text archive


reasons that mean nothing


Seconds in an other state of unsound, when
Emphasized and deconstructed., situated within nothingness,
over the sense of stimulated thoughts,
embodied on frustrated remains, continuous and reserved,
marking bottles so slow as they are drinking from another surface layer
Awaiting the system of contemplation, nowhere do we have or exist within this right,
The correction and situationed one



if we congregate around and inside ourselves,

it becomes another explanation
if supersedes the need to explore outside of the self, and inhibits the reasoning and logic of transgressional

if the acknowledged or the acknowledgement of sustaining rhythms and gaps in understanding, all of these
ideas are not truths , they are small configurations and means to understand the individual

or better said, myself,
these are not sweeping generalisations of a total society,
they have never meant to be that, even within the structure of the writings , they are paused.
Pieces of time spread out and along the words, that then re communicate back to the writer at a later time.
Immediate interacting, and re understanding…
But too propose that hey are anything other than that would simply be absurd….
Today the dynamics of self re obliterated themselves,
As I attempt to destroy my own self…
Asked I was about the dark tortured self, or is it something that comes up.
It is truly a being that arises. So the writing becomes something else ,as always..
A type of expelling from the insides except moving along the outer routes of attrition
Today occurred something strange

A shift in the identity and understanding course,
So it motions away… it constantly changes…
Certain things intimidate, emotions are these struggling isolation units

without comment or insurgence, 
struck through some feelings, that murmur and wincing, 
to share, to open, to determine it is safe outside, 
and then feeling the already knowing anticipation on an obvious sensation, 
the skin peels back as the floor drops down and out,  
leaning away in slow motion phase, 
out of sync, unlocked, 
disposal of an element that allows me to communicate in other manners than just thought or speech, 
these times i am drowning 
in my own self, 
in my own frustration 
in my own undesire, 
in my own reluctance, 
in my own shallow pit of absurdity, 
in all of this merely sitting in a chair, 
they go hot and cold, unlimited and reconstricted, 
in reverse and downhill, 
so fast that the breath is stolen from my throat before it can ever scream its way out, 
this is emotional excess, 
as i am here , 
as is now , 
as is the residual  powder left on my own fingers after the fact .
no sound in here, as they are all gone.  manufactured moments of collected pasts in memories.

7.8.04 refusal of identity, laying in the morning, of something near someone, the eyes peer outwards and then up , looking again at a faceless reflection of absolute vagueness, to feel something but then again nothing to connect it to or infuse oneself with the semi tragic nature of the here and now, in this space, in this magnified eclipse of reasonless emotions, how deep they are, in separated touch and requested lips. sparing the glances and short term memory loss, for another reason for another desire, it empties in gulfs of persuasion and fiber soaking dreams.
emotions split and transfer decisiveness and re-realise the consequences of immediate intensity, 
of shuddering , 
of active thought  and non dismissiveness, 
how it becomes part of the reality, 
the night opens in flurry of rattling cortex shift, 
passiveness folds into itself and the reverberation of expression seems so perfect, 
darkened  mornings of  feigned light lit windows,  
edging in closer around the images simply of, efforts in me
thought dreams a way out, an inclination at understanding, 
watching some separate truth , 
without the improper nature and structuralised sense of being, 
elevating apparatus closed.

6.24.04 too long this separation of mind and page some recapping... the fluttering that so composes the actions of transmitting the connections within, they are apparent and very fragile, mimicking the outside prevention methods that stray , persist, deter, infect and eat away on a daily basis, like the rotting bread sitting on the kitchen counter, they take from the small i, and in return give nothing, except empty levels of sleep in demoned dreamed diamonds tearing the consciousness of mind resetting, this is reality, but in and during the sleeping, awakenings occur, not to this reality, but a separate cell of symbiotic division the feeders with the tubes of connected discretion, contact the immediate being and then swirl away back into the oblivion of the dancing darkness, this is what happens, each and every moment of sleep, as it carries over into the morning minutes with little or no satisfaction, for an awkward attempt at transferring into a false reality filled with cars people and responsibilities, hanging on very loose, feeling the aching sensation throughout and reaalisng it is nothing more than a very real sense of dieing slowly all the time in fractioned rationing techniques perfected in death camps this feeling and loss of containment continues on moment by infinitesimal instance, it decays and eats away at the cognitive ability to rationalise and decipher negativity begets negativity, it is inching more and more into every action and thought

3.8.04 too much time from anything, this seems unintentional the racing streams of outside input manifest so illogically unsound being wracked by not any particular thing besides the constant threatening of un-understanding creativity derides itself, continuous counterproductive behaviour and it is something more than mere nothing and uninterpreted, spaciality, and the blocks their edges and the wires worsen the contemplative gaze of paranoid social conditioning sometimes feeling it will all collapse inward, structure so tall and edges embedded deeper into self the mirror holds not truth and resembles nothing i can think of, so this time is passing as moments before the eyes of so many will be noting the sense of what expression is as it is observed so it is judged and the information will be counter to the thought and the shouting and yelling and sound will defer, reflect and do nothing except not allow a truer more refined sense of deliberate visceral interpretation.. then it ends and there again is only a sense left to fade

11.6.03 thought process mistaken for compassion, in the heart of the evil circumstance of elevation. Strength renewed and fed through contaminated tubes of deliverance and supposed concern, we are what we are , we move in silence and occupation of the fifth movement, how are we to motion to others in the same situation, there is no reason to cry out, there is no reason to emote the suffering or dismal situation of the less fortunate, we are at a loss of words and disassociation of context and location warrants, this how it is , this is who we were this is what we are not, fabricated , disillusioned , mannerisms of compliance, what happens If all of it collapses and surrenders to nothing more,,, to have nothing ever other than this and the idea of utter internal slavery , salvation is another myth , complacency is real and burrowing down in to the concerted concrete layers of individuality and faulty perceptions, digging endlessly and futile, draining the core of existence sub layers bleed out the diseased ones in magnetic rejection and fascist tones of factual alignment, the emotion Is mute as is the real need or want desire for anything, accepting that this may be it, all of this is the only thing that is left, eyes decide to fall from this skull, skin and socket, determination causes concern and unrepeatable harm / damage Scream for shadows and scream for silence, the arms are diameters of injectionary tubes, feed me hate, feed me pain, string me out on suffering, my viewer being is failing and falling to pieces, no more … no more visions of anything, alien intervention and particle beams, DNA clones and enslaving this human mass for destruction, why do we need aliens to dominate and control us, when this earth and planet is doing so well all by itself, force me to feed, force me to think , force my dreams into your occupied realms of totalitarian distance, in-fluxing, rearranging us to cripples and gimps, ready for consuming and consumption. The alien reports always read the same, either shot-whilst-escaping or consumption, the suicides rise with each minute, forced labor camps open in suburban strip malls, Transmission ability window closing For now….. more reports tomorrow Michael out and dead

11.5.03 In the realms..  thought process mistaken for compassion, in the heart of the evil circumstance of elevation. Strength renewed and fed through contaminated tubes of deliverance and supposed concern, we are what we are , we move in silence and occupation of the fifth movement, how are we to motion to others in the same situation, there is no reason to cry out, there is no reason to emote the suffering or  dismal situation of the less fortunate, we are at a loss of words an disassociation of context and location warrants, this how it is , this is who we were this is what we are not, fabricated , disillusioned , mannerisms of compliance, what happens If al of it collapses and surrenders to nothing more,,, to have nothing ever other than this and the idea of utter internal slavery , salvation is another myth , complacency is real and burrowing down in to the concerted concrete layers of individuality and faulty perceptions, digging  endlessly and futile, draining the core of existence sub layers bleed out the diseased ones in magnetic rejection and fascist tones of factual alignment, the emotion Is mute as is the real need or want desire for anything, accepting that this may be it, all of this is the only thing that is left, eyes decide to fall from this skull, skin and socket, determination causes concern and unrepeatable harm / damage Scream for shadows and scream for silence, the arms are diameters of injectionary tubes, feed me hate, feed me pain, string me out on suffering, my viewer being is failing and falling to pieces, no more … no more visions of anything, alien intervention and particle beams, DNA clones and enslaving this human mass for destruction, why do we need aliens to dominate and control us, when this earth and planet is doing so well all by itself, force me to feed, force me to think , force my dreams into your occupied realms of totalitarian distance, in-fluxing us and rearranging us to cripples and gimps, ready for consuming and consumption.  The alien reports always read the same, either shot-whilst-escaping or consumption, the suicides rise with each minute, forced labor camps open in suburban strip malls, Transmission closing For now….. more reports tomorrow Michael out and dead  

10.27.03 without who without what without when all across the face the memories trace their addiction and spontaneous nature within the traveled realms of ulterior thought and processes deceived, words unspoken and ideas hidden from light these false manifestations of deliberate intrusion adjust and re-cipher themselves, recycled transmissions that fail the being and understanding beyond and behind words so unintelligible that the actions are complete mumblings and muted movements of the paralyzed and deceased
this motion of the body as it is taken from this reality,
those last flailings as the form is ripped or sheared into parts'
of fascination and am-putative reassembly,
those ballet like adjustments of human contortion
translated into thought are merely wasted and nothing
limbs disassociated with a human form, spreading apart sinew bone and context,
words travel from the stem of absolute base pain,. 
suffocation derision self mutilation and torture, 
are received well here, embellished torment removes the sense of need
and accomplishment as it all sparks and videos through the mind
as it is torn through bits of pragmatic hope and indiscernible
separated parts, this is the mind thinking through the rational of an 
insane eco system of human social PLacement
this is the motivation for insertion and acceptance within the fragile 
husk and meat grinder of a collapsing mind, these are the voids and disciplines 
of muted agony and far removed anticipation of comment and disregarded speech
these are the tremors of relinquishment
and hopeful boundaries of sedative laden arteries understanding compassion
these are not thoughts nor generated imagery
these are nothing as it is nothing
begot berated, devised resuscitative inklings of
a world of compromise and lies'
to think it through is wrong and unintelligible 
remove the fabric of consciousness and self
tearing the threads and discarding them well
deceive the bearer of these trite animosity driven lingering and allow 
it to breath on its own , even though the trachea of individuality has 
been slit open over and over again.

more on silence, 
gripping our ears, forcing us to receive its blanket frequencies

10.17.03 silent motion listening to it partial duress sacrificing anything situationless epidemic, sound evaporates the lineage of contemplative reasoning. to differ and reset all of the attributes of human interaction and personality upsetting the coagulated balance of identity and transversed supposition, autonomy eats away and de-fragments the sinews of collectivistic actions referred / supposed / entrenched / delivered / periodic semantics and fragile adjusted icons of cluttered cultured dogma the separation and separated divinity associated with practical perceptions what is seen and what is to be gained, diverting all along the walls of fear
we conjure and accept this fallibility of insecurity, 
what we have allowed ourselves to exist in , 
this epidemic of global mistrust greed and hate
as the mirror will scream and surrender itself, if looked at, 
and the wild thoughts of nothing and the void seem so comfortable and safe
launching past the petty manifest of a capitalistic culture
responsibilities ensure our own misery.... for what who and then why
it is easier to let go, as they have all told me before, 
this grasp on a detestable reality is really not worth it....
so why not, the fear and walls are so well made, 
the therapist , doesn't even see issues
let go, start breaking down the aberrations of self...
kill self , self self self self.
what have we done.... is self a being to be reasoned with?
the self of who, which part of self, do the ego and self refer to eachother, 
as reference points? are we just as simple as we should be.. all the rest is just shitE!
second symphony of nothing
in negative minor....
release the thoughts and drench my eyes in passive waves of manufactured device
connect and control the seemingly endless supply of emotional distress,
wage war and false hope against the opposing forces and our natural defense mechanisms
segue not real in anticipation of it
if the eyes dream in partial magnificence
and we as outsiders are mere perceptions and external voyeurs
if this is the truth and all else is false, and what you see....
is merely a reflected projection of what you are ?
if this is true and all else is false, 
if this is a manufactured moment of time...
segmented and devised / created from pre experienced history or dreams
this moment is empty and dead, enough with the jokes already 

10.12.03 through thought as it is always is... the mesmerizing anticipation of the void,,, divided by nothingness, set me down into he furnace of anti thought and conceptual coagulation, bring me back to the outer edges of sanity.. the creaming madmen, the crying psycho cryptographers, the assuming neoists of surreal doubt and fascinational grips... take me far away from here, the mind implodes in derationalisation of conceptualism and fear.. the corner is pigeon holed to deferment and accosted children in rags... the impounding of the clinical assessment, the furniture in psychiatric wards, the clocks you cant see in therapy, the white tiled walls in emergency rooms, where every day they are cleansed from the gunshot blood and stabbed flesh, the needle recycling bin in the airport bathroom, every imaginable disease on the airplane lavatory floor, each of these human germ ejaculations is immense, every instant of the human history is represented in some form of contamination, burroughs spoke of word virus, is speak merely of remnants of humans current location maps of their movement and disease, this is part of the problem.... man upon man, human against human, disease versus disease.... we are falling and failing one and all..... and i am supposed to feel compassion and thought... for whom and for what... i am supposed to be a good human, for why and for what.. i am supposed to simply be, for why and for who... these are the events, partial existence... not being anything but... but what... solipsism....... solipsistic ... pardon me for dying....

10.11.03 inwaRD spiral of time making the movement three times thought over redundancy and piloter transfusions anticipate it all hindered regression , supposed diameters, sense of removal disintegration without the eyes to accommodate i or cellf delivering the amounts of regrets and sorrow draped in the resonant image of being fractured spirits in anti-divinity we are fabrications , of suspicion and growth injected with environment and situational events truths are reestablished with dilemma

10.11.03 continuing from nothing speech accessed and thought controlled my own words become nonsense and past fabrications of an unknown vocabulary separated from... it and all, silencing unfolds itself, twist sinews deranged substance is that of what, content attacks context in its jealous nature we all fall away, words undescribe themselves and never convey the truest thoughts scattered children at birth they are input devices, compiling data unconscious, learning, being it is the impurity, and or anything that they receive this distorts them and their essence but they have to be programmed like the rest of us rarely is it good or effective i am so lost, admitting it all the time i don't know anything, and every day i learn this more and more

10.6.03 writing has become tedious as of late, i guess the whole inspiration and drive seems to be at a major low. interests wane as does any reasons for any of it. basic stuff i believe. knowing that it is all connected in and out of thought and other humans. but sometimes being out in public, one has to hold back the laughing out loud at all of the absurdities around. just watching and noticing people. simple complexly wrapped forms of themselves. i cannot find a connection with them. i know they have their own histories, their own issues, but it is all about the disconnected feeling, i have often thought i do not belong here at all. because i cannot accept what is being done by us to us and against us and the world. it seems like kind of a very funny joke, that is not funny at all. always laughing at it all. it is my only defense, other wise i would have died long ago. the anger is so huge, deep and true, they always seem like sheep , eager to be controlled and follow. i just don't understand and most likely don't want to.
surreal adaptations of poorly lit thoughts
transpiring and dividing us as the sane,
relinquishing trust , fear and separation motivates and conquers
the beliefs of self, as individuality is sold in commodity markets,
personal taste is no longer independent , thoughts are merged 
and the cohesive boundaries of all , fabricated and denied.
so this thing that i am, in lapsing lasting sips of awake
knows the moments are fewing now. 
cutting my own throat by sleep deprivation, and ever so dedicated to absolutely nothing

placing a hand into chaos, shrouding the closest idea
in turn defied and marked slowly
results only in comparison and belief
adjusting out all of the manifesting symptoms
into a simple surge of anticipated release
economics of psychology
without a heart, there are no more metaphors
internal consumption left us with loss
threatened by situations and closing in walls
unable to create a need to compensate
action of deletion and sacrifice of an existing reality
cloth becomes porous
now there are only ashes and thoughts
mention nothing to anyone
stigma too great as acceptance evades
time only moves suffering in whispers
and again we regret to inform

when we act with eachother
or interact on some level or another
there are times, when patience is exhausted
other thoughts feelings and ideas come apart and unravel us
then we become more of an emotion than anything else,
bowing our heads into the reactionary being
complicated and strong with our motives focus and tongue
who deserves such actions, those pieces of environment and energy
this is so much of what i hate about myself and people,
fucking rats living in too closeness
crammed without any space, not being able to choose
their daily emotional situation,
but then who should i pick each day to format my own thought process
it doesn’t even become an option,
we push our feelings onto and into so many others,
fathomable guise
our own, smiles and pleasantries , socially acceptable
tell them how you really feel, and then it starts to become inappropriate
common interactions “how are you today ?”
my brain hurts because i have become increasingly aware
of huge identity issues within myself, and i am questioning more severely
why the fuck i am still here.
no body wants to hear this, they look ant me, and i see the horror and confusion on their faces,
this isn’t new, and most only ask because it is something they have to do ,
day after day,
so what if i don’t feel like even saying hello,
i have seen you each day since i worked here,
but when i don’t ask or respond, now i am a complete asshole
that’s it…

so i am here now,
space assumed, place predicted,
ruins of thought digesting the surrounding environment
half adjusted fully incapable
words become assumptions and regrettable
in the concise conscious waves of stricken lines
and irreversible words that expound.
question question question
accelerated motives and hidden problems understood
waves and seizures emanate from within
the vocabulary seems so limited now
words are becoming disassociated and un usable for these current
thoughts, and then again it is becoming even less important to express and explain most things
so why not explain and express the concern about these prior sentences,
re evaluate and detach the structures of communication here.
is it rational then why not or if so how, too much senselessness lost in obscurity
emoting dribble and small orphaned babies teeth in dark unloved rooms
so we are still stuck here being ourselves
stuck with actions and non functioning individuals who also are effecting our sense of being,
to what end is always the posed question
relocate for what, search and scream for identification and acknowledgment from who
to have them find you and your studies even projects and works, so why
is this something that is important for you, why
is this an event and alleyway you wish to observe and experience.
possessions are meaningless
people subvert and claim concern, they have none,
oh there are a few that are honest and sincere
but most of them are just liars and thieves
skulking and circling until you fall,
then there is something more than what is here and understood
can i maintain it.
will i be allowed to continue in whatever psychological state i choose
right now the thoughts and corrosion level of bio acidic fluids
are filling me, bile rising in the metaphor of sands construction
thinking i may go vomit, to alleviate some of this
churning stomach to bowels
fever rush twisting air in
lateral seduction spawns instantaneously and for what
dilemma searches for the evidence of self contradiction
what hath happiness rendered dead and absolved
readjust the memories into an acceptable format
concussion relentless another invisible fringe thought
and tangent ignites, equivalent to the process of ideas
streaming through the flames and desertion of my self
warm up done…
started to think a bit
this seminar of text, not being able to hold a thought longer than a few paragraphs
so pick something you fuck, ok
thinking about brussels
no that is bullshit.. fuck off
ok start again,
when thinking more now about suicide
stuck in the loop of nothing, day in and out, still nothing
nothing moves away and forward, sleep adjusts and re-satisfies the nightmare existence has become
accepting the rock we push up every day , and gets pushed back down on us every night
sleep opens the functioning of release, the valve that dreams its way through all of us
leave self behind, find the fragments of hope that are buried so deep within us
accept that all of this reality can be totally meaning less
back to the environment , and the surroundings that plague and infuse us with their disease
we are open wounds as i have been told
sensitive to too much , the scapes of industrialisation serve only the purpose of the machine
so we wait, maybe too long at stop lights, or go to fast on the concourses of automobile death ways
watch for more than a glimpse at the refuse of society, as they pick at themselves and food in trash bins in the streets
seeing the old women or man , locked in a hunchback contortion, seeing only the ground, and where there feet are stepping
the psychotic socially unconformed man screaming obscenities in downtown commerce districts
dreaming of nothing
except for the release and love of the absolute destruction of humanity
see into those eyes, feel into that soul, die into those arms, face obliterated into the comfort of the void
feel the arms warm and scared , drops of life exiting and escaping into air
hitting the floor hard, beaten heart pumping as if told to evacuate all of this red substance
pools begin to form , skin pale and uncoloring itself, breath shortening
metal edge sterile opens life to flee, small flying angels as birds, leak to the floor boards
and disappear downwards, let it go , let i become something else away from this place.
dilated eyes and nothing
we can evaporate our self ,
removing the experienced pain for good
nothing can compare or interpret or understand
and this is not suppose to happen at all
after the embrace we turn away and with sadness infecting
we are left with ourselves as observers and ultimately voyeurs

turning ridiculous
mirror option moves in
dysfunction all but here
save myself
from tortured self
exist in thought physically dead
all this is manufactured
doubt especially, more series of events
than anything else,
am i able to admit
whatever there is to
archangel hate of suffering
thoughts around my own crematorium dancing too close
again the pointlessness is the point
the reasons against are the reasons for
the ideas on nothing are still ideas
creating to destroy is just another act of creation
a rearranging of perspectives and opinion
much like a smashed statue, there is even beauty in simple destruction
so lets wait again, in the hollow wings and ante rooms of sleep
waiting for the liberation light and warning alarms of ideology to begin
none of us knows anything, yet we profess and act as if we do
this is calculated as we cross the street and are slaughtered
by a public transit bus.
then what are we besides another roadkill
body mind sight vision thought
regression suppression ascension down
hands twisted and broken, legs smashed and useless
brain ejected and smeared on the ground
face compacted and this individual is erased
so much for thoughts and our complicated endeavors at existing
gone for now

so it has something,
within it, moving spatial degrees and assumptions
pre determined, predefined, through and gone
we can manipulate thought patterns and directions of insight and perceived time.
reality is only a clause. as we are not set to serve it, accidents and demolishing
all around. faster and faster the masses swell into oblivion and determination, must have it all, but why.
things around us, comfort and narcoleptic disembodiment. could we be the prisoners of our character and
transfer of thoughts interrupted …. literally
i am sifting through what seems like another friendly downed passenger plane
wreckage everywhere, the state of mind they must be in either before it hits the ground… or if they survive… shortly after…
it hit me then left… icon-graphic duality of life. the images and frames.. slow and fast must be amazing,
randy brought this up to me… the amount of energy and unknown chemicals that are flowing through an
individuals system must be amazing… you only get to feel it once, supposedly
marking and masking the obvious
panoramic distrust
aliens cups of deservance
calculating inept precision
cascading thoughts in dyslexic autonomy
there is missing, there is sense,
but in the flow of residual consciousness i see and feel nothing
endeavor of sincerity, but to what and whom,
i think it is gone and well placed elsewhere
passing the nature off to someone more deserving
indoctrination by choice and neglect
secondary, suffix, suffice
before sleep.
the washing away of the antagonist dreaming in daytime hours, falling away from the surrounding structures
light headed euphoria and speech that doesn’t seem to be appropriate, it is magnified and situated
inside the dreams persist. not hopeful fantasies of isolation, but rendering forecasts of more negative
sometimes the dejavu inspects and checks the situation, by forcing backwards this exact and some moment
that i reside in.
i get to a point when i cant even explain anything
the listening to what i have to say , it put me in a wave bombarding fear… not in control
backside of my head lifting out, i don’t even know what i am saying anymore, just ranting on and on.
i start feeling like those on the street, going on and on yelling crying talking to people we can not detect
i think this will become me. hopelessly wandering looking fro something, maybe ideas or my own thoughts,
that i have misplaced in some cardboard box in a urine stained alley,
even now hyper mind extension , says something
but i cant explain it


just some thoughts... nothing more
Within this person who is sitting here. 
There is something more, than anything else, 
within this person existing here, in a functional unsocial way. 
Inside the depths of lies, inside the permanent stress of breathing, 
with the fabrications of ideologies, within what. 
This person sitting here, sense of  corruption, whoring self for cash and things, and monetary rescue, 
this person sitting, here, beating on the keys, others walk by, even say hello, but why. 
This person sitting here, around the eyes, face and hearing association, of it, of thought of nothing. 
How can it be explained, shrapnel tearing through my  personal space manifesting as question and looks, 
when the words and typing can become sound, and the ideas linked together in the words, 
form dis harmonic chords of resurrection in psychological maneuvers. 
This is the attempt and failure all at once. Reassemble, the styrene styrofoam line, if dismissal . 
down from the fingertips of capacity and awkward admission. Who am I to dislike and question , 
the embolism of predictable thought, how they witness to themselves as victims and aggressors, 
Is this a contemplative measure of liquid iso-logic . 
fragment to death , interpret to die. 
Such moves in circles and ridiculous shades of desperation exit from their conscious fears. 
Drenched gagged and forced, this viewpoint on the altered pedestal of reason 
resembles nothing that I have seen or remember. 
Poised to ask that question of them, moments and  a tarried lapse of real time. 
My open hearted feign, relaxes and clenches all in one single blink.
Social dealings with the keepers of worth, Siamese dice thrown by hermits and shut-ins. 
Out side is undefined. The patterns of the variables predict another hit and run. 
Sky clamor white and masked, dripping feet in cloth bound bandages and shoes. 
Irregular misanthropic system of walking. 
It is sudden and swelling in my heart.
Typing here, reports from hell. At my slave station , masters all gone.

8.21.03 how can we define our selves and place here. is it just repetition, from the ending depths of sleep to the cognitive awaking sediment of conditioned and forced social interaction. we develop traits, personality, interests and mannerisms. are these only from others in our insertion to a work ethic no response can be heard or recorded, as these are just decaying monuments of our expiring ordeal. you inflect and turn off subconscious light switches of our perceptual realm. tired for nothing, desire want and efforts continue on while past we evaporate as fusion the martyrs our selves. transitional reciting, chanting defied 8.3.03 03:11:33 am removing the self, too connected to all of this refrained from it, no more speaking aloud in or with words communications and interpretations vary too much the incomprehensible illuminates too much of un-note-worthiness as it becomes the obsession of us all this constant flood of catastrophes swelling and bleeding into our homes this vile preconceived funneling sanitized outlook on existence and our world concerns are along the same lines as our purchasing capacity and still it comes , minute after minute, dispensing then reassessing itself into another monstrous assault on all of our cortexes, as we sit there watching it

7.12.03 i am that stupid fuck how ridiculous all of this is, how hilarious life is. what we are, all of the acting and pretending, jettisoning ourselves through the hours, minutes and days all of this around us, taken for granted, the complete world we are apart of, thousands and thousands of thoughts by hundreds of millions of people, actions reactions, measures and counter measures, the motion and movement the mental rehearsals and pressure we exact on eachother, the complicated doubletalk and subtext , that we drag one another through, hoops and fire circles, clever and cynical, bitter, mean, presumptuous, predictable, unsatisfied, redundancy how we are with others, in those magnificent moments of interaction, how we interpret and decipher, how we antagonize and repeat the same actions, through centuries and millenniums, how we never change as a species, it is an ongoing comedy, how stupid we are, no more analyzing, no more reasons, no more wants, no more needs, no more speech, no more consuming, no more emotions, no more theft, nothing is left, moments in our lives of what ? are these of substance ? are they redeemable if we bring the containers back ? no more anticipation, no more insanity, no more doubt , no more distress, no more minds, are we engaging in something, is there a difference between loneliness and being alone, no more reciprocation, no more thought, no more sanity, who are we trying to impress and with what ? who will we judge tomorrow and why, based on what ? is there motivation in all of this and why ? is there a complicated plot going on ? are you the main actor in your own life or have you given the reigns to someone else ? no more lies, no more jokes, no more self discovery, identity lost in a civilisation that is bent upon destroying uniqueness, no more theft, no more words, no more screaming, no more sound we are nothing in comparison to everything as a whole our importance is not a commodity, nor is it anything more than what it is and that is nothing, if you see me , do me a favor and kill me no more pain , no more ideas ,, nothing more to say

7.7.03 i seem to think around myself and the patterns that others produce, in their thinking as well, these things effect me. though it only seems like conversation, there is a deeper impact when a person opens up themselves. it is something that perhaps should not be analyzed. but i have to say that it seems and feels real. this interaction and social contact. more about how they think and feel. not just shit chit chat at a some sort of gathering. but more levels and lines of reasons and thoughts, that plague them. it is when you want to listen to these other beings. trust seems part of it. and i am nothing again. is there a term called functioning depressed, or would it be depressive. not really sure. my own status varies quite often, but always seems better with alcohol. that nagging nervousness dissipates. and i feel fluid again. through my mind, my actions, my being, opens itself, how sad this could be. how sad it already is. there is a sense of despair in these oxygen levels. a part of everything is here, as i am regardless of opinion of threat. there are people worth keeping, i just don't know a lot.

6.27.03 one month later, huh ? it is a part of the participation in life these non surroundings plagiarized and processed perceptions stolen identity, forfeited dreams assimilated intentions we have defaulted our individuality for something else small children are receptors, babies especially but as adults , these surrounding stimuli can become too much we are being programmed by a social / global infusion it is something we cannot control. it is all based on interactions, and our beings learn from examples and others how do we develop these traits morality, emotions, judgement , decisions collecting items and things, surrounding ourselves with them is it all needed or should it all be disposed of what we think we enjoy and like changes constantly in truth , do we really need or like any of it. i myself am programmed, and most of the time... i am pretending. not knowing the truth not even understanding why influences are too much and extremely effecting me to be this unique person... bullshit i only know, i like to escape from this world, mind, reality that is the only truth i really know wanting none of it so why do i continue with anything i cant even answer that.

5.27.03 anemic wired touch hands outstretched reaching the extension straining emotions tempered sinews of desperation cradle the face, side to side, upward motions to touch and be felt real as it is this bit of connection human flesh to human flesh beings brought on without wanting existence exactness of i as much of the self expands, explodes, exploited moleculed fibered structured cellular i embodied, imprisoned individuals captured in reluctance and anti realisation walks outside and see ask everyone if they understand the importance of emptiness and nothingness a positive movement of living being in it, and seeing it all for what it really is a sense of absoluteness, that is itself a reality of thought and we awake again to another light that shows the world around us is nothing but a fabricated illusion of an accepted reality perception is everything and nothing

4.?.03 Through the time, unedited, sub derivative Are we as anxious as we believe/ Each moment and action that we either occupy or create, adds to the connections of everything/ A small look , a small glance. Smearing judgements and criticisms outwards. Not just a singular thought. But a cascading stream of symptomatic defaults of our social being. Without it all I cannot even move. These intrusions, partiality of fixations. People scream on without reason or cause, the dementia ensues. Sit and think of yourself Not in the definition of that word, but more of your own identity Are we social creatures, are we struggling with this bit of exactly where we exist in our own. Has our education been a continuous structured sense, that plays out in our lives. For if history is a lie, we have just become functional Hate destroys from the inside, Derelict viewpoints, sized down, corrupt Expression limited to consumption.

5.16.03 if we wait, and even then contemplate future tones of iridescent autonomy selling what little left there is and trudging through the illicit natures of being to exist in what, this shell of non recyclable flesh to admit what, faults, short comings, dissatisfaction reality simply is nothing. accidental steps on the existential climb fear dislocates the correct definitions more external suffocation diminishes the intentions left by the road side in some self destruction molecules interfere pattern disrupted and deceased _______________________________________________________ when it has all been done, and the creative process starts to terminate itself inside and out. mo more reasons to sound off, opinions are obliterated as any bit of justification rolls away in the instances of waking, when dismal reflections are all around me what does it matter, who does it effect. more mirrors to be destroyed and hidden not understanding any of the identity that has been placed inside me. caring, suffering, joy, momentum sharding shattering symphonies of the void, self psychosis, and vices, heard but never end

5.9.03 these days, i seem to become a bit disconnected extreme amounts of brain problems the synapses may not be connecting or firing properly it passes, i think i am being programmed with all of this disinformation, sometimes by people close to me, as they are much more effective than strangers i stay inside, my mind and my room i am fearing that soon i will disconnect completely and again, not knowing how i keep everything together so i sleep, that is one of the safest things to do now tomorrow will be another day to regret all over again

4.27.03 buy way of the parasites deliver us from our own evil , splendid being of hate consumption i am drenching the reasons, taking back the reality of what it is that i a m no more of this obviousness, it is worthless and contaminated sub levels of disaster and fear, if i were to try and explain these real thoughts and ideas, you would surely kill me, or torture me more than you already do to that there is no end no storyline no plot only spaced out fragments of dialogue and meaning purposeless i say resentment of who, that stupid fuck in the mirror the one who thinks, the or i mean IT is wrong it should not think, it should not even be it is a waste of cells space and oxygen i wish it would leave, go away

4.26.03 reading some writings from europe so here they are: further explanation of the mind if i go without sleep or food it starts paranoia creeps in and all the tangents : ok, keep quiet, but it gets worse. the world starts collapsing inward central spiral, the walls keep their distance but inside it is rubble a look, a hesitation becomes a scrutinized hallucination that trails on other thoughts. drugs alcohol and sleep seem to remedy this. but sleep and nutrition are the best. to somehow get these poisons out of you. this therapy is destructive that i am currently undertaking. i hate myself with all of this blood, but in so many ways it is so liberating. to convey all of this to , to become the exactness of it all. let them hesitate and applaud , then die in their own thoughts and their own blood, let them feel and dissolve into a structured resonance too ???? that their bodies will come apart in pieces and absolute dissection. tendons disassemble into liquid jelly and remorse. talons of neural surgery extract themselves into the better part of the next century. i don't care about their the living lieing glands. seeking sex and fucking, penetration in and of itself, rhetoric and distasteful

4.23.03 what are we as people, today i am not a person , or an individual, i am only shit. the burrowing vanquished amoeba worm, festering in the rifts and glass like layers of liquid feces. there i will grow into an all consuming fecality. disgusting as it sounds, ir is true. my worth is diminishing, and am treated as a non thing peel back my scalp and there is nothing inside, no reasons, no disturbance no energy or mass merely a blasphemous husk of non interpretation this has happened over time, launched by the mimicking subordinates of social domination and control i fall along the roadside as waste i have become the absoluteness of nothing hack myself drawn to it, as a feeling of falling, past all of this drowning the head and soul in rot this place and these beasts penetrating into the non existent self i surrender each day they have more contempt for themselves than me i am the whipping post of their inadequacies and so i am not

3.8.03 what are the reasons for these actions less about the individual and more about the masses as huge clashing insects pulverize all above and below for what gain, and what consequences straight out of contemplation further from the remote reasons of suffering these multi faced beings inhabit, dwell and conquer at will we are nothing, and never have been anything but that so we linger and intensify we liquidate eachother as is scripted, we learn to hate ourselves and our world find a fix, take a sip of death we have already fallen, demise pure and unconscious the enemies are banging on the doors of our minds thought process denied umbilical cord rotten from disease we perish unnoticed each and every moment that their clocks tick lament for man lament for us in this house of flame, fire and eternal purgatory

12.29.02 what can we expect what is expanded and ing through all of this wading in so much blood and literal ideologies. it all becomes so ridiculous and fragmented, like everything else around us. the amazing monkeys who rule are so far from what can be considered acceptable. this environment stinks and smells of gold and kings. so we hide and hope for the best. or no... that is another amazingly silly reason to be here. the dreams the fears the contemplation of all else fails falls and there are only broken bricks and glassed sand so forget about it ... then what.... a non prayer for oblivion as it were. coherence is not here right now... only the extreme elevation of brain contaminants and sterile logic how much more can we affect before we expire. the mind is an ulterior device, mechanised and mobile , though attached to and within these shells and tendons do lean on something more. supporting the rest of this vehicle it is all controlled and self sufficient. fuck definitions and words there are times when the mouth and hands cannot keep up, the thoughts spew and trickle out... words of the condemned, because we are all going to die eventually dispatching self.. down to the base down to the absoluteness of some thought a single one sex attraction denial aloneness, creativity stagnation terminal , there are few things that can convey, few things that are understood or spoken, just drenching mine eyes in addiction and falseness it all fails , it all falls, it is all despair. times appear and breed themselves in another realm and understanding of themselves circular definitions and redundant arguments. for what for who. it needs to go beyond judgement , past the obvious opinions and references of others their never has been objectivity, why should there be ? if there is something simple, then what. one instance of everything else a representation of a single idea, end result is what it is and nothing more exact precise awkward it is all connected to itself without the fears and bottlenecks of hypocrisy it doesn't matter sound image action , oblivious to everything else... pushing it all out there in an open air market of negative salvation,,, are we really living as a reaction to our own insecurities, or is it more how can we communicate "through the process of thought, what has become of the relinquishing ability of us all to communicate... in the passive realms of abducted transit, we are all alone and dieing each and every day, concern, sympathy efforts to help others fade and rot..." so what are we left with in the opinions of all else, including our selves it is periodic and invading the moments that we are awake and sleep ... to what end to what dismal corner of action / reaction..... each one of us is the same everyone of us there is no difference except the ones we create and feed upon.... time based solitude waters turn dark colors and toxify the entire sphere we are bent on destroying, again it is the selfishness of the self. it is a part of the mind.... what happens when it stops existing or functioning are we here, is it cognitive. does it remember love or the faded memories of each one of our lives growing and striving without even knowing it..... waiting here in hell, they already came and took the saved wretched with them.... this is still only purgatory or hell... not sure yet, i might have missed the communique. nothing coming in.... it is all going out. virtue less epiphanies dressed in the blackened robes of ex angels and the diseased,,,, ponder off and sleep, as i know i cant. extraordinary repercussions when death itself becomes murder. the obliteration of a being, the removal of a witness, the lasting impression of erasing a life..... so i am content to continue and abuse my own frail mind and being, leaving reality behind. not and can that is what it becomes... consuming and wasting creating and destroying... working and dieing for what and for whom..... the paleness seeps through.. an image an icon an idea a sex feeding the monkeys crawling all around me... amuse them, amusing me... and again like so many other times it is for nothing they keep me safe, they keep me sane each and every day.... my mind is rotting boredom leads to laziness, apathy leads disgust the more non communication that occurs the further we go away from eachtother and our selves pulling the fabric together, only to shred it later when no one is looking or can do anything about it. we are all wanting to escape. from whatever metaphor you want to use, it is easy to hide, even easier to not communicate, social interaction is minimal, talking is difficult, especially when there are others around the fears which are odd strange and pathetic.... they will find out that i am mad, and they will be discovered as well, to be able to break it all down in the mind what is needed, what is wanted. i am a victim of my subconscious, constantly programmed and stuttering the information it is loosing itself and lapsing out of the area of my control. more brain damage, forgetting things constantly. seizures in public locations, a dislike for many of those things in large groups. i rather stay here, then interact with them..... i listen to what they talk about and what is important, popular opinions, culture, events, sports.... and then i realise that perhaps i am the one standing out...like something that is defective, a broken toy along the factory line a worker points out that this device is defective , but they are told to keep up their quota. it moves down the conveyor belt with all of the other functioning devices. somehow stuck in a box and shipped out, among the hundreds and thousands of the exact same device..... broke and broken, without the hope, more like melancholy. it tastes bitter, not good rancid acidic flavoring , fills the entire mouth and head. right before the chamber fills....

7hz tour final entry
10/15/02 without the thoughts paralyzed as it was, as it is and as it shall always be... even this very instant. the comparable aspects of fear divorce themselves from the common ideology and perspectives that are shared by everyone... we are part of the collective... the connective attitude and separation of right and left half, and for what, for all of this as al pacino said in scarface “all of this eating shitting and fucking” what is all of this ... consumption... what are the particulars of each one of us, though we are completely equal. at the same time we have separated ourselves beyond touching or connecting the thoughts because they are all one and apart of themselves, but here now i really don't care and really don't need anything.. that absolute, that pure and unadulterated sense of connection, sense of calibration whether it is from anything ... this one needs to be explored, what are we ... what is it that we crave and desire and need to think is important... there are only materialistic things here, what about expression, what about the idea and , what about the nightmares and day dreams in a nocturnal fear with the sun shinning, houses all alone and empty normal sound outside, but the mounting silence, imploding in concussion waves of deliberate torture.... can it be true what we accept and what we decline and or deny. no muses today antiquated sections of thoughts and past transgressions for whom... is there reason to connect with anything synapses, peoples eyes , hearts , hands, when it becomes more than a necessity then what.. if it is a constant and required by ones self... is that what it is all about the denial and unacceptableness of being touched... is that what it is... not being able to accept anothers touch but being and receiving great pleasure from giving to others as if you deserve nothing from any one... this is true, this is real. this is how it is.. i don't care, just don't touch me... outside or in... leave me alone to die alone.. bitter and hateful .. with this disgust for this race of primitive neophytes and war mongering apes.. there is no concern and there is no consciousness... stop all of this... these meanderings of nothingness, these tangents of your mind... this is most likely the final entry for this whole fucking tour.. listening to anezphalia what have the dreams been about... last night not sure need some fucking cigarettes system shock.. death upright thought corrupts the sensation of this world. collapsing decaying, struggling and striving for what, death so we maneuver past all of the objects which seem to be breathing, scourging attempting to finalise and fail, there is fear, there is death, there is an inability to care , about who ??/ i don't even know that , we all want something to wake up to the next morning, that pleases us, why would anyone want to have to constantly look at something that they didn't find attractive... so i will hide, not even knowing, not really even caring, what is honesty in all of its energetic flow and tributaries... what can we do and what can be done with honesty, and ultimately does it matter, are we truly amusing our selves before death , and then when our desires and tastes become more and more excessive what happens, are we constantly traveling and moving, or sitting watching the people , is it more intense in a tube in london than in a bart station in san francisco... i bet they would just arrest you in the states... because everyone is a terrorist. when it collapses, all of the tangents open up again, the fear and paranoia seep into the actual thought process to the point where i cant even escape, hallucinogenics do this the best tearing apart the fabric of the concentrated identity, fractional bits of self dissipate into other forms of ideas and concepts, few with out an ending position. the scratching search continues on for something, as small flies and spiders desperately search for a way out of the glass, as the water fills it. these are how the thoughts work, all pitching themselves at these walls of receiving synapses... to covet again to be in the process of deluge, to accept the thoughts that i am male and need and have to look at all of this quite a nasty bit. wanting to be with some one connected, spending so much energy and resources on this person, i understand the exchange i also understand the terms of this contract

ok so back to a connected reality,.
without myself, without my mind….
half of the film is about this fucked up guy, the second half is about him after he has had a lobotomy, but he never realizes it
there were other things as well, more ideas that make no sense
then why
but when the transparencies of people are more apparent , what do we become as identifiers
it is a factor to life, and it is a normal function of existence, we are all part of it, we have to have it just like life… gaia
the words are becoming meaning less again, the need to express is slowly terminating itself, if i had enough batteries i would try to watch fire walk with me

Easter 2002
the thoughts somehow become more and more about sanity
that shredding delay of inescapable paranoia leeks in at every turn
so many reasons to become aware of
people so close in someways intimidate beyond reason and control
taking their opinions as truths and my own are merely experiments
at existing, what is truth , what is undeniable
each day is another step in addiction , from and for what
slowly sinking into it and myself, clouding the mind and
the body, speeding past self hatred, it appears to be illuminated
deep within some fear,
total consumption, talking too loud whist out among the ruins of this
dead culture, seeing the people exist in the norm
feeding on lies and their own truths,
reality is really a triumph over those who cannot separate
the projector from the projections