this is an excerpt from my journal:
if your not going to read the whole thing, please dont bother to read any of it, as it is more of a painting than a story...its hard to explain. thanks.
a few days ago...i was walking down martel, to melrose. hollywood is where my heart is. its a little storybook land. with shadows and witch women walking their hybrid wolf dogs- so out of place like features resculped by a surgeons knife on the previously untainted canvas of a face.....like puzzle pieces scattered in the wind.....misfits sticking together in bubbles of storms, tar and feathers, accidently pairing up and piling on the powder to cover it all up. the ridiculousness of everything. homeless people sleeping on the street. all day. THEY SLEEP ALL DAY. home-less. without money you are immobile. shouldnt seeing someone sleeping on a busy street midday be just as big a suprise as seeing a dragon flying across the fucking sky? no...immobility makes you disapear. get this. money does not buy happiness..hahaha of course, thats a completely silly notion. but money buys TIME......its pretty simple if you just think about it. an item of luxury is worth a certain amount of money...it takes a certain amount of time to make it, you are willing to put out a certain amount of time to work to make the money to pay for the item...etc. so the way i see money is basically an applicable measurement of time created to capitalize on peoples differences. once upon a time there was this big bubble, and it was made of little pixels, little particles. the air was clean and everyone could breath. language was smooth and it rolled along tongues and bounced over lips and sung to trees and stroked sweaty hair back from shaking bodies when necessary. it was used in a non threatening way. god was in nature. something began to change...for the worse...slowly...and then time sped up...somgthing was changing for the worse exponentially. brains went numb with capsules that looked like candy, communication started shutting down out side of the workplace. factories guarded the skyline and singing could no longer permeate the sound walls set up by groups of soul stealers who had taken advantage of the anarcho system previously responsible for sharing of time pixels and energy particles. language halted. brains continued to grow, to match the exponentially growing universe, the exploding chaos that no longer looked like an opening rose bud but more like a once treasured, antique home doused with gasoline and lit with a single match. millions of voices hummed marches in minor keys and chanted from thousands of dark corners "destruction is creation" "destruction is creation". everything was getting faster and smaller and more obscure. children were multiplying and organs and parts were getting misdistributed. disease was abound. there were just too many things to take care of. the universe was slowly creating another dimension inside of a tunnel that looked like an underground london subway with every thing sublimnal in the form of beautiful swirling psychedlic murals coating its walls. this is still going on, preperation in the background and in the foreground: levitating spirals of DNA, historical events with similarity but not symmetry making track marks along glowing helixes. we are coming to the tip of things. battles make rivers that flood market places and eye sockets and bathtubs with shimmering army wives resting below the face of the water: a meeting point. and the money keeps piling in, because people are restless, and god is getting sucked out of the water from high tech vacuums. well, brains continue to grow, but language has long since halted. homeostasis has become foreign to internal and external systems. symbiosis is dead, dictators have made parasitic relationships mandatory and anyone caught trying to balance both sides of the equation is labeled clinically messed-up-in-the-head. "WHAT equation?" they say, and LAUGH and laugh and laugh while razors pile up inside your dresser and dreams of hooks catching wrists in water haunt your resting mind. mothers stroking raised scars. nightmares of validation. everyone hates how their appearance. noone knows what they look like to the rest of the world. language has become an exchange of cliches. language has become capitalism. supply and demand. suck it up, little girl. crying is illegal. crying is illegal. crying is illegal. repetition is for retards.there are no such thing as nightmares anymore. they are classified as dreams. sometimes getting fucked up and selling your soul for a glimpse of a blurred reflection vomiting in a bathroom stall can be passed off as a dream too. sometimes. sickness has been stemming from an inablity to voice exponentiallly growing emotions becausee of nonexistant letters of the alphabet. existential transactions appear to occur in cool offices (for some reason its always twilight and theres always dust on the ledge of the window next to the sofa). but the doctor doesnt really want to be there and the patient doesnt really want to talk to the doctor...they just fish around in a stale pool of tank water that hasnt been changed in ages..oh...ages..fish around for different combinations and they break apart cliches which become puzzle pieces which get paired up and stuck together tar and feathers like mismatched features resculpted and plastered on a previously innocent human face. broken souls. psychiatric diseases of intelligence. cant you see? when it comes back to a primal scream, its a sign that language can no longer transcend cognition. so on comes the medication. it boosts self esteem. no, it numbs it. movements become free-er for designated periods of time. people meet on weekends to self medicate and look in mirrors and cry together. but hangovers wear off, and those sharp pains come back. like the one behind my ear, closest to my left occipital lobe. my eye blurs when it happens. i worry that i have a slowly growing brain tumor. soon it will be growing exponentially. tears come to my eyes when i look out the window at the jacarandas, the news induces no type of emotional reaction. ive already seen headless dan at countless friends houses when i was in highschool. im seventeen. i have very few memories.