it is a saturday night and i have had just enough beer. i can attest that it can make any sort of experience much much better. yes my mouth sore is ninety percent OK now, so it is not a problem. i am in fact ecstatic to be free from such debilitating pain. . .

i was.. earlier ashamed of writing drunk. the truth is i AM drunk. and i am drunk happy. this is the way i feel.

i had tried to get away today from the structure that i have seemingly gotten myself engulfed in, however, convenience won me over. what the fuck, right. maybe tomorrow. i have no agenda and i have yet to figure out what it shall be.

monday comes so easy… friday comes just as easy… as much as i love my job and how important i feel, i feel that i must fulfill yet another thing, this time for myself. it is for the self that a sense of importance and necessity commands itself, for what purpose and to what end i have yet to see. yet i feel it and it makes itself be felt. so it must be done.

the pull on the throat, the slide you must have felt. go on and sing for the world, sing despite of yourself, under the moon, under which we are drunk, or about to be, or have already been, god help us. god is no where.


a specific medium may be perceived differently in separate occasions: different moods: different meanings. i point this out because tonight’s musical theme is normally reserved for more tired nights, more melancholia than is present currently, however i still felt it was best to have this drive me along now.

despite my prediction of a more drawn out period of distress, a good solid 12 hours of sleep and moringa tea have helped me greatly with my pains and i have been able to function as normal again.

it is impossible for a movement go unheard in the dead of night. while inside i could hear the dogs slobbering over their pilfered toys always something new each day. a slipper a rug a bottle a dress the daily mail. dogs are lovely creatures and i hold mine more dearly than most humans. as dearly as i hold my most favorite humans. i have a suspicion my mother finds this distasteful. which is also understandable as she can be a somewhat jealous mother.

the polarity of quarter-life sentiments breeds future archenemies. you will have the world as either your oyster or your hell. either of which are delusions. where is heaven in this picture? (also a delusion) supposedly absent on purpose; as if it will come to you, in due time, at the end, or some time before the end. didn’t we already talk about this. i did tell you about the folds, right?

desperation used to move me forward, you know. i would go after giants and rose when i fell. however there was one time i waited too long on my knees and i think i eventually resigned myself to a state of mediocrity: : : : spectating, content, neutral. i realize i may have already been swallowed by The Tao, without knowing it. i used to want so much and it fueled me; however it broke me so often too, which makes me think that perhaps this end is inevitable. or maybe i have just become lazy.

what is my life for. not asking anyone, not any god, not signs, not anyone but myself. problem is i wanted to be every thing. what am i now… it’s funny.


couldn’t get on my writing last night — was knocked out for most of the day.

pain is too distracting. and exhausting.

unfortunately it’s not the kind that i can write with.

might have to excuse myself tonight, having another wave of sores. two on inside cheek nearly cured but a third on tongue approaching peak growth and hurts like fuck. so bad. can’t even

been having these as a child never got to get rid of them, there have been a few times in my lifetime where i get several months sore-free, had one such privilege early this year but funny enough when mother remarked how i haven’t been getting them i then started getting them again.

it’s an awful curse, at a time alongside the conception of VRs they haven’t gotten much on this. taking some time to scourge online you can find a handful of discussions people gather to talk about the same thing and how awful it is and doctors never get it right most times, it’s a cult, an underground synergy suffering similarly. god bless these sore stricken mouths deprived of a better life.

right, i am excused for tonight

lush life, there goes your line. stretched out infinite or only until you fold. you are white, there is structure, there is abundance, what an easy life right! one day i found an open call to write, incredible opportunity it said, go on and tell us about yourself. now tell us why you should win, and we take you around the world and i thought who best to go than i who has been nowhere. a funny thought to think. a dud in a diamond light, cheap ass fake coat of promise, of course they would go for the familiar, a sunburnt nomad with a travel fund and a marketable audience. and of course the white glove. this is the world. this is your world. abolish the currency, i always say, so we afford to live and roam. what better quality of light must we fall under, what electrifying breaths to breathe a pocket of air and another. there is no time but our motions, and as it is, there is no real time without steps to take. excuse me but i must mention by the way that i speak for myself, as for others time is real when money is made, and things like that, etcetera… now i must also confess that i have made a paradox out of myself, what with a ceaseless rejection for things that take time, but what does not take time? and so i have lost time, which if you remember i insist is not real and so i must speak of it no more. the beings that we are, we are confined to within a century of exploration and mistakes, growing and aging – but towards what point in our lives? definitely not senility? – there must be an apex in our lifetime for which we grow, and from which we age. and when we are done and out we must then fold over. now i am thinking, how early does it come, or how late? has mine come and pass? that makes me shudder. must not be the case. what a sorry life i have lived so this cannot be it. how many apices must we have by the way, and are we able to fold many times over? what does it mean to fold, and what does it mean to fold many times over? here i am now talking about another thing that may not even be real, and so i must speak of it no more. until next time, because, here goes my line. stretched out until i fold.

sunday morning after we have brunch and we’re all smiles that the weather is nice today, we’ve been tortured with unbearable heat the past few months but today is a good day, the wind is talking, the roof a snare drum starting with a slow patter. then it starts picking up strength and tempo and i am all relaxed. i go out to greet the dogs and i see my mother sweeping the rain water off the porch. i see it’s not an easy job for her so i take another broom casually help, within seconds we realize this is bad, this is black, stinky canal water and it’s rising up fast, oh man i need a bigger broom, nope this water is unforgiving and my mother and i sweep harder and faster, pushing the water off the veranda. my body starts to hurt and i later discover that my mother is having it a bit worse than i do. the other people inside the house start to realize we need help and urgently. they grow frantic and the water is seeping into the living room, we move like clockwork and my mom gets some sort of metal bar to pry open the covers on the canal, she is a strong woman, but i’m not too sure if it helped. i see some trash gathering up outside the gate, and i curse the national attitude towards trash and it is that it must be someone else’s business to pick it up. well anyway after a while the rain subsided and the work piped down as my handyman uncle arrived to patch up the place. i give and take a bath, and the rest of my sunday goes by insignificantly. hours spent with a pen in hand, mouth agape, calling for a moment of genius, of concentrated energy, viscous romanticism like the old days, but these days they are hard to come by. this right here is a cheap shot, knowing full well it is worthless and even more so without the music. i am writing for no audience but myself, this is disappointing, so tragic, but i surrender for now hoping one day i find my tongue.