I don’t have much time to explain. Our triumphant return will occur.
Unintentional Loss of Art: It comes as a shock, when you lose it. First there is panic. Then denial. Then anger and blame. Lots of that. Then sadness & despair follows. Denial Again. M<ore sadness. Perhaps a depression. More anger. Afgter the emotional states have come & gone an imaginative recollection occurs. A survival tactic. “I will rebuild it, perhaps the artist will say subconsciously. He or she knows the art lost can nevert actually be rebuilt. Only non0artists would recommend that, he or she knowsx.It’s the rebuilding of a emmory of the art. How good it was, how important it was, “my best work…”
Art for Moneuy
L=b . .emit ni ecifircas eht htiw yako & lufetargt eb lliw tsitra ehT .epacse reven ynam hcihw ni eno ,hguorht og ot ssecorp yrassecen a spahrep si ti .,ruetama si siht :lanigiro eht gnisol &trA fo gnitide revO nO
.tra ot tniop rehto on si erehT .laitnetop noitaicerppa fo tuo–nosrep taht ot krow taht evig lliw tsitra eht ,sevlesmeht od yeht naht erom krow reh ro sih gnitaicerppa enoemos seciton tsitra eht nehW :noitaicerppa rof gnivig nmO
.esruoc fo eerf rof ,enoemos ot tra eht tfiger dna dnuora nrut ot neht yako s’tI .syawyna tra ruoy ton yenom ruoy detnaw yehT .detaicerppa wb lliw noitanod ruoy ,esuac a rof sti sa gnol sA :renniW eht gniddibtuo & snoitcuA n
.si elyts siht lufituaeB .dna no evom ot detcepxe dna dewolla si tsitra eht tey tsitra eht fo traeh eht sah tI .pihsrenwo-non ,tnemehcatta-noN .noitubirtsid fo dnik siht fo elpmaxe na si neht itiffarG .gnitaerc drawot ecnats ekil-eert rieht ni laedi si & ,etarapes si ,noitnetni sah sesol yllanoitnetni ohw tsitra ehT .emoc ot si tahw rof moor ekam ot sdnah ruo ni si tahw pord tsum ew nehw semir ynam era erehT .ysae os neeb reven sah no gnivoM :trA fo ylanoitnetnI nO
“…struh ti dna ,evol fo tuo ,si tsuj ti ,esrow ro retteb eht rof si ti yas ew nac rehtieN” .tsom eht stceffa ti & tsom eht struh tI .yaw namuh tsom eht si evol rof evig oT .noitubirtsid tra morf flesti edulcxe t’nseod tI !struh evol tuB .evol fo tuo evig ot ,truh doog a ekiL .lufniap tsom eht si siht :evoL fo tuo trA gniviG nO”…ereht tuo rotaicerppa na deedni si ereht uoy llet ytlderussa I hguoht” ,rettup eht yb dootsrednu ton si ytuaeb sti esuaceB .eid dna rehtiw oT .eid ot tesolc eht ni rewolf demossolb a gnittup ekil si ti tra reh ro sih edih ot sah tsitra eht nehw ,nosaer revetahw roF :trA gnidih nO
.lufniap tsael eht si siht decudortni ton si yenom sa gnol sa tsuj :trA gnidarT nO
“…dnatsrednu uoy epoh I yrros m’I” ,tonnac I .yenom rof ton ,oN .etaerc ot sruoh 5.3 koot ylno ti hguoht taht rof siht edart naht sruoh 08 rof seirecorg gab rehtar dluow I .sselecirp si tI .yas lliw ehs ro eh “,siht lles tonnac I” .eulav yratenom sessaprus krow eht sleef tsitra eht nehw tniop a ot emoc lliw krow ehT .yenom htiw nigeb lliw lla ti fo noitnetni ehT
I wonder if that was recorded. its okay, you have to work and you have to express. I found the right music, it only took 500 or so words before I found it. I got through the red and the ugly, and the hate. i expressed it. it was real, but now that its done and out I carry none of it with me. yesterday I became so angry , either from the environment or from the emptiness of my stomach, and yelled at the top of my lungs. the very top. My voice carries and it carries exdspecially sharpo whe nI yell at the top of my lungs. if a hardcore band needed someone to do vocals i could do it, if they would let me hav ethe mic. “How I love to have the mic. I love it. the idea of stages. Of microphones. of caprtive audiences. the dream. what is the dream. I have to branch out. I must complete the journalled, and post the en crypted, and get done with it. I cannot sleep with this body any longer. a child comes. time is abbundant, love will be too one day when the child comes. I must create it now but I will have helpt o create that love very soon. for now I must walk in the darkness, alone, and get things done. there are hanging projects. the tree grows by adding millimeters, so must I , add milimeteres. a few words can be an inch. a few z’s reaps nothing. she is right in this sense. I have to stop running away to the sheets. the dream prisons. and I feel encouraged. and I feel together. and i do not feel stupid or inadequate anymore. I am back and I am centered. after only maybe 600 words. 600 words separated me from the freedom, and so easy was the switch once the switch had my attention to turn. Pressfield says the hardest part about creating or writing, or whatever he said it was about, was the sitting down part to do it, the act of beginning it. Once it begins, he is right, the “this is what I was givien life to do, and though the environment may attempt to convince me otherwise, I know fully, with everything, with everything, you think you’ve seen passion and that ive displayed passion before, you haven’t, for all of that stands as a speck of a man compared to this juggernaut of assured dly divine giantisism in the passion I feel at this time, and the centerdness, I feel at this time. give me a keyboard for 24 straight hours. we will call it, 24 hours. A work done, in a days time. no sleep. 24 hours. non-stop. no eating. just words. the whole time. and music. bathroom breaks are fine, this apparatus is mobile. i do not need my eyes either. take my eyes. give them to my mother. that feeliung in your nose, right before you begin to cry so hard and with so violence,. and that feeling swells up into the corners and a smoothness of clean water begins to come out happily . let me cry again. ;let me see these poles of despair and hope again.
a filmmaker has shown interest in documnenting the 12k event of 2k13. the k120 taking a flask of holy water. How long does a monster wear the clothing of sheep before he breaks or before he loses his cover or before he goes mad or before he begins to kill, out of desparation, bnefore he bgins to kill himself because he knows he is not like this he is not living his life the way it was meant for him to live and the pressure of it all and the painful reaction their skin causes to my skin and then but when what happens when it all comes tumbling down and he or it or I break with a madnesws filled with such violent disposition and search for the thing causing it and the search for others like him or her or it and when none can be found what or what or what what happens, a suspense, and sadness, and the hanging of heads or the rise perhaps to a stillness. and the ease of which the clothing unbelonged falls off, adn the green skin underneath proves purple, and, and it shines is worth something, and its or his or her diference means something and its okay for him or her or it to be different and have ideas no one was ever heard before, and the ugliness is a king that in time can be loved after the truth of it has been seen, this intention of…living purposefully, and there could be no happier moments with a face as stoic as this.
a new beginning, aghain, for it is a new day. A new day to forgive and let go and see people for what they are. a new day for the looking at mirrors and sinpectioning of missing hairs , a new day1 for words and works and a new day it is1 the clouds pass so quickly on this day. the trees as stoaic as mine. as mny clouds. My clouds pass just as fast. they pass faster. everything I write uis set to the mood of music, I have no control over it. the trees are not as stoic given second cglance, they quiver just like I do sometimes. to think I am not changing1 how absurd.
writer writer be my friend today, be my friend, be my solace. in these times. It’s a song! “My gift of self is raped, my privacy is raked….If I can’t be my own, I’d feel better dead.” the mood to these writings is in the music, I say that. I talk about it. and its selected music. I overidentify with the unplugged version of nutshell, because it speaks directly into my heart of hearts of hearts. Its how I used to feel, or still do, at times, on this day perhaps, with the sun cast over my lap, the acer resting just above my knees, the k120 just below my genitalia, the red wrire connecting me to the ascer, the sounds to my innards, the jacket touching all over my chest and arms, a hug from the eternally material. the reminder I will die and lose this sense. and these things we fight over, these things how silly all of them are and were and of all the time wasted. everyone doesn’t think my art is stupid because not everyone knows about it yet. and when the silence strikes, the music settles, our fingerts brace for the oncoming onslaught. there is no space between these keys I cannot find. I will locate them all, however long it tkaes. I will work and tap and tap to this blessed keyboard and find what it is God will have me do. Maybe its fiction. Maybe its not. Maybe its long periods of sadness and self-pity followed with jubilees of destiny and promise and hpoe. what is the difference between me biting my nails until they bleed out of inspiration to distract than one with their smartphone playing on facebook aor creating new circles of friends to avoid the ones in freont. How is it any less different. and I know things are fucked up, and biting them until they bleed is fucked too, but damn look around you everyone is doing it. On a massive scale getting more massive. the text on foxnews.com is just text, though it may inspire fear how far does that fear consciously travel, it being so far away. billions are without water and my piece of shit self complains about something obnoxious.; and my piece of shit self slings insults to destroy . I HAVE IT MADE. true yes, america carries within it a wide spectrum of living, but its all the same really. a 100k car will do point a to point b just like the 7004 craigslist car. and then the sonig of gold comes. the blood has thinned and stopped. It begins soon…
here it is. here I go. this is it. this is the kind of song I like, this s the song of hope. this is the song of smiles. the smile given, the smile taken. the hand waving hello, the other hand receiving it and sending it back, the smiles connecting. smiles. a topic. the king of smiles . this sit. there;s so much to do. do you see? How the music makes itr? My foot begins to tap. Tap tap tap. 0it’s almost over. we only have one spotify account, and she will be using it soon. the music will cut….soon. or maybe i will just stop on my own. the jubilee is done, and over, now the violins come on. and the periods of music missing, the ones without hope.
March 11th, 2015, the day of my cancelled dentistry appointment. furthermore, a day with these thoughts: I really should get going with this work. I will get going with this work. I’m feeling good. the keys feel good. there’s stacks of things to scan. and compile. and to let go. and I must renew 447s.com, I will renew it this afternoon. I will will renew it afteR I get up. I think I will make a website for it, very simple, 447 words a day. Maybe 447s things a year. But we will start small with 447s words a day, on this site. that would be nice. this will be nice. it is going to be nice. it is nice. its a good idea. it will be a good action. it’s agood action. I feel good. the sun is on me & the various dots inside my eyes are sliding about, sliding around aimlesslty to the sounds i assume ithey hear. I was thinking about the progression, earlier. I feel good about it, and ready to let something go. I was looking into my apartment through the blinds, on the other side, the outside of the apartment, on the deck, looking in, through the blinds, and I was reminded of the dream prisons. I had an immediate urge to make a post on MDN! entitled dream prisons. I connected this thought to that work oni did on trazadones. How the contexts have changed but it is still the same. the blinds remind me of the dream prisons. there’s a richness inside but all I can see is the reflection of my small head at the bottom and a tree shining darkly in the background. Both are stoic. A wasp buzzess around and interupts the stillness. Or perhaps it does not interupt. it adds a focus. a wind chime slowly turns to the wind. the tree is unmoving. the small face, unmoving. a blur below, perhaps hands, appear to be working. appear to be still. without interuption, focused. feet tap and keys tap and music taps. ideas play out. there’s an ambition to lift heavy things and gain muscle today. the black dot distracts my focus., and I begin to wander into someone else. and as he layed there, absorbing the sun and the stoic reflections caught up in themselves, a determination or assuredness made him feel good. No where to be at this time, other than here. Inside the challenge awaits, he preparing at the gates of a castle he elped build. the dream prison close by, if but a look and it would bring him into his temporary death., into the place where real dreams are paused or illed or forgorgotten or dispersed or substituted for still stoic movements, a mind still engaged, but nothing really to remember, and noithing tangible and nothing done or advanced, just stillness with a small focus somewhere, kind of blurry, not sure but perhaps. 491 words in the course of two songs. 4 minutes to produce 500 words, 447s.com is tangible. so is the progression. I want it all done today1 And what of the collective progression? do we throw this together/ no, we throw them online in fragments, then with precision, like a sutoic surgeoin moving hands but nothing else, aq small focus but god damn it is a serious one, the focus, carefully meticulously intentionally performing what is his currnet claim of value to society. the playlist is getting dated. I had to skip 4 songs. Only 16 or so are on it. that’s 255 of my songs are no longer current. the practual material of the progression was completed a long time ago. months and months ago. does the surgeon have it in him to work on such an aged piece. he will likely need violent confidence. dismember, edit, adjust, do these things and more. will it come quickly like the ideas or pass slowly but assuredly like the clouds in the reverse distance. will he be able to afford a car by the time his child arrives. a thought. the profressional, a thought. such a beautifulk world this is, physically. and so beautiful it is down to the smallest things. the way everything works together. and the shifts that occurr. A man’s testicles reducing in size out of evolution .. A woman walks her dog. a drum beats in his ear. A Buddha statue sits. An hour glass fitted to recford 7 minutes of time sits, showing recordation and a willingness to begin anew given the small focus neede. A skin fungus monopoly begins to detororiate.
Bitten nails. Half open zipper. just kidding its zipped. shorts buttoned. fungus prominent red circles against pale skin, all over the chest and inside the arms along the inner biceps. down the hands. aspecial shampoo prescribed to kill it after year old colonization. It’s never been this bad before. or good, depending on who you are. if you were me, It would be bad, if you were the skin fungus it would be good, or was good, until now. I have this new kind of shampoo body wash that will allegedly request bags to be packed, a request with no alternative options, to pack its bags and I don’t use my thumb I don’t use my left thumb at all to typeI us e my right thu, I use my right thumb . what can the the left thumb do. it just does nothing. My left ring finger is very inactive to. really the fingers I use are the left index, the left middle, very occassionaly the pink, and on my right hand i use the thumb index, middle, and maybe the thing but not really. it is just a combination of four fingers and my ruight thumb that do all the typing. I have to reavel a good deal of distance while typing.
and then there was light. “I am in a mood,” he said, outloud to his friend. “I am in a mood. disenfranchised. it feels like, it feels like i’m rushed. I’m high level, somewhere, but itsw not here. i am high level at something, but I am not doing that something, at this time. somewhere I am great, but not here. I am great somewhere but not here. I feel disenfranchised. I feel like I could be something somewhere but not here. to be more positive, and to be stronger, we drop the negatives. for example, “do not be afraid to be amazing,” turns into, “be amazing.” now, to take this a step further. “don’t be afraid to,” does have value. it changes the sentence. so, to keep the negative in there without sacrificing the positive integrity of the statement we say, “Be amazing. do not be afraid to be amazing.” or if we wanted to take it a step even further we could say, “be amazing. don’t be afraid to be amazing. be amazing.” and even further: “Be amazing. don’t be afraid to be amazing. Be amazing god damnit1 be amazing! what the fuck are you waiting for! amaze1 ! amaze god damnit1 klol.
henry adjusts the earbud in his left ear.
we are calculated not cold. we are warmly calculated, the chaos appears as an illusion masking a horror of order. if only they knew how orderly things are! if only I knew! it’s not my conscious self that organizes this elaborate puzzle.
a reversion to practice. why the keys don’t type as fast as they should, why the words don’t come out like they shoud. I’m my greatest fan! “Hello friend, ” she says to herself in the mirror, everyday, every morning, every night. Hello friend hello indeed hello. I feel strong1. I feel strong somewhere. I know I’m strong. I think it may not be with the K120. Not right now at least, the words are lagging. I mean, it’s not me who lags. the machine, the screen lags and the screen isn’t capturing the words as i put thtem in. It’s like there’s this delay. and i know the delay isn’t the machine, it’s me. but i need more computing power! i need nutrition. I am malnourished it’s true but I am eating healthy at this time. thai cabbage salad, edmaame & carrots, rainbow kale the fucking works. and a giant thing of chocolate milk hey a niggas gotta get calories.
Go ahead, ask him how he’s doing: ‘Well, ya know… I am The Most Blessed Man in The World,” he said with this beautifully aged smile of his, “And there’s good news: you can too, anyone can be as blessed as I am.” It’s like clockwork. There was absolutely nothing in form that could shake his divine connection. Not cancer, not poverty, not the death of a wife, not the pain of a stomach, not how a cold shower feels before you get in, not lower back pain, not uncertainty, not that feeling you get when your alarm goes off, not labor for money, not greed, not misfortune, not enemies, not the success of enemies, not forgiveness of enemies, not a hazardous driver, not a driver who made a careless mistake, not the book that drops from your hand, not the small line formed at checkout, not the long line, not unfairness, not the dispersion imbalanced,not the lack of knowledge , not the hot pillow, not the sagginess of skin, not the penis going limp for good, not the hare, not th o not thmk in the frnott wa of kineanot t nte gowrn, not the tablet’s inability to keep up with the speed of fast keys, not the sight of lost keys, not low credit score, not the way that person treated the other person, not the sale price, not the sale price being incorrect at checkout, not the thing that should be there but wasn’t, not the bad lies, not the lies of others, not the deadlines, not the treachers, not the bad bosses, not the friends, not the failures, not the lost competitions, not the reprimands, not the puim, not the fear, not the things never done, not the desires, not the money, not the corporations & ipotins, not the way they are going, not the looks, not the wrongs, not the rights, not the bedtime stories, not the horror stories, not the violence, not the vandalism, not the crls not the uusthings, not ust of hioo nothe mother,oate not orn te m, none of those things and so much not more, not the allergies, the movie ticket prices, not the government, not the neighbors, not the television, not the lack of anything, not the lack of nothing, not the low battery, not the lack of talent, not the oversuccess of no talent, not manipulation, not deceit, not corruption, not children, not teens, not young adults no. Nothing you see could shake his form. Go ahead & ask. He’s formless. Look at him. What you see doesn’t matter. How he goes, where he goes, what he does…none of it matters, not in any way does it matter anymore, for he, without question, is The Most Blessed Man in The World, & well, ya know “there’s good news,” he says.
are they unpredictable, is the wind unpredictable though we come to expect what it does & deliver, whether its purpose is to blow wispy hair or to pass seeds or to make tink the sounds directly overhead. and like the various beauty of flowers, do sounds too compete for beauty to attract a host? to attract the someone there to listen fully. Like flowers, just as the birds, is the wind wishing to be heard with its passing through chimes overhead arythmically but consistent in its deliverance? cars to are made use of by the wind, just as the bumblebees continue to mate & buzz. and a truth is here, one that sets on a foundation of current feeling: my taps at this time are outclassed to the sounds by chimes & birds & cars & mexican painters stepping on concrete , rolling rs & getting jobs done. To remove the competition. I’ve said more than once #2 is preferred. It is the practice to do the best, as if #1 was the goal, like a thin mask worn to hide the wish to lose, to perhaps achieve victory long after the truth of illusion has come out. just below wood is now being cut. It’s the loudest thing now. I feel lost to its harshness. Stanley is repelled & he has left me out here to finish 108 words alone with distant birds & muted chimes cut out by planes overhead & wood losing its form again. I’ve begun music. It’s the happiest rolling forward kind of music I know at this time. I am hopping its train to find my way again, here outside, among so the competition. a first conscious breath. brows unforrow. sun dissipates into appreciative grass. dew reflects. metal tinks. & the sound evolves. the chimes have stopped, their purpose now one in greater question, they perhaps #2, just like me, a human doing its best to be more than the simple intention of making noise through taps or sex or beeps, scribbles or sleeping readjustments or resettling of chair weight. the music has grown in seriousness. stanley has returned to my left. the woodmakers have gone. the wind is there in the trees but absent overhead in chimes. my thoughts or feelings may have become louder than all of it, they being fueled by this dramatic soundsoftly evoking a real silence & stillness in form. the air conditioner has shut off. Nothing remains, not the birds or the bees, or the chimes, just stillness & this music & the sounds of returning woodworkers, & the resuming of chimes, & the buzz & memory of music climaxing & fading into air conditioning.