chipped mask on display

Time becomes the most important thing. There can be so little of it, just like that, all of a sudden. I find myself so busy at work. Even doing something like coming back home and watching a movie is too much. Last night by 8 o’clock I was out cold. I woke up around 2 AM and stayed up from there on out.

It’s a strange thing, we’ve come to realize that our baby kitten, Kala, is a girl – not a boy. We have a debate going whether or not we should rename her Kali. For six months I’ve been calling the little bastard Kala, and I’m just not used to it.

Notes. Paragraphicide. Parajuice. Don’t dehydrate. Type out the parachutes. The back becomes loose. What’s next? Perhaps a PDF magazine, if I can find the time. Drink Water Instead, The PDF. Drift wood floats downstream through these parts, melted snow, hacksawed business logos.

Design, young man. Advice to you is design like Buddha. Don’t be attached to the creations. If you design something you really like, be prepared to throw it in the trash (or portfolio). The client may very well pick the ugliest and go with that. Don’t let pride get in the way. There is satisfaction in the work, but don’t go slowly or you’ll start to feel the pressure build up on you.

Note taking. I like this in meetings because it exercises the writing hand. The production manager is long winded, masterful. We group around the table and I watch them with their coffees and observe the forced jokes, and try to lighten up a bit myself, but won’t laugh at just anything. Not everything is funny, not everything is a joke. Of course, if I want, I can pull a joke out of thin air at will, but don’t always choose to.

Winter is bad. This war stuff, bad. It’s a rough world out there and in here, this inner-space just as cold as outer-space. Bring an iron for your troubles. Iron that shit out. I’ve attended the workshops and bashed my thumb apart with the following hammer. I’ve proceeded to bash my heart like an ice block and have learned ugly truths that only come from such laborious bashing. We hardly get along. Such terrible social skills in the world. That’s just what reality TV is all about – we tune in because we want to see the conflict, so we can observe, so we can be entertained. Mental fingerpointing. This age is: group 5-6 people together, they’ll have each other by the throat within a week or two. This of course is politics on a wider scale. But back to small scale – this is true for so many marriages, the constant fighting. The smallest scale is the individual battle, the phobias, obsessions, addictions, insecurities. Not all things to sit around and laugh at or worse, ignore. How much is left of your face under that mask?

power is power

You know what I say – power is power. Problems are everywhere. I feel it in a soreness. I’ll get a letter, or a phone call, something nice and automated letting me know I’m owing in plain English. Should I put a nice little note for them on the check? No one reads the notes any more. This is for you bastards. I can type fast, write fast, talk fast, walk fast, and also go slow in everything, so slow I almost fall over. And I have friends who fall asleep in mid-sentence but remain awake behind the wheel (knock on wood). Today the snow melts and slides off the roof of the house rattling the gutters and rattling the siding.

There is a HD hum. The pen fills in the last page of current journal. Onto the next then. Let me ask you a question, how stressed are you? I’m sorry for writing cryptic – that is, if that’s what I’m dong. I’m not shooting for that – I want to write and encompass a bigger picture, so I go all over the place because that’s how I like to do it, how I think I should do it. This is how I do it. It just flows into me. I flow with the flow; it’s practically not even me who’s doing the writing. Why should I even take the credit?

If I’m asking for praise I’m asking for too much. No one really deserves a whole lot of praise. Look at what happened to Michael Jackson. An extreme example, I know, but he’s got fans practically bursting into flames for a chance just to hug him, to catch a glimpse of him, to get his signed autograph. Then he’s gotta hide his kids in strange ways, the man becomes so insular he becomes freakish in so many different ways. (Of course in this case this also leads back to his childhood.) I’ve been listening to his album Off The Wall which I think is amazing. Over time you can just watch a person lose it. His face has changed 10 different times. We like to point fingers and laugh and balk, but what hasn’t flipped within us? It’s so hard for me to admit to myself my own disappointments. But it could also go the other way – I could obsess. I could drive myself into the ground over things that no one else can even see, over things that I blow out of proportion or just imagine.

Now it is late. In my world church bells are ringing because it comforts me. A new hour comes quick.

In their 7 AM world the terrifying nuclear test sirens go off, right about the time I’m getting out of the shower.

Back in my world, I am climbing into bed and putting on the headphones, shutting the body down and facing the next phase of the dream life.

co-op

stumbling down to a float over tile aisles, hand reaching for the dish liquid and that lemon spray for the air. no one has a straight forward answer. their answer is that they like to hear themselves talk, everything else is milk pouring into the black coffee. color values. where the hell is my swatch book? my eyes are foggy. mistaken brain. I’ll fall asleep like this before I even get to the register. shot by a death ray, slowly falling with each letter.

can’t sleep or speak or tell if it’s all lies

I’m going through some unmentionable problems and I can only ask here for some dear friends to pray for me. some think to drink away their problems and only sink further down in them. seems like this one’s problems drink him away. maybe I’ll wash up on some shore. when I wake up in the morning I feel like dying. like I am dead. like I’m about to die sooner than expected, like maybe it would have been better to have died back in that hospital with pneumonia, not to recover.

the world actually comes to me on a first name basis making me aware of all the mistakes I’ve made, wrong choices; and let’s me know that I’m not special, that after some tears are shed over me, if any, memory of me will gradually be swept under the carpet and that will be it. and why the hell not? what really have I done? well, it just hurts thinking about it. all the worst things come to mind right now, overwhelming me, making it so that I can’t sleep. I disappoint myself down into a ball. I suppose I don’t deserve anything, any of it, this space to put my words down, any of my computers, or the computers I call mine, or my life in this apartment. everything can so quickly be shot down and not turned back. the depression is going to destroy me, destroy small parts down to the big parts, and then I’m going to fall apart into bits. I will finally be given up on. one only gets so many chances in life. I feel homeless; I’m not there yet. but don’t think people will forgive you unlimitedly.

he doesn’t realize sometimes how close he can get to being homeless. from time to time we hear about some asteroid that passed by the Earth and missed. we sit around and wonder what if. what if we were hit?

sometimes I just don’t know what to believe. everything can turn upside down.

the machine does a build black
instead of solid
find a work-around; done
we begin our process
of prioritizing jobs
but all so far
mostly in-house jobs
before we open the store

I turn on some internet radio
in the office to lighten the mood
please don’t mind the fact
that I’ve chosen the Sex Pistols
as I speed along
trying to concentrate
trying to get my mind off things

the world comes to me
says it’s sorry, it’s long since forgotten my name
please remind it
it’s okay, I suppose, then I remind it and
wait for the news
“I’m sorry,” it says,
“but the old policies no longer apply. most
of the paperwork has been lost, and whatever
was promised verbally you probably misunderstood
on your part anyway. but please, help yourself to some
mints at the front door.”

tidal-waves. blue, red, green, orange, aqua terror codes.
rush to the store, this is worse than a snow storm.
prepare. prepare. then rest.

drop from exhaustion.

I don’t count the sheep
I cry myself to sleep

Sunday night sitting

I’m sitting here in the living room
TV going on in the background
more snow will fall, they say
then commercials come
my hip is blasted
and this is nothing new
the same old complaining

the shade is pulled up
revealing pure black from here

I sit here in the chair
and watch TV shows
then turn it off
go back into the bedroom
and read before
going to sleep

reading a lot of Bukowski poems
the flow of the words
downward
the eye falling
quickly to
the next line

These salespeople are so high energy. When they’re flailing around I’m just looking down. I don’t need to put on a show like that for anyone. I’ll go out there and dig my car out of the snow, which means basically dusting it off. We didn’t get much. Music rolls through my head. Friday, Friday, friday. Time ticks the last bits, not much time these days, reading Bukowski poems and marking down the pen lines at the old style school desk that came with the apartment. Friday excitement. I’m high energy only when I want to be, not typically coffee injected and sprung and sprightly like . . . He said nowadays grown men are too proud to write a sentence like, “The dog ran down the street.” They’re incapable. Pride can ruin. Ego. Ego is in everything.

random sentences (more on the way, maybe)

Up nice and early. Nice once I finally get awake and the coughing dies down. It’s still pretty early to get started on a technical manual, but for the first hour I go through it and ask myself why I’m having so much trouble focusing. I can only answer that I’m dead tired.

I’m more distant now in my communication, which I’m aware of, because of my job. I ask forgiveness from anyone who cares. I’m spread thin these days, but it is only to develop a mastery of my craft, to get myself situated, more comfortable – then I’ll breathe easier. Before I got this job I was very close to giving up on the whole graphics/prepress industry and moving onto something else, like becoming a librarian, or a mailman. I probably wouldn’t have been happy doing those things in the long run. So destiny, Providence, pulls me in a certain direction. Every day I have to be grateful. I have to be sharp and cutting and troubleshoot every file that crosses before me.

These dark mornings, 5am. We’re all sleepy. Perhaps I’m half awake as I write this, but then again I went to bed around 9pm. The weekends pass fast.

Oranges are not in season.

Blockbuster video is right next door to support my movie habit. Right now I’m going through the second season of OZ.

Reading bits from The Confessions of St. Augustine.