Wednesday, September 29, 2010


Purpose, attraction, and void. The soldier's dreams and the unknown awake. There is a sickness about the soldier's sleep, how he kills and slices and murders to make a meaningful life of sorts. The void is ineffectual during the slaughter, but upon waking, disorientation and lust. Open eyes see the sex is all dead. The soldier is off the battlefield and the corpses left behind is all there is to love. And after such murderous thrills how can he settle for such lifeless life?

Sunday, September 26, 2010


I have nothing to say
Because nothing I care about is real
Happy isn't real
Just like most other things.

Only delusion is real
And I live in delusion
And I am delusional to think
That anything is more fulfilling
Than these delusions

So I stay silent fearing speaking
May destroy such wonderful delusions

Tuesday, September 21, 2010


Walked up to my friend on the streets of Portland when he slapped me in the face and asked me, "What the fuck are you doing here!?" I could not answer him.

Monday, September 20, 2010


"God is one of two things. Either he is a vengeful god who is all powerful and chooses for us to suffer. Or he is a kind loving god who is incapable of stopping our suffering. I would like to think the latter." - A Rabbi on NPR.

Sunday, September 19, 2010


Was in the mountains, rolling green mountains with scattered pine trees about and outcroppings of granite jutting out of the ground everywhere. Was riding my bike in a pack of people I didn't know down a steep two lane road. We went around a sharp right hand curve, I drifted out too far and hit an oncoming truck and flew off my bike. I got up and found my bike with a bent front wheel being the only damage done. The pack off bikers left and I continued to ride with a broken wheel until a small compact sedan pulled up and stopped. I could not see inside the car but I got up on top the back window of the car as they took off into the forest. The ride was terrifying as I thought I would fall off the car at any moment. We arrived in a very dark wooded location at a shack made of plywood pinned up between tree's. I went inside and there it fades from memory until I awoke in a breathless panic.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


Walking down what looked like main street at Disneyland with tons of people around. I Started to go "da da dadada" and play air guitar to the song Iron Man when suddenly every one on the street picked up their air guitar and proceeded to rock out with me. Watching too much Beavis and Butthead, but, huh huh, it was pretty cool.

Sunday, September 12, 2010


Dreams have stopped, or escape from my head before the light of dawn, and leave me alone with circular thoughts that barrel towards the depressing and all that was lost, swirling downward until at last it reaches the end were no thoughts can exist because that final thought represents the final action from whence life grows no more. To speak in sadness is to push away all but the tortured readers who's draw to the macabre will surely bring upon you more torture, either from sadist abuse or a common understanding of the all encompassing futility of happiness, like a death wish reaffirmed by a fellow dead soul. So, speak small, speak chatty, speak about how pretty the Easter egg is painted, forget that the egg is now many years rotten, a pink and yellow sugar coated throwback to a delusion of happiness from the tatters of false promise called childhood. So, we speak like children, we speak in irrelevance, we speak into a sea of mindless self indulgence that keeps us in an embryonic bliss of chatter and allows time to pass a little less painfully. But we know this already, we choose delusion, and for us not lucky enough to have a grand delusion, we find ourselves in a boat above this chatter-sea, we see the lighthouse, and unlike others who avoid it, we row towards it maddeningly with tears in our eyes knowing there are terrible jagged rocks there. All one can hope for is to find another on those dark shores, and there will sit the silence of two, too afraid to speak to each other for fear their words might kill...

Wednesday, September 8, 2010


There was a war going on. We were pinned down by enemy fire, we charged the building the enemy held and i was hit in the arm by a sniper on the roof. We took the building but a yell came from upstairs, "the general is dead!" The men gathered round and looked wearily at the dead general and amongst themselves. That is when they asked me to be general. I took command and with anger over the good generals death we rallied to fight the enemy. Tank reinforcements came, but between us was a long uphill avenue swarming with snipers and machine gun nest. We rolled on in all i can say was a bloody trip up the avenue as i toted a shotgun in my good arm. At last we reached the top of the hill, where a large estate once stood proud, now punctured with gaping wholes from artillery fire. It was the last stand of the enemy, a we walked in we knew they were vanquished, we had won the war. The men weary from battle, sat down on what was left of the fine furnishings in the house as i wandered over to a large oval mirror. I looked upon myself in the mirror with my generals cap, wounded arm, with a cigarette in my mouth, "i have won the war." I walked outside with my men behind me and upon opening the doors of the mansion found a frenzy of photographers and reports surrounding me all asking, "how did you win the war?"

Tuesday, September 7, 2010


We were afraid to go on. It was dark and we crawling around corridors, air shafts and archaic machinery. I was scared but by good friend was smiling and she said, "don't worry" and she pulled out a spoon with a green substance stuck in it. out of the substance was a wick which she lit a said, "we will be able to smell this anywhere and find our way out." then a bunch of familiar faces joined us and we scrambled into the dark spaces that lied ahead.

Sunday, September 5, 2010


Upon taking this task i did not realize the utter vagueness of my dreams or the attempted recollection of these dreams the day after. What if i remember all my dreams and they are just flashes and fragments? At one point I was home in the desert and we walked around the town like quantum leap status, one place to another seamlessly, being merry. Another was a letter that said "i love you" on it, and i was really happy to see her say that. Then being in willows, a grove of weeping willows with soft grass i sat upon.

Its hard for me to pull anything out of this dream really. It seems the nature of the dream, the rapid movement, random occurrence, lack of narrative. Am i forgetting large vast swaths of time? And if so, why these fragments? In my other blog my last poem talks about how we are all just fragments bonded together to form a person. "Born old," is to say we are already falling apart once we are born and we must constantly assemble new pieces to prevent a total loss of a person, a waste of a life. We find these pieces through life and the dream pieces are by far the most interesting. Even if incomprehensible.

Saturday, September 4, 2010


Vague memories of last night. It seems all of my dreams are in the west, the old west. Decrepit buildings and tired wandering faces. I do love the idea of the west even though its a sick vision. The modern mechanical machine of civilization stormed in from Europe and reached a frighteningly fast pace of colonization across the American west. We murdered our history. The other hemispheres have millenniums of culture, we killed ours and sent the corpse to Oklahoma. Nothing captures this madness better that the lawless era know as the "old west." Walk through any deserted boom-town and think this is our Acropolis, this is our heritage, wooden shacks built by murders and thieves. So why do I love this sick history? Because we live in a brave new hemisphere. We are free to make our culture without the choke of tradition. We can be good, bad, or most often--ugly.

Thursday, September 2, 2010


When I said I started having dreams again I wasn't quite honest. I have been having dreams that have been focus on a single subject and what I should have said is I was having dreams that are not related to that subject. That subject being sarah. I was in a car with all the friends I had from santa cruz. we went to a party and she was there. As soon as i saw her i began to yell at her. She would run and hide behind all my friends who would push me away and protect her. As in all these types of dreams I never talk to her she just keeps running and I wake up completely wrecked.

For a long time before college I really never dreamed. They say that dreaming is your brains way of resolving problems from the previous days of conscience. I used to think so much and found solutions through thought (very socratic i know), but upon the dawn of relationships, the loss of friends, and the start of the so called pursuit of happiness, i find my thoughts alone unable to cope with the feelings I have. It is as though action must facilitate thought. A person cannot fully think through a thought without the physical anchors to make it cognate. Perhaps this is why dreams are so abstract, because they try to complete a thought without reality, and tell a story that can only be deciphered through the dreamers waking life. I guess that is why it is important to think about your dreams and why i am so glad to be having new dreams and more of them. Perhaps they shall guide me away from the Sirens.

This also makes me think of an interesting point. What is the difference between art and dreaming? Art exists in reality yet it represents the dream. Does the creation of art complete the dream or does the dream complete art's physical manifestation? It depends if art is capable of being a purely ethereal entity, if it can live without canvass or words, because for sure we know it is capable of being an object.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010


   There where 296 people in tattered clothing. Everyone was on a great exodus out of the ruins of a city, perhaps it was vegas, but this time there was no party, no friends, just scared faces. When I would ask what is wrong they would just look at me too terrified to speak. We at last reached a podium where the senator palpatine from the star wars prequels gave a speech telling every one that they where all sick and only some would get help. But the people no longer moved and where in fact statues of partial humans. I asked the senator what was the sickness and he pointed to a hoard of bandits screaming across the sand.

  Dreams are matterless. I don't mean that they do not matter, like they are not important, but that they contain no mass. All things in existence, all matter, according to science, has mass. The idea of a world being conceived in my head fascinates me to no end. How can such things be matterless? Does it reaffirms that there is a greater plain of existence which cannot be measured?
   Dark matter supposedly exist everywhere in greater quantities than normal matter. Yet it cannot be seen and at present is only an imaginary thing that explains phenomenon unexplainable without it. It is truly a matterless idea, a matterless thought. Does it give hope that thought and dreams are the window into the depths of the universe and its secrets? Or do we make up these matterless thoughts in order to escape and deny the order of mass and physics, of the known and unchangeable?
...According to the science makers Dark Matter is ripping the universe apart. A vastly powerful force that we aren't sure exists, and until it is given mass, it will be our matterless thoughts that destroys the cosmos....