Here is an entirely too self indulgent picture of myself a few nights ago. I babbled that night a whole lot about mullein and eyebright, about the ego and Rommel Driving very Deeply into Egypt.
Why is there such a strong opposition felt towards negativity when it is so goddamn neccessary? If you can produce and recreate the worse kinds of connections then, similarly, you can produce and recreate the best ones. And only your negativity can help you to dig and tunnel your way back to the very notion. A whole broken definition of the positive is in a constant state of shift, because we make it irretrievable.
Gnash your terrible teeth sometimes, roar your terrible roar sometimes.
Like the wild things.
The past four weeks I've felt like I was living in that really bad Allen Ginsberg poem repetitiously shouting "holy!", loud clamoring in the dark. But everything in relation to everything is holy. Holy, holy, holy, holy. I noticed it behind a Randalls, a mop and a milk crate and an oil stain. Products of something meticulously planned in the air, ridiculously greater than myself.
You know those Cobra Snake Kids? When I first saw them on this box of a bitch computer I cried my heart out. If there ever was a sillier reaction to the degredation of the adolescents of my generational group think I am guessing that was it. They must think no one understands them, their esoteric aura, throwing thrift with prada and visualizing loops of making love and listening to Death from Above with the carnage of the cellulite realm of celebrities. Just because the masses might not be part of their upper middle class pseudo avant garde doesn't mean they don't understand it. But I mean, poor Cory Kennedy, she's so flaccid, Terry Richardson's and Vincent Gallo's little Edie Sedgwicked play puppet.
I was worried that I might be slipping into incoherence, my own microdoses, going over the same Gertrude Stein haiku. How do you keep your eye on the prize? The whole idea of tunnel vision is so appealing. I am keeping this entry so coherent, can you tell it's tense and awkward and difficult for me not to get twitchily settled into the slivers? But I've been locked, set in obscurity and it's the worst. You are like a tropical, bloated parrot everywhere you walk. But we are all just people.
I am stifled and haven't jumped onto a new wavelength in months. It makes sense because I am a midget anyhow.
And I guess that was that.
Bi Samanas.
