Log in

Previous Entry | Next Entry


Isnt it just like life to give me such beautiful gifts I cannot accept.

Fat people and the unemployed tend to be moody and impatient. I am allowed to make this observation, as I am fat, unemployed, moody, and impatient.

Libido long abandoned to the weakness of extended fasting, along with conversation and movement, in general. It's a dull ache, a numbness in the limbs that I tell myself is the body digging deep to clean itself.

Sauna, hot! And then another. Running out to jump in the pool inbetween. Looking for something suitable to write with in this 3rd grader’s backpack. Colored Pencils it is!

Day 5 of the fast – the body goes into light trauma mode, ketogenesis begins. The 200 degree sauna induces a trauma state of a different system, struggling to maintain homeostasis, without fuel.

Too many, not enough. Sufficient for subsistence long forgotten or never known in its content simplicity. My appetites are so slow to die, their embers so quick to flare up within me at the slightest inkling of wind, a photograph, a smile, a few passionate words. Have I ever felt contented? I feel so read for more, for new, for better than this – until this is gone, and I learn, in painful memory, what a beautiful thing I had, but took for granted. I will tell my child “Just because we see it doesn’t mean its normal or healthy.“

When he questions why we must abstain from the rich indulgences of our culture, the Snickers bars and McDonalds that he surely will be drawn to. Addiction and the muscle of self-restraint will be known to him. I saw a 5 year old Hispanic child today with a cellphone, so fat he could barely walk. This is unacceptable to me.

FAST – DAY 10 9-24-14

What’s wrong with me, baby?
What’s wrong with me?
All our night times lay unforgiven.
But I am a good man. My heart is true.
I was so sure we knew honestly
When we felt it.

Crying alone in a Starbucks, quiet.
Watching the business meetings,
The business ladies in their business suits
And perpetual smiles.
I cry.

To see how people paint themselves,
How I paint myself to appear.
Every choice a time or a culture
Which we wear to keep us warm
And safe outside, to frame our proud shape
The personal myth we’ve concocted.
Until even the nakedness is not naked,
And vulnerability is so hidden
that you could be screaming
and I would never hear you.

Into the wild
With all this dishonesty still to bare.
I can’t even hold the card
I can’t even look at her face
Much less her eyes
So much less, her eyes, now.
And who am I to talk?
Or take or expect anything
From her ever again?

And yet, I do all of those things
And more, and who am I?

A familiar smell,
A heartbeat you know,
A feeling of safety.

Something you lost and never found again.
An innocent glance
Up into a warm dangerous place,
And all its irreversible learning,
Took from you, beautiful girl.
My beautiful girl.
I am a ruiner.

My chemistry, the potent reactions I can only watch unfold, interactions that cannot be suppressed, no matter how I try. I surrender, more and more, to the elements at my core, seeking reactions that transform me in new ways. This selective transformation – through others.

Close the door and the window blinds, tight. This is the coffin, self-imposed, that will carry me to the land of spirits, where I will learn something of the wisdom of death. No woman or whoppers in this boat-like coffin, no such distractions as I navigate my inward see, outwards, so quiet that I can hear the lower world’s subtle song. Finally.

Rosa ( No Bread For) 10-11-14

Ambient rubs to stave off the verbal abuses of the sun. A nodding massage, an old friend, long ignored, still waits. AS I wait, too, for a recovering that never comes, for a better time to begin, for that inspiration I once took for granted. And, perhaps, his waiting and watching, itself, should be its own inspiration, to remind me I am never alone; to make even my solitary time a sort of performance, to keep me fit and sharp, knowing his expectations. The Sidelines, those boundaries I may not yet cross. And yet, I wonder what guards this oldest boundarly. What is its nature, its alignment. “God only knows what I’d be without you.”

The sound is the hearing
The light is the seeing

What seems external is a state of self, defined ( and limited) by our nervous system. But my limits are not shared by nature, only define what I may know of her; her shape is not hers, but that of my eyes! The container filled with ocean water does not show us the shape or expansiveness of the ocean, only the limits of what we can carry.

Natural systems provide a blueprint for refined and adaptive social systems; defined not by dogma or decree, but by selective pressures whose continual churning of competition and elimination create an ever-evolving dynamic system in service of the greatest good

Cellular Order => Social Order (evolution)


New forms of rage announce themselves in florid color from a fertile bed of grating sound and circumstance – a tone of voice to match the pompous posture, a jackhammering traffic jam at the end of a wrong turn, the strut of a cocky black thug as he spits at my toes. How can I love these people? Turning cheek after cheek, until I’m spinning in abuse, used up and reeling in disrespect. How could I love it, if not simply relishing victimhood? That sly smirk of a martyr’s superiority in “Forgive them Father. They know not what they do!” Ego.

Job interview – do not offend the insecurities of these territorial apes. They’ve forgotten what they are, but their instincts remember and act for them ( ape auto pilot)

Shame makes the world stop if ego makes it go around. The humiliated leader is polaraized without a thing to say or an order to give from his loud mouth in that vacuum. In that silence is the power of propaganda in times of war, to undermine the people’s confidence in their direction, and turn them against themselves. A question, if true and clear, can top a government, can undermine a ruler’s authority, the bedrock of his power turned to sand.

I come into my own in the Fall (I’m at my best with everything around me is dying.)

Marijuana – “Demotivational Syndrome”
- Popular or clinical term?
- New studies to support?

Study therapy, before and after
- Begin session immediately after use
- 3 session swithout use (randomize)
- Established scale of therapeutic efficacy (other instruments/ dimensions?)

Taste expands in a process of dissolution – Meaning is a function of self-definition, and dilutes into ambiguity alongside identity. As negative as this sounds, ambiguity is closer to the true representation of nature, where multiple and contradictory perspectives can be simultaneously true. It is the limits of our perspective that give the illusion of clearly defined truth.


Maybe I can grow younger, to a degree – maybe some facet of this damage is reversible. It’s for the best that memories of my beset traits fade, as being reminded of their loss, and the ever present comparison to those new found deficits, was a kind of deep agony.

Key, Door, and Guardian
How may their purpose be known
Or overcome?

The last of the great bulls oversees the expanse of his territory with a lazy swagger.

Through the glass, a passing cable car sounds lik e the muffled wailing of ghosts, lost in their starving search.




Box => {Spectrum (Rainbow Road)

Latest Month

March 2016


Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Tiffany Chow