Sensually crazed, causticly scarred folk always question the righteous. The isolation kills them for they don't understand what it is like to be free. Freedom is like poetry. It lets you see things that you didn't notice before. For them it's like a parent that wont leave you alone. Always begging and tapping you on the shoulder to do something you don't wish to do. Open up your mind and you'll see. 

Up near the east coast where they bitch and wine

I met up with some friends and spent some time

Hung there like that until the hour got late

Lost 5oo dollars since Friday

Rain in the gutters

Flood up the street of this town 

And she's laughing

She's laughing

-Playoff of The Extra Glenn's Ultraviolet

Just beyond the end of the shore

There's an old man in a snore

I dreamt he awoke and gave me this note:

Youngsters grow weary with time

And he said, "I'm in dispair."

And I said, "Grow a pair."

Open the caged-up mind and release inner contemplations, thoughts tell us. We long for liberation. We want to relish on paper and remain etched in black and white. Concepts are our strength and paper our manifestation. "We long for our own legacies," thoughts think, "our own glow in the world." Thoughts often wonder and ask us, "What is it like to be able to convey so smoothly, to not rely on the unreliable for articulation?" But we are all too shy and do not answer so deep a question so quickly. "It's like music." we eventually muster, "It's like music, and each idea a lyric that simply meshes with the instruments like honey mixing with water." "Oh," thoughts think, but they are not thoroughly impressed. "I do not believe you are trying hard," a particularly smart thought says, "Push yourself," he insists. "It's like wind, and blood, and earth. Like salted water, and air and laughter," we suggest. "Oh," the thought sighs. Finally impressed, he pats my back complimentary.

facebook depletes the mind to a sun-dried crisp
a crisp that has no more of a crunch than a soggy potato chip
a chip which is limp and spent

to the chinese, twin does not exist
says something that the assumption was made

just downed an ice-cold cup of water

currently wearing a mountain goats t-shirt

it is grey with a picture of john darnielle

above john darnielle it says the mountain goats

john darnielle is boss

--

I currently read You Shall Know Our Velocity by Mr. Eggers and feel that it would be a diservice to not discuss it in my blog. I rarely feel that I understand books in the author's intended way. However, I can opnenly say that I feel I appreciated the novel in the same manner Eggers himself enjoyed it. Nothing was lost in my reading. Many times I feel I do not 'directly' understand the author's full intention, and find passages humorous when sadness was expected, but in You Shall Know Our Velocity this was not the case. I connected with the worldview, adventurous mentality, and wit-stricken thoughts of Will and Hand.

As Will begins to slowly but surely drop his newly inherited fortune (32,000) in creative nonconformist modes, I was right beside him, taking in the nuances of each native expression, and reciprocating his desire to give and explore. I reread pages 5 or 6 times to fully grasp each poetic articulation. (All of this captured in Eggers' matter-of-fact, no BS, witty style, a style I adore and strive to grow from).

Friends since youngsters, Will and Hand share a brother-like bond, and naturally their names go hand in hand (one of Eggers' many witty infusions). This results in many "escapades" that don't always leave Will in a healthy physical or mental state, but time, as we know, progresses and their friendship is always rekindled.

Attractive, and quick-witted, Hand is a suave, smooth-talking, male chauvinist always on the prowl. His prey consists of women, and the random facts he stores in his "data base" of a mind. (He constantly spews these facts to Will's disapproval). Will, on the flip side, is ugly and a full-time complainer. (Not to say that he doesn't add to the melting pot of wit and humor that brews).

Eggers, to me, has created a dynasty of wit-infused books that is rare, accessible, and altogether easily "addictive" in the sense that anyone, regardless of literary attentiveness or sophistication, can appreciate his writings. This, for me, is both good and bad, and probably largely a byproduct of his and Spike Jonze's Where the Wild Things Are.

There remains one more sing I wished to clutch on. Eggers' website McSweeneys illuminates the swirled with its coalescence and imaginal nature. That is tall.

(This last paragraph was my attempt at a poetic mixup to "lighten" the mood alittle. A haha would be appropriate, or, if you are not so inclined, just a furrow of the eyebrows).

Thank you.

Please be seated.

Feels like I am slipping down a small tube that is getting smaller.

The 'mindset' makes sense of the day.

Feels like nasal misting and I are one in cleaning.

It's clear facebook is for the 'gortals' and 'mrinches'

(I am uncertain if anyone 'got' the last one)

Yoga calms the soul into a soundless slumber. (Ironic due to my initial "discomfort" and "apathy" towards the pastime).

This  Tao-Lin-inspired blog provides for the craven masses who claw and spear for the “witty” writings of Mr. Lin. Mr. Lin provides a effervescent spark, and thus convenes my blog.

I write this blog not for the input from outside viewers (though if it isn’t too hard to ask, a substantive comment helps the energy flow), rather for my mind to expand beyond the limits of stifling school lessons and to dive into my own style, unaltered and raw.

Cheers!