Houston has cut that shit out with the rain. My friend calls and says Austin had some snow. But did it stick, I ask. No, not really. Ha and ha. Look at your South. You’ve got it good. Thanks for having me! Yeah, I’m here. I’m at the doorstep of your February and audiences are clapping, or semi-clapping. Good enough. So the sun now in the day with temps in the 60s. On the TV, really mostly all I play are documentaries. Got in a fight at lunch the other day about civilization. Usually this doesn’t happen, things are quite pleasant. According to… we cannot simply enjoy the Miso soup, but pack up our bags and go and live in a cave, right away, or in three months or whatever. Sources. Return to the source or sources. Do I know what I am saying? Yeah, I do. It’s a late night writing session and it unfolds. It’s a 2007 entry, one time for ya mind. It is good to be in up spirits. I’m not always there. So much in life just does not feel natural. Needs more Miso soup. Thing with the soup: feels right, mature, no sugar added, none needed. If I cannot get more, I may pull the curtain down and travel like an atheistic version of St. Francis though open still to whatever paranormal encounter that may come. Feet will wear and tear to the point of having to settle in a bush for many days. Sleep will serve as meditation. Sitting there will serve as sleep. The two, the three, my numbers, will merge into one stream and tell you a thing or two about adding the years and what it’s like to be me and not what it’s like to be you. Feels like I’m getting smarter in some ways. Realize now one of the things I want the most is to feel good, I wanna avoid the depression that has plagued my life since the beginning.
As I fall asleep my mind tumbles into a labyrinth of ideas that need more bending though I can’t figure out why, now. There, it makes all the sense in the world. Half good/bad, I celebrate and outweigh. More wood onto the fire. More work. Hard work. We lose sight and regain it back in each other’s company. If you can find someone to talk to sometimes it’s all you need when the liars are pushing you in front of cameras and making you pretend that you’re truly a part of this larger in-crowd. Meet up with them and they just treat you poorly and have nothing to say to impress anyone who knows better.
They drank too much and went to school to unlearn; in recovery caught wind of a higher power, at least higher than their addiction, and a clique mentality micro-chipped in their psyche. Desperation leads you to fill in the blank. You fill in your blank. In desperation, we’ll do pretty much anything to make it through. The war is life. Who’s on your side? Who’s isn’t? Exactly what system is in place that keeps that war going? Should you stop thinking about it, stop complaining? Is it okay to become a lethargic devil since everyone else is?
Just what do you define as war? Do you know where you stand? Provided A is really A, then B comes next, then C, and so on. But if A is something else, an unknown – you’re fucked. In limbo. At least for some time. So it’s like, what do you define as war? Is there just one or a whole bunch? We already know about the “War on Terror.” How many little fires you gotta put out in the course of your day so that you sleep sound at night? (It is 2 AM now, living on the edge of reason.)
Tired of writing one way. Can write any old. See? Writing in old can-can Personal Pan, no… Thin, but remove all cheese this time, we’re going vegan cuisine tonight. I can write it the other, another way, new way, my way. Then when my way stagnates, purchase, pursue, punch into and out of until you get there!