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His Blog
Entitled: Untitled
Total Posts: 2
Title: Melodrama.
Fri Dec 1 06:24:34 2006
the women here are malicious and calculating and to them there is no discerning between business relationships and relationships except they know that each is a game, a vicious tango around large sums of money or around our unborn children... And in one of these games you can ask for a resume up front and in the other you must let them buy you drinks wear make up and just ask the right questions... and no matter how strong the train in their heart wants to push forward... If they can see what's ahead and can see the tracks veer too near to the cliffs or the shoreline or simply end They will be the first to brake... And leave you calling a dead line at all hours of the night and day with no explanation except the obvious... ...That they had foresight. (And maybe to protect myself I believe that they were WRONG!) And now their engines are slowly cooling...As are mine...Though I'd like to think that neither of us can forget a simple, well-timed kiss on the cheek at 4 in the morning on the first true night of winter. There is an Asian headspace. In deed it is spacey. There is a gap. There is a sadistic void. There is an oily surface. There is a crevice. There are uncontemplated grapes in a cranial bowl. There is a ludicrous, light weight on the shoulders... Because Oh How They Can Go UP & DOWN, UP & DOWN...SHRUGGING off days and months and years of dismal toil, loveless nights... Nobody understands better than you & I, Damien... Better sorry than bored and better sorry than safe! bitches! db
Title: Alive.
Mon Nov 20 06:45:31 2006
Permeating, marinating...in the presence of life. I'm about as bipolar as the usual penis. Can't understand why I'm so limp when I'm limp and can never imagine just how erect I can become, given the right circumstances... Marbles in the brain don't know to see what's next to them, but they are all aware of others...Crammed up inside your cranium. Waiting to be turned on. Had been thinking about vanity. Had recalled two fables (Aesop?) about vanity. One involved a dog who stole a piece of meat. The dog was crossing a bridge with the meat in his mouth. He looked down into the water and...saw before him a second piece of meat (reflected). He tried to get the second piece and of course wound up dropping the actual meat into the pond. (This is not of vanity but it came to mind...Simply because the dog looked at its reflection). Then...Perhaps in the same pond...Another fable begins... When the pond begins to dry up. And a talkative turtle convinces two passing whooping cranes to carry him to a lake where he will be safe for many years. The whooping cranes hold onto either end of a long stick and the turtle bites the stick, dangling hundreds of feet in the air as they migrate to a nearby lake. Something happens and the turtle HAS to say something to these birds. He HAS to mention something... And he does...And of course...Falls to his death. (How did that one involve vanity?) Here I dozed off and began to dream about a turtle...Falling into the mouth of a volcano. The turtle was a perfectly circular turtle. The mouth of the volcano was also round and full of red magma. The turtle was going to fit right in... But then I knew what I must do...As a man in this turtle's situation...Is find one single stone to latch onto. Find one single stone on the rim of this volcano that looked at all sturdy...And I would survive. However if I reached out all four of my limbs, tail and head in order to grab at stones on the rim...None of my appendages would reach a stone. So as I fell...Vertigo...I came to the realization that I must...If I wanted to survive... SPECIFY. That is: chose a single, sturdy stone...And extend only one limb toward it. Grab it. Using the combined length of my other, withdrawn appendages...As if the turtle were an elastic sandwich of putty. (Film? Canada? Korea? Illustration? University? Painting? Travel? Vagrancy? Indonesia? Buddhism? Ellie? Kimberly? Irene? Dahay? Sundridge? Watercolor? Acryllic? Script? Mich? Sarah? Learn another language? Grandfather? Scotland? Save? Spend? Diet? Go mad? Go sane?) The dream became more abstract as I was waking. I actually had the feeling of waking INTO a dream prior to actually waking. And the dream I woke up into... Made so much sense. And involve George Clooney... I imagined the turtle as a simple design of a black disk with liquid-like limbs that could branch off from the disk to reach for other things. This black disk was the frontal lobe of my brain. The platter of my pink fruit noodle soup... This black disk was the metaphysical diagram of how I could become a serenely calm and collected person...And leave everyone I meet with a feeling of competence and understanding and overal George Clooney-ness. How I could appear sleek and calculated and win over anyone with simple, slowly-outreaching appendages...Reaching for the sturdy stones around a volcano's mouth. And if I could lower myself onto this black platter...Which exists lower in the brain than the current center of my mental activity...Which is higher up in a frantic highrise party...I could have everything I want--because I would no longer want anything at all. ................ Birthday came and went. Drank all night with Jeff and never told anyone. No reminders of mortality. No feelings of doom mixed with birthday cake bloat. No calls from family but knew they had tried but didn't bother to try them, myself. Next day Ellie came all the way out to visit me. Two hours by train. Bezoe got a photo shoot to be on the cover of Groove Magazine. (He did it. Naked.) And in the same day got a job as an English teacher. We celebated both. Him & Ellie & I. I didn't realize how awesome Ellie was until Bezoe and I had some time alone and he said: "Man...If I were you I'd be singing and dancing and doing everything for that girl. She comes out to meet you...she even brings you chocolate! Of course she likes you! Snap out of it!" So anyway good times. Awkward times. Bezoe says our date was like being 17 years old again. I almost got to hold her hand when I took her to the bus stop and said goodnight. Bezoe's 2nd teaching job failed. He was down about that for a while. Sleeping in my bed with me (queen size)...The snoring, hairy damn Indo'. And talking...Talking...Talking about how great of a musician he is. How cool his hair is. How he's going to be as big as TRHCP. Repulsive really. But he's a good guy. Saw a Beethoven concert. Symphonies #5 and #6. Famous Korean conductor and the Dresden Staatskapelle. The idea was to bring Ellie. Romance her with pretentious class. The concert and her birthday ended up being on the same day, by accident. I had no idea. But alas because it was her birthday she had to stay with her tight family. She couldn't come. $200 tickets and I took Bezoe. The rock n' roller. Who came late and slept a bit and tried...tried...tried to dig Beethoven. I think we both were trying hard. Especially because I had a raging fever...Nosebleed...in my suit...Hallucinagenic scenes of giant peaches, apples and bananas spinning in the center of the auditorium...Exploding to crescendos... And of course Kubrik lucidity of violent images, sex acts, planets orbiting planets, planets exploding, astronauts, rising monoliths...And more violent images of nuclear bombs and global catastrophes. Beethoven. Bezoe and I speculated on the subway...How classical music is so much more polite than rock in that...There is no ONE voice ONE head hauncho but an entire orchestra in discreet harmony. Then I said: "Well it WAS all written by one man...Torn from his guts...With all the grunge of Curt Kobain waling...And he was not a man of the people...He spent most of his life in solitude." Because of Bezoe's photoshoot for The Groove Magazine...He knew some people who got us into a bar called The Garden in Apgujung. Two story dance club with a Canadian DJ...$25 cover. Amazing atmosphere but definitely...After three hours of Beethoven... Breakbeats seemed a little bland. I suffered a bout of sadness. Bezoe took off with a wonderful blonde. Eventually I left. "You wanna split the cab?" I asked Bezoe. "Nah man," he said. "And leave this young lady?" Blonde Julia smiled. "Yah," I said. "If I were you I wouldn't. So see yah." Over to Itaewon to meet Frank eat food sleep in a public Sauna. Next day spent making masks in Frank's cramped, awesome Asian apartment with doors you have to crouch through, a children's playground and an army baracks nearby...Stray cats...Guards with barrettas making sure no one gets in to join the sunday afternoon military soccer match. I apply strips of something to Frank's face and end up with a mold. With the left over strips I make my own mask...Play some out of tune piano... His wife Rose comes home and cooks for us. Then we take off to Time Out--Open Mic where we both pull great shows...Frank as bizzarre as usual. Frank told a poem talking about teaching in China and having a schizo attack in an airport where he actually began admitting that he was a terrorist... He threw the keys to his luggage in the garbage, irrationally...And began to tell security that he was a terrorist. He went back to Australia to get some help. A long while Frank stood up there just making animal noises into the mic. Pretending to orgasm. And then reading more poetry. I sang...To my own surprise..."The Decemberist's--The MAriner's Revenge Song" all the way through...With no backup. And then spent all night out with Jeff and Bezoe and Kimberly...Who got wasted...Incredibly annoying...And went off with other men. That's that... But not at all. There's a lot more. But you probably won't read this far anyway. db
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