my friend max does some really cool stuff i think

the one on the top is a self portrait with charcoal
the one on the bottom was done with acrylic

i stand corrected by real poetic beauty but i need not say more for this bliss of mind will sell itself under the overhead of these of capitalist consciousness


As Your Ghost Takes Flight Lyrics
Saves the Day

The last time that I saw you, August of '99,
I should've had my hammer and a few rusty spikes
to nail you on a wall and use bottles to catch your blood
and display you for the neighbors so they know your time had come.
And I'd drink your blood and feel it dripping down my throat
as it heads for my heart.
And as your body sags and the stench rises in vain,
the people on the street are collecting in dismay.
Before your eyes your head lifts towards the sky
and that's the last thing they'll remember of you.
And I'd drink your blood and feel it dripping down my throat
as it heads for my heart.
You've become a ghost.
You're floating somewhere in between
the waking world and a landscape of dreams.
Well it's nothing but dying.
You've got a grenade stuck in your teeth and you're pulling at the pin.
You're an illusion, just a shadow flickering underneath the sun.
And I'd drink your blood and feel it dripping down my throat
as it heads for my heart.


doogie howser out ... these days he'd say Peace

the ending of a few processtual phases

what can i say, i don't think words can express what i experience in my life fully enough so, i think i'm just gonna live my life.

i can't say i've found everything or even love or even express what i have found other then happiness that comes and goes and some free free romance with a great person. but what can i say. my plan: i'm gonna go back to caring for people and my friends and myself if i can and see what happens. i think it'll turn out nicely. especially when krista gets back and the school year starts.

my advice to everyone: do your best (you define and fulfill that). surround yourself with your best friends. keep an open mind. that's all i've got.

gotta go. allie m. is text messaging blog out

oh p.s. i hope you enjoyed the writing that was posted.

this is from a while ago but i wanted to save it

today in history class, we realized how emotionally taxing it is to learn about how lost every human is... it's still waying on me as i write this

i read a portion of Mein Kampf and i feel sick

While I know this may be an informal statement in a formal writing, I feel it for some reason necessary to express the absurd disgust that these words of pure hate left me; what a taste in my mouth, on my tongue. For a moment, I thought that my utter disgust with his absurd depiction of Jewish, devil eyed boys preying on innocent, young girls bothered me, displaced my sick stomach twice removed from anything but emaciating nausea, because one of my best friends is Jewish. Then, I realized that it was not that at all. It was the thought of so many ignorant, receiving eyes that cast their glances over these pages and said ‘yes!’ finding commonality, identification, a shared blood with this hate devoured man – all I can think of is bile. It was not my friend. It was to know the sway of these words among a people so broken. To get even a taste of the hate which they owned to the walls of their veins. The death. The disgust. The spit in his face, the entirety of humanity. We are a broken and lost people, so brutal and cruel, but then I feel the headache in the back of my skull and I think of love but I can’t touch it. Not right now.

i am truly lost so i'm gonna stop writing for a while

when God made the world, did he make a mistake. can we not see it? could we see it? how would we see it? there are all those voices shaking with rhythm in the background opening up my presence. hi. bowel tones shake with the bosom of his bassoon voice

vagabond! . ..?
i don't have enough balls to be homeless

sometimes i just sit and hope to strike a cord
or get a clue

if you've never washed the dishes, you should not write a book.
i doubt i'll ever write a novel.

just a little thing i found

the pallet to work with, it's endless was said, but once said it, self shown it, committed to death

"Ideas" Sunday, Febuary 20, 2005 5:43 PM

A humanitarian, vegetarian, vegan, animal rights, environmental group that supports all the most positive peaceful doctrine of the world.

Saturday, June 18, 2005 1:38 AM

things that mean something mean something for only so long. while things that mean nothing, mean nothing forever. these diamonds are forever

"Hello and Goodbye" Sunday, July 17, 2005 and Tue., 26

careening through past present and future thoughts. composure is the key to denial. denial of uncontrollable existence and non-existence. we are nothing but humans. we make mistakes till our dying day when we finally accomplish one goal without mistake in one single moment. this is one of two accomplishments that we do perfectly. this accomplishment is death. and on this day i find myself before the alter of balance for the only day where one can (stand it) do something close to as well as today is the first day of his life. to be born is to accept death and so i find myself on the verge of a light in dark as the phone speaker will soon be haphazardly guided down my cheek. we've known that it was coming but how easy we forget. humans have all the beautiful qualities conceivable and obtainable by a being but we take for-granted too easily what life is. maybe from this i'll realize every present that passes by. every moment is not the last for the last will not be one that i realize because there will not be another later from which to reminisce about past pleasures and pains. once this painful becoming earns the place in my heart, the thought in my mind that no other becoming moment has, i may or may not find something new. regardless though, this will be a sad new something.

Wednesday, September 7, 2006 5:06 PM

there's a distant, second hand screeching when you speak.

you're not listening.

you're not listening for the pale beating of misery.
in these folds.
on my skin.
on my face.
deep within your liar's lips.

where were you? where were you? when i died within.
where were you when my heart stopped beating in past decades? (when my soul stopped vibrating)

when my essence filled with anger at hearing you speak

there is irrevocable truth in the fact that there are calyces on my lips from their slapping in fits to afford the excrete via larynx mi amor para ti.





there is irrevocable truth in the fact that there are calyces from the slapping of my lying lips as i excrete via larynx mi amor para ti.

"a dream" Sunday, March 26, 2006 2:11 PM

i had a dream last night, somber, calm, violence which was then innermost. everywhere and consistently painful.

in this dream, i picked her up like a battering ram and punished her over and over and over again, 'till her face and body were more or less evenly mangled and swelled. i tore up much of the walls of what i knew to be my mother's apartment. though, it didn't resemble her apartment in real life.



some lapse later, i was walking on what was supposed to be the UW-L campus, but looks nothing like it in real life. i easily, but cautiously traversed the steep slope of what i think was out side my apartment, my painful sanctuary. this world that seemed to carry the weight of me, felt and looked as grayscale, even blackscale.



the police came to the apartment. they were interested in another crime, but i don't remember what it was. they did wonder about the walls though. i worried about whether they'd notice that the punches in the walls were the same size of the woman, the being who i beat to such a pathetic state! was there no blood in the punches? maybe it was the fault of my dream.



i told to their inquiries, "this place was a shit hole before we got here." my mother and what resembled a sort of specter of my brother, peered in about mid-sentence. like a choir of prairie dogs poking their heads out and in from the door frame, absent in their eyes and face, like they were without frontal lobes. they just watched. the cops believed me. i had feared the girl's (the fruiting point of me's)
boy friend had pressed charges, locking me into a battle for my life to escape the seemingly inescapable power.



i was told by characters around me that i must go talk to her boy friend. i was terrified that i might be arrested. after a journey, like many journeys in dreams, me, among myself and surrounded (not very much, though) by others, got out of the car. but, as i sat, i saw a person i recognized in the window. a nice, but not perfect person with straight, shoulder length, black hair. yellow pain, like dry cheese shown behind her. (it was not the women.) it is here that i have trouble remembering what exactly went on. i met her boy friend. he had not pressed charges. he opened to me with love, compassion, presence. he understood that i felt such guilt for what i couldn't stop from doing. i apologized i think, but i can't remember if it was with words or with a different connections. he heard as i saw the people stare at her marks of my punishment as she waited tables.



i'd thought a few times about leaving when i was coming up on the barbed like bushes after the subsequent up slope.




i woke up, and to my surprise, a someone slept next to me.

"'I stand on my knees as tall as possibility.' The Road to the Journey." C: Mon., June 20, 2005 12:51 AM . Mod.: Tue., July 5, 2005 4:33 AM

(poised)i stand on my knees as tall as possibility. cutting this man further i thought once impossibility(out of reach). until i(you) cut this nothingness in halfs (repeatedly until there was nothing and something in the little blood shed) exponentially with hands only for the having of a swift swinging machedi .? bowing me through bent back and scalpeled ab. (this is the road to the journey) this is the barbed edge of a joint effort in receiving word of truth with which you were whispering gracefully in(when you) (once removed) removal of the sickled edge. here i tried to define what is free? (and what's meant by this reality) but you left the seed. supplanted ovary has grown to becoming tree and with endowing lips you give breaths of bludgeoning. i give what's less, a fleshed dowry. from this frame hangs a haggard hinge, an upper, a fore, and a glass from a hand for christening the enlightenment of admitted defeat. and with it i toast to thee my lovely unloved engage in freewill with a mashedi. I say please, barter with body and blood because what's mine is yours and yours is my gift to thee. with this, i define, what it is, to be and to be free.


and when our backs are turned on all of us we'll pull the trigger.
and burn the bridges to the places inside myself that we've never seen because we're choosing to see 20/15.
and as the hour glass grains displace necessarily. we are complacent. (complacent are we. conducive to this reality (i say how convenient)) (complacent, conducive to this reality) because we reside within these real lines with which we draw a schematic design of four walled 2 demension-al reality. above and below is left the glass ceiling of which we're not aware. we draw a line in the sand


and as the hour glass grains displace necessarily. we are complacent. (complacent are we. conducive to this reality (i say how convenient)) (complacent, conducive to this reality) because we reside within these real lines with which we draw a schematic design of four walled 2 demension-al reality. above and below is left the glass ceiling of which we're not aware. we draw a line in the sand

because they, i theyi reside within in the skematic design of ascribed truth within real lines with which we draw four walled 2 demension-nal received truth

displaced by oxygen (necessarily) elementary

is this a skin car for something else. a suicide bomb that can't set trigger. the hour class grains displace necessarily

upon the pedestal resides the all knowing

strange fruit

within these words you search for breaths of inspiration. with opening of the mandible and tongue. to masticare. to administer lip service. these contracting lungs and twisting tounge won't be your inspiration. these lips are comedy but musing breath they will not emit.

russia chechnia the voices of dissent

this parallel arm (relative)to my. chest. is remanicent of pre somethingness as nothingness and letting go is enlightenment

standing is kneeling, underacheiving is relativity so i give me and mine as thine unto thee
tall is relativity
tall as allowably
tall as presently
i stand on my knees. tall as (i) can be. cutting this man further i thought once impossibility. until i cut me(this nothingness) down further(further down(down still (more) with a hand to perpetuate)) (what's more) with a(the) swift swing of this mashedy.? (proving your point of) further bowing me through bent back and skalpeled ab.(with the barbed edge of(a joint effort (in)(receiving the word of truth)(accomplishing enlightenment)) your sword) (to the word of truth, (with) which you were whispering, (to me (so) gracefully (as you removed that blade so horribly (percing me)) (with) endowing lips you give of truth bludgeoning and i to you give (what's less) a dowry of flesh (of which you were to me so graceful with endowment with that specific (truth) bludgeoning) there's nothing... to you.) (and to this pathetic tragedy i would raise a glass with) this parallel arm to my square remanicent chest is all i have left as i do my best to lift the rest to perpindicular to the floor. until this fore, a sacrifice for you. arm fore for you too do what you will. you and i equal have incouragment sufficient to engage in free will with a mashedi. i say please, barter with me, i'm yours and what's yours is yours, sum pounds of flesh worth less their weight in meat but worth am i more to serve purpose by being means to an(your) end of me. i profess this death freely. a part of your state's covenant. i give this body and blood as flesh to the prescribed truth of your ends. this is my best. this is your end. this is my flesh. the rest is sequestered within my head. unknown to me as nothing more than a tough delicacy for the tasting through mastication. but i am the fodder for free will and your will is mine.


i miss you dear, dear lovely i send a loving remark. mark it on your calendar the day epistemology changed. cause the way i've come to know is no longer the same. everythings a live. colors and sounds as if high.
a breath outside the air around you
you've taught me everything in alowing me to admit defeat


i stand on my knees as tall as possibility. cutting this man further i thought once out of reach. until you cut this nothingness in halfs repeatedly until there was nothing and something in the little blood shed infinitly with hands only for the having of a swift swinging machedi, bowing me through bent back and scalpeled ab. this is the road to the journey. this is a joint effort in receiving word of truth with which you were whispering gracefully in removing the sickled edge. here i tried to define what is free? and what is meant by reality, but you left the seed. supplanted ovary has grown to becoming tree and with endowing lips you give breaths of bludgeoning. i give what's less, a fleshed dowry. and from this frame hangs a haggard hinge, an upper, a fore, and a glass from a hand for christening the enlightenment of admitted defeat. and with it i toast to thee my lovely unloved engage in freewill with a mashedi. I say please, barter with body and blood because what's mine is
 yours and yours is my gift to thee. with this, i define, what it is, to be and to be free.

"Can I let go? on reality" Crea.: Saturday, July 16, 2005 7:10 PM . Mod: Monday, July 18, 2005 12:10 PM

translucent then trans(cendent)-parent hierarchy is wiped clean as this mind's cognitive ignition blasts off and i realize the irrelevance of time, space, individuals, statics, or anything but solipsism. can i say hello to unbalance in black? because sense is resultant of rolling rocks (is it?) and fighting force. without blissful impermanence and becoming we are finite figures frozen in stone. stagnant static staling nonexistent things cannot be-coming. and with this you can see the sheet. take a microscope to us like a petri dish reality. (or telescopic kaleidoscopic peering into the sky is right) inspiration in flowing free knowing the way of the world of becoming black to blue to yellow to orange. (we're an open mind of collective lies. see this truth. see this you.) (we're on the ever-ascending end of the circle) look at these definite lines. there's creativity in perception. there's dogma in what is shaken from these and those hands. stop, think, close your eyes, and blind yourself. think outside of black. outside the paradigm. imagine that. you think it's possible. it's possible! blind and deaf are resultant of eyes and ears of stagnant static .perceiving. not even numbers. are there numbers in the mind of a senseless man? this is the question. i pose this pleasure to you my friend. fly this flight with new vigor because today is not tuesday. today is the newest now of becoming. now is never again. don't forget it.

"Can I let go?" . Created: Sunday, July 17, 2005 11:48 AM . Modified: Monday, July 18, 2005 12:28 PM

(with bound feet) can i let go? of bound wrists? of bound skin? of bound 4th dimensions? of realities inside space and time? (can i roll this rock freely with shackled ankles? and realities outside a reason or rhyme?)

everlasting exponential becoming... yes it's true. exploding implosion in an instant of non-temporal perceptive glances to and through the tao of truth. i see through this system with x-ray enlightenment.

transcend this hierarchy to be wiped clean as cognitive ignition blasts off in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. hello unbalance to(of) black but from black comes a full-spectrum illusion of yet again unbalanced truth. but it is true that balance is within you and your manifesto self addressed you realize status quo is self punishment.

we're finite figures frozen in stone? fuck that stagnant static stalling. nonexistent things cannot be-coming. and with this you can see the sheet. take a microscope to us, a petri dish reality. do you see the sheet?

strain the imperance from this solid rock. errodiant radiance of light.

stop, think, close your eyes, and blind yourself. think outside of black. outside the paradigm. imagine that. you think it's possible. it's possible! blind and deaf are eyes and ears of stagnant static .perceiving. not even numbers. are there numbers in the mind of a senseless man? this is the question. i pose this pleasure to you my friend. fly this flight with new vigor because today is not tuesday. today is the newest now of becoming. now is never again. don't forget it.

flick of the veritable wrist again to brush on the bliss of impermanance of it. cheat again. fuck that. this is for us. cheat yourself myfriend? it's not academics.

teddy in the corner his lip skin isn't what was supposed it. so we stuck some whale fat red romantics to it to fix it. this isn't relevant. te digo que esto no importa. hay much mas que esto mira al sielo. mira a los amigos. this is intervention. for glutton freaks anonymous. consuming even cups without bottoms. i'll choose this battle so here's the tip of the spear. my assuming eyes and ears are cold to the touch and i can feel your fear. vegetenario te va a comer. is this spoken word irrelevance? if it is then what is? que nos importa te pregunto supesto que es esto no? o no?

wednesday, july 27th, 2005 5:26PM

a head's toward the sky this night, with rain drops falling, (i can feel it i think) (racing, racing, racing minds, hitting, hitting, hitting,(why? with forefingers inward) but not a single blow will land. this is a dream...i think) the acid there in of balance is but a whisper both given and listened cheek to cheek. but you're so far away with answers close quarters with questions that breath and beat the ass of a shaker. but who cares, salt in these wounds it'll sting and leave vapors of meat for the morning. left overs of me are still deathly boring (imagine that, clench fists and scalpeled hands with fingers yet attached and hair and skin between(on a platter)) this chest is bear and open to the infinity of this moment. what a dusk filled grey can do to this mind. feeble it resembles. feeble by definition. i'd open. i'd know it. if i could just... i'd loosen this grip, this illusion and slip this wrist, this edge in fist across chest to scalp my breast and leave open air illusions as proof to passers by of what i can't prove. that i am a man!?

i'm looking through some old stuff. i'll leave the dates too. i can't remember some or maybe even most of this

i'm going to post them as i found them in their original form

most if not all of this written without me planning on showing this to anyone

el mensaje de los descendientes (a song that was written a long while ago while i was with elvehjem)

resist, take it back again. resist, take it back again. resist, take it back again. forraje para los fuegos. animales de los petroleros. these are the starving, the dying, the indigenous once free and i ask you what are we? the oil on your hands, won't wash clean, as the cleansing waters only bead and the impoverished souls are plagued by destiny... to serve, to die, to give up their lives, for Old Glory is waving good bye. forraje para los fuegos. animales de los petroleros. these are the starving, the dying, the indigenous once free and i ask you what are we? for Old Glory is waving goodbye. the red stripes symbolize the blood of these games. the games are the same. the flesh and the flame. for old glory is waving goodbye. she's singing headstone hymns tonight. blood for oil. blood for oil. blood for oil. blood for oil. tap all my veins.

a letter that i wrote to remind myself

there may (at some indeterminable moment in your life) be a time when your mental vitality and sharpness fades, degrading and deteriorating away so that you are most certainly not the same person any longer. you must think and work until that day when you can no longer be yourself, and cannot know yourself through your own strength of self analysis and intelligence. you must give your best until that day when you cannot hold on to yourself any longer.

last night was so great. spirits and conversation with wonderful old friends and exciting new ones, great walk home with jackie. cool night. wet side walks. i could finally lay down in my bed and feel the weight of my covers over me. how nice for things to cool down a little bit.

i don't think the fan is cooling me off so much as drying my sweat. even at this it's having trouble keeping pace. not a surprise though since it feels as though the friction of the air blowing is warmer than the stiller version of this life force.

"What is denigrated by Jacobi as nihilism is anarchistically celebrated by Stirner as individual liberation. If I am nothing, Stirner argues, then 'I am not nothing in the sense of emptiness, but I am the creative nothing, the nothing out of which I myself as creator create everything'." - Continental Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction

all of the world is determined in all of its monism and the forgotten or never possessed choice to exist, but it is when i realize myself as myself, truly creative, that i become truly free on what might be an omni-directed path of ascendency.

I am the utmost anarchy! and i am here to shake in this locked white room that is me, this! until i breath the indeterminate screams of obliteration

i couldn't have said it better myself

Dear Red States...

We've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our
own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us. In
case you aren't aware, that includes Hawaii, Oregon, Washington,
Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and all the Northeast. We
believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the
people of the new country of New California.
To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all
the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches. We
get Elliot Spitzer. You get Ken Lay. We get the Statue of Liberty. You get Dollywood.
We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom.
We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss. We get 85 percent of America's venture capital and
entrepreneurs You get Alabama. We get two-thirds of the tax revenue,
you get to make the red states pay their fair share. Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22 percent
lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. You
get a bunch of single moms. Please be aware that Nuevo California will be
pro-choice and anti-war, and we're going to want all our citizens back from
Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals. They
have kids they're apparently willing to send to their deaths for no
purpose, and they don't care if you don't show pictures of their
children's caskets coming home. We do wish you success in Iraq, and hope
that the WMDs turn up, but we're not willing to spend our resources in
Bush's Quagmire. With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm
control of 80 percent of the country's fresh water, more than 90 percent of
the pineapple and lettuce, 92 percent of the nation's fresh fruit 95
percent of America's quality wines (you can serve French wines at state
dinners) 90 percent of all cheese, 90 percent of the high
tech industry, most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods,sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools, plus Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT. With the Red States, on the other hand, you will
have to cope with 88 percent of all obese Americans (and their
projected health care costs), 92 percent of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100
percent of the tornadoes, 90 percent of the hurricanes, 99 percent of all
Southern Baptists, virtually 100 percent of all
televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University
of Georgia. We get Hollywood and Yosemite, thank you.
Additionally, 38 percent of those in the Red
states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62 percent believe
life is sacred unless we're discussing the death penalty or gun laws, 44
percent say that evolution is only a theory, 53 percent that Saddam
was involved in 9/11 and 61 percent of you crazy bastards believe you
are people with higher morals then we lefties.
By the way, we're taking the good pot, too. You
can have that dirt weed they grow in Mexico.

Peace out,
Blue States