motivated

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

I was, of course, well aware of the myth stating that the memory span of a goldfish lasts only three seconds; and that, because a goldfish takes much longer than three seconds to die outside of water, to it its entire existence would seem to have been comprised of nothing but the agonizing struggle of suffocation, that all it could remember of its life was dying. I knew this was wrong, of course. I also knew it could never happen to a human being.
But then, science'd made a great many things possible.

There have been a few times in my life when I was glad I was a synesthesiac. See, my brain is all wired wrong. I don't experience the senses like someone else would. Taste and touch intermingle with smell and sound and it can get really hard to talk to someone else who has no idea the new an interesting ways I'm living life. But it can have its advantages. Case in point, the guy from Vinny's gang who's trying to put the fear of God into me. A street beating just doesn't work the same when the pain you're trying to inflict just makes everything taste purple to me.

Gosslings

Taken by me, near lake beebe, 2007.

Berlin

The rockets set the bony meadows afire, turned rock to lava, turned wood to charcoal, transmitted water to steam, made sand and silica into green glass which lay like shattered mirrors reflecting the invasion, all about. The rockets came like drums, beating in the night. The rockets came like locusts, swarming and settling in blooms of rosy smoke. And from the rockets ran men with hammers in their hands to beat the strange world into a shape that was familiar to the eye, to bludgeon away all the strangeness, their mouths fringed with nails so they resembled steel-toothed carnivores, spitting them into their swift hands as they hammered up frame cottages and scuttled over roofs with shingles to blot out the eerie stars, and fit green shades to pull against the night. And when the carpenters had hurried on, the women came in with flowerpots and chintz and pans and set up a kitchen clamor to cover the silence that Mars made waiting outside the door and the shaded window.

Men Of Good Fortunes

I suppose one night hundreds of thousands of years ago in a cave by a night fire when one of those shaggy men wakened to gaze over the banked coals at his woman, his children, and thought of their being cold, dead, gone forever. Then he must have wept. And he put out his hand in the night to the woman who must die some day and to the children who must follow her. And for a little bit next morning, he treated them somewhat better, for he saw that they, like himself, had the seed of night in them.


Sometimes the man who looks happiest in town, with the biggest smile, is the one carrying the biggest load of sin. There are smiles and smiles; learn to tell the dark variety from the light. The seal-barker, the laugh-shouter, half the time he's covering up. He's had his fun and he's guilty. And men do love sin, Will, oh how they love it, never doubt, in all shapes, sizes, colors, and smells.

Wait

Every town has it's diner, where I'll meet you, and your friends too. Things are just a bit nicer, over some coffee, you can tell me all about your day. Sometimes I can't escape from my room, so excuse me, I'll be just a little late. You'll wait for me.


Every town has it's corner, where I'll see you, and your friends too. Hanging out, looking cool, saying the same things over and over again. Sometimes we all feel stupid, we say the wrong thing, you're not the only one. Sometimes we all get left behind, in the race of time...it's nothing. You'll wait for me.

Heinrich

How are things on the west coast? Today, my heart swings. But I don't want a taste of victory, and I don't want to read your thoughts anymore. I've tried, but you know it's a lonely ride. There's heaven behind those eyes. Today, my heart swings. How are things on the west coast? You're an actress so you'd identify.

Festival

I'm put together beautifully.

Big, wet bottle in my fist. Big, wet rose in my teeth. I'm a birthday candle in a circle of black girls. I'm a parade. God is on my side, the motorcade will have to go around. Ash trays and coffee cups are reversible!

Honor

I was actually raised by women, my father skated but he left me with latent addiction.

I wouldn't dare to lecture, I don't know how to lead there's got to be somebody better.


I'm tired of sitting here pretending I'm not fucking dangerous.
Expirations are needed, they facilitate the end.

Good Morning

You never call when you say you're going to. Maybe you just don't want to. I guess that's ok, if that's what makes you happy. I'm so under-appreciated. All the bad things get rolled up tight and smoked in my face. The good things go unnoticed or with very minor recognition. I know I'm not that talented, but I could use some support. It's sort of like, resentment mixed with superiority.

Play it cool, you're going to give yourself a heart attack.

Emergency Emergency 911

sorry folks, just a false alarm.

nothing to see here, just keep it moving.

2 dogs, some plaster, and a whole lot of consumption.

everything is exactly how it seems.

the true, blue triumph is war.

fearlessly choosing sides is harder than math.