questions about my childhood things get fuzzy. I would like to think that somewhere I have pleasant childhood memories much like everyone else does, they are surely those little gems that are buried under the muck. I was more then content with that seperation for several years, I moved away from home when I was 18, to live with my maternal grandparents. It was the day after my 27th birthday, in February of 2004, that my grandmother passed away, the cancer had spread to fast despite the surgical attempt to remove it. My mother, and 2 of my sisters came to the funeral. This was in the wake of a relationship that was already in decay, me grasping at treads of understanding on many personal levels, and feeling like I was in a fog of confusion about much of it. So this experience of death, and loss happened on many levels, and memories of my childhood resurfaced to haunt me. So, as I take a intermission from dreaming, I will be posting of some of those memories, of family, of home, childhood, and perhaps even some more recent....with the hope of discovering something buried beneath the surface....

another day on this road I travel

There are some answers for which all the libraries in the world, all the words, compiled and cross referenced, will not reveal. Some places in time that some how seem clearer and more real. Of late, it seems that to climb is the only way to go, despite the almost inevitable chance that a decent will again follow. This also means confrontation, and an end to certian allowances, trades for convienience, because do demand more of myself means reclaiming something back from those that have been allowed to pick at the pieces of me for which I cared so little. Digging at the roots so as to replant where there is room for growth. The well is deep, and the waters that run are infinate as time itself. Who is there to blame? If I knew what I know now, I would never have been where I was, and then where would I be now, if not here? Beyond any single moment, a life composed of many, memories, sacrifices, mistakes, unspoken treasures. I remember the dead day, and the transition to grey, living in a space to small for me with no room to grow, but my home my shell is cracking, and the air is sweet. The trails that lead forward, lead to trial know and unknown. So what will me choose the secret or the mystery? It was over a year ago that I looking into my heart and saw the anger that still consumed me, that I allowed to seperate me from the outside. Since then I've tried to hard to kill it, knowing that it could only bring pain. Sought to heal myself to isolation, to lock myself away from any who would get close, but some healing cannot take place in isolation. Some anger is justified, and somethings are worth giving up life for. But also accepting death and living life is true courage, why be one of those that is just waiting to die. I can't make assumptions beyond my own capacity, but I can attain live within my own capactiy. Breathe.....perhaps I've said to much, perhaps not enought, but for now I shall remain silent, the play continues, some of us have made perdictions regarding the upcoming scenes, no matter what the outcome I'll be there....

intermission

popcorn, peanuts, a spectalular dissillusionment, a future found in my past, the machines ciruitry is gutted and rewired, a short nap, I was proven wrong, what a wonderful feeling, dancing in the eyes of worlds that await.....

If I saw me would I recognize me there...

John and Bill showed up friday night, the initial plan was to go to Tsumani's, a dance club, there failed to be any cohession there, and I was certian they charged a cover charge which I at least could not afford, so we got beers, and slowly the rest of the old gang showed up. Tom and Char, Adrian, Brian, and BJ. John was excited that he had finally read Dune, apparently from an early age him mother had said he should read it, then his sister, and then me on numerous occasions. So I was able to have the discussion of the meaning of Leto's golden path, the horizon beyond which the great sandworm could no longer predict the future for man, his role as a God became obselete, this to me is about free will in a way, and symbolic of living beyond a calculated destiny, over the horizon of forsight. We also discussed the question of what was the origin, and how did the Honored Martes evolves out of the scattering, which I believe that they where Bene Gesserit originally and when their supply of spice was diminish they had to find some alternative way produce the chemicals necessary to extend life and there abilities. They certianly differ from the bene gesserit by quite a bit, but still the aim is social control, Bene Gesserit's use religion, whereas the Martes have developed a system of domination through sex. The other big questions for me is Duncan Idaho, who is perpetually cloned throughout Leto IIs reign and beyond. Why Duncan, and I would say that he represent the characteristic that Leto has lost, humanity, particually the noble Atredies traits of loyalty and self sacrifice, what Leto was trying to save but could not be. Adrian explain a bit about dual core processors, which was also very fascinating and I was able to draw analogy to the binary nature of the human brain with a chip that had a dual cpu, each side specializing in different type of processing. I enjoyed spending time with some of the people I've known longer then anyone in this area, people all connected by having spend much of thier lives involved in roleplaying games, reading and video games.

Later that evening much of the group left, and BJ and Bill decided that we where going to go to Tsumani's a dance club. Bill bought me and AMF, a pretty burly mixed drink that was blue, and between sips I spent a good amount of time out on the dance floor, totally into the dance, something I thouroughly enjoy. We left around 2, and I got home and was online chatting for a while before I crashed, ended up an online conversation about geology, I ended up helping someone with my web researching and finding links about a fossil formation, don't remember what it was called anymore, but it was prevelant in Michigan, and I believe even the Michigan state rock.

Saturday I had to work, somehow I manage to do alright working on only 4 hours sleep, something I do perhaps a bit more often then I should. Saturdays aren't really that busy anyway, so I had a chance to read and setup site meter for this blog, think I got some posts in even.

Well Saturday evening, I got home from worth and there was a message from Bill saying he would pick me up between 7-8, we where going to a bbq party at Frank's, in Cottage Grove. This ended up being a really fun party, again John and all our friend, and Frank, and a bunch of his friend, so over half the people there I had never met before, there was a bonfire, and a really neat tent setup with sofas and a table.....(to be continued)

where am I now?

Well at this point I can say that I am uncertian how to approach life, perhaps I spend to much like trying to decided on a method or avoid one altogether. Moments of clarity led me to the realization that I think to much of the world in terms of the human race, or the human condition, and seeing it as somewhat disfunctional. This mode of thought separates from the realization of the natural world, in which humans are a part, but our play is nothing compared the the beauty of the stage upon which is it carried out, from the savage brutality of it to the simple beauty, flowers for example, and in contract, what is the human drama compared to the magnitude of this, and we as much a part of it. I feel myself tugged back and forth like a pendulum, from persuit, activity and avid attention to life back to moment of doubt and time passing without real recollection or even interest. One week filled with quite walks and thoughts of life and the future, potentiality, and the next with what has come before defeats and failures. The future is as unknown as the recollections of the past are inconsistent. This never turn out quite how you expect them to. But where do I go from where, what it is I want for myself, I pretend to want nothing, that my needs are simple, or that I am not worthy of much more then the little bit of space I have left, my quiet cave....have I always lived like this, no in many ways this is more real then any previous incarnation. Perhaps I try to hard to seperate myself from my youth, as I struggle to find some piece of it, of me that is consistant, that has not remade itself. I started out on a quest for origin, and I have made many guesses about my nature...about my 'self' in all is variable forms....angles which even i cannot see or begin to imagine, so why do I play at this, if I unravel all the layers what is left, to realize that it is all a construct, a clever fiction, then why not play it for what it is...well back to work, because there is work to be done

choclate cake and cellphones

Well had an interesting series of dreams last night, the first of which I can recalled had me in conversation with my ex-wife, in which she told me she was having another child, the whole thought of which is just not right, fortunately hours later I remembered that she is incapable of having any more children because she got surgery to take care of that. Well in the dream we where walking and having this conversation, well she left to go to church, and I continued to walk down the street, which was very reminiscent of the street that runs next to the old high school in Cottage Grove, interestingly enough this landscape appeared in another dream recently the one which this stormy town where I was investigating the murder of my brother. The road does down hill, and as I walked further along I ran across BJ and Brant. They where carrying furniture and they walked along, Brant had a dresser or filing cabinent that was black or blue, and BJ had a worn wooden table. I offered to assist BJ with the table, and Brant crossed the street going right, and we cut across a parking lot to the left. We came to a small, small meaning disportionately small, Mexican restaurant, and we left the table outside where it looked like it has been borrowed from...then we where in the restaurant, I was waiting while BJ was talking to someone, the impression was that he worked there, as we where on our way out, two older gentlemen where drinking an orange drink and talking, the one was getting up and offered his glass to BJ, who took a drink, as the second one got up he gave me his glass, the drink was quite like Tang. They left us their table where there was a chocolate coconut brownie cake, which we ate and drank the tang drink. Then I woke up.

The next I remember bits of was on the futuristic side, with kiosks where you could purchase through credit anything, I was with friend buy tickets to a movie, this future was a world where most of what was on television was a cross between bad cable news and SNL, politics being the joke of the day, and any politician who could be poked for reason was. The think I remember most vividly was a bit of technology that was a card that when with your cellphone, it was called a RELAX, and it would automatically mute cellphones while in movie theatres and would transcribe to text any messages that where left, I was examining one while in the theatre and am sure there where other option, just as full transcription of any conversation. The overall structure of this dream has faded I do remember there was some choice between 2 different movies both with popular actors, and again the subtext was that there where political elements as well, like and exaggeration of the already bipolar pop culture perception of politics that is evident today, in other words a world gone madder.

Maintenance

the door is ajar....ding....ding...the door is ajar....

that which we share is evident, that which separates us more difficult to define, discrimination, authority, who is the target audience, If I'm not speaking for myself then who do I speak for which is easier, which is cowardice, to profess my flaws or my strengths, in which do I have faith? What does the audience see, target or otherwise, not all struck, making an impression?? Sometime the truest individualization is the deviation from assumed deviation. What do they tell the fledgling actor, imagine the audience naked, hmm...maybe that's not always a helpful image, but the truth is naked, sometimes it sags a bit in places, and sometimes it's simply a choice....for the choice is always the same.....processed in binary....off or on, yes or no, every second....the how is an illusion I create every time I don't make that choice....and it is simple.... relationship...exchance....transmit....trasmit...trasmit....

words

after all the words are said, what can is there to say,
sit still and listen, we shall have no peace today,
no freedom from troubles no absence of strife or struggle,
get up go to work, get down feel the earth,
erode beneath are feet,
we breakdown as we breathe,
we breathe....

an idea, radius and reflection, counter intuitive, sometimes reactionry and unaware, strife and struggle, for an absense of strife and the struggling, grasping at what, for who holds tomorrow, pass the salt, pass the bottle, sit down and stay a while, tell me some sorrow I have not known, not just an imagines trespass or forshadowing of impending doom, there is alway impeding something breaking in the distance, getting closer, and then not at all what it ever, completely broken down, not what we were ever shall we be, but nothing other that, was we have always been, falling down, arising, unarriving.....where was I?

lost post volume one

I guess it would probably be a good idea to be aware of blogger downtimes....had a nice post written out a review of zardoz and about the frustrations of my weekend, well guess it's nothing worth holding onto. There's alway something else like....check out Doctor Paradox ....
http://creativecommons.org/weblog/entry/4161

'if illusion and reality are different....
they are also very much the same.
embrace everything,
condemn nothing.'

no title can i edit that later I wonder

I'm really to tired to have much to say, so I'm just gonna write and see what happens. I am trying to write here as much as possible, just for the practice of writing, and to open the gates and let out all those thought anxieties self critical thoughts and grand or not so grand relevations, because I might not be able to say it all but I can say something, I can pour words on the page, rearrange them a million ways. After years of being washed in the tide of poetic expression and attempts to grasp at the intangible, what is washed away and what is worn thin, time for something with a but more form. Let's attempt full sentances even. Friends have suggested I attempt a novella, or perhaps a short story, I think I'm working my way up to that. Certianly something more then fragmented words, scribbles on paper, squigley lines. There was a time when I doubted words, thought their true meanings where something beyond my grasp. So now I write, unfolding those crumpled up pieces of paper, picking up a pen, puting fingers to the keys and filling in blanks, and maybe not every word is exacting in detail, perhaps that is something that will come with time, or perhaps what is revealed is more then adequate, and the process certianly much more liberating then holding a pen and waiting for the perfect words.

drunk after a punk show

and still the best thing of my day is simple, a hug, drunken and enjoying the disfuction that is evident in the smell of adrenaline and sweet, punks reek of sweat, a girl was asking for a pipe so smoke some hash oil, there was an after party where was it 19th and adams or was it adler, who knows, I am drunk, and listening to a song entitled ghost-town of my brain....never much cared for punks I mean what's it all about being too drunk to fuck, wasted and nihilistic, now that's something to live for, I mean really, where's that going, guess for some of us that's where you have to be to realize there is somewhere else to go. Gotta admit the dance is the dance despite the occasional shove, cause what can you do but shove back, as expected. Had some pretty good beer, some Caldera Stout, and a Black Butte Porter, which is certianly a standard. Almost didn't go, distracted by conversation of nature, man, techn0logy, and how will the whole thing work out, and what it means to be a post modernist, to live with an idea of what is beyond the chaos reshaping every moment of our systematicly structured existance. Something the punk has no concept of.
To me punk is about the chaos without vision, without heart, but still its something real, there is a passion to it, something I can dance to, and when someone steps in my circle I shove back as expected, give back, is there love in that or what?

shatter the mirror....

i barely recognize this face, and it's so inconsistant, each time I see something different, a warrior, a poet, the smirk of a prankster, a vile thing, one who waits and listens, that lost look again. they are all and not the same as I. I dream for answers, and am given riddles. The most vivid was of me and the primative man stating at the base of a tree which was not a tree but was the whole of the human evolutionary process, the base of the tree was a cluster of transmigratory souls, bright light, and as you went up several plateus, I could see up to the highest plateu and there was a woman looking down and me, expectingly, waiting. All my life I have heard the words like 'achieveing your full potential'....do I have so much 'potential', perhaps to much that the thing about potential is something like waiting in line, but for what, what's at the end of that line, or the next, where does it go? Every choice, action, excludes another, 'there's no such thing as a right decision' , but what about a wrong one, experience would tell me there seem to be plenty of those, plenty of dead ends, brick walls, that have to be scale, or broken down, and here I am looking back at me, will I remember the one who wrote this.

There was a child who told me my name, he dream many days to come to this, this name, it was the one I had always know, but only when the child spoke the word did I know its meaning. It was no word every spoken in any languange previously know to man, for it had a shape, it spanned time, and was brilliant in colour. It also belonged to another one who would be me when I was no longer.

Take me to your garden of tears, and learn me to dream, forget my fears,
we tend the earth as we where born to be, watch the skys and speak of dreams,
we've killed our fathers, and made new songs from ancient hymns...

another dream I come to a small town where it is always raining, I am investigating the death of a family member, possibly a brother, everyone I meet is aware of why I am there and more then forthcoming, I play roleplaying games with people in a van, the eventually give me my next contact who lives by the high school, the person I mean knows me tell me and again is more then forthcoming with information both about myself and my reasons for being here, things about myself that I did not even know. This town is along the ocean and beyond the ocean lies the answer. Somehow the town is under the influence of the WOTC, and they are more then just the company that has renewed interest in roleplaying games, perhaps a secret order, and there I am investigating a murder in their territory, now a pawn in a story that is bigger then the any I have ever.....

around the block....a day, and a week, things previously unspoken

it's a short trip down to the park where I swing, why do I swing, it's a childish thing, and on the headphones burroughs speaks of western lands, the road is devious unperdictable, a dangerous road, I have failed every trial set before me, burnt so may bridges and made a toy of all that might be a tool, a fool, suffering for his own folly, and yet I must continue, next track, el hombre, the man, when does a chld become a man....I stand before you may I pass, may I pass, do I have to ask. And what of that girl, the one who will one day cry on my shoulder, do I ask her, do I tell her what I see, where I've been, of my folly and quests for redemption, that my heart is pounding, and it frightens me, of the daydreams. The sand stuck to my shoes makes the pavement uneven as I leave the playground, but by the time I round the corner it has been worn away. I think maybe I should see someone on the street and give them this disc, so they may hear what I have heard. Another corner, a shadow on the grounds startles me briefly, I walk further. My heart beats, my heart beats, has it ever been so apparent, so much joy and sorrow awaits up before we reach the shore, did I imagine what I saw that day, was it a glimpse of a heaven with all it joys and sorrows, or a clever illusion, a daydreamers picnic beside a field of tall grass with a girl will cry on my shoulder. I loose my footing pavement i step on is cracked and sloping at 2 different angles, I was distracted by a what looked like a road sign, to dark to make out, in lawn of a house as I pass. The day after a daydream a terror settles over, this is all illusion, distraction, my heart beats, but this time, panic, where is this, how can any of this be anything more then a fantasy that will leave me feeling defeated. Further down the block is a the sweet smelling flowers, honeysuckle, I pass once, and then when the fragrance hits me I back of and stop to smell again...is there a land beyond fear. The heart beats, the heart beats, it will have to be removed ripped out of my chest and planted firmly in the ground where it can grow on it's own, let it be the best of me, you can bury the rest of me. What is the one things on my mind: fear redemption fire eternity the clouds and your eyes reality destiny words quid est veritas sorrow tears laugher joy chance or fate pleasure pain nothingness and nowhen existance sex and death ".....a moment later..........and so at last I understood......go."