| welcome back kotter |
[24 Jan 2006|11:32pm] |
i want to be a poet. i want to be a rock n roller. i want to be an actor. i want to be a wandering freak. I want to live in a van, possibly down by the river. I want a lot of things. I want to be amazing, and consequently amaze myself with my amazingness. i want to love other people. i want to love everyone i meet. i want everyone i meet to love me. i want to be my own boss, but i don't want to boss myself around. i want to be a good typer. i want a dog who loves fleas. i want a cat who slaps rats in the ass, and sends them on their way. i want to be a literary genius, even though i can't spell. i want people to look at that statement and wonder if i misspelled things for a reason, or am I just covering up with psuedo awareness. i want to make love to someone in a public place. i want to paint a girls toes, and then have her blow me. I want to dance naked in the rain, and start a block party by doing so. I want to meet your mom, just so I can tell her a "yo mama" joke. i want to sing and play guitar at the same. i want to be david bowie. I want to be the lizzard king. i want to create and get acknowledged for creating. i want a breakfast of champions, and a dirty magazine of wide open beavers....GOOD BYE BLUE MONDAY! and so on...
love love love love lust love love love love love lust lust lust hatred love sex love loss love rough love tough love smelly love old love lost love continuous love treason love apologetic love slave love developed love unrestricted love words love cars love life love love love love love lust lust love
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[27 Sep 2005|12:59am] |
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daily show drags on in the background:poignant yet pragmatic |
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who am I but some wacked out traveler in limbo. Stuck in the thought of what is to come, and what has already happened. Its weird frightful intriuging. I have neglected the livejournal, for the dead journals of myspace and thefacebook. livejournal is better though. its true, simple not about friends and fantasy love outs or contrived reunions. Nope, its just about a blog. a comment, a little sample of me right now. I mean i guess i could blog on myspace, but there are too many strangers there. Here its people i dont talk to often, but the community si smaller.
Blah blah blah. Oh the freedom to rant. I am sitting in a living room in a house i call home. im leavin this room no sooner than i leave this house for a plane and foriegn tongues. Tv: banal, bland, boring, constant, reassuring, scary, redundant.
redundancies...who knows if that is spelled right. looked into to tickets to japan today. a world traveler ticket from la to osaka, and osaka to berlin costs 1200. doable. SELL SELL SELL those stocks. investing in my fith year of college outside the institutions. Greatness is at hand friends. thoughts of poetry and theater abound in my little head. interdiscplinary artist as SHE puts it. suits me just fine. makes me feel nice.
so much love for all of you. for myself. lookin for those moments. breathing in silence and contemplation. plenty of time to soul search. bought a new journal today. said a silent prayer, got my glasses fixed for free. they took less than a day to do it. there efficiency experts said that was too long to do so. so they did it for free. so it goes. didnt fix the scratch though. too expensive. second pair of glasses that have a large scratch on the bottom of them. maybe a trademark? maybe im not suppossed to look down. goin to flow with the march of the pigs.
step right up and trip on out.
love,
SmelliottKuhn@gmail.com
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[18 Aug 2005|01:22am] |
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slammed it tonight...twas good. started my day by cleaning the house and my room, and then meeting Ruch, the pedi-cab Boss, and doin some shit at the headquarters. mainly just bullshittin, and tlakin about his wild years when he tried heroin. he is a chill mofo. thne i cam home showered and took bong loads with my housemates Danny and Marino. we then walked downtown and grubbed it nasty at Jack's burgers. Then i flyered briefly at the farmer's market, too high, walked to the bank, met shimmy, flyered for about an hour...then went to the church across the street and listened to my buddy's cd thzt he gave me and took a nice nap...slept off the stoniness. then woke up and tried memorizing a poem. did that then went to the slam and had a gay old time. Twas goot! got the high score the first round and just ahd a lot of fun. friends and the relaxed environment of being part of organizing said slam in which you are competing. made it to the second round and read a piece thatn i wrote at jiffy lube. Started it and finished it by singing the Muppets "mananah". it was a fun goofy evening. Tied for first and had to do a sudden death haikuy...5-7-5 mofo. We tied again and then did another haiku too wich i lost by one point...i still came away with a sweet ass 10 dollar donation to the united bank of elliott. Came back got herb,w ent and sold a sack to my buddy zelman at the pent house. Good times, smoked a bleazy kicked it with bleazy, gorschnoggler, zakir, branty, and Zman. it was fun played some darts and here i am. a day in the books. hopefully progress was made...cheers, love and respect. BIG UP YOSELF!
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[13 Aug 2005|11:19am] |
There's hardly a difference between
the crease of your lips,
and the folds of your eyelids.
both opening and closing to the rhythms that:
pulse, beat, contort, breathe
in and out, up and down.
Somewhere we draw differences upon what we believe we can perceive.
this piece of flesh was meant for music,
this hair was meant for rationality.
my eyes can't smell love,
but they can see hatred.
i can taste the pain of inadequacy in every conversation i have with you.
Every break beat makes me feel love in the arches of my feet.
Sweet summer days dress my eyelids in California dreams,
and it means more to me than just a song from the 60's.
It feels more like remembering how to breathe,
those three moments before you die.
the one where you pray,
the one where you relax,
and
the one where you just let go.
Slow motion photos of the last five minutes,
would show me transfixed in front of a laptop,
two citizens sitting beside me,
and the blinding capabalities of headphones.
A home of my own in public places,
I can paint humanity into freeze frames of the tasteless.
Places redefined into hollow caverns of consciousness.
Like changing skin to see, and eyes to feel,
i remake my life into lost opportunities...
just so i can understand:
this life is more than what you make it.
stake your claim in the average attempts to defy convention...you might taste your reality for the first time.
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[10 Aug 2005|02:44am] |
another night another poetry and drinkin session...wound up gettin drunk, and then headed to an open mic at the Crepe Place. It was my second appearance there. apparantly i have theatrical tendencies, because tow different civilians came up to me and asked me if i did theater...apparantly i am theatrical in my delivery. maybe this is just the lazy mans theater. like it requires less practice. so here i be a king, in the position of a popper, or a bum as it were. In any event it was tight as fuck i read my love poem about the reese and people loved it. It was so nice to here them come with me on htat journey...people gave me props afterwards it was nice. i bought a round of drinks for freinds...it was a good evening. in any event...i am goin to be a world phenomenon...drinking beer wiht the liberty of knowing that self discovery comes through art...and the recognition for said self therapy comes through the ability to use the mic and surf the crowd...big ups to the people of this open mic thang....it was a good time...i love it...i love you..and by that i mean carissa...and then the rest of you...hehe.
cheers,
e
ps sorry for all the typos
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[07 Aug 2005|11:53pm] |
pedicab for life
thursday night money,
friday night catering,
sat, sun, pedi
money yes!
so stoned.
so tired more work tomorrow.
cheers.
e
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[26 Jul 2005|01:43am] |
this is a hunter S. Thompson tribute piece written by my friend Shimmy and I. we wrote three "Hunter S."esque poems on a plain to philly. drinkin booze, and apssing time. Today we spliced the three together to write one wacked out fairytale. TOnight we were the feature poets at a San Jose Slam. Stoked! This made the closing of our slot...enjoy. Big Up yoself on livejournal!
Flying the friendly skies with Elliott S. Thompson & Hunter Shimmy Boyle
S - Floating somewhere above the earth in a tin can with a hundred other poor bastards,
Just praying to god that vengeful son of a bitch doesn’t send us plummeting into some vacant Iowa cornfield.
E - Jesus Christ man! These bitches are playing for keeps!
Big-balled bastards seem to be sweating some sort of tear gas on this giant vibrator in the sky.
S - The windows aren’t registering visuals at the moment just the dark black empty fuckness of the universe, singing thousands of feet below.
E - Jesus Christ does anyone else hear that humming?
Where the hell are those stewardesses, somehow I can’t help but think they know this bitch is going down.
S- Where did these closet panty wearing conservatives come from?
E – Questions I would ask the Captain in charge if I could make it out of this seat.
E - Beyond those doors a fuck all orgy has commenced,
Best get their pervert rocks off before God greets us with a giant middle finger and some hairless cat he calls eternity!
S - These people are not going to be able to handle it right now if I stand up and start screaming violent delusions about a plane crash.
They wont cope well if I stand up slap the stewardess in her pig face, and demand an end to all the BULLSHIT!
E - NO THEY DON’T LIKE OUR KIND HERE!
E - Do you know what kind of game you’ve entered?
S - No you don’t know
E - This trip was ill planned
A mediocre ration of booze
S - and not enough psycho babble
E - “Run, Rabbit Run!” (Whispering)
S - They’ve got me exactly where they want me,
Locked in a giant metal box,
God damn it I need a cigarette!
E - Too many signs—No smoking!?!
I want to smoke! Why can’t I smoke?
S - Smoking guns (whispering)
E - Now these fat fucks have me locked into some ritual game of cat and mouse.
But Who is hunting who?
S- I AM NOT SURE I CAN MAINTAIN
E- This trip is taking an ugly turn
S- I’m not in my right mind
E- I can’t be held responsible
Jesus CHRIST why are their fetuses dropping from the overhead compartments?
S – Everything is going to shit!
E - Goddamnit you paranoid ape! There is no one watching you! None of this is happening! You aren’t even on a plane right now. Get a grip!
S -Fuck you mind! Find a hold on something or its suicide! I swear to god, that righteous mother fucker, I will end you.
E -No time to think old boy, just go with the lord
S – (Screaming)
E – What? Okaaaaay!
Calm down, Clam Down, your gonna get yourself into a situation.
Best play it cool, quietly Take a poop in the aisle to release some stress and reassert your dominance, that’ll show them that your not someone to be fucked with.
S - God Damn it what is happening when it feels like a freedom loving individual has to pump 15 rounds into the chest of some punk just feel some sense of liberty.
E – Listen! We’re a bunch of lame, dim witted retards rendered useless by schizophrenic seizures that we call a conscience
S - Whatever happened to the days when a man could do mind altering drugs in peace,
E - When Golden gate park was a mecca, for acid freaks
S - and mind wacked stoners,
E - When you could drop mescaline and go for a stroll,
S - Eat an orange and hang out on the corner
B - And no one would bother you
E - But that’s all gone now.
S –Its gonna take a buckshot from an elephant gun to level these albino sweat hogs
I ain’t no barnyard fuck Charlie, prepare to taste the stench of my wrath
E- (DING) Ladies in gentlemen this is your Captain here, we have just landed at our final destination of Dallas/Fortworth, Texas. Time here is 8:03 pm. On behalf of all the flight crew here at United I’d like to thank you for traveling with us today, and hope you all come back soon to Fly the friendly Skies. (DING)
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[12 Jul 2005|01:45pm] |
theres hardly a difference between
the crease of your lips,
and the folds of your eyelids.
both opening and closing to the rhythms that:
pulse, beat, contort, breathe
in and out, up and down.
Somewhere we draw differneces upon what we believe we can percieve.
this piece of flesh was meant for music,
this hair was meant for rationality.
my eyes cant smell love,
but they can see hatred.
i can taste the pain of inadequacy in every conversation i have with you.
Every break beat makes me feel love in the arche of my feet.
Sweet summer days dress my eyelids in california dreams,
and it means more to me than just a song from the 60's.
It feels more like remembering how to breahe,
those three moments before you die.
the one where you pray,
the one where you relax,
and
the one where you just let go.
Slow motion photos of the last five minutes,
would show me transfixed in front of a laptop,
two citizens sitting beside me,
and the blinding capibalities of headphones.
A home of my own in public places,
I can paint humanity into freeze frames of the tasteless.
Places redefined into hollow caverns of consciousness.
Like changing skin to see, and eyes to feel,
i remake my life into lost oppertunities..just so i can understand:
this life is more than what you make it.
stake your claim in the average attemps to defy convention...you might taste your reality for the first time.
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[16 May 2005|10:06pm] |
So i started a half assed idea in this livejournal, about a graduation speech thingy...well today was the dead line so i sat in the BL lounge on the first floor and typed this here piece up. Enjoy!
Graduation Speech Proposal
However long it took everyone here today to get to this point...you are here...you should be congratulated...Congratulations! For many of us it started four years ago in some chaotic explosion from high school. While basking in the joy of taking standardized tests, and filling out countless forms; We had the opportunity to visit different colleges, and argue with our parents about exactly whose dreams we were living. At some point, all of us graduating here today decided that being affiliated with a Banana Slug wouldn’t be such a bad thing...I mean it is a hermaphroditic creature, but how could one argue with all these trees and the ocean view?
Many of us began our time here in the lovely College Eight dormitories. A strange and mysterious place that solidified the notion, at least for me, that there was much to learn here outside of just the classroom. In my first year I learned how to affectively use the King's cup as a means of social liberation. I learned how beanies and towels became assets in the fight against smoke damage. I learned that late night trips to the dining hall, although delicious, could take a toll on your internal organs. I learned that sharing a room with a complete stranger made redefining the parameters of your personal space, not an option, but a necessity. I learned that the people that surrounded me were more than just fellow students. These were fellow explorers. None of us had embarked on a trip like this before. There was a sense of adventure and wonder in all of our eyes. Being locked in a building with 50 or so other “young adults” as they put it, was nothing to complain about. Yeah we could complain about classes and teachers like we did in high school, but no one could do it with out exuding at least the faintest hint of pride. For we had all finally arrived at what everyone refers to as “the best time of our lives.” There were rules and regulations, but friendships were forged through breaking them. There were Proctors and Resident Advisors, but there were still no parents. The days and nights became a seamless blend of individual and collective growth. Amidst General Education and Writing One requirements we dug around in the murky waters of higher education to find something we could hold on to…something we could use to finally answer the question: “What’s Your Major?”
The elapse in time from being a doe-eyed freshman, to a graduating senior is an odd blur of life changing circumstances. We all can reflect back on our time here, and recall the individual and collective events that have shaped our growth as budding young minds. Undoubtedly you can look around you right now and see the faces of folks who have shared in, some way or another, the events of your life as a Banana Slug. I know for me personally the core of my friends here at UCSC come from the same kids I shared a dorm with 4 years ago. Because somebody in the housing office thought I would be better off in the DL dormitories instead of the BL building, I now have a group of lifetime friends that might have otherwise passed me by.
Which leads me to my point: life is a random and mysterious voyage; with so many variables it is impossible to calculate and control its outcome. There is no telling where you will go, how you will get there, or where you will wind up. But the friendships we have forged here, the education we have received, and the lessons we have learned, shall serve us as we step into this next transition. Think of the last four years as a prolonged packing of an invisible knapsack. A bag full of tools and resources, to be placed at your disposal during this journey we call life. Just as we did from high school we shall explode into a multiplicity of directions; some of us heading back to school, others heading off to the business world, others off to travel the globe. Knapsack in tow, we will walk this earth knowing that the adventures we had as Banana slugs do not end as we leave this City On A Hill. Rather through a spiritual, mental and physical metamorphosis we internalize these experiences and allow them to be our inspiration to continue to risk and succeed.
Looking back here are a few things I have learned:
-No matter how well you plan out your living situation, there will always be drama…quit fooling yourself, we are all different and there is going to be friction. Learn to deal with it when it happens.
-No matter how many times you call home with the question “can you send me more money?” your parents will still love you. But show them the respect they deserve.
-Waking up before 10 am can be a beautiful thing, just take into account how late you stay up the night before.
-Doing your work at establishments where they serve alcohol isn’t always the best of ideas.
-There is no need to rush through life…take the time to slow down and enjoy.
-There is something magical that occurs within collective gatherings. So go to a concert, a protest, a rally, an art exhibit, a play, a movie, or the beach. Feel the energy there and cherish it.
-Love is something that is not relegated strictly to romantic relationships. There is an opportunity to give and receive love daily.
Keeping this in mind I have just a few closings words:
In this life there are going to be a lot of, ups and downs, “strikes and gutters” if you will. In either case it is important to not fight the situation, but rather embrace the circumstance as being exactly as it should be. With regards to this, I leave you with the simple yet poignant words of Jeffrey Lebowski in which he affirms the above sentiments with three simple words…"The Dude, abides”.
Congratulations Class of 2005!
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[15 May 2005|02:12pm] |
road pedi cab for 4 hours yesterday...made 55 bucks.
ran and did a slam event and ran out soon after.
went home and showered and opted to miss my friends comedy show...not a good idea.
went to dolfs birthday at mobo's...a lot of sushi...a lat of sake...a good idea.
went to the red room...had a gin and tonic.
drove shaggys car...a lot of drunk people.
divided up some mushrooms at the house..5 people split a half eighth...what would it do?
Smoked a bowl, and then drove to a party on northrup.
Tlaked and drank and donated money for the jungle juice.
half way through a conversation, i felt the fear rising.
It was an odd feeling of curious behavior...started trippin in my own world.
Drove my car home...grabbed a bike for the next journey.
Arrived back at the red room...freinds were pissed, still trippin out...psycho analyze the world.
Walked home with carissa...got a salad, fries, and a grilled cheese from Saturn cafe.
Ate, watched simpsons...slept!
That was a journey folks a full evening indeed.
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[05 May 2005|01:19pm] |
i have found another online website to post thoughts...my friend who unknowingly is a poet in her own right told me about this website called eliteskills.com. It is a community of writers who post their work with the objective of getting criticism and improving as a writer. They have these prompts listed in the box before you write...moderately pretentious in its aim to provoke "good" poetry. thee people seem a little too self involved, so i oncorperated the webmasters prompt into my piece...it goes as follows:
A corner store pimp and his psuedo capitalist dream, screams:
"Strive to be original!"
The nickel fuck whore asks:
"Does the piece make the reader use their wit to understand?"
Or does my lack of identity, glue my clit to the john's hand?
To which the prostrating pimp replies:
Cant you see the love in the eyes of your trick?
Pens to a pad are like dicks to a vag...Ya just need to rolll with it!
There ain't no silver spoons for the poetic ejaculations.
Its back alley love, and the forgotten conversations.
So, Trick, ask yourself:
"Are things stated "poetically" and not spoon feeding emotions?"
Cuz the dollar aint in the two cents you drop,
Its the moments when you understand,
That this is a job.
So, "Challenge yourself not to write in first person."
Take the right to write your world absent of self.
Allow my anonymous tips to act as a waving finger from beyond.
Ride the cock like a pen, and your shattered self image as a page...in a book, that was lost, before it was written.
Ripped in the front,
Burned in the back,
The black splatter paint dress that shades a lady of the night, Can only be comprised from her ability to write.
Stilletos now held like shotguns, the midnight sex worker replies:
I walk the night with to bits of wit tucked into my panties.
I wander streets with the objective of being dynamic.
So dear pimp please remember,
"If you are idle too long you may be automatically logged off, be careful."
fuck elite skull worshipers!
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| gettin paid to sit here |
[26 Apr 2005|12:35pm] |
i am a tutor for soc 103b...i dont think they know i am here.
the folks in payroll do, because i log my hours, but i dont think the kids do.
i want to help them, i really do. but as for now i am gettin paid 11.18 an hour to update my internet relationships with ramblings that are poorly typed.
An internet blog whore, droppin his two cents for the weak and weary.
school? who wants some?
not me man. i am proper checked out of the education establishment. i am all sorts of caomplacant about my academic life right now. I cant seem to shake it. i dont want to read or do anything. Its fun, but then depressing,a nd then fun, and then weird, and then, and then. and then. I wish i was doing theater or something. then i would be applying myself. I am goin to do sometheater. i am goin to do somem gonzo poetry as well. i need to set the ballin action. I am goin to wrtie a speech for our graduation. how crazyw ould that be. maybe i will start it right now. seeing how i rented a laptop and all. SIDENOTE: last week i realized i have been saying labtop my entire life...funny how those things work. no one ever corrected me because it sounds close enough.
"Good afternoon citizens! We are gathered here today to give our repsects to the end of our lives as banana slugs! We are gathered in solidarity: students, family, friends, hanger-ons, and that guy in the back who came for the free punch. We are here to celebrate morn and congradulate. We sit here with the thoughts of the last 4 years ringing in our ears. Where did it go? could this really be over? Its over in the sense that this is the point we all jump off from. These last four years have been a deceptively fast walk to the edge of our educational lives. Freindships have been forged, minds have been enlightened, and experiences have been created. An intangible web has been woven to catch us as we plunge into the unkown. Diploma in hand we now take the leap into what our parents have been calling "the real world". This does not mean we shall all be sending videos into some horribly cliche MTV reality series. On the contrary, we are entering a place where our curriculum becomes more than 5 unit classes and midterms. The walls of our classroom become our here and now, our day in and day out. Our education is no longer dictated by letter grades and evals. THis is simply for us now..."
i shall ahev to work on this more...ok peeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccccccceeeeeeeee.
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| its called post'em in two places see if anyone notices... |
[25 Apr 2005|11:04pm] |
snap dragons and tuna fish sandwichs seem to sing the same old song...who wants some?
I DO, I DO! There are parasites in my eyesockets and they make me see things.
there are parrots talking of natural disasters, and free speech is saying, come take a smell of my roses.
Rows upon rows, upon rows of the deaf and dumb.
I would like to make an and/or statement there but it is usually both.
Too many narcoleptic saints fell as martyrs before they were discovered awake.
They were in the world of the living.
the strip joints and drugs knitted into their holy robes.
This world aint about abstinence...its about symbiosis.
the good and the evil,
The wretched and the beautiful.
We gotta dabble in both my children, feel the flow of the honey bee.
Slow it down some, so you can cross polinate, please!
A blend of the dark makes the light seems so pretty.
We gotta make love like we should, if we wanna resolve the cosmic pity.
So situate yourself somewhere in the center of the circle. This shit flows like bike wheels across the planes of our world. I am still just girl in the eyes of Ms. Stefani, but I am an XY pair if yous start to look beyond me. A little of the music, a little more of the dance, i am makin love with myself just to savor the chance...the oppertunity...the possibility of creation. They call it narcissism, i call it proper master-bation!
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| es trippy sci fi para ti! |
[19 Apr 2005|12:14pm] |
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mas reggae bunghole |
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last night i had a dope flying sifi dream. been thinkin lately about my impending travels to south america in october. Well we were on a plaina t night. i was with zach, and shaggy (the homies i will be traveling with). We were on the plain drunk, twited, high, what ever word you wnat to throw in their...we were all of them. there are free narcotics on international flights. I was with a girl, it could have been carissa, lauren, or crissi from the valley. the faces were morphing. regardless it was a face of beauty. A short haired darlin that i was singing to. In her ear we were rockin out. it was quite amazing. i sat stoned and alive on a plane hurling in space. We started to come down. it was crazy. i dont like the descents on plains but this was fun. We were takin a smooth route down,a nd then it became insane as we ripped through the country side, insanely close to the gorund. Very rural, but very beautiful. it was gnarly. we began to fly completely inverted, narrowly missing a moving train by flipping the plain straight perpendicular to the ground and hovering. Whow as flying this vessel? jesus christ man, these bitches werent fuckin around. Then finally we came to our destination. We had crossed into the past. We werent in the present moment anymore. Why not? well through our insane inversions and hair pin cuts we had slipped past the space time continuem into a land of manipulated pasts. itw as an old country. A dirt path with ancient oaks lining each side. These were old people, but they all drove old CIA SUV's. The all black gas guzzlers. They had been placed into this world via some previous time fuckers. our government had gone into the past and gve them the blue print. they wer fucking with the past like a controlled experiment. thsi was sick and oddly intriguing. howd we get here? jesus did we haqve a way back. i walked the oak path. down around the bend there was a gathering of the locals in some grassy convention park. There it was clear now. This was our governments secret hiding place. They had sent all that wanted to go, and were worthy to this isolated strip of time, that no one cared about. It was removeds and beautiful...here we were...travelers in a strange strange land.
that was it...fuckin weird ass flying dream....good times though!
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| poetry? poopery? |
[19 Apr 2005|12:06pm] |
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reggae mix from liz romo...bringin it back |
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is this poetry..this is the product of my effortless writing. this is what happens when is top thinkin....could this be slam poetry...i dont know. i think i am afraid of trying tow rite with the intent of adhering to some sort of preconcieved idea. its scary....hmmmm. life is beautiful friends.
peas.
i am a cardiac arrest awaiting your sweet caress of...denial.
I am two pillows placed over bodies too tired to notice...awakening.
Turn your head and cough to the left.
Bow at the waist and project from your chest.
Its testing...testing...testing 1, 2, 3.
These games were made for the naive and the weak.
I am lost in cyberspace, a traveler gone astray.
I am wandering in the intangible,
tasting the perfection of the nonexistant.
I write poetry when i dont think i can.
I write poetry in odd places.
On the backs of spoons,
The tips of tooth picks,
web blogs,
and my discarded plascenta.
Its random imagery to make you think i create worlds with my words.
Its so abstract i must be deep.
I am so deep in the shallow end of the gene pool, that i can swim with no floaties now.
I can tread water in my ego and talk about my own philosophy.
"No man I dont like to read...those book things are too much for me"
"Gimme the TV son...lemme show ya whats really goin on"
Its a 9-5 curfue,
a 24-7 fuck fest.
Who can spit the most absurdities and not have to confess.
WE KNOW NOTHING!
We talk about everything but the here and now.
LIVE, LATE BREAKING NEWS!
There is a sniper sitting on my shoulder,
And he is taking in the view.
My smile is rifle, why dont you give it a shot.
Its pointing at you my friend, and i think it wants to talk.
I can marinate my brain in repetitive imagery and tag lines,
the pope died, scott peterson is eating pancakes for breakfast now,
john kerry is a deutch, george bush is quoting thomas jefferson,
people are dying in large quantities...but i aint got any images of that to reference.
I can smell victory in the faces of my peers.
Because although we talk of revolution, we also buy, sell, and consume.
We are attached to the hip of the beast we denounce.
damn i hate the president, martha stewart and the white house.
Lets paint the white house black and see what comes of the battle cry.
I bet two fingers we will get signed to a record label, and make profit of the lies.
Its a cycle...a sickly natured beast.
the best thing i can think is lock in and rock out.
THis bitch is goin down.
Try and find your peace somewhere unfound.
real radio stars were born out of a neccesity to be somwehere else. television stars were born out of the desire to be someone else. i find myself left sitting in two way conversations pulling back skin and hair, looking for the real substance...apparantly its time to watch another does or reality...really, really its reality, reality its really real...its real...its too fuckin real.
there is a john frusciante quote in their...my smile is a rifle, is a song of his. big ups to the man the myth the legend!
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[07 Apr 2005|06:51pm] |
slam poetry collegiate nationals...my stomach is still twisted...i dont if it because i am hungry, or because I just freaked out on stage in our group piece adn got a perfect score. i think we have a chance at it all. i think i am ready to spit my individual piece. fritz is the hero today, he scored a perfect 30 on his own...we beat the other competitors by 5 whole points. Its amazing. i feel good...letting my ego go in the face of a collective win. Here i am in some computer cafe in west chester, PA. its a day for laughter, pats on the back, and a soul searching twisted with complete and utter complacance. this siw here we belong. this time and place, this here and now. these are the reasons i have come to live in a world of performance and words. A real world experiment in humanity.
love...
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[25 Mar 2005|01:35am] |
A thought sent to a lady:
If i could twist back your temples to the point when your mouth drops, pops, opens and releases to a "ooooooh", expressed in exhalation...I would do it on the quarter hour of everyday just so I could start keeping time by the sound of your voice engulfed in pleasure.
just for the smell of it!
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[14 Mar 2005|12:04pm] |
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mood |
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chipper |
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music |
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a mix'd tape from carissa...groovin and mellow is all |
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oh livjournal you escape me. amidst other friend networks and oppertunities to write about me in cyberspace...i lose your greatness.
currently printing my work for a final project. i respect the connection you provide with friends.
forums to bitch complain and praise one another.
one time i wrote an entry and it was negative.
a girl read it.
she was upset.
we are friends now.
we are more than friends.
she knows me better now.
she likes my way with words.
i like the way her lip quivers when seh laughs.
i am an artist.
in case you didnt know journal.
i am an artist.
i act witht hey best of them
i can make believe like kids on a playground.
i can perform poetry with the sincerety of a mentally defective preaching to his therapist.
this is a release.
a process to wich i have never felt more alive.
i survived in the wombs of 40 bottles, and butts of cigarettes.
held the artist captive in the mirror.
tucked him away for a fear of being great.
i didnt wnat mys hadow to stretch too far.
now i seem to dance in the darkness.
respect is what is needed.
my psychobabble is about to unwrap itself in you lap.
it is going to spit in a myriad of directions, and then you can pull the chords and see what parts of me come fallin back to you.
its fine weather today.
enough beauty to last us through may.
i can wait for the fog to roll out, and my thoughts to clear.
Or we can keep onw alkin, and know the mystery is near.
peace and love my internet dwellers.
in the future we will be able to have tango lessons on this thing.
we will meet for distance dance parties in chat rooms yet to be discovered.
possibilities.
love.
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[18 Feb 2005|01:13am] |
im so stoned,
and I am free,
soo soooo free.
Said Im free to roooooll another spliff sir,
wont you pass it,
right over to meeeeee.
gorlicks comp cuz thats how i do, aint had intenet in months dont want to.
said freedom ringing my ire ears.
i trip hands over feet,a nd i swim in beers.
in the ears of the lord i done spit a rhyme,
Its called moses was a lyer,
and jesus was a mime.
He was a voicelss saint in the arms of the greedy,
white men in brown suits,
who wroet the charms and treaties.
They negotiated falsehoods with the hands of the laymen.
They stole all the goods with no plans to repay them.
gnight bitches...loves, sinners, saints, sages, and oracles. the true truth seekers of this new reality we call life...one day this amtrix will engulf us. one day this will become apart of our lives. chips in arms,realities in bubbles. i know its a keanu movie, but shouldnt we fear it? my abd its all just normal. im an ipod blogger, with myspace connected to my hip bone, im wifi cards and phones lines, like coke lines to a junky.
cheers for the beers bitches...salutations to the ingrates.
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[07 Feb 2005|01:15pm] |
i am on gorlicks computer...she is not here. but i bet she will read this entry at some point too. Anyhow man i am just doin my duty as a livejournal and trying to update regular. Its funny, thsi thing called life. I am shocked and amazed about how life is truly beautiful. Its a nonstop flow of oppertunities to learn from.
some aquintances of mine, who are friends of my housemate's just got busted for a large scale marijuana growing operation. they are stupid. i dont wish them ill will, but this is definitely happening to them for a reason. It is quite a crazy thing...sorry for them.
friday i dropped acid. I liked it. i felt it was a license to be a lunatic. I didnt mind talking to myself. i didnt mind making weird noises. i didnt care that I was halucinating and laying in ice plants on west cliff. it was all good. It was a free for all, all for free. escept i owe zah 12 bucks for the drugs...immidiately. Halucinigens are enlightenment. They are a break fromt he norm. it is not everyday taht i would climg a decaying tree and sit there and talk to myself. words held echoes. my fellow trippers were there too. we were all in the night as strange voyagers in strange lands. i like the moving fluidiness of the world. trees looked like flowing ink blots ont he horizon. a plane landed in our heads. we smoked bowls while shae and joe made music....it was all good.
love to alll.....alll to love
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