i guess i'm honored to have a photo of my bare room on cameron charles' website http://cameroncharles.me/. take a look and let me know if you have any design ideas. going for white walls white floor, clear brain, tabula rasa.
hey--rough night at the jukebox---wrong tune---wrong vibe---i understand.
so had to change the tune.
lots of tests this week.
planning to go to cinespace.
glad cam powell's name is on the flyer for lediskoevents.
glad over all this attention lately.
sorry i keep making the same mistakes over and over again.
some fun things might come up soon.
writing is a chore.
neglecting scribd in favor of real reading and study.
two cruel text messages and verbal statements later, and i realize, it's very important to trust gut instinct.
stay away from himsa, hate mail, hate speech, muffled animosities, barbs, abuses . . .
a tip of the iceberg
the oh so barely veiled insults . . .
gut instinct would have saved me from being carjacked, raped, robbed, etc.
and so jumping on this instinct, hope everything will be okay.
saw DJ skrillex at bardot on thursday. he was radiant and awesomely positive with mates evan et al.
and also
annie gaia told me about feng shui operations.
and my feelings about feng shui connecting to jainism, veganism . . . to get rid of the dead things harboring dead energy.
quite fascinated at a guardian.uk photo shoot of the amazon deforestation for the bovine industries connected with meat and leather works. nothing so peaceful.
i'm falling asleep now.
amnesty international
human rights watch
greenpeace
for an empty room:
it looks a poor installation, the smog heavy in the hot sun. and the barrenness of everything, modern day penury, oliver twist, dickensian. even beckett scrounged for joyce's cast off ties and coats, such is a life of the cerebral industrial misfit . . . without means.
and when i told cameron that love is really not privilege of the slave class, did he know what i mean? anyway love is everywhere on every corner, and the icons of yore continually renew and take new emissaries.
theories of polyamory hang heavy in my mind like a summer storm, but fear silences me, and the cruelty of some hatemail still steps on the toes of my love. but from another so much unmitigated kindness, and so much freedom, spontaneity, joy and fearlessness before old muses, straightened out the noontime panic, and set me off for the day's task, in what could only feel like human sacrifice, but with no other option . . . lest complicity do me in.
rain in LA--heaven. singing with angelic genius--heaven. the boy who sat by me on the bus--heaven.
autonomy, anarchism, fascism, power.
delineations, permissions, system's collapse.
after dustin's discourse on the lack of intelligence in simple shrimp, i have had this recurring kafkaesque sensation of being but a GI tract with nothing but a bit of flesh hanging on.
no mind.
empty clear and limpid mind.
similar to the empty glass feeling i get around a muse . . . except more sinister, more animal like, amoral, end of days.
as for speciesism.
it is lucky too i can masquerade as human, for surely the flesh-eaters would eat me too, and my days are numbered.
but as for judgement, angst ate my appetite, angst or love, which? a difference, for days . . .
and now chocolate, food of the damned . . .
it was on "lollipops and crisps" that true love lives in radiohead's true love waits song.
but all my love is true, all my loves, and maybe i can eat tomorrow, but i hope not much . . .
and that anyone can choke down a bit of blood, i envy your stomach, as even vegan food makes me want to throw up . . .
as for the blood on the walls of the abattoir, no killing here please
slow or otherwise
apologies for my heart's meeting in space, with the long letters sent
and even longer unsent
and formulating phrases for the people who might be there, practicing forgotten languages
as though they meant things
sea creatures without shell
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