the inner room

12.11.08

s. — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 17:38:52 +0000

i find myself invariably drawn towards internet-based procrastination. in fact this exercise is currently staying the tasks that i must complete, the assignments at hand: grading papers, sorting through emails, updating my various webpages, seeking out and dlign new tunes to enjoy. you know, with this new advent of technology we have become able to publish, instantly, at the press of a button. one only needs an email address, and one can obtain such a e-residence in a matter of seconds. so where are we left? who’s word is weighty? who’s language is real? why do we tantalize ourselves with an expressionless medium where we must employ the use of emoticons to emulate and communicate emotive signals and/or meaning? i find e-discussion to be quite frustrating sometimes. especially when someone misunderstands what i intend. and this happens frequently, annoyingly. the “j/k” phrase is a pain in my ass to write all the time. i’m sick of having to make faces of punctuation. a certain british author i know would be applauding right now. sometimes i like to be sarcastic and cunning. my wit is sometimes a bit sharp and my humor brash. my e-statements can be curt and fiery. but seriously you must understand that i hold my friends in the highest regard and that i only berate them for the viewing and reading pleasure of all. you know, in celeb roast fashion. only a bit more sloppy and less televised. i seek to draw smiles on peoples’ faces with the commentary i issue forth. i desire to create faces that twist and contort with strange reactions to my electronically-infused banter. i want you to read this and feel like you wasted the last few minutes roaming around inside my misty head. i want you to desire to crawl back into your own, yet being lost and confused by the e-edifice which looms in front of you, you will find yourself unable… still clicking and staring away your afternoon. i want you to be pleasured and at the same time angered by your impetus to continue fucking-off. this is your office coup d’état! your keyboard revolution! and when you have won that battle, you will sit back feeling like you got something accomplished. that you went somewhere and visited places, saw people, heard things. and yet, what you fail to realize is that you’re still on your ass, in a chair; your eyes wasting away; your mind growing evermore clogged with traffic that never touches a tangible spec of asphalt; your responses becoming trained, ingrained, robotic. the buttons being pressed over and over and over and over again. finger taps now take the place of what was once action. muscles atrophy and we only grow fatter and more stupid, like caged game to be hunted. blobs on blogs we will become. implanted with 24/7 video feeds and wireless everythings. soon you’ll fucking eat dinner from your computer. and you’ll like it! thinking it tastes good. thinking it fulfills your hunger. but you’ll want more. you’ll ask for seconds, thirds… you’ll get angry at your state when you finally get up and look in the bathroom mirror to brush your redbull-stained teeth. or, you’ll think that your avatar is a better representation than the visage you witness before you. at least you can photoshop that one. alter it. form it. clean it up. it’s malleable. fluid. nicer. brighter. the e-you. the signal sent to all. but to me, the hollow eyes say it all. you’ve lost your bloody revolution. but you don’t care. you’ve got a space on which to bitch. your livejournal friends will console you. your facebook buddies will comment on your status. your e-penpal from bordeaux, france who says she’s twenty and horny will actually send you a letter of sympathy. and you’ll reply. thinking that you’re making a difference; that you’re reaching beyond that shallow cubicle to talk to somebody else, who understands. but the disconnect has already occurred. you’ve published to a book without tangible readers. they don’t really exist. and yet, in your mind, without this electronic medium of hauntingly-potent simulacra, neither do you.

12.5.08

s. — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 20:01:54 +0000

talk about political machismo. indeed, this article has an agenda, yet upon reading it you will discover the overall picture here. individuals operating a co-op could be labeled (and i’m using this term stereotypically, but to prove a point) socialist. rather what is under attack here is free enterprise. such individuals essentially provide for themselves, and as thus, they are outside the system. yet, as noted in the article they also provide a growth to the immediate area. isn’t this what the american way of life is all about? with increasing economic tension, with the government’s “investing-stake” in american economic structure through bail-outs, with mounting military pressure abroad and, frighteningly, at home (article here), we must question our leader’s (and i mean political, economic, etc.) motivations, as a people. we cannot let ourselves become inoculated by 50say-aye/50say-nay mass media and its distractions. we can intelligently and scientifically work ourselves out of the economic issue, the energy issue, and the car/oil issue through education and rational, ethical approach. we just need to employ a collective sense of thought, effort, and action.

hell, i say all this and i’m motivated to do something. and then, what can i do? well, i do teach, for one; objectively as possible, but i also try to startle a realization into those who i know. with that said, i wanted to send this along because i feel as if there is a mounting “thing” which i cannot describe. and whenever it shows its face, it’s going to be ugly. (please excuse the lame metaphor, but it’s true.) and after all, things like this occur everywhere… even close to our Ohio home.

12.1.08

s. — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 04:06:46 +0000

she said: i feel like i’m in this rat-race to grow up as soon as possible, but i’m also fighting it like crazy.

and i said: i couldn’t agree with you more; that’s exactly how i feel. i’m fighting it too. it’s a little surreal.

11.27.08

s. — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 19:58:40 +0000

with this thanksgiving i am thankful for friends, banter, and speech-full acts of challenge. we try to overcome the situation and offer a moment of fresh air, yet the bubbly-breath which we utter offers questions we cannot answer. we are left with nothing then, except the smashing collection of failing verbs and non-anchored adjectives. desiring a speech of mutual understanding… we await the next dish. a quest of fuzzy moments from friends interacting. family and non gathering in the extensive feeling of a family. we give thanks for a feeling of the heat from the kitchen and the food and the gathering, following us out the door on our way home.

11.22.08

s. — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 08:00:37 +0000

after nights like these i get worried. things seem to perpetuate on and continue on their little path of wherever it is their going. we expect that it does. go, that is. onward. into. and thus… i feel strange thinking about the amount of change that has been exhibited by myself and my sidekick. we’ve battled and brawled. the weather is only an aftereffect. we stand and whimper softly amongst cold buildings and streets with names the wind can’t even name. sure there is the green-sign, stating said name. sure all need one do is look. sure, yoda is there. and yet… you fail. you’d rather walk without the meaning. without the name. encountering those whom amongst we walk is a scary thing. you can quote that. if you’d like. cd. paperback. published in the blink of an eye. the arts are no longer capitalized for a reason. and i sit here, withering through whispers more silent than those spoken under one’s bed; endlessly repeating; hauntingly verbose. after a moment—it could be signified by such a break as this—thought of this creeps radiohead-style into my perceptive personae. the aching desire to look back and rediscover what i’ve written is priceless. whisking hands together, mimicking the movement of the fan which keeps my sanity locked within a cyclical, resounding hullabaloo, i find the courage to compose. feats are no longer inspired as they once were. age has settled in the back-country of my mansion-spiritus. take that. ha! freakus-status. quo. is without. dot. period. dot. :: the alchemy of my linguistic dross is evident. please forgive. excuse. allow. believe.

5.4.08

s. — Sat, 24 May 2008 04:37:43 +0000

vernal temporalities endowing all landscape of mind and thought we debate over ice cream and tattoos, these things that matter but dont still still still stills of moments of being, and yet – woolfe and our friends from oxford we comprise a scholarship of being a moment of the now which is noneotherthan just that now then was is were when? stein fucked me sideways and joe modernism just left with his tab still open… i wish we could stop having to communicate with such elevated jargon, but in order to perfect the language of millions, to write in a fallen language of an unfallen world, is, yes, a challenge. theorize as we must and concoct as we did and do with you and me and within this dialectically momentitzed experience we faltered ahead. we faltered ahead…

4.19.08

s. — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 20:43:02 +0000

walks thru the park on the length of the day and legs tired and over walked and worked sky lights and helicopters wiggle among the cloudless sky refections of algae taunt the waters wake and the guggenheim hovers in the background flowers in her hair accent the sunshine blond and baby blues of youth and beauty oh ‘beatrice’ of dante’s calling i see your influence in this fair spirit upon my side rollerblades sound like a good idea, no? best way to try the legs yet again bring them full circle embrace the wheeled transport on the concrete blanket of earth we trounce and treble each day the length of day of walks of central park of rides through the “tubes” damn brits always gotta give it a funny name suppose we do too just a trip through trees and a breeze over the meadow multi-level mini tube stations of columbus circle saw my first map the an actual station posted weird made no sense really i kinda like the guessing game of how the station is structured too many levels too many rails lots of places to hide lots of places to get lost for at least a whilekindamomentofdark day

4.17.08

s. — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 20:05:11 +0000

this apostrophe thing is really interesting because it takes letters out of place and it causes them to disapp’r Shakes was a master at this right? or was he just a fellow who kept going with the trend? who the fuck decided that one c’ld do that? i mean really… someone i know would get pissed well maybe i don’t know her but i know her well enough through this damn book i’m reading ohh yea ps it’s totally that eat shoot and leaves paperbacked book a mere three dollars picked it up for nothing practically and why i’m not really sure nor am i totally satisfied this punctuation thing is really just a sense of nothing and for this to be a true stream of conscious dialog b’tw’n me and the page then i guess there is little room for such full stops and pauses right? i mean think of all those pages in the back of Ulysses goddamn was Joyce a bastard a likable one but still a bastard that made me read his stupid str’m ‘f crap conscious at the end of his giant book which I liked and felt a little like Dedalus myself maybe I wanted to be like him the father of the rambunctious son who got too high and melted his sad wings of wax and worry maybe that’s the problem with wings that they cant really hold ya up I mean just wings of feathers we need wings of steel like the war steel like the dying fall like the sunk of bomb shells falling on crete and dedlaus’s head