"a sock burns in the toilet...

...to honor the infant amputee"

I am back in town fuckers. Evil beware! I am kicking ass and taking names. AH, vacations. Sweet rejuvenation. The sunlight in Santa Barbara was everywhere..comes up out of the ground. Like a sunny day in Angel-Land. I came back, found a fat dead rat in my room that my heroic cat killed. My cat really amazes me. How can such a little, scruffy ruffian with her demure little yowls and yelps who just lays about all day licking her crotch and dreaming of all the breakable objects she could knock over if she weren't too lazy to get up...How did my little aging cat tackle a monstrous rat over half her size? I feel like all the foggy turbulence was embodied in that putrid dead thing and now Uba has freed me, inspired me...Time to do some slaying of my own. I spent two days cleaning the holy FUCK out of my house...it is like a new place. Regardless of me leaving for a new place I still want my current home to be clean as possible. All kinds of shit up in the air...my motivation is scattered for all the possibilities. Music coming together, mind throwing alot of unnecessary stuff out, new jobs new goals new new new... Ever had a nasty wound that grew an ugly scab? You left it there, wondering when the hell in would go away. One day you scratch at it, it falls off...you expect a red raw weepy spot but realize..Hey! It healed a long time ago! I should of pulled that thing off sooner!
Heh. I like it when that happens.

A little poem about insomnia that I wrote on the lawn of the Santa Barbara Mission:

I want to listen to the nuns sleep.
I want to curl up at the foot of their modest cots and
be lulled by each easy breath that seeps out at a steady sigh
I know it will sound heavy-
like a tree
or world peace.
I am sure the nuns
never wrestle with covers
or flip the pillow over and over in a futile search for
the cool side.
Behind the closed lids of each nun slides dreams of
soups that could feed everyone
or the perfect bend in the brow of some favorite saint.
I want that holy pool of moon in the middle of the nun's room.
I want to unfurl myself there
and sleep
and sleep
and sleep.

At the end of the day...what can you say?

I am leaving town soon. Hip hip fucking hooray. I don't think I've ever needed a vacation so bad. My heart wounds are itching beneath torn, careless bandages strapped on in the hurry of battle. I think there's an infection.

Ghost Boy, it was nice to see you..but I need you to fade back into the mist for awhile...I need to reshelve these soul-aches, I think I cracked the spine of this book too soon. Fuck, I don't know. Maybe I just need some sun and family and great food. Oh, and my friend to call me up and say: "Hey Saren! It was a big joke! I'm not dead, dummy!" Yeah, that would be nice too.

I used to be a Superhero
nothing could hurt me
not even myself
But you were like a phone booth
that I somehow stumbled into
Now look at me
I am just like everybody else.
I am
just like everybody
else.

LIE and CHEAT.

Some words from Crimethinc. :

The will to a system is the will to a lie.
Today it is impossible to avoid hypocrisy in any struggle against the status quo.
The political and economic structures are constructed so that it is practically impossible to avoid being implicated in their workings. Today, whatever a man thinks of the employment opportunities available to him or of our economic system itself, he has almost no choice except to work if he does not want to starve to death or die of an illness for which he could not afford health care. If he does not believe in material property, he still has no choice but to buy all the food and clothing he needs and to buy or rent living space (that is, if he is not ready to live at odds with our very effective legal system)—for there is no free land left that has not been claimed by someone, almost no food or other resources anywhere that are not someone's "property." If a woman wants to distribute material criticizing the capitalist system of production and consumption, she still has no way to produce and distribute this material without paying to produce it, and selling it to consumers—or at least selling advertising, which encourages people to be consumers—to finance production. If a woman does not want to finance the brutal torture and slaughter of animals in the name of capitalism, she can stop eating meat and dairy products, purchasing health products which are tested on animals, and wearing leather and fur; but there are still animal products in the films in her camera and the movies she watches, in the vinyl records she listens to, and in countless other products which she will be hard-pressed to do without in modern society. Besides, the companies she buys her vegetables from are most likely connected to the companies who make meat and dairy products, so her money goes to the same ends; and these vegetables themselves were probably picked by migrant workers or other oppressed labor.
And at the same time, modern Western culture is so deeply ingrained in our minds, indoctrinated with it as we are from an early age, that it is practically impossible to avoid being influenced in our actions by the very assumptions and values which we are struggling against. After a lifetime of being taught to place a financial value on the hours of our lives, it is hard to stop feeling like one must be rewarded materially for an activity for it to be worthwhile. After a lifetime of being taught to respect hierarchies of authority, it is very difficult to suddenly interact with all human beings as equals. After a lifetime of being taught to associate happiness with passive spectatorship, it is hard to enjoy building furniture more than watching television. And of course there are ten thousand more subtle ways in which these values and assumptions manifest themselves in our thoughts and our actions.
It might well be true that the whole self can only be expressed in hypocrisy. Certainly a person needs to formulate a general set of guidelines regarding the decisions he will make, but to break occasionally from these guidelines will prevent stagnation and offer an opportunity to consider whether any of the guidelines need reevaluation. A person who is not afraid to be hypocritical from time to time is in a great deal less danger of selling out permanently one day, because he or she is able to taste the "forbidden fruit" without feeling forced to make a permanent choice. This person will be immune to the shame and eventual despair that will afflict the person who strives for perfect "innocence."
So be proud of yourself as you are, don't try to get the inconsistencies in your soul to match up in a false and forced manner or it will only come back to haunt you. Rather than holding inflexibly to a set system, let us dare to reject the idea that we must be faithful to any particular doctrine in our efforts to create a better life for ourselves. Let us not claim to be innocent, let us not claim to be pure or right! But let us proclaim proudly that we are hypocrites, that we will stop at nothing, not even hypocrisy, in our struggle to take control of our lives. In this age when it is impossible to avoid being a part of the system we strive against, only blatant hypocrisy is truly subversive—for it alone speaks the truth about our hearts, and it alone can show just how difficult it is to avoid living the modern life which has been prepared for us. And that alone is good reason to fight.

"Sometimes it's hard to tell the wishing from the well...

...where you threw the penny and where it fell"

Pissy today. Even though work was good. If I were 11 and back on the playground I'd call this "Opposite Day", because such a contradictive existence begs for some sort of explanation declaration. The dead are too real..chattering into my ears incessantly..while I am in turn being haunted by those ghosts that are still apparently living. Leaving me voicemails. Confused spirits that sift through my memory for answers I do not have.
Today I thought I saw a glossy black raven perched in a twisty tree..turned out to just be a torn garbage bag. Why am I always seeing things wrong?

"I used to be the tight one..
a perfect fit.
Funny how those compliments
can make you feel so full of it.."

Last night I went to the slam..felt so apathetic..didn't feel like reading SHIT. Spent most of it talking to my friend in the bar. Deflated about words. Oh my precious fucking words...look at me..I have big important crap to say...
Like Lazarus, come from the dead
come back to tell you all
I shall tell you ALL..

"I used to be the bright one
..sharp as a tack.
Funny how skipping years ahead
has held me back."

Well..
2 boys make a party
3 boys make a war
4 boys make an opera
and 5 just make you sore
Each one is so different, yet you remain the same.
A lonely girl with memories, who's not too good with names.

I am so full of goddamn song lyrics I could explode..like a pulsing sci-fi egg sack..all my little witty spiders..my tiny minions..

" I can take a vow
and I can wear a ring
and I can make you promises..
but they
won't
mean
a
thing"


I want something tangible, a real conversation not laced with a testosterone agenda, I want to have someone that I can look straight in the eye and spill my secret plans.

Ah. let me alone you breathing, phone-dialing ghosts.
I'm laying with my comrades in the cemetary tonight.