If I breath deep enough
I can feel good as dead.
Get this tension and mud
Turnin to good medicine.
They're stuck in my chest
Anyway, so why not
Look at them clean
From a flattering spot
Where the sun brushes down
And smooths out the ruts
Where my movements get caught
And apathy builds up.
When they get nice and firm
I’ll crush them up nice and small
A pile on my table
That will be all, it will be all.
And I,
I will stay still
Until the desert blows away.

Love is Inquiry

Let's talk about talking.
You see, the thing is, most people are terrible at conversation. they are selfish and masturbatory.
It seems to me that the majority of conversations are in fact are not conversations at all but instead consist of one person refusing to shut his/her mouth about something he/she thinks is worth mentioning and another person listening and rarely speaking. plus, on the rare occasion that the listener gets to open his or her mouth, his/her point is usually lost to an interruption or to a simple "oh yeah, thats cool" before the big mouthed participant continues on whatever he/she feels like.
there are variations of course. one of my least favorites being when someone brings up a topic for discussion and upon finishing their first piece of the thought, ready for some input, the person who is being spoken to says "oh yeah, cool" and instead of inquiring about what the other is talking about, giving their two cents, he/she proceeds to tell some anecdote that might relate in some way to what was initially said but will be a clear case of he/she waiting for his/her turn to talk.

there's a part in Fight Club where edward norton and marla are at a support group and marla mentions that every conversation seems to consist of each person waiting for their turn to talk instead of actually carrying on a conversation

sure. you could claim that this form of exchanging anecdotes, which involves not actually discussing anything that's been said, is a form of conversation, and i would say "yeah you're right. but it fucking blows."

a real conversation involves inquiry. well, i suppose i shouldn't say a "real" conversation. what i mean to say is a conversation that consists of the participants giving a fuck about and/or taking some genuine interest in what the other is saying. the fact is, most people open their mouths to either eat or bless themselves with the sound of their own voice.

i do not understand this. well, okay, sometimes, i have a lot to say, and sometimes i talk longer than i should. i think this is okay for someone to do in intervals. people are allowed to have a mouth/brain full sometimes and having someone to spill it all out too is wonderful.
but even on these rare occasions of mine, i try my damnedest to catch myself and make sure that when the person i'm talking to is talking to show interest. to inquire. to interrogate.
I'm not trying to toot my own horn here, sometimes i'm a jerk, but if there's one thing i always try to do and like to do, its listen. and i'm not the only one. i know a few other people (very few) who like to hear and share instead of just jerk-off. i'll admit that sometimes i am guilty of this jerking-off, but i think that odds are, if you experience this from me, its most likely because you are consistently selfish in conversation, and i'm just returning the favor. it isnt the right way to handle it, i'm sure. but at that point, its nice to have any kind of back and fourth.

look, people want to hear what you have to say. I want to hear what you have to say. you and your thoughts are unique and worth being spoken and being heard(probably). absorbing new ideas is fucking wonderful. the exchange of stories and ideas is one of the greatest human abilities that allows for the most triumphant of triumphs. hearing what others have to say can change worlds.
But you know what? you can listen too. people like it when they feel like their ideas are received and appreciated. even if its to debate what has been said, input people! inquiry! share!

Life is not all about you. Just because you've gotten your fill of the social experience doesnt mean it should be over. This idea of taking what you need from it and leaving is selfish as shit, period. its also masturbatory as i mentioned earlier. yes your voice is wonderful, yes you have great ideas, yes you have a good story, but so do others.

if you want to rant and/or make a point without someone else having some input so you can express your thoughts without having to worry about contributing to someone else's thoughts, write a book, make a blog, write an essay. these are the places this sort of behavior should live. others will probably even have something to say about what you've written. plus, you still dont have to worry about listening to anyone but yourself!

if you're reading this, chances are this pertains to you (not because you subscribe to my blog, but because you're a person).
once again, i'm not tooting my own horn here. i know others who function in conversations like i do, and you know what? everyone likes talking to them. its nice to know that your friends care about you and your thoughts, because, you know, all any one is is a collection of their thoughts and feelings. how dare you treat them as trash. how dare you discard you comrade's self as secondary, as disposable.

the thing is
most of beauty of those pictures you're in
have little to do with the photographer.
the thing is,
there is nothing like
having someone in your room
who you want to kiss but dont.
there is nothing like
having someone in your room
who you kiss but are apathetic towards.
there is nothing like
having someone in your room who you want to kiss and do and like it.

you looked wonderful in that dress
and i kan be a koward.

and you, you looked best with nothing on.
i'd never seen such a body
what a wonderful unwrapping.
those curls in my face
into my blood.
and you looked best when your mouth was open
with words pouring out.
everytime, my god my god.
i would have died to eat you alive.
i treated things like a barbarian,
but there's never been anything i wanted to treat more like paper or a sunrise.

and you, you always looked great,
but i can barely remember those months we spent.
i remember the time,
but slowly, slowly
that is all thats there.
random scenes
conversations.
but i dont remember how you feel
under my finger tips
and i dont remember how it felt
when we watched cartoons on that red couch.
all it does is make me feel bad.
i was rotten.

and now
a vague plethora of underdeveloped,
fresh opportunity.
i dont know much of this.
but i know i will be finding things
in ways that i'm foreign.
i am excited
and apathetic as fuck

you can struggle in the water and be too stubborn to die, or you could just let go and be lifted to the sky.

Existential anguish. Existentialists say we should embrace it. Swallow it. Accept it. For it is the human condition, and as such running from it is futile. To deny it is to be a coward, to not exist. "We must not be cowards!" they scream as they ride onto the battlefield. There is no escape. "THERE IS NO EXIT!" as they stab at faith and hope and rationalists.

And they're right. There is no exit. Every time you're at a bar or on your couch smoking a bowl or playing a video game or singing some song, the anguish is waiting. It is here it is on your shoulders it is breathing down your neck. All around you is uncertainty. It is woven into the air you breath it is in your lungs it is you and it is everything else. How dare you waste your time being meaningless! How dare you pretend you do not exist!
But why do anything? Why is doing something "productive" any better than doing something "lazy"? How do I not be meaningless? I must live in light of my anguish, my despair, my abandonment. i must live my life knowing that tomorrow may never come, knowing that the next five minutes may never come, knowing that my loves could be gone the next time i blink, and never try to escape. Why should i write a book? Who will read it when the world is gone? Will any one read it if the world stays around? Why should i do anything? Why try for futile things?

However. Escape seems necessary to the human being. If everything really is meaningless (which it is) and everything is so heavy with anguish and despair and abandonment, how am i supposed to cope? Why should i want to be alive if existence is such a perpetually painful place? Why should i want to be alive if there is no escape and if trying to escape makes me weak?
I don't know. I don't know.
I do know that if there is no escape other than death, and if suicide makes you weak, then we must embrace the pleasures of this life along with the pain. But this is so hard when it seems like so many of our "pleasures" are nothing but forms of escape. Whenever I get lost in a book or a movie or in writing a song or singing a song or putting together a puzzle, i am getting lost so as to pretend that the pain of the world does not exist. What a pussy I am! or am i?
The obvious conclusion is balance. I must balance my existence with escape, and escape must be in far smaller portions than my existence. It is worth something at this point to mention that "meaning" only exists if an individual gives something subjective meaning, thus if you have logical reasoning as to why your action is meaningful to you (which would involve considering what affect your actions will have on the ever present "other" and what affect it Should have on others), then I think that it can stand as not being a waste of time. But this balance is so hard. Every time i'm at a bar hanging with friends, i could be making a song or writing an essay or writing a story or reading something that will make me smarter. I could be doing something more productive. So so so so so so so many people have so much goddamn talent and capabilities to make beautiful beautiful things, but they waste waste waste time. Sure you'll say "I make a point to balance my work time and play time" But do you? Do you really? Dont you understand that most of the greats busted their balls all day long to create their master pieces? Do you think they went out to the bars or shopped or went to a party 5-6 times a week and called that "balance"? Maybe. Maybe. but i dont think so. i think they busted their fucking asses until a masterpiece was born. Then of course, i reckon you're allowed some extra play time. Some reward time. But where is your master piece? What have you done to make you worthy of your play time? You coward. We are not children any more goddammit. Goddammit.

i am breaking tradition a bit here. a new, big story is a day or two away.

Stories.
Stories are what we have. Almost all we have. So much of life is dedicated to telling someone something about your past. even the simple "whats up?" or "how are you?" to answer these questions we must tell stories.
Not only must we tell stories, we also must hear them. The way we learn is via these tales of lives that are not our own. When you ask for advice or tell your friend about a funny time last night, these are ways that we learn about other people, and thus they are ways that we learn about ourselves. We are nothing without others, remember this. When you tell me about the girl you just fucked or the man you just met or the show you just saw or the book that bruised your brain or the storm last night or how drunk you got a few days ago or how your cat just died or that your dad just lost his job, i am learning. i am soaking it in. i am reasoning. i am saying "yes" "no" "good" "bad". i am learning to make decisions by making decisions.
Storytelling.

Ah dearest Hemingway. I see what you mean.

"What else can we do now? Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair well the night's busting open these two lanes will take us anywhere."

Oh my god, what a beautiful day.

Let's sail away.