humanity is stupid

they only smile for the camera, especially her. with misplaced emotions and unrealistic expectations you're pretty much fucked. i can't believe he said that, i don't think anyone could, they all looked to someone else for verification that what they were thinking was ok. for that moment no one said anything. "the important thing is the obvious thing that nobody is saying," bukowski said that. he was a drunk. crack a few jokes, get on with it. people would rather laugh than think and much rather fuck than cry. dance and put on a show like you're not always thinking of the worlds stupidity in the back of your head.

baby got a dreambox

"this train smells like shit,"
is the first thing i hear when i open my eyes. the guy next to me is on a cell phone, probably has been the whole train ride. i look out the window onto rotting real estate drowning out trees. i can't smell anything, which makes me wonder if i'm the one stinking up this crowded train. he's leaning away from me on his phone, i'm leaning towards the window. he hangs up with whoever he was complaining to and calls someone else. maybe the smell is me, i wouldn't be surprised, it's gotta be four in the afternoon, i've been wearing this suit since four in the morning. i haven't eaten since two in the morning, unless you count a smoothie i gulped down before getting on the train. i'm probably rotting just like the scenery, it happens faster without care. the train stops and some people get off. he moves across the aisle to two recently vacated seats. thinking back upon the day, i remember determined distant faces traveling in herds, looking up to see patches of a cloudless sky between monumental buildings, nature distorted, as perhaps it always is. across the aisle, on his cell phone, he discusses the best way to get there as though every destination has one perfect route. he's planning to take the belt-line, it approaches the city from across the lake allowing one to view the horizon's geometric misshape in its entirety. i always preferred going straight through the city and watching the capital building jump out and approach like unavoidable disaster. "i'm going to visit a cute girl," he says to the phone. the train stops and everyone gathers their things. standing in the aisle of the train, i still can't tell if it smells. i get off the train and walk away from things.

wearing a suit in a crowded place, with a bunch of other people wearing suits.

i always feel like an asshole/fraud.

cultivation

i feel like i'm constantly explaining and justifying life to myself, the way one would to someone who hadn't experienced it at all.

isn't there something better we could be doing?

things i wont miss

she would play that flute forever if she didn't have to eat or sleep, that's what it takes to get paid for it. it's sure to be more of a nervous habit than joy.

tolerating the mundane only to appear successful.

living for them behind their backs.

no longer taking important everyday things for granted.

listening to al green alone.

pretending people of my past are dead.

wondering what ever happened to them.

not caring.

a primer for thought

study. read. memorize. he's got it down. he knows the books and their theorems well enough to make new ones. others, long after he is dead, will build upon these. as will generations after them. man explores the world in which he lives in a struggle to understand it. he plays with numbers and ideas thought of long before his grandparents walked the earth. he claims, "it is my will, it is my destiny, the ultimate manifest destiny". so he spends his days. toiling and grinding at a fragment of a puzzle which only appears larger with every found piece. day in day out, he pressures his mind to its limits of conceptualization.

when he looks up from his work one evening, man notices, while many brothers and sisters are toiling at the same underlying puzzle of everything, many are not. instead he sees them engaged in games and contests, not to learn and share knowledge, but to compete and hoard. not only are they ignorantly playing and engaging in forms of lackadaisical intercourse, but they utilize luxuries of the systems they care not to understand in these matters.

man is intrigued by this lack of interest in the greater knowledge. after consideration, he realizes that his preconception of man is wrong. man is not an eager pupil tending to the questions of the universe. instead he is a simple child, needing only to be preoccupied with the glittering emptiness of a daunting task. the animal of man, with his enlarged brain, does not find himself with any greater purpose than his ancestors, but only the common need to expel its excess thought processes on empty emotional experiences and mundane tasks. a synapse fires and man is contented again, for now. the button pusher, creating an easier way to push buttons so that he may push two buttons at once, or eat, or fornicate, while pushing buttons.

man finds this restructured comprehension of himself and his place in the world unsettling. now he is entirely aware that life as he knows it is merely, keeping oneself busy. this awareness came to him crisp as the bite of an apple, displaying the void of ethics in such a world where men are slaves to thought. moreso even than his ancestors, who appear to not reflect on or consider their habit and insticts. with this knowledge a new man is born, a free man, who choses his destiny without consideration for those who may never see things as he does. the new man, who does everything with clarity of purpose, a grin slits his mouth and a blade his arm.

anything at all

the homeless man, with a past full of memories and nothing. what's he holding on to, what's he hoping for?

man is the animal only and entirely.

an element

he drinks from a bottle in the bathroom, then sleeps until he wakes up or gets thrown out. drinks again. preferring sleep, bitter, he looks around in the cold air, thinking, judging with eyes not unlike those on him. even sleep has a point of oversaturation. idle consciousness is spent reminiscing of freudian slips and immoral bouts. junctures in a life of opportunity. he cares not about the future, only of regrets in a past of impossible hopes. without hydrogen he wouldn't be here. none of this would.

instinct

one day you'll forget there's nothing more to life than staying alive. no one keeps that up forever.

the important thing is gone, all is gibberish.

hard working people, most don't want to face reality, so instead they lalalalalalalala.

certain people would live forever if they could, they're the same people who wouldn't hesitate to doot do doot doot doot.

all some people look forward to in life is bwat n do dat n bwat n do dat.

boom ba doom ba doom is all you're missing out on.

with blamalamalam blamalamalam you could have anything you wanted.

you have been lied to about something you wish you hadn't, because people baa baa bop shoo bop shoo bop.

the future will be blam blam ba blum blum deedily dee.

happy valentines everybody.

bad idea from the start

true love, love at first sight, and hopeless love. attempts at recreating the past. pining over photographs of better times. saying "i love you" when you don't. acting like you care when you don't. crying for a good reason. getting drunk alone. telling them it will work out. meeting new people. meeting old people. losing control. kidding yourself. sleeping all day. reproduction. sex in general.

his name is synonymous with genius.

her? no way, i think she's engaged or something. they've known each other their whole lives practically. they've pretty much gotta end up together, or if something goes horribly wrong, with people just like each other. doomed to belong, it's like fate, only basically self inflicted, so stronger. at least they'll miss out on the heartache most get, as well as the wondering where their first love is. no nightmares or suicidal thoughts, just naive comfort without the exploration of alternative possibilities. it's probably the best thing someone could do for themselves. if only we all could see time and space the way they really are.

crazy, but not without reason.

elvis is a whore.

famous people, they're not like other people. they're more important and they have way more sex. how many women do you think are currently walking the earth that have had sex with elvis. it's probably more than that. maybe someone you know's mom. maybe your mom. suits and uniforms are just costumes. humans just eat, fuck, and kid themselves.

you and me,

we'll never see life the same way.

let's go around breaking hearts.

i say, "lets sit here and wait to die. we don't need to run around from here to there like they do, they don't understand." she says, "there was one time, he was so sweet and gentle, it's all i think about now that he's gone." i say, "you're not listening to what i'm saying, things could be better." she says, "i remember everything he complained about before he stopped returning my calls. it was mostly about how i'm not someone he wishes i was. i wonder if it's someone i know." i say, "..." she says, "i wish i didn't have sex with him. normally i don't have sex with guys unless we're in a relationship and i'm sure he loves me, or if i think i can make him love me." i say, "..." she says, "when he said he loved me i thought he meant it. he was so considerate most of the time." i say, "no one will ever love you."

let's take care, let's just take and take and take and never return, never give care. save that for the caregivers the disgusting herds in malls, in cities, in cars spanning miles on the highway. let them give care, let them care all they want. not us, we won't give any. we're taking it all. like great collectors, hoarding it in the smallest of places so that if we were to die, no one would find any care for years to come. the care would sit there, unused, unloved. there wouldn't be enough to go around, the world would starve of care. we'd laugh, because we've taken so much, we've got care to spare, but we wouldn't share any. not even with those who need it most, because it's ours. this care we have, it's all we are.

a self fulfilling prophecy

the girl at the coffee shop, she was just being nice, making conversation. don't get carried away kid. who reads quantum physics for fun anyways?? when she asked if it was for a class you probably should have said yes. now think about it too much while reading, walk home in the hail, and spend the whole night writing a sad song alone. also, don't talk to anyone.

ok.

we made a healthy, informed and democratic decision to get back on heroin as soon as possible.

let's love this, all of it. let's watercolor, let's fill time with things that make us smile all the time. let's get married, let's take drugs, let's just do what we want when we want and fuck the rest. the bookstore is empty now, because everybody reads. i feel like this isn't exactly what they want. someone will buy anything. so what? so if we do the same thing long enough without getting sick of it. so then people will pay us? i feel like millions have already realized the fallacy within this. i'd rather not join them. welcome to nowhere fast.

the prettiest dream of dying alone.

take what you think you know of the world and leave it behind. devote your life wholly and unconditionally to something, it's the only way to create meaning. just pick something, it doesn't even matter. let's face it, most of us aren't good enough at anything to make a lot of money, so we might as well have fun. most of us aren't even doing that. what do you feel when you feel happy? nevermind, i don't want to know. when i think of all the people i could have been, i want to vomit. this could mean several different things depending on how i view my present state. take your pick.