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
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
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.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
im starting to
understand myself in relation to my family, different ways...from brasil a lot, from being at home - the anger turned towards them, misdirected blame, but coming home tonight and talking with my sister briefly, after walking a quiet path to the house sneaking little glimpses at the sky, thinking about missing love, love and then a Full feeling of all things happening at once...
things occurring, people sleeping, kissing their kittens, drooling on their pillows, new fresh love and wild desires or candlelight writing with wet hair and dark music on headphones, crisp nights and clouds make the memory sharper (we learned that?!) and then the day of fast ideas and dogs running free in the mountains, no leash is the name of the game, and sounds taking their places and deep deep love for everyone. today it clawed a place deeper and my oh my, when the anger and hate stop for a moment it becomes quite calm and simple and the shoulders curl back a bit and exhale and things seem in their places (and you realize it's always been so)...
the time isn't the issue. it IS happening.
do not think it isn't.
places we are going, sounds off
from a distance. this is where
travel runs
a circle
completes itself
by spinning
(something you don't see), (you spin too)
dradles come with chocolate.
i'll see ya in the morning over coffee,
i always do.
things occurring, people sleeping, kissing their kittens, drooling on their pillows, new fresh love and wild desires or candlelight writing with wet hair and dark music on headphones, crisp nights and clouds make the memory sharper (we learned that?!) and then the day of fast ideas and dogs running free in the mountains, no leash is the name of the game, and sounds taking their places and deep deep love for everyone. today it clawed a place deeper and my oh my, when the anger and hate stop for a moment it becomes quite calm and simple and the shoulders curl back a bit and exhale and things seem in their places (and you realize it's always been so)...
the time isn't the issue. it IS happening.
do not think it isn't.
places we are going, sounds off
from a distance. this is where
travel runs
a circle
completes itself
by spinning
(something you don't see), (you spin too)
dradles come with chocolate.
i'll see ya in the morning over coffee,
i always do.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
new juice
Here: rediscovering what it means to be hungry for life.
the people reliably give you the wrong directions, santiago, but they are straightforward people for the most part and i like them. the city is nice. lots of plants, parks where they need to be, a large castle/hill in the middle of the city with a lovely view. there are cool neighboorhoods with madly different vibes. last night - a really shady area with a jazz club called Thelonius. everytime i hear jazz here i go insane, it has such a power and fits the mood of life here strangely but very well. last night the rhythm guitarist with all the chord changes, speaking to me in little poetic jabs.
curiosity is creeping its head back up but it keeps hitting fatigue which i have to beat down with a stick because it aint real and i aint tired and when you're hungry you dont sleep instead, unless you go so long without food that you get pains and then your stomach shrinks and you just feel like shit. i also gotta remember to be patient. there are snakes in the jungle that go so long without eating that when they finally get their prey they suffocate when eating - they are too hungry and excited. i don't wanna wake up from this mind death and then choke, but i also will be pushing the limits and digging..
good to have no phone. good to hear music on the streets, organic and i remember how music has a special way of fitting into places. puzzle pieces.
staying active...
conversation - asking questions, getting things going.
scat is something to look out for in music.
definitely going to music school.
this space from california is very good to get perspective on the things i want and don't want. perpsective on songs and habits and whatever else. but definitely not going back home, not getting into that same shit routine from the past month or more.
san francisco.
mirror television.
art everywhere.
light fixtures make the room
the solo beer under the maple trees on the red couch in the back of the patio looking at the people and taking some nice deep breaths and getting into that good place. also being pushed by lover over 2nd Heini and made uncomfortable, which is numero uno when traveling, the good kind which stretches you out a bit and gets you ready for some serious shit. will return to this blog soon with much more. juices gotta get squeezed sometimes. oh yea, fresh squeezed juices here - fresh fruit, eating well, health, peruvian beanie that i love.
the people reliably give you the wrong directions, santiago, but they are straightforward people for the most part and i like them. the city is nice. lots of plants, parks where they need to be, a large castle/hill in the middle of the city with a lovely view. there are cool neighboorhoods with madly different vibes. last night - a really shady area with a jazz club called Thelonius. everytime i hear jazz here i go insane, it has such a power and fits the mood of life here strangely but very well. last night the rhythm guitarist with all the chord changes, speaking to me in little poetic jabs.
curiosity is creeping its head back up but it keeps hitting fatigue which i have to beat down with a stick because it aint real and i aint tired and when you're hungry you dont sleep instead, unless you go so long without food that you get pains and then your stomach shrinks and you just feel like shit. i also gotta remember to be patient. there are snakes in the jungle that go so long without eating that when they finally get their prey they suffocate when eating - they are too hungry and excited. i don't wanna wake up from this mind death and then choke, but i also will be pushing the limits and digging..
good to have no phone. good to hear music on the streets, organic and i remember how music has a special way of fitting into places. puzzle pieces.
staying active...
conversation - asking questions, getting things going.
scat is something to look out for in music.
definitely going to music school.
this space from california is very good to get perspective on the things i want and don't want. perpsective on songs and habits and whatever else. but definitely not going back home, not getting into that same shit routine from the past month or more.
san francisco.
mirror television.
art everywhere.
light fixtures make the room
the solo beer under the maple trees on the red couch in the back of the patio looking at the people and taking some nice deep breaths and getting into that good place. also being pushed by lover over 2nd Heini and made uncomfortable, which is numero uno when traveling, the good kind which stretches you out a bit and gets you ready for some serious shit. will return to this blog soon with much more. juices gotta get squeezed sometimes. oh yea, fresh squeezed juices here - fresh fruit, eating well, health, peruvian beanie that i love.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
whoalotsofshit
the words, when spoken, kick rocks from your shoulders and let your spine roll back like water. and the Once Familiar crawls back into the tips of your forehead. i felt it tickle and i laughed and laughed while good beats were pounding and i thought of strange ancient music i'd heard recently with nice space that made me think of being high up in the mountains with pure, crisp air.
thoughts have been stabbing into my chest all day and i've reached a nice feeling, strangely, and mike's words about rooftops in san diego with screams of love within prisms of sound. the attainment of happiness. love. the feeling of energy within a crowd all dancing to the same beat, like icicles burning through people's souls and cleansing your body while your mind gets wrapped around your heart beat but you forget where you are.
the power in decision. what you are.
a choice
ripples.
becoming.
work, reflecting back on this period will be creepy. the familiar becomes so eerie when it begins to cover itself in memory. you can dance in chains but sometimes i dance and forget i'm in chains. and sometimes i think about how i'm in chains. but i forget to dance.
this trip will be good. distance from this place will help me figure out what the hell has been happening. i'm caught in so many webs of thoughts that i can't get a grasp on what is going on. i'm very confused.
i know what is good and important though. so concentrating on that is a dandy way to go.
fuckin hell. what have i NOT been doing? what are the things i need to accomplish....
thinking about recording music almost a year ago and what has happened since then....
got a lot of work to do.
mushroom bubble bots eclipsing the sun
aeroplane whiskers tying up light bulbs
wiggle room for a squid a hundred feet long smashing a boat like a splinter
openwaternoescape
thought of imprisonment - the confines of a cell, the mental effect. space and thought, thought within space.
spaceyouearthanimalcombat,whoalotsofshit
thoughts have been stabbing into my chest all day and i've reached a nice feeling, strangely, and mike's words about rooftops in san diego with screams of love within prisms of sound. the attainment of happiness. love. the feeling of energy within a crowd all dancing to the same beat, like icicles burning through people's souls and cleansing your body while your mind gets wrapped around your heart beat but you forget where you are.
the power in decision. what you are.
a choice
ripples.
becoming.
work, reflecting back on this period will be creepy. the familiar becomes so eerie when it begins to cover itself in memory. you can dance in chains but sometimes i dance and forget i'm in chains. and sometimes i think about how i'm in chains. but i forget to dance.
this trip will be good. distance from this place will help me figure out what the hell has been happening. i'm caught in so many webs of thoughts that i can't get a grasp on what is going on. i'm very confused.
i know what is good and important though. so concentrating on that is a dandy way to go.
fuckin hell. what have i NOT been doing? what are the things i need to accomplish....
thinking about recording music almost a year ago and what has happened since then....
got a lot of work to do.
mushroom bubble bots eclipsing the sun
aeroplane whiskers tying up light bulbs
wiggle room for a squid a hundred feet long smashing a boat like a splinter
openwaternoescape
thought of imprisonment - the confines of a cell, the mental effect. space and thought, thought within space.
spaceyouearthanimalcombat,whoalotsofshit
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
well
dwell dwell well well
-The Shell of a Former Man
12;27am - Just informed of meteor shower beginning in 32 minutes and counting. Will not watch it though would like to take part in these sorts of activities more often. Though they seem to require a molasses like patience and willingness to remain awake for long hours (which I well know I am capable of).
Professionalism and posture like interlocked fingers and a beating heart, the slouch exhibits a great deal and a tiny body I encountered Sunday evening gave me brief thoughts of addiction and a sort of anorexia which I normally do not associate with men but something seemed unhealthy about this good guy and I wish to discover more about him. Meek but daring, an enigma with no armor.
As the days wind down here I feel a strange nostalgia kicking horse-like more and more at the growing hairs on the edges of my skull. Really there has been little accomplished in this month which I had great hopes for. Overshadowed by desires for adventure, my real and serious goals were easily crushed into lines and ice cubes floating over scotch. Which begs the question of the seriousness of these goals or the weakness of the man inside them. And more, the cliche meaning of it all. And all of which I feel the need to give a big fuck you to and take the Gary Cooper path, yea, the strong/silent bla bla bla but what is all this strength talk and such. Writing seems to make me dwell in some strange sense. But it is also a great purge, a deep breath, a digesting, a dwelling in order to forgo dwelling. And in this way it is akin to the elephantine importance of music, imprisoned in time and bursting with whatever can be done within a structure or a lack of structure. Only so far. The blues - feeding us a soul in pain without the dwelling and the giving in. It is the recognition and the awareness that it will be gone, a note bent and released, a letting go, a verse and a fuck it all solo, the slide fucking the neck up and down and finishing on the up swing. Jazz - the melancholy, the groove, all exploding with life. And now more than ever I'm beginning to recognize how I am so drawn to these two genres. How I need them and they give me life and feeling and feed the depths.
What I do know about my struggles here is that they have transformed and I with them, and the enormous amount of time whining to myself and or bitching and explaining things to others about this and that has really done me very little good because it is certainly more enjoyable to let the lines dissolve into a smooth Coltrane ride which ends before the sun comes up and i can dance. This is not to say that I have not learned, through conversations with others, what it means to analyze and reanalyze and reanalyze - to the point of exhaustion - but come from under the tumultuous waters with a more tenuous grasp of the problems and situations which have confronted me. Again and again.
Why I need music, why I feel most alive on the sad nights when an instrument is in my hands, or when I am dancing to a beat and moving my body and existing within a groove, a beat, a melody because then my soul isn't sitting idly but bursting like a comet on a night with meteors taking showers in the milky way.
I am one who needs organization in order to cope with chaos, but I seem to easily allow the chaos to take hold and beckon me into its dark corners where I can feel friendly with the demons that are chiseling away at my ability to enjoy myself in the days and nights which torture in some ways but allow me to tickle extremes which I do not often put my fingers on.
And so I return, like most nights to my little room in darkness, with some jazz or some novel or paper or screen. And sometimes I'm not sure what to do. Sleep is scary to me and I try to hold tight before I leave the day behind me. Even though it's now 3:24, one day after I began writing this it's always me warding off sleep, watering something to stay alive. Lingering in a loneliness which somehow loses a taste of loveliness when I remember the beautiful feeling of sharing moments with another, in love, and squeezing the one that lets her everything seep into your chest and wrap you up and drip from the pillow into your dreams.
-The Shell of a Former Man
12;27am - Just informed of meteor shower beginning in 32 minutes and counting. Will not watch it though would like to take part in these sorts of activities more often. Though they seem to require a molasses like patience and willingness to remain awake for long hours (which I well know I am capable of).
Professionalism and posture like interlocked fingers and a beating heart, the slouch exhibits a great deal and a tiny body I encountered Sunday evening gave me brief thoughts of addiction and a sort of anorexia which I normally do not associate with men but something seemed unhealthy about this good guy and I wish to discover more about him. Meek but daring, an enigma with no armor.
As the days wind down here I feel a strange nostalgia kicking horse-like more and more at the growing hairs on the edges of my skull. Really there has been little accomplished in this month which I had great hopes for. Overshadowed by desires for adventure, my real and serious goals were easily crushed into lines and ice cubes floating over scotch. Which begs the question of the seriousness of these goals or the weakness of the man inside them. And more, the cliche meaning of it all. And all of which I feel the need to give a big fuck you to and take the Gary Cooper path, yea, the strong/silent bla bla bla but what is all this strength talk and such. Writing seems to make me dwell in some strange sense. But it is also a great purge, a deep breath, a digesting, a dwelling in order to forgo dwelling. And in this way it is akin to the elephantine importance of music, imprisoned in time and bursting with whatever can be done within a structure or a lack of structure. Only so far. The blues - feeding us a soul in pain without the dwelling and the giving in. It is the recognition and the awareness that it will be gone, a note bent and released, a letting go, a verse and a fuck it all solo, the slide fucking the neck up and down and finishing on the up swing. Jazz - the melancholy, the groove, all exploding with life. And now more than ever I'm beginning to recognize how I am so drawn to these two genres. How I need them and they give me life and feeling and feed the depths.
What I do know about my struggles here is that they have transformed and I with them, and the enormous amount of time whining to myself and or bitching and explaining things to others about this and that has really done me very little good because it is certainly more enjoyable to let the lines dissolve into a smooth Coltrane ride which ends before the sun comes up and i can dance. This is not to say that I have not learned, through conversations with others, what it means to analyze and reanalyze and reanalyze - to the point of exhaustion - but come from under the tumultuous waters with a more tenuous grasp of the problems and situations which have confronted me. Again and again.
Why I need music, why I feel most alive on the sad nights when an instrument is in my hands, or when I am dancing to a beat and moving my body and existing within a groove, a beat, a melody because then my soul isn't sitting idly but bursting like a comet on a night with meteors taking showers in the milky way.
I am one who needs organization in order to cope with chaos, but I seem to easily allow the chaos to take hold and beckon me into its dark corners where I can feel friendly with the demons that are chiseling away at my ability to enjoy myself in the days and nights which torture in some ways but allow me to tickle extremes which I do not often put my fingers on.
And so I return, like most nights to my little room in darkness, with some jazz or some novel or paper or screen. And sometimes I'm not sure what to do. Sleep is scary to me and I try to hold tight before I leave the day behind me. Even though it's now 3:24, one day after I began writing this it's always me warding off sleep, watering something to stay alive. Lingering in a loneliness which somehow loses a taste of loveliness when I remember the beautiful feeling of sharing moments with another, in love, and squeezing the one that lets her everything seep into your chest and wrap you up and drip from the pillow into your dreams.
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