:: functions the simple eye serves ::
04.24.06:
this is not a good recipe. take an already plagued heart, add some overheard double-edged conversation, play the song goodnight irene over & over both ways so it's stuck in your mind all day & all night, throw yourself under your blankets & turn up the heat when you sleep. you will get a pounding of a very depressing nightmare. you'll awake, stumble for the water to smooth your dry throat, get back in bed to sleep & tell yourself what you saw not only isn't happening but never could. but behind your eyes it's there. playing over again & you know it will come true because it's happened before with different people. and that ending you saw, you really are only a few steps away from that ugly hole . so it's more about how will you land this time? on semi-solid feet or in a broken heap. & if you realize the event leading to that fall is not a dream but a slow coming truth, that it will happen, then you have to prepare for it, right? but you're not sure you know how...
04.17.06:
04.16.06:
04.06.06:
04.01.06:
03.26.06:
03.24.06:
03.22.06:
03.17.06:
03.16.06:
03.14.06:
03.11.06:
03.06.06:
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"i have a lot more patience for others than i have for myself, and i'm much better at bringing out the best in others than in myself. that's just the kind of person i am. i'm the scratchy stuff on the side of the matchbox. but that's fine with me. i don't mind at all. better to be a first-class matchbox than a second-class match" - h.murakami
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i believe i will slowly leave all the mechanical experiences. the multi-layered morbidity & the cold rake of desire. i will not run to love. i will not fall for ego. i will not be stifled.
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the same antique routine. a new insect ash book. how do you avoid your enemies? you make them your friends. how do you escape death? you don't. this book is about life & losing it in a snap. it's about being caught in a pattern of sadness that you make yourself. it's about 20 pages long & it has pictures. you know you want a copy so just
order from the ashes
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spirited skin scrawls by a supernaturally sensitve soul. originals left. alien alter-egos right.
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i see the anxiety in your lashes. the danger of the pills in your eyes. there are two beings here. one loudspeaking 'x'. one silent sorry 'y'.
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if god knows what it's about, please send me to hell & make it all stop.
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friends are just enemies in training.
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so some black fever grabs you again. you think of all that's lacking in life. you think of all that nothing going nowhere time your wasting. you think of pitching yourself into some hole. you think of digging that hole in your own body. one that's big enough for you to collapse into. you think of scratching out your own stomach because it's the one thing that reminds you that you're alive. if you didn't hunger you could block out the other problems. your mind spins around that same old track & you feel your shoulders collapse & you don't want to cry & you don't want to call for help & you don't want to give in but you will do all of those things. you tied your own hands. you're caught in your own trap. you will lay down sinking deep down. you're on your face breathing hard & wishing you had no heart.
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mr. eli taske. gentle seeker & freak of nature. not unlike you or i. said eli, "fill your mind with just one drop of color. then pause your thought for a moment on the darkest area of your soul. spread that color and let your body become alive."
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it's automatic. no pain to speak of. your hand doesn't shake anymore. there is balance & control. the skin that was dark ugly is now a window opening onto perfect flesh. but then you laugh. you can only swallow your own shit for so long. even smoke won't clear your lungs.
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