you take this motherfucker? neato.

or so it said on june 12th, 2006, 1:27am. wow, i just looked at this, and thought it was neat, and thought i was looking at it for the first time. then i looked below, and it made me cringe and cry at the passing of time...

though cringing and crying aren't bad. "and i'm not happy, and i'm not sad". write? like when we're lying in bed and minds wander, as brant and i conversed over indian food up north. like, why am i here, why is anything here, why does it all matter, and why are these such stupid and functionally pointless questions to be asking, because there is no answer, and there never will be. right. though we silently conclude that the answer lies in the moment, in our company and the delicious food in front of us, soon to be part of us. and i topically conclude (as in: you can see the pattern of letters upon this digital page, and you can (in the medicinal sense) thus relate it or apply it directly to a part of the body) that i'm not writing this for information or suggestion or pity or anything like that. rather for connection, i suppose, something that resembles the defining moments of our lives, our sex, our energy, our general will to make another movement. and regardless of how that movement comes, chemical, traditional, habitual, spiritual, free or not, motivation blind,

i ask:

what did you do today? what made you feel anything today? what was the funniest thing that happened? did you kiss or touch or fuck lately? or love lately? more importantly, of course, but being direct isn't always the greatest tact. sad but true. continuing: how are you feeling right now? how are your significant others doing? what have you been up to lately? how is the weather, your living situation, your immediate surroundings? are you healthy? what social event impacted you the most? do you understand why it did? what was the greatest endeavour lately that made you stop questioning all of this and just FEEL, but then come back to realize how important these questions are.
what did you think about creating lately? why? (and always follow with why why why).

as i am quite sure that most who read this won't literally answer these questions and type them out to become topical once again, i hope some do. and i hope all who read this will ask and answer these questions if in nothing else but silence. "catch the spirit", or so says my jingoist coffee mug, as it has been refilled with hot water so much that the echinacea is completely strung out and purely ornamental. tea makes me feel nice.

these ends don't tread on means

it's interesting, to use chemicals for ups and downs, as i've ascribed and tired to death before. but the cradle of consumption is one of extreme comfort, even coming from an anti-consumptive station. the odds, for sure.

the dreams contained a pamphlet, professionally done, about how i have no clue as to who i am until i've shot crystal meth. the fact that it was being sold to me by a long time crush of mine didn't help. i awoke clutching my arteries, the ones that poke out opposite of elbows and are a constant sign of what-could-be. they frighten due to their critical qualities.
the following were of muddled friends, mainly hard floors vs carpet. again, a comfort issue between my feet and the floor. the atmosphere between me and you. even if it's miles or molecules, the difference is negligable and noticable.
think hard and stay still. rain drizzling around and onto me, but unfelt. breath extends to create a sphere around my body, again unfelt. only static and seen. sexual encounters came and went, again unfelt. thought i did end up kissing my pillow upon waking. it made me appreciative that i have such a flower pattern on my pillowcase, as i definately felt the colors encase fading fake emotion. well, not fake, but from an entirely-self-constructed source. yet, isn't that what everything comes from? dream or movement: isn't every origin of feeling constructed from inside?

it's interesting, to use chemicals for ups and downs, as i've ascribed and tired to death before. but the cradle of consumption is one of extreme comfort, even coming from an anti-consumptive station. the odds, for sure. and i hate the idea of repeating myself, but i love it in practice.

(Illinois is) no state to be in for a relationship

WHOA
so this girl walks into the potash bros. supermarket. i work in the basement, the wine cellar: the sandburg wine cellar. hence, i didn't see her walk in, but i still knew she had walked in because she was staring at the olive oil in aisle 1. as i came around the corner to come upon her, she turned her head at me. and we locked eyes for, maybe, honestly, 3 seconds.

now, 3 seconds seems like a short time when you say it out loud. but when it concerns eye contact between strangers, it's fucking significant. most every other enounter will never contain eye contact AT ALL, and when it happens (at least in this city) it's broken off immediately. as i broke it off (the stress on "i") and walked away down the stairs, i couldn't help but think, "what can i stock upstairs?????"
so as i walked around, looking for work, i knew exactly where this girl was in releation to me, kind of as a sixth sense. and i felt she knew the same, as she kept looking over at moments and catching my form as well. her form:

honestly, i could tell you little about her form. baggyish jeans on a vaguely slim body. no idea about breast size. blue jacket. slightly hippie, which only means 'not perfect jeans and not spotless black coat' in the city. this city. i can tell much more, however, from the neck up, as i am a TOTAL sucker for a cute face. accordingly: medium length hair, but the sides were braided and tied back. kinda baggy eye lids, which sounds weird but was quite endearing as it brought out her eyes. (the eyes being really the only part of her i communicated with). very pretty (VERY pretty) blue eyes. and upon reflection, maybe they were only blue due to her jacket. who knows, it all went so quick. but quite pretty very pretty. GREAT smile, (of which i'll get to later in the story). continuing on:

as she shopped for who-knows-what, i rigorously restocked all the shit i could upstairs. chateau st. julien chardonnay, penescal tempranillo, budweiser 6pack cans. and i kept catching her gaze. and she kept catching mine. and i went downstairs for a few seconds, then came back up thinking, "she should be checking out right now..."

to which i looked at the check-out line, only to see her eyes meeting mine.

she left the store, leaving me not with a sense of longing but instead with an invigoration and livelihood that made me realize one doesn't need uppers for this feeling. (i've been leaning on caffeine heavily these days). i was giddy. and it only compounded when i had about 10 mintues to think about it and text my friends about it, when she walked in again.
and she kept shopping for more groceries! i subsided the "why is she here again? who is she shopping for?" thoughts with the "oh my god she's back!" and the "how can i communicate with her!" thoughts. again i restocked; again we caught eyes. she went up to the deli, to which i responded by bringing up wine that belonged on a shelf that is close to the stairs that lead from the deli.

and as she came from the deli, our eyes met for a lasting time. i nodded and looked away. as my head turned, she smiled and said "hi..."
and then i turned to return the greet, she was passing, i said "hi", but she was already passing me.
it was fucking awkward, but very cute. and i got to get the first close glances of her smile, which was very large, and very sweet, and almost made her face contort in a weird but gorgeous way.
i went downstairs as she was in line, took my boss's business card, crossed out his name and wrote in mine, and had the plan of going up to her as she left and giving it to her as i said, "here. you dropped this."
i went upstairs and she was gone, but i was glad because that was such a stupid idea. upon reflection, i guess the best part of our 'relationship' had come and gone, anyways.



this whole story is true, and it's the closest i've come in chicago to open and honest true love.

(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.