pushing past all that

I’ve got all kinds of drama. Hear ye hear ye, exciting shit, you’ll laugh and cry. Its shoveling in like coal to a railway car, burning away the landscape, washing out my life in sound and fret. I’m all bound up in money and possessions, this cat is highlighting the direness of my otherwise dour situation. This washington wonderland escape to visit marsha backfired in a million senses when all the dough i’d gathered for june’s rent bounced, i came back with nothing for july intending to pay late. there is none o that, however, they’ve sent a fiery letter demanding $200 in late fees plus the other $1000 worth o rent. I currently have 400. My lease, moreever, theoretically ends August 31st. IE one week after school begins. That which is already its own cataclysmic story, I’ve gotta go and get a rubber-stampbefore i can register for any classes, and point out a real “track” and plan towards graduation, as I’m a 7 year super senior at this point. I’ve got no plan. I haven’t looked at what courses would make sense. Haven’t given it the least thought. In fact, what really concerns me is the fact that I’m scheduled at work, that i gotta be there, ive got no choice, all these expenses are wobbling above me and threatening to come crashing down. Like the traffic ticket that burned the tower from the front door up the staircase, ever threatening my garret at the top story. This girl is all keen on seduction and leaving, lost dreams and bookmarks. This one wants a fling. And this type here, girl never wants to let herself depend on nobody. one girl moved on, she’s so big now, beautiful as ever shes an artist of her own, laced of by words and 9 hours of difference, 7 spins around the godhead. paris is my home, its so far from me. These people don’t love me.

or better


My homes a secret; for beggars, liars, cheats and

dreamers with heart.
We don’t stop, don’t sleep, look back from afar: it glistens

like stars and salt


[pushing past all that]

a blog i sincerely posted implying i was sincerely posting this blog on that blog at the time signifying

THHAAAAAT i would begin blogging in earnest. which I haven’t, ive just shuffled the same posts from site to site fleeing google and the vacuous vain urge to show off my stuff, corrupt the anonymity. be that as it may.

the post

This is one of many blogs I purport to maintain but do not, in fact, maintain. This has gotta change, no? i came across a giant stack of printed sheets of paper in a dusty desk drawer today, it was a record of old myspace blogs, hundreds, stretching from may 2005 til the time i was preparing to leave for france. the whole world somewhat fell apart around this time and i lost all track of time and diction, phenomenons i’ve been noticing and adjusting clumsily to ever since. something excruciatingly conscious, and awkward, happened with these two years wrested from an otherwise normal cocky kid. a monster was reared outta adversity. anyhow i’ve been observing these blogs and realizing that all the normal metabolic and practical functions other people have for their psyches and planning capacities are entirely latent in me, evolved to manifest in the written form outta habit, but otherwise entirely silent. i had almost forgotten the fact that without it i just collapse slowly inward like flan, ignoring the passage of the world and focusing ambiguously on things like colors and shades of emotion, endless microcosms, microanalysis, divorcing myself further and further from the real worlds, any attachment i could have with them, etc. so i’m working on it. working on rekindling the instinct to writer, to hash out enough words to realize that i do in fact have to plan, i do have to reflect in a real, concrete form, i do have to consider bonds and reprecussions and sit down, tieing and securing traumas and lies into neat bundles to be dwelt with, healed or buried quietly beneath impoverished neighborhoods of myself like american toxic waste

i might as well use this blog as any. i’ve got a million open already, hiding around the web, i forget they exist. every window is a different false image of me, i wonder if enough of them might approximate a likeness. there is a lotta pretension in adddressing oneself from afar, in using these grammatical gimmicks to get some distance. but im pretty neurotic, i do what i gotta do. im my own shrink, i try what i can. i’ve gotta clear out some space in my head so my subconscious can stop shitting over every narrative line i ever pen out, polluting poetry and grating through melody lines. my inner monologue is like a fiery scream at the moment, a thousand nails on the chalkboard, and any time i sit down to write it always suprises me, like somebody sitting across the room quietly pressed unmute and the room was flooded in bristling white noise.

girls and baggage and leaves and trains and colors and seasons and and and and and sssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhussssshhhhhkkkkssshh


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