we can play all these wild roles.
i made a phone call to a lady with a dining room table. it was important that i find out the type of wood.
(wood has important energy and i want to be around something that feels good).
at the midpoint of my message i realized i was speaking like a robot.
so i really went with it after that. and i became
AROBOT.
which was my first and last name.
and as i spoke there was a man in a mazda outside my window, waiting for the traffic light, slowly eating a banana. and a strange man in a black F-150 sucking on a toothpick while smoking a cigarette.
at the time i was listening to Yoko Ono sing I'm Your Angel
which is off the Double Fantasy album.
which is like a lollipop for adults
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
weird to think
this was only a year and two days ago.
http://xbatadayb.blogspot.com/2009/08/fortuitous-misfortune-plastered-in.html
and how long it has been since i posted here,
xbataday.blogspot.com
i am reaching a point where i am overwhelmed by how much one can document and archive.
there is so much to follow if im gonna read the news each day, write a poem or two, play guitar, go to work to make the $$, read what others send me, exercise, cook my own food.
I like that if i write on a blog it stays there, backed up - my copies exist anywhere. the physical can become a burden so we turn inwards - emphasis on the soul or on the digital. emphasis on the body and your emails. ideas and trends are moving in strange directions. contradictions that realize themselves only when we remove our faces from the screen, our fingers from the board. i know two guys hiking in the mountains now. i wonder if they made it. i too crave that getaway to a dead silent night in the woods, feeling afraid, maybe a bear will slash my face or step on me on the way to my trailmix.
there is pure air in many places and its good to see where i can and can't live, what can you cope with that isn't normal?
san francisco i don't think i'll ever return to you in the summertime. but for now you are my little city tucked away behind redwoods and bridges. each morning is the reinforcement of routine so i need to keep tossing myself into different situations. keep it unexpected. be able to cope and move quickly. shadows in your hands.
we need to ride to santa cruz when we have the time.
we need to stay fresh and unfold ourselves so we get creases and feel the depths.
one girl is moving to hong kong, another to australia.
maybe a friend goin to boston. another just got The First Real Job of his Life.? who knows how its goin but probably a lot of elements of crap thrown into a potpourri so you think everything is nice and peaceful but its work and its good to go on for a time. another thinkin bout the navy, another moving back home for the weekends, another just moved out from home, 2 in the same building, having lunch together but different departments. some in law school that i haven't talked to in over a year. how to keep up? how to talk? if you keep up with everyone then your life will just consist of keeping up. another friend starting school again way down south. another friend further south with no more mustache. that's the update right now i guess. in a few words. another day.
sinatra said "I'm for anything that gets you through the night, be it prayer, tranquilizers or a bottle of Jack Daniel." --Frank Sinatra
roommates on balcony with cat smoking cigarettes. all in red shirts. the morning is soup and we all made scrambled eggs listenin to dylan.
im out for coffee.
http://xbatadayb.blogspot.com/2009/08/fortuitous-misfortune-plastered-in.html
and how long it has been since i posted here,
xbataday.blogspot.com
i am reaching a point where i am overwhelmed by how much one can document and archive.
there is so much to follow if im gonna read the news each day, write a poem or two, play guitar, go to work to make the $$, read what others send me, exercise, cook my own food.
I like that if i write on a blog it stays there, backed up - my copies exist anywhere. the physical can become a burden so we turn inwards - emphasis on the soul or on the digital. emphasis on the body and your emails. ideas and trends are moving in strange directions. contradictions that realize themselves only when we remove our faces from the screen, our fingers from the board. i know two guys hiking in the mountains now. i wonder if they made it. i too crave that getaway to a dead silent night in the woods, feeling afraid, maybe a bear will slash my face or step on me on the way to my trailmix.
there is pure air in many places and its good to see where i can and can't live, what can you cope with that isn't normal?
san francisco i don't think i'll ever return to you in the summertime. but for now you are my little city tucked away behind redwoods and bridges. each morning is the reinforcement of routine so i need to keep tossing myself into different situations. keep it unexpected. be able to cope and move quickly. shadows in your hands.
we need to ride to santa cruz when we have the time.
we need to stay fresh and unfold ourselves so we get creases and feel the depths.
one girl is moving to hong kong, another to australia.
maybe a friend goin to boston. another just got The First Real Job of his Life.? who knows how its goin but probably a lot of elements of crap thrown into a potpourri so you think everything is nice and peaceful but its work and its good to go on for a time. another thinkin bout the navy, another moving back home for the weekends, another just moved out from home, 2 in the same building, having lunch together but different departments. some in law school that i haven't talked to in over a year. how to keep up? how to talk? if you keep up with everyone then your life will just consist of keeping up. another friend starting school again way down south. another friend further south with no more mustache. that's the update right now i guess. in a few words. another day.
sinatra said "I'm for anything that gets you through the night, be it prayer, tranquilizers or a bottle of Jack Daniel." --Frank Sinatra
roommates on balcony with cat smoking cigarettes. all in red shirts. the morning is soup and we all made scrambled eggs listenin to dylan.
im out for coffee.
Monday, March 29, 2010
I am living in purple but the color in my bedroom is deep red
Why? Cus that shit makes you weak.
Oh that? Yea, I used it for my regiment.
Yea, those were days I lived like a monk.
I forgot a lot of that.
There were many things, distractions of all sorts.
I deleted all the music off the computer. Not going to keep myself on this machine longer then I have to. It ain’t good. for me.
((When you give yourself the freedom of constraint an elastic control propels you forward.))
I now decide to live in the light of my bloodline. All who have allowed me to exist and walk amongst the remains of earth.
I do things my father would do. I write my notes on little pieces of paper I keep in my pockets cus whatever tasks I try to remind myself to do on the computer don’t work. My phone doesn’t work. The simple things work for me. And so I remind myself. I need to remember. That’s why you have folk songs and the blues, stories and whatever else. Everybody needs to remember. Whatever we forget we repeat eventually. And maybe sometimes that’s a good thing. But not for me anymore. One day I decided to quit smoking and I still remember why. Not a reason, but a feeling. I remember feelings better than reasons.
Now we have technological stresses and overwhelming power structures that squash our ability to think beyond limitations defined by those who reinforce said structures. Oh, I mean it can be done. I decide today to stop giving food to the things that I don't want to grow.
All creatures must eat.
Stop FEEDING the demons.
Today I kept myself locked away and I haven’t had a breath of fresh air. I went deep into crevices of my thoughts and found my shoulders curled forward like a vulture, inhaling as shallow as if I were to dip my feet in a trickle of water from the broken shower head in our bathroom. So I said HEY YOU SLOUCHER, PICK YOURSELF UP. You walk in the shadows of something far more vast then you know when you sip that drink. It is this joy and this humbleness in which I now kindly tip my hat towards the ocean's lips which part just down Kirkham through my window.
It has been this life so far – a stew of people, everyday more, on the busses or at work; the dead beat of a new day (if there is no rhythm you get tired quick, so get on your feet man!); this is the dawn, you are my sunrise, the smile inside can peel cobwebs if you just wet its lips; I’ve grown tired of so many weighty things so I begin to strip and find that there is all sorts of cleaning which must be done, hence Sunday as a day of rest, rebirth, preparation, thanks and a forward movement. He said "the world is love" and now I am beginning to see the depth that carries. it's really hard for me to take it easy sometimes.
I was raised to be compassionate and thoughtful, and my parents allowed me to play games in the backyard so I could feed all the inspirations that came my way and I remember so clearly and happily the feeling of running around outside and being called in for dinner but wanting to play and be outside as long as possible before the light went to sleep.
If you can capture that feeling, the feeling of “just five more minutes” then you can crystallize happiness. Because it’s never enough (when you’re a child), but when you get a little older, that feeling of never being enough is the axe that breaks open your window into new days.
That is part one and when I understand the rest I will continue to put it down. But perhaps not in this forum...
Eventually I'll be moving somewhere else.
Oh that? Yea, I used it for my regiment.
Yea, those were days I lived like a monk.
I forgot a lot of that.
There were many things, distractions of all sorts.
I deleted all the music off the computer. Not going to keep myself on this machine longer then I have to. It ain’t good. for me.
((When you give yourself the freedom of constraint an elastic control propels you forward.))
I now decide to live in the light of my bloodline. All who have allowed me to exist and walk amongst the remains of earth.
I do things my father would do. I write my notes on little pieces of paper I keep in my pockets cus whatever tasks I try to remind myself to do on the computer don’t work. My phone doesn’t work. The simple things work for me. And so I remind myself. I need to remember. That’s why you have folk songs and the blues, stories and whatever else. Everybody needs to remember. Whatever we forget we repeat eventually. And maybe sometimes that’s a good thing. But not for me anymore. One day I decided to quit smoking and I still remember why. Not a reason, but a feeling. I remember feelings better than reasons.
Now we have technological stresses and overwhelming power structures that squash our ability to think beyond limitations defined by those who reinforce said structures. Oh, I mean it can be done. I decide today to stop giving food to the things that I don't want to grow.
All creatures must eat.
Stop FEEDING the demons.
Today I kept myself locked away and I haven’t had a breath of fresh air. I went deep into crevices of my thoughts and found my shoulders curled forward like a vulture, inhaling as shallow as if I were to dip my feet in a trickle of water from the broken shower head in our bathroom. So I said HEY YOU SLOUCHER, PICK YOURSELF UP. You walk in the shadows of something far more vast then you know when you sip that drink. It is this joy and this humbleness in which I now kindly tip my hat towards the ocean's lips which part just down Kirkham through my window.
It has been this life so far – a stew of people, everyday more, on the busses or at work; the dead beat of a new day (if there is no rhythm you get tired quick, so get on your feet man!); this is the dawn, you are my sunrise, the smile inside can peel cobwebs if you just wet its lips; I’ve grown tired of so many weighty things so I begin to strip and find that there is all sorts of cleaning which must be done, hence Sunday as a day of rest, rebirth, preparation, thanks and a forward movement. He said "the world is love" and now I am beginning to see the depth that carries. it's really hard for me to take it easy sometimes.
I was raised to be compassionate and thoughtful, and my parents allowed me to play games in the backyard so I could feed all the inspirations that came my way and I remember so clearly and happily the feeling of running around outside and being called in for dinner but wanting to play and be outside as long as possible before the light went to sleep.
If you can capture that feeling, the feeling of “just five more minutes” then you can crystallize happiness. Because it’s never enough (when you’re a child), but when you get a little older, that feeling of never being enough is the axe that breaks open your window into new days.
That is part one and when I understand the rest I will continue to put it down. But perhaps not in this forum...
Eventually I'll be moving somewhere else.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
lots of paint
completely overcome by actual moments. actual possibility.
the ability to perceive a moment. to experience it in a balloon, time being the air inside...
it pops. it goes and it's gone. and then your life consists of just trying to breathe that air. to taste those things again, to see that one, smell this..
a feeling of being stuck inside powers instead of standing above them, wielding them.
there are distractions everywhere. i can't see things in plans, in outlines. it's becoming more difficult to visualiZe.
but i can operate
inside constraints.
even better - one's i set for myself. that i create. that
i create. that
the reach of possibility is infinite. the only way you can operate within the infinite without being torn to pieces is by being.
This means to dance,sing, play. and when you play that means that you are setting up rules around you.
things are getting so blurry for me that i can't really understand what is and isn't "ok"... simple things are hard to grasp. too many choices, tabs open, places to go.
in the end all things die away and you really only loved the people around you.
don't hide the brush strokes, you're painting a masterpiece
the ability to perceive a moment. to experience it in a balloon, time being the air inside...
it pops. it goes and it's gone. and then your life consists of just trying to breathe that air. to taste those things again, to see that one, smell this..
a feeling of being stuck inside powers instead of standing above them, wielding them.
there are distractions everywhere. i can't see things in plans, in outlines. it's becoming more difficult to visualiZe.
but i can operate
inside constraints.
even better - one's i set for myself. that i create. that
i create. that
the reach of possibility is infinite. the only way you can operate within the infinite without being torn to pieces is by being.
This means to dance,sing, play. and when you play that means that you are setting up rules around you.
things are getting so blurry for me that i can't really understand what is and isn't "ok"... simple things are hard to grasp. too many choices, tabs open, places to go.
in the end all things die away and you really only loved the people around you.
don't hide the brush strokes, you're painting a masterpiece
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
click
i like records because they force you to be more active with what you are doing.
to physically connect to things. That is where the internet sort of loses importance to me. The physical gets reduced to one finger clicking, your back curling like a vulture and your eyes darting back and forth in front of a dusty 14" screen where you can see your reflection.
i'm thinking some of us should be more active. more touch, more fingers.
to physically connect to things. That is where the internet sort of loses importance to me. The physical gets reduced to one finger clicking, your back curling like a vulture and your eyes darting back and forth in front of a dusty 14" screen where you can see your reflection.
i'm thinking some of us should be more active. more touch, more fingers.
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