October 22, 2003 - 11:18 p.m.
I wads going to gush about Linkin Park. I had actually filled a page with disgustingly promotional and uplifting sentences that looked like they came from some fnatacial 14 year old boy who had developed his first crush on a band.
I erased it.
I like their music.
I just re-bought the remixed album thye did of Hybrid Theory.
Enough said for me in that arena, no?
Yes.
This site is primarilly about my life and my writing and my lack of skill in accomplishing either to anyones satisfation.(I meant that to be dramatic, I don't all the way feel that, it's just late and I have been drinking).
SO, let's stick with the "me writing" thing that I am putting in quotations although I never actually said it in those words.
Let me post something dark and wierd, and see if anyone likes it.
If any of my one friends that read this have anything to say about it, email me, or anyone else for that matter, jarrynlives@yahoo.com.
(All mispellings and such in the following are purpousfull, I actually spellchecked and left them in for specific reasons)
--------------------------------
HE DESCENT TO THE TOP
Now,
Which one was this?
Awake, it must be, I know how it is, and this is how it is when awake is how it is. My hands end where the flesh stops, and I can’t feel currents of air begging to lift me up for a better look around.
I could do that now.
Yes.
I know I can, just as easy as anything, I could sit up and look Around me.
But why bother? The blanket is suffocating, but it means well, how many will I be able to forgive if I get up?
The blanket lets go of me, surprising me. I had forgotten I was going to get up fast this time. My body remembered, and now I was sitting up, linen blanket shimmering white as the sun stabs it with yellow shafts of something that smells funny to me.
Yes it does. Yes I can. You don’t know.
I don’t enjoy this, do you think I do? Would you? If you were me and I were me and we all had to smell rancid flavors that light gives off, would you still blame me for the sense it makes to me when your sense is all to closed in your head to be of use?
I think you might. I would, if I were me, and when I am, I most certainly do blame me. It would be easier if I hadn’t grown the nose myself. But all that was part of me and part of substance I had to grow to be sure of it.
And of all my body, I am still not completely sure.
I have secrets, very quiet ones, and they believe themselves enough to whisper to each other and me sometimes.
One secret?
I will tell you one, and maybe the light will run out of itself while I talk.
But the talk is secret, and quiet.
I will whisper and you must listen as whisperingly as you can make pretend the scary inside parts are generic enough so you can replace them easy…
Easy…
Easy…
like my oil. Squeeky oil can’t touch quiet secret talk.
Hold on, let the oil pass.
Don’t look it in my eyes, oil is confrontational and all bravado.
Wait.
Now, ok, the oil is flowing eastways, and will be too far to hear me,
Especially since it is so quiet, this secret, its hardly worth keeping.
My hands lie sometimes.
In dreams, they tell me about all being one at once, all joined
At night my hands say they connect me to loud smelling waves.
IN the Other place, when my hands reach, they get, they acquire.
They see there, and they know there, and so…
So…
My body, the fleshy me-ness, it knows such things too.
Dreamscapes are never myteries.
Body trusts hands, and hands protect head, because head…
I’m a key!
Head is, any one of my parts will back me up.
My slideways pourus thoughts,
So many leaks, and leaks, and creeks
Couldn’t hold a tune
Couldn’t carry water
Never entertained a thing key-like small small
Couldn’t contain, remember the Marbles?
But a very smart Book knew.
It laughed dusty shrieks.
I cried uproarious tears,
I chased behind us, looking for the joke
It hid somewhere near me
The Book still laughed when I was what he was looking at while he was laughing at me. The Joke had hidden on me.
The book, smarts on all his pages.
He told my head it was the key.
My hands and up and down and blue my hands were all at once.
The hands protect me. My hands protect me.
Nighty Nighty and then I am there and I key it
And we step there, with thick soled eyelids
The key to dreams and no bright smells
But those were not quiet secrets
And the hands keep silent
Because here is awake, and awake
And awake, it’s not asleep.
The pungence of truth can’t connect
Dream has no secrets, hands see
Hands see all there,
Not hidden so my hands can face all
But reality.
But Reality.
So many secrets, loud, quiet, purple, grasshoppered,
A secret for every atom, two per beanie
My hands tried crying once.
Shake hands shake is how it came out
Lying did that
Truth is when the hands perceive all
When the dream un-hide All
Reality hide hides from hands
This behind this, that over there
All is separate to separate each other
Hands can tell only the little
Little little piece of truth that hands flesh feel
Partial truth screems lie to hands
I don’t hold it against them
But they hold it against themselves
And the secret
Doubt was sparky
The hands had doubts clanking
A spark flew
On me, on my key to all
The spark flamed high higher
Doubt stretched
Doubt was lazy
But doubt fed and ate and porky
And doubt let me in
It had a secret
A quiet one, but doubt talked it to me
Now the secret is board of doubt
Did you know?
I don’t believe in the bak of my head
I don’t think its there
I have never seen it
And you giggle idiot mirror thoughts
Funny houses are lying mirror homes
But not all
Two faced, one mirror, I saw right
I saw right through him
So no mirror preaching
I can’t see the back of my head
I don’t think it is there
Maybe once
I think it fell out, and up
I don’t think the quiet secret is breathing
I think the back fell out
It makes all crayola kinds of sensory inputedness
All my dreams were somewhere once
Maybe twice
But now they linger at night
Where I can step into them
Spilling out
Leaks I was and leaks I had
And dream went mostly to nighty nighty
But some some some didn’t
They follow me
But the lights can scare
And dreams can’t hold in well
Dreams were bed wetters
No diapers, containing a dream…
Madness, tying down, boxing, trapping
Dreams can’t be,
Yes they can
Oh yeah
They can
They should Not Be Restricted
But light, its light
It smallifies what in dark can be huge
It contains energy and
Echoe
Vibrations
Order order order
Order chains repetition manacles
That That This, dreams can do Those Too
And Be, but That grows a dream up
And changes
So dream can no longer be blurry on the edge
Once order finds a dream
But, Butt Butt
Scary, dreams easily freaked out
Light, or organized rows or
Stuff that no longer can coexist
dreams loose what little sontrol
Dreams don’t want order
A lightbulb, 2 lightbulbs
Off Off Off sudden of suddenly ON ON ON
Any little sleep born idea
All Dreams in the radius
Foul themselves, first fear
Terror can obliterate control
I had control once
But from afar
Distant
And my aim
Lacking that
Disaster
A probability
Lacking Aim wasn’t mine
Mine was the problems of
What to experience
With the control, used remotely, once
I had switched channel after channel
That had been sooooo good
Back Back Back to the frontal lobes
So you see, don’t you?
I drew the map, I know, I was here
You must see now the senses I am
And that I lost, in order to make those I have now
So my head, is only uni-sided
I think it thougtfully and now loudly
It Has to be A Truth
What held them in
Yes, yes, that is it
What held dream in fell out
Dream would have poured
Fast faster then speedy liquids
Away, to there, and here, and dark
Calling would the dark be to dreams
So so so you see now, righ?
The hole is there
Thoughts get thought but can wander
Balance attempting thoughts would fall out
But light flitty spastic
Who Are You Calling Flitty?
Don’t ake it as it was meant.
Just take it as it was implied.
And the Key, I am it
Huh? Yeah, that was already known
But the key because
Dreams and the Other
Far Far Distant Place
They are mine
No No No
They are me
So So, yeah, I would be the key
I said that once, right?Right?
The Key is to minute
Small smally keys too small
The dream was in you, and since I am you
The dream was in me, and we were all one
Dreaming needed space
You can’t contain Dream damnit!
Upsetting
Hatefull
Let it be
A boat
Yes, that would color just the right pear
Till a mutiny, then desertion
But not as mean sounding
Then the boat that was you and me and flesh
We we we became a bridge
But a draw bridge
Either both, but never either, and occaisionaly one
Exile tasted to odiferous
Dream came back to play
But you
And you
And dream
We were spread out
And so not water proof
Thin Thiny So too damned thin
A thought I held once
I know you did
The hole, your not secret quiet secret, mine too
Time time time it is time
Dreaming didn’t get the journey done
And dream soils
Soils and stinks itself at danger
First peep, a shadow even
He needs you
I think time
And I thought time
That it might just be time
For the light to hold vision
And not carry shitty shit smelly
If the Bridge Relaxed, and the body
The body supported hands
And hands were there to tell a truth
Small truth
Big enough
The truth was a plug, and need
One with the other
Which Hands had supplied
In the Reality
Following a Dream, no, all his dreams
So that the back of his head was there again,
And it was not holding in dream, but
Dream was taking refuge in
Side him, Dream couldn’t be
Just dream alone
And The Secret
I have found it, and I think
Think think
It has changed Things seem seem to be
Arranging themselves more easily
If all my parts
If we all reach at once
Towards each other and center
We can be all
We can be one
Reaching…
There.
Here.
Fully.
So the secret now is one I can be quite the opposite of quiet when sharing:
I AM WHOLE!
And Stopping isn’t going to be something I plan on doing before I regain all I have been missing.
The Belief in the back of my head is the start…
6:58 p.m. - November 21, 2003
11:55 p.m. - November 15, 2003
8:23 p.m. - November 15, 2003
3:38 a.m. - November 10, 2003
7:46 a.m. - October 27, 2003
