This is a test. This is only a test.
This isn't the real thing. In the event of the actual real thing, we would not call this a test.
I was forward thinking on that particular mild afternoon in December, the rate of thought only increased as I doubled my medication accidentally, and then after a rather unpleasant solitary psychological implosion, I was calm again, but in an intense kinesthetic superhuman type of way, and my mind was showing off it's superior creative power, speed, charming brilliance.
I had to pass the test or I would not graduate this semester.
The last point I made before the clock struck midnight and the stupid cuckoo popped out and reminded me yet again that I was doing the right thing breaking up with you because you had no sense of class and you would always be a person who thought nothing of it to display a cuckoo clock in the living room and minded not that this type of ornament was - at the least - tacky, but especially a reflection of the demise of a psychological connection between a couple.
The cuckoo was not the problem so much as the problem was the words we exchanged while it cuckooed.
The last point I tried to make was for you. It was going to happen this time. In four days, we would get the news and the news would be what we want it to be and would change our lives and we would be happy again. The point was to make you believe that the streets we walked through tonight would be paved with gold and honey in four days. The pavement on which we strode this evening was smooth and familiar, but we would not miss it when it turned to gold. I felt myself smile as I thought of your disbelief. I handed you a shovel and asked you to bury that cuckoo clock if the phone didn't ring in four days.
I wasn't looking for myself when I found myself this time.
This time, I found myself when I wasn't looking.
I found myself this time when I wasn't looking.
I wasn't looking when I found myself this time.
This time, I found myself when I wasn't looking.
When I found myself this time I wasn't looking.
(I cannot figure this out right now and it is driving me crazy.)
This time I wasn't looking = the same ratio of this other mathematical entity which I choose not to acknowledge. I have an extremely aggravating headache but the weather is a
reminder that she will not be ignored and David Engstrom passed away yesterday acutely cutting off the long line of stoic survivors I have thought of when I think of being so
thirsty for life that one may defy all odds and have velvet embraces and pick you up with their gaze, and they hold you where you are forever, and you hold yourself ever so
slightly, because you could be next. Godspeed, David. Catch up with you in a long time, love.
Obscure keys may open simple locks, but simple keys obscure locks never.
Is my favorite line from my favorite novel and favorite writer. Samuel Beckett's "Watt" was one of the many novels I had to read in my college Modern Literature class. Modern Lit was much more difficult to master than the class which preceeded it, "Romantic Literature." Romantic Lit was not easy but I adored the class from the first day - I was moved by the passion of my professor, his lectures gave us thoughtful insight and brilliant stories about the pieces and the lives of the writers, the awesomeness of the aesthetic experience (drug-induced or not) and the high art inspired by the Age of Enlightenment of William Blake, Wordsworth, Percy and Mary Shelley, Lord Byron, and more - the writers and poets fascinated me with their lifestyles and the influence of the opium hazes in which they painted words and you felt alive and almost Haight Street hippy happiness when you read and studied their work. The class was difficult, but the material, the professor 's love for sharing the writing with us, and the new philosophy we aquired, also aquired an A in the class. That was a rare mark for me my senior year. They make you work hard before they hand you that degree; I don't care if you hear different because you heard wrong. College is hard.
Anyway, I made it through another class English majors must take in order to graduate, I had survived and passed Chaucer and I was beginning to believe I had a fighting chance of actually graduating from college. I knew I still had a long way to go because time goes by very slowly during those college years, and I know I still had a lot of reading, writing, and thinking considerately about the billions of pages of words I still had yet to conquer, but I thought Modern I took Modern Literature the second semester of my senior year at Florida State University and the third semester.
I found the truest love of my academic life right there in that musty, dungy white colored but very well lit classroom in the old Williams Building - that ancient renownedcampus legacy of a building where my heart first beat with the beginning of a new love of a way of thinking I never knew I could be so absolute in its essence.
To be continued.
In the middle we begin
This is the story of the end
And every ending
Begins again.
The power of the meaning of words
I had a walk with my dog and was able to amble along in the full moon and empty dark streets of a Sunday evening in the city.
I thought about social networks.
My girlfriend was always telling me how unsure she was that I was able to perform simple processes - many of which I considered instinctual and second-nature. That meant nothing compared to what I actually knew I was no good at.
Okay, I said, "I can take a joke." I began to shuffle down the opposite direction of the atrium corridor and I began to focus on a new plot, but I needed a new persona first, then the intangible
and it's obscurities would be a natural consequence.
In an effort to prove the power of the meaning of words, I will launch my latest metaphysical awareness campaign: Speaking in one-word sentences. And as I waited for my mom to pick me up from
school I was reading an essay written by a Hawaiian clown who used to teach French Revolutionary Architecture but decided to write in order to teach and he wrote well for a clown I suppose - as I
waited the notion struck me between the lines that this constant quest to transcend the shallow traditional surface of society and judgment, I was not operating inside the function of my mission
to master world domination.
The second time I was administered mouth-to-mouth recsessitation was the second time it wasn't necessary, and was the event that spurred me to embark immediately to see a specialist.
I always thought of myself as the dangerous type. Obviously.
But it's like all the times I thought too much about the aforementioned equations. A house and a home are not going to solve my problems. Like, I don't have any problems, and surely I don't need
a house and a home to prove that I need something else to think about.
Bright Star
Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.
The Elimination of Logical Thinking
Today is the first day of the rest of your series of other first days of your life. You always can be uncertain whether or not you have this particular day to begin again. You always may be certain that you will always be uncertain. You start planning immediately; you have an unmeasured time allotted for this interpretation of the state of your fixation. You sit in front of whatever clever type of technology or paper or sticky-note system which provides you with the encouragement to begin your plan. But after a few scribbles and a change in barometric pressure, you decide that you have accomplished a decent amount of planning, just by the act of starting to think about planning. Then you walk into your backyard to see if there is enough gas in the lawn mower to do a few rows, and your phone rings.
Two Tequila Mockingbird songs aired on Jake Schroeder's Mountain Homegrown show on 99.5.FM The Mountain!
As always, thanks for your love and support!
Listen here:
EVERYTHING'S NOT ALRIGHT http://www2.995themountain.com/listen/mountain-homegrown-show-march-22-2010
BLUE
http://www2.995themountain.com/listen/mountain-homegrown-show-feb-15-2010-part-1
How did you ever let yourself get so far?
When was the last time that you bothered to even notice at all?
It doesn't take one mistake to turn the sunrise inside out
Gradually the daylight disolves what you believed you were all about.
I'm in
the prime
of my life
Yeah
I'm in
the prime of my life
How come the letters of the words are all misspelled?
When was the last time your meaningfulness went to hell
I'm in
the prime
of my life
Yeah
I'm in
the prime of my life
Oh yeah.
"You have to decide to make something out of nothing," the words in my little black notebook were in my handwriting, the notebook is one of a dozen or so that I have filled with words, stories, random and specific to my narrative inquiry and tangled existential self-speculation.
I told you I would break your heart. I had an idea that you would be less fragile, though.
http://www.rtqe.net/ObliqueStrategies/Acute.html
Mas o Menos by w. clark
I had made an important decision that drizzly December lunch our, a choice that might have been a major turning point, or one that made me realize I couldn’t trust myself, control molecular
mutations that were implanted in my DNA, but were fertilized by the irony of life and made me older, smarter, and a riddle unto my own psyche.
I left the office promptly at 11:45 am and it took the usual 3 minutes to get from my desk to the elevator to the front door and down the dozen stairs to the front green and I swiftly broke
right up Maroon Hill two blocks west, slushing hurriedly up to the garden gates, and then made haste past the goat petting zoo.
Temporary images whirled past me as I lost more seconds of my hour and tore down to the Landing, the hillside slanted toward sea level and my spine started to burn as my speed increased, the
spring humidity filling my lungs with heavy water and my terror elevated to a state of shocking horror for that which broke so many on the same journey to the ends of the earth, the
beginnings of the ends of the furiously confused souls who came before me, live amongst me, and will be as unclean with sense of extreme compound awe, as we run past the calm,
self-controlled, the composed egos whose filthy poised smirks made our thoughts race faster than our throbbing hearts as we stole away from the sun and found ourselves caught between the past
and the future, between the land and the sky, the true and the false, not by choice, but by the means in which we ran though life with desperation and glory. We were born running, we choked
on our conscious intensity, and eventually we realize would all die running.
I just wasn’t sure where I was going, but I had to keep on, or let the world stop and close me in its carriage, the cradles of the casual, the place you stop to take a breath is the last exit
on the last highway.
Gravity pulled me down the street and I lunged forward as hard as I could, fearing and seemingly unfearful of the fact that my little heart felt determined to blow up in its madness to pump
blood into my pulsating limbs, but also my clear head, falling into the ground, falling before I could get anywhere, falling before I reached the new race, the next step to the next step, the
next path that always awoke and stirred my soul.
I stumbled on the gravel and drove forth to the liquid at the end of the Landing, the people and children and dogs and boats were the same day after day with faces of security and familiar
sanctuary.
I dove into the shallow water and cried the familiar war cry of the storyteller who finally realized to give up on ever ending a tale. Nothing ever ends anyway.
3-19-10
"Better take cover," I said seconds prior to the covers taking us.
Today is the first day of the rest of your series of other first days of your life. You always can be uncertain whether or not you have this particular day to begin again. You always may be
certain that you will always be uncertain. You start planning immediately; you have an unmeasured time allotted for this interpretation of the state of your fixation. You sit in front of whatever
clever type of technology or paper or sticky-note system which provides you with the encouragement to begin your plan. But after a few scribbles and a change in barometric pressure, you decide
that you have accomplished a decent amount of planning, just by the act of starting to think about planning. Then you walk into your backyard to see if there is enough gas in the lawn mower to do
a few rows, and your phone rings.
“Hello?”
The silence on the other end of your line is intolerable, so you utter a short sequence of charming “un-thank yous” and you realize that you have to call your friend in Chicago who is sick and
could be dying; meanwhile your guitar looks like it needs to be played. You can’t figure out a chord, so you pick up the remote but nothing is on except your love’s favorite show, which you can’t
watch be cause this is the first day of the rest of your year, and so you think about ordering a pizza but your debit card is downstairs and the cat just puked and the ice has already melted in
your class.
“Hello?”
You walk around in circles until you decide its not worth it and maybe the tag phrase should be today is the last day of your life but that seems psychologically unhealthy and you need to sleep
it off.
Any challenges you open your sleepy eyes to are self-imposed. For instance, you must own your own mind. You can’t always control it, but you have got to own it. You have to obey or disobey its
compulsions, and you have to accept its troubles and randomizations. You can’t organize it, but you can know the danger of its capacity to scramble and ramble. You can tell yourself many things
you want to believe, but unless you compromise with it, your intentions won’t be articulated as obligations. You have to be consistent, impressionistic, reasonable, adjustable, and playful. No
one can think for oneself without wandering about some madness, and at times madness may be the purpose, the map, the ambiguity that makes all challenges the exact electricity which makes your
mind’s universe.
So! Before you retrace your steps, either find the nearest exit or forgive yourself for thinking that you are completely capable of withstanding any retrospection. We all have a certain level of
faith and love for ourselves, but we hesitate to remember (time after time) that our mind’s love is unrequited at times.
I found myself today. I found myself yesterday. Don’t worry about how or where or why. You need to worry about yourself. I am in good standing with myself. I don’t know how you see me, but I need
you to look at yourself instead of me. I am lost and found, and the circle will never be unbroken.
Ask yourself questions; but believe nothing you say is universal truth. Again, I don’t know how you see me, I only see what I ask of you to see me as, and I ask you to see me without judgment,
without pity, without expectations; I will in turn see you just as I see myself. I will see a conjunction of suggestion, a highway overlooking the inexactness which I gander and gather, and I
will speak no evil, see no evil, nor hear no evil. I will tell myself to have an open mind, an unspoken heart, and a thousand broken souls unnerving me at every moment I let myself go. I will
obey and deceive while I coincide and conflict. I will not hurt you any more or less unless I am hurting. But, that’s me. I will listen, confide, retreat, capture, release, stalk, haunt, freak,
steal, believe, deny, accuse, refuse, abuse, lose, win, practice, preach, reach, storm, mourn, shock, fall, get up, fall again, risk, gamble, promise, forget, relive, regret, write, ask, answer,
explain, walk away, run away, stumble back, call, hang up, create, criticize, speculate, spit it out, move, stay, fear, hope, play, work, tumble, crumble, relive, revive, listen, whisper, break,
shake, ache, take, fake, love, shove, test, quiz, examine, graduate, imitate, cringe, cry, die, believe, remind, reconsider, reconsider, reconsider, reconsider, prove, contend, mend, bend,
reason, rationalize, agonize, plead, please, smile, agree, follow, lead, rock, roll, and rest. I will be on my own side of my mind, the inside of what’s truly only mine, and I will have to be
patient until you find me there: for you and I will celebrate your own story.
What are you going to do to make yourself feel real?