(revisions)

and all significance aside: i should try to take my compliments in stride. but i still can't.

through the process, certain things have come to my attention. here is a list in paragraph form, meant to bombard, to abstract and obstruct as much as to inform. as much as to relieve and relive. i feel like individuals are mannequin billboards, passivity only reinforcing that. activity makes the advertisement real, makes it seem less like an advert, and creates the sexual experience. the glass shield of popular communication feigns interest. i've come to terms with the following: whether jobs or relationships, they are all out there. so why stress? there ARE employers who need work done, money to be made, they do in fact need YOU. a job will come. you will find means to live. on the same: there ARE people out there who love you, or at least want to. they WILL come, there's connection to be made, they do in fact need YOU. so why worry? i've come to believe in that about jobs, but not about relationships. which, upon realization, makes me quite a bit more open to the fact that i'm single in the city. and where everyone is beautiful, looks look like they matter less and less. situation, place, and timing are pretty much every determinant. it's all about how you market yourself, right?

so 4 short but busy weeks have taken me to the brink of new themes. who cares about jobs or girls or even clothes to wear or things to do? all of it will come, and we'll live it out, put it in the laundry once in a while, list it at moments and forget it at others. and as i come to another one of these hopefully empty, ecstatic, manic realizations, i plant myself backwards on a bus seat and watch north avenue die in 42 blocks...

i sit as the combustion engine works for me, my two dollars burned into lungs. our speed still controlled by thin rubber wheels, for it's the bikes who dictate the speed of the cars just before rush hour. during the hour, bikes kill cars for miles. i'd love to if mine wasn't flat at the moment. -------------------------------- i can only look left. i window shop the window shoppers and think i might need something more to fit in. or something less. just not anything i have now, which is the whole point of capitalism, right? change is money. and quite literally, the man who's expecting some as you come off the kennedy expressway and he's washing your window, giving you a paper, you spare a few coins. but he moves like a robot, dude's skin is like leather. he smiles as you pass, but don't expect that same smile when you see him in his own element. i like to hope that he'd crush my skull, he'd crush all of our skulls, if he had even half of what the 'haves' had. --------------------------------- i see an ideal house, everything, kitchen, office, living room, all within 10 blocks. it's exactly perfect, pristine, but behind think paned glass. store fronts. like oasis gold fronts. look but don't touch; buy it if you don't need it. fuck, those curtains alone could've housed a hundred of those street guys, kept 'em warm for years to come. but they only hang in effigy, symbols of the thinnest of our leaders. ----------- oh fuck, leave it to good music, an empty state of mind, and other important things to do. i almost missed my stop.