You

not a threat to me
scared to step to me
got no nuts
had a vasectomy

if pain is pleasure
prepare to be in extasy
hang u w the same rope
hung ur ass in effigy
got torture methods
saved up especially
for

Gotta Get Up (To Get Down)

lets start with a very basic idea. This is a post about the development and ownership of knowledge through intelligence, or and as always, vice versa. I have a theory. It is a simple theory using simple examples based on the platonic idea of truth moving upwards.

The movie up, I believe is symbolic and its content describes the essence of not only every children's story, but every story ever told. The movie contains all the aspects of the human experience and the arc of the narrative is in its foundation, the same as all other stories. The scene of the old man and boy escaping from the dogs on the beast's back; jumping down the steps of life but buoyed by the attached home (laden w balloons) is a perfect example of the sensation of needing to stay in motion and 'progressing' against the sense of 'self' that both gives us purpose and shelter but also restricts the freedom of our movements and if left unchecked will drag us towards an unwanted infinite ending. The trinity of man, child and beast are of course a dialogue with the concept of ego, superego and id. And the house of course represents (as it does in the dream world) the self that is created and presented to the outside world, it is the us we know.
Anyways, the characters and symbols and narrative of the movie up are all classic and consistent with all the natural characteristics of human story telling. It's essence is instantly recognizable and appreciable.
Up however is a very basic example of story telling and there are many more nuanced traditions that are unique to the different tribes and cultures of mankind. There are gangster stories and love stories and adventure stories. The movie 'Scarface' may be, like up, a classic example that surmises the essence of a genre's story arc and character. Scarface however is only a classic example of the gangsters story. It is mired in the details and specifics of the gangster genre and cannot therefore serve as a pure example of the totality and normalness of story telling unless it is related to a simpler film like up.
So in this way up is the truer movie, the more relatable movie. Up is more immediately resonant with a larger swath of people and therefore a truer representation and more complete fulfilment of the promise of movies and story telling, which is the bringing together of people and the creation of something that is compelling, moving, relatable and understandable on a screen.

And that is a demonstration of knowledge creation through intelligence. I found a theory, or a theory came upon me. Then I took that theory and expanded it to make it an umbrella over an entire genre such as 'film' or 'narratives' and used the kernel of truth from the original organic theory and made it applicable to a much wider and more often encountered daily phenomenon. the cultivation of the original kernel of truth is similar to the platonic approach to 'truth' and the results are the same.

Now I am at a juncture where I can either continue with the model, expanding it to other discernible tracks of my personal and the entire human experience, or I can somehow change the model, hopefully still utilizing the original kernel of truth. And here I am at a standstill. I have already let nature, the natural thought process contained in my nature and physiology, develop the gifted theory into a more expansive and valuable one. However, can the kernel be uncultivated? Can I get back to the original moment of inspiration and move in a more self directed and creative way, this time with the hope of a completely knew and revolutionary outcome? We will have to wait. We will see.

like expeditiously

ugh, not like the boot, I am fucking tired.
Coffee with three flavors and calories.
Factors run factories, actors act, honest men answer honest questions honestly.
Young Jeezy raps in my dreams:
I left my fear in Portland.
Standing Ovation.

R U the Veternarian?

I'm one up by the bootstraps
myself pickin up motherfucker
Not a conservative, not even liberal
A mountaineer, a pioneer
A tiny field mouse shoplifting shafts of wheat
See this empty beer
that means I'm in a wierd mood
The hand rolled cigarette
Old timey movies
based on Odysseus
My Odyssey
My God it's Me

There are in the world so few places a man can breath. And I mean really breath. Deep breathes that woosh the air around him. Lungs rich, bonus air, alveoli blue with joy. So everyman is beholden to his hunger, no free will.
But where is the place a man cannot breath, or can only breath little breathes?
It is prison my friends, it is hell, it is a penintentiary.
And what does one wear in prison: Orange!
And where is breathing most limited?
Underwater!

I do not say impossible because clearly breathing is most impossible in space.

For this reason my friends I propose a law be instated that all submarines be painted orange.
Some may some this legislation is only for the birds
and there are other more important issues to law make.
Scuba fin length for instance.
But this is my world muthafucka, and I'ma take the world and drop it on ya fuckin head.
All in agreement: chu'ch

The Most Diabolical Genius in the History of Intelligence: Misinformed Disambiguation

Carribean or Libyan
lizard of Amphibian
I like all types of women thats the way its always been
I like the ones who's into men

Lots of women aint tho
lots of women lesbos
hey but thats alright tho
I watch them in my porno's

The only woman that I hate
You can call a snake
too broke to buy a tampon
Hey you stupid moron
You're bleeding on the futon

Where can I sit
in the snake pit?
dont want to get snake bit
man I hate this fake shit

The hottest Goddess be the oddest
strange exotic and erotic
forget the snakes and fishes
make me feel lubricious

WU TANG!

We all scream for C.R.E.A.M.
We rule everything around us
Is it an effacement to you God?
To wonder:
Will there be a day when environmental changes Allows
The cocaine to come straight from Staten Island
And political shifts mean
A poet like me
Words like these
Will rock and shock the nation like the Emancipation Proclomation
One can only Hope

The terrified always terry. Truth beholden to honest is a coward, penned inside a work of such heart bending, making heavy, to sag under the weight and fail. Inwards towards myself and outwards for the world to see. THis is a barren landscape and I am a lonely tree, in the desert, oh ice cream and strudel. Lovely lakes of jello sailed upon in a chocolate boat. THe sails are fruit roll ups and in a gale our flag tatters into a space ship shaped tattoo cut out. A trial indeed, a perfect storm on a gelatinous see. The miracle of a gelatinous sea is the isles, because you can live on a jello island and sail on a jello sea there is no need for incongruity in the makings of the earth. All animals and plants, the fishes in the jello sea are made of slightly denser fish. The would sink of course.

All to myself. A lovely cheese pizza. A lovely sense of fulfillment. A delicacy that is bound by law to disapoint. You rock this and I rock that. it is so simple. Surprisingly so. So many stupid things said.

THe universe as a a place of duality:

The first an ever divisible universe by factors of a repeating shape to fill in the corresponding uni-shape

A universe of increasing detail in the continuos image developing within the uni-shape.

The area of focus of an eye is centered on a single definable object and into that object an infinite journey of forward progress can take place in a flat field.

three beers, two shows, sore legs, a left behind phone charger, house guest unknown, a mermaid, the Red Book, sleepy, berry slippy.

2moro is friday. i will watch movies, burn cds, send a package, exercise and when it is all done, i will come home to drink something and maybe call some repolizations. hemmingway on tape 4 the train in the morning. maybe donut breakdast, def yogurt. is this tweet. tweet masturbates, haha, still recall that video. icy melty masturbatory mansion. what an onanism. 

2bed

sleep well.

love.

bumbaclockwood.

I see people all around me. Not knowing them and only seeing them, engulfed in myself and my own trial I see them. Unable or unwilling to face the difficulty ahead of them and cowering, passing time in impossibly tight spots, hot and stuffy so that it is unsustainable. This is the language of the ecology and the environment and I am more likely embroiled in economics, social strata and speech patterns, sociology, violence, reflection and meditation. Consumed now and wrapped up, ensnared in my self, struggling to own a thought or a thing I make judgements and accusations, make my body bigger and never stop to taste or touch or see or smell, enjoy it. This is my gift then, and the world to me. I am not in a hurry, owe nothing and own nothing, a spirit moved through, clairvoyant and tenuously gripping to a piece of a thought that jarred my conscious some minutes ago. plagued by questions and hurrying I lose my grip and remind myself of my greatness. It is reflecting off the raindrops on my window, the air that blows from my window fan and cools my room, sweeps the masculine stink away from my nostrils so I can at least smell at ease. This is not a journal, this is eternal. Affluent flatulent, stinky rich. 

this is a warm up, that is a warm up. this is a reading blog. do i know how to read, check. then you ask yourself do i have time to do this. probably not but no one is a fan of checklists so lets move along. oh text, oh overwhelming piles of text with no breaks and no fluency and no poetry. no paragraphs and all sentences you inspire me because you are always black and white and you do not require me anything. to stare at you is to be busy. if my mother were television and my father the internet. one always giving and one always receiving then would my grandparents have yet to be invented. is my grandfather an interactive video game or a radio? does technology move ahead, away or with me. it takes me away. this is me being taken away and i will update you how. by now you know the scene. my two hands are at the keyboard, my eyes are on the screen or momentarily off. my right ring finger often visits the upper right of the keyboard to return to mistakes and the thumbs clack away at the space bar. my left thumb has a preference for the keyboard space bar. i type much slower but erase much less with my right hand using the space bar. my head, she is empty. she is dull and she is bored. my head is a sailboat and new york is the coast of maine and the winds of the economy blow. today i am wearing a v neck tee, my ever present silver mexican guy chain i have fleece sweatpants and my feet stink way down there. my laptop warms my legs and hums a tune to me while i click away at the loneliness and boredom. here i dont get paid to be bored, but other places i do. sometimes i am learning when i am bored and other times i m so far away from you or me that when i come back i am dancing in my chair and passers by take a mental note that the boy is a little crazy. and yes i probably am. thats ok. as long as its under control and i can make a living and appear to be normal. as long as i am warm and full and can speak and dont hurt the other people. sometimes people deserve it though, but i wont do it. wow, this is crazy and i should probably stop. it has been a rough day. people all over the world are pushing out of winter. you could make a good living telling people its almost spring in early march. i would pay to hear someone say it, but we all know its not true. that reminds me. i want to go home and i want alot of money. i dont like it here and i dont like the grind. first you hustle and then you grind. then you get ground the fuck up and you dont know who you are or where you are. you feel like youve been here before but you havent it. you feel like you know what youre doing but you dont. you feel like you have room to breathe but theres no point because this air is being filtered through a nose that has fried and dried snot in it. there is bolognia in the back of my throat. it is dissolving and mixing with the mucus and when i swallow it is the same as eating a bolognia sanwich and so i have been sitting here swallowing my spit and eating sandwich after sandwich. this is the diary i should have had a million years ago. this is new york international. accessable and difficult and boring, but amazing and new and so isolated and alienated. you could make a connection here but it is probably too late now. you would probably have to start over. so the last thing im going to say is that im not even trying, this isnt even hard or fun or anything i am only doing this to say i did it and to kill time. i should be getting paid for this, but then i would try hard and it would ruin everything so instead i am going to bitch in my mind for a long time tomorrow. i will need caffeine and i wont need any negativity from my rocks. rocks cant be negative, they can only hold you down and read you. well read this and then you'll know.

i had an idea on the train that wont materialize for me again for some reason. I just walked into my room and stood by my window with shades drawn staring at the beige sheet of hard plastic trying to recall exactly what it was. it had to do with the phrasing, thats what made it special, but now it wont come back to me. maybe it is gone forever and maybe its only a momentary loss. i guess it depends if the thought was part of a larger arc of internalizing lessons or if it was passing and superficial. right now I am typing into my blog for the second time in my life and i think it is going smoothly. to soothe my peripheral perceptions i have the tv on to public television, there is an old timey movie on, in color, and it has something to do with making people laugh although it is obviously not funny by virtue of the fact that it is old and the sound is on too quietly. from the kitchen sounds of the new brooklyn realworld blare from tinny computer speakers. thats funny, the visual of an old movie and the sounds of new tv, i guess its pretty old for being new but i would say that the real world is definitely of the new school, its just not an emerging or bleeding edge show. it is not bleeding.  i have to pee. i like doing things when i have to pee, it gives everything a sense of urgency. my left forearm is sore, the veins are popping out to an abnormal degree and it makes me worried for my right arm, which i feel isnt keeping up its muscular developement, but i have no idea how to deal with that. i still want to buy a jump rope and some business cards. if i had spent ten dollars less on coffee and alcohol in the last fifteen days, which is when my desire for these two things first emerged, then i could buy them now and it would essentially be free. i think money was mostly invented for the purchasing of substances that alter the mind state though, thats why the addiction to doing drugs and the addiction to spending money on meaningless and trivial trifling items feels the same. the high is short lived and afterwards you want to eat but dont want to cook. i think i am doing well by myself by not doing too many drugs, i think it keeps me a little bit sharper especially when it comes to communicating, i have been suprised at my ability to speak with other human beings in real time recently and in places where i felt i was due for a major fuck up and consequent time in reflection and self improvement thought i've been met with meaningful and gratifying conversation.

the cold swift water of creative fearful energy surges through the desert of boundless possibility and gives nothing to the shore. it pounds away at the night and plugs away at the day but never for a moment would it change direction and the negativity of the water inhibits me from entering its murky and inky body. the waves and ripples and edges and arches in the river. it is a sharp river and it is an unforgiving river, its flow is swift and it is filled with crocodiles. cold water crocodiles. if it was warm water they would not be so grumpy but you can never trust a crocodile so swimming is out of the question. i have no response and i have no remorse, little recourse and no patience. the show must go on, we must irrigate and canal and dam the damn thing up. i dont see another option, the truth is i barely saw this one and i sacrificed much to reach it, many vague and replacable people and ideas were given to this dream and i will awake with a sore back, to eat the same meal i have eaten a million times before. im not lazy, im industrious and there is plenty to say about that. karmas a bitch, you get what you give, it all equals out in the end. throw me a fucking bone.

Today is just like everyday before it but now I have a voice on the internet and now I must be a new man. This is the internet, this is the future and I am now a part of it. I am the future and gaining from it. My thoughts are yours now and I am happy to let them out and into the world. I am embarrassed now, I cant type as fluently now, I have to make a new language and a new personality to deal with the fact that this is for everybody, my whole heart and soul. I think I want to be an actor, I think I want to be a director I think I want to be a writer but I know I want to get payed no matter what. I got a dunkin' donut muffin and big sugary coffee for breakfast today and I am now gascious like Saturn. I finished my book yesterday and I will pick up another one today. I will take a nap today. I will pick up my check from the catering company today.  I have sent out three resumes today and printed out 18 at the library. I have a jammed toe and it hurts to walk, I am listening to Outkast for the first time since a couple days ago and it is good. It reminds me of a better time. And this brings me to a new point. I got an $86 bill in the mail today from a credit company that I owe money to because I took a bartending class with no money. I took the class for the fact that I was sold it by a slimy and ugly little fat man with a beard, he told me I need breathing room and days off to think about what I really want to do with my life. Oh yes, I thought, Oh yes I need that and I coughed up $800 dollars I didnt have and now two months later I am writing a blog and applying to temp agencies over the phone. No job got got, no interviews were set up and upon visiting those motherfuckers I hear about the woes of the job placement officer, bitch you have a job I dont want to hear about how hard it is, I want a job so I can pay the credit agency that pays you. Fucking trickle down economy, trickle down my leg.  I'm wasting your time I know, I need a nap. But if I ever had advice I would say dont take a bartending class, it is a waste of money and time and spiritual and emotional energy. Check out lose your life on youtube by alchemist, it is nice. 

I need a book deal and I need to move home and be with my mom and my boo. It is pointless here, all I seem to do is not fall deeper in the hole or slip up and fall deeper, running at my fastest just to move the ground beneath me but I never seem to get anywhere. I feel like the ice cubes in a glass, you can spin the glass as much as you want but they never move towards you, you have to walk around to the other side of the glass. And mistakes I've made a few, the New York treadmill. Do I really want to be here for the summer, steamy and hot and with nowhere to swim, if theres nowhere air conditioned to work I will not be here, know that. So its all about me ultimately and what I can do, who I can influence, tricks of the logic even though we all know its not all about logic, switching gears words poems thoughts never ending and nonsensical and just as easily to be judged by the judgmental the only way to be a man is to be both advocate and stern judge stuck and squeezed forward, both the wind, the sail and the keel of your own sailboat together coming to squeeze through the water and cut through the waves pushing on past the shore and past the bridges and past the docks and houses that creep up onto the waterfront, maybe into the cut, maybe just to the northern most tip or maybe to circumnavigate the island. Oh and reading you will inevitably learn alot of words and you will become more strong and more flexible in your speech, even this dribble it is good for you but better for me because I am the creator and final say. I  can say whatever I want but I want to say whatever you want to hear.  I want to be farther out than the farthest comet or planet from the sun, and the scientist might say that there are planets the right distance from the right stars that would be like us, they might be alive like us. Just alive like us and far away, but maybe if we are their dream landing on their planet will wake them and annhiliate us, serve us a sobering reminder of the fact that we dont create we are created. What we consume we are but it might not be digested until you dream it, maybe you dream your food. That is the fuel and we are all only five tanks away from having clean plumbing and running clean but some of us have been running on empty for so long that we dont need nothing but a bowl of rice once a year to dream about the world.  To make a whole world to invent all of space and all of time and smash it with the alarm clock. thank the gods for snooze buttons and door bells that stop ringing after a while. my mail box brings me anxiety and bills, my mail key is tiny so it could fit into my head and open up my skull, reveal my brain and all the places it is probably rotting and all the places it is weak can show you a map of how to attack but dont forget, that underneath the surface I am just one atom, at the very center of my being one cell exists that wont ever go, it is in too deep.