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Wednesday. 4.7.10 2:10 am
Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

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My life is film.
Monday. 1.18.10 2:23 am
I've been watching a lot of film recently and not just those flitting films, drenched in modern muscles devoid of brain cells, long colored processed hair with legs forever, or loud noises that drown out those poignant, emotive, and at times, searing cries from humanity. I've been thought provoked.

Cries of self are often left best in silence or lightly muted short strums on quiet instruments, where the light bounces off in it's infinite directions, ready to illuminate our desires. There are those subjects we see in ourselves, those grandiose, enormous, even mammoth in ideology but so permeated in our culture, our society, they lace their fingers through our hair, along our sheets, and into our brains.

children.
marriage.
love.

Can we exist amongst ourselves, in normalcy, in quiet content solitude, without these monstrosities. Can we be content without the influence they bear on our lives, those strokes of color, slightly imbued, freshly warmed, lingering scents of emotive desire they mark on our beings. Can we live without their art?

I find myself exploring those thoughts I had so quickly, powerfully, fervently, asserted as impossible for myself. Social conventions I'd leave for others. Madness I'd save myself from.

children.
marriage.
love.

The last being the first, the first being the last. These imaginative beings never fully realities, they trace the very edge of my existence, ever so quietly laying bits of thought, texture, possibility into my consciousness. They breed desire. They breed unwanton thought, explicative actions, irreparable consequences.

but they do produce that which tingles, twinges, balks with fear. They birth possibility.

Possibility.

the crack in impervious declarations of abstinence, the inklings of hope, the first seed to death. The very thought of that with which I desire the least provokes my desire. It all just seems slightly enigmatic thought truly, intensely inane. Comic right? Simple things, normal things, things in which everyone should be simply entitled yet desperately yearn for, I fear I begin to crave.

Crave like a madwoman craves a listening ear and understanding thought. Crave like the forgotten are forgotten. Crave like the coveted desire. I too am realizing my ranks amongst these vagrants of society.

I'm slowly realizing my uniform, testing it's new fit, the rough texture, the fabric starched, yet to be broken in. The shoes with too little padding but enough strength to make the years, the belt with it's smooth surface awaiting it's notches, I'm trying it on. Almost willing to purchase, though my coffers are far from capable of paying it's heady price.

But I see it there, with my name etched in memories amongst the breast. Away it goes, silently awaiting my return, smiling at my acceptance, knowing more then I can.

It's official. I've picked up the ticket, blank with the exception of a single word.

Possibility.


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Balance.
Wednesday. 6.3.09 7:51 pm
The question is. Is balance. We search, we long, we lust for the delicacies of balance but more importantly do we feel. Do we feel the depth of balance. It’s those extremes in our lives that more then oft build our reactions, that build our “character” that make what it is we claim we are. It’s those extremes of pain, of bliss, of inextricable life that we cement in our memory, etching smells, tones, and expressions into our titanium with our emotive pens, our deep sighs, washed and forever real with tears. We know. We know our extremes, we seek them. But, it’s the struggle we entertain the most. It’s the struggle for balance that we find heavy, the weight upon our shoulders, the pain we cry for, the sway in our moods. The struggle to contain. Contain our extremes of cool and warm of cold and hot. It’s the struggle we need it’s the constant battle we fight, up that ever figurative hill that the aged speak of and the young can’t comprehend. Can we have it. Can we have balance. But more importantly can we handle balance. Balance entails much more then the simplistic average of our woes and loves. Balance is pain. Balance is consequence. Balance is punishment. For every pain we lose, for every love we gain, we struggle for it’s balance but lose a portion of the essential. Of the extreme. We musn’t feel too deeply for either heaven or hell, but we must attain that ever illusive balance. But must we. And do we fuly comprehend the truth that lies within true balance. That with which it truly expresses.

We won’t lose pain we won’t lose love.

We lose both.

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Murray Street Coffee.
Monday. 6.1.09 1:05 pm
unsettled. a little lost. a little sad.

like a rusted nail, textured and beautiful, bronze and lost, unsettled and pressing these feeling torment an old essence stopping by to take a whiff.

i can't stand it.

i can't.

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Murray Street Coffee.
Monday. 6.1.09 1:05 pm
unsettled. a little lost. a little sad.

like a rusted nail, textured and beautiful, bronze and lost, unsettled and pressing these feeling torment an old essence stopping by to take a whiff.

i can't stand it.

i can't.

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Lasse Lindh
Saturday. 2.14.09 11:15 pm
I really like this new kid I've found. He's a swedish artist, Lasse Lindh, and is really talented. His lyrical style is interesting, simple and death cabesque... He's interesting. Here's some samples of a couple songs...

"You've lost your texture lately, your skin feels nothing to me"

"When a man sees a woman he knows exactly what to do"

I can really understand the idea of describing a person's texture. Not just their skin, in the way he sees it. He's referring to the feel of a person, in bed, touch wise, the nerve sensations. But each and every person is their own texture. A texture unique of their own. A texture laced with scent that leaves a motif on another's life. Every texture, rough, soft, and everything in between, is created, molded, and artistically sought by another. We are often children of our upbringings, our environments, our brushings against one another. It's inextricable, it's life. As independent as we like to claim we all are, we really are sociable dependent creatures. We feed amongst one another. We feed on the reactions outside of our internal homeostasis, we breed to feed.

we do.

more thoughts on this later. hunger calls and I'm a bit tired.

just rantings of a slightly deranged but really sanely insane child.

aren't we all?

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