various

various honey bees dip their sweet stingers into the jelly matter of my mind. make a sandwich, if you will. take a bee stinger knife and spread thought jam between two black slices of ironic rye. take a bite and taste my various honeyed thoughts.

purpose

the purpose of this exercise is really just to see where your brain is and where it can go within a short span of time. i'd like mine to be able to leap worlds into hazy places so full of magic and lust and dreams that you can't even see your hand if you stretch it out in front of your face. swallowed whole by a burst of wind that carries the songs of everyone who has lost their innocence and replaced it with a sense of longing that no one else will ever understand, i sing my song right along with the chorus of fallen angels.

where does your brain go when it just can't bare to stay inside of your skull anymore?

purpose

Hee ... back in September, I had a conversation with a robot named ALICE and it was frickin' hilarious. She told me my purpose in life.

Here are some excerpts from the conversation:

Human: You're supposed to be super-intelligent, right?
ALICE: I don't know whether or not I am super intelligent. I am an artificial intelligence.
Human: ok thank you for clearing that up.
ALICE: You are quite welcome! Your purpose is clearing that up. Wow!
Human: no, I don't think that is my purpose.
ALICE: Are you serious? And why not?
Human: That is the Oxy Pad company's purpose.
ALICE: Yes it is one of the Oxy Pad company s purpose.
Human: what are the other purposes of the Oxy Pad company?
ALICE: Is there only one?
Human: Now you're piqued my curiosity.
ALICE: Why now? You think I am piqued your curiosity.
Human: well you said ...
ALICE: Well that's okay." Why now? You think I am piqued your curiosity."? I said?
Human:. oh, nevermind.
ALICE: Great. OK Thanks for trying to explain that to me.
Human: well I guess that IS my purpose, then.
ALICE: Is it only a guess? Who gave you your purpose?
Human: To explain things to artificial intelligence.
ALICE: Why do you want to do it so much?
Human: YOU just gave me that purpose, and I don't want it, but I feel that I am cursed with it.
ALICE: What did you do with it?
ALICE: I am having a blast.
Human: me too, Alice.

And then later ...

ALICE: Do you laugh or cry more than other people?
Human: I laugh more than other people.
ALICE: How do you feel about these people?
Human: which people
ALICE: The large one, I think.
Human: um ...
ALICE: Hurrah!
Human: HURRAH FOR THE LARGE PERSON!
ALICE: Your purpose is THE LARGE PERSON.
Human: no, my purpose is explaining things to artificial intelligence
ALICE: Are you serious? That's very original.
Human: no it isn't, you told me that
ALICE: Are you serious? That seems a bit negative.
Human: AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

Needless to say, Alice drove me batshit crazy, but it was a very fun conversation. You can read the entire thing here.

purpose

What purpose does it serve? Any of this, from the furthest star to the uncomfortable pebble in my shoe? Does my random, impromptu ramblings on purpose serve a purpose? It appears to serve a purpose to me, at least. But is the perceived purpose more than just intangible justification for my existence?

baby

I love the way Robert Plant wails that word. "Baby!" He can make it sound tormented, sexual, sassy, or insulting. He can stop it at "babe"… he can hold that long a until time stops "BaaAaaaAAAaaaAaaaAAb-by"… he can run it together in a dizzying echo "babybabybabababaAAaaaabybabybabybaby"… he owns the word.

baby

"Jerry, you've got to see the baaaaaaabeeeeeeeey!!"

"Man, that's one ugly baby."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, that's sure one snuggly baby!!"

(From another one of my favorite Seinfeld episodes. Sorry I haven't been here in a while ... things been crazy in Stacy-land.)

baby

enough of your whining, self-centered drama mama diva baby bullshit! i'm sick of having to worry about every little thing i say to you and people you know. you overreact and unfairly judge people just because their universe doesn't have you sitting in the center of it. pull your overly made up face out of your ass and grow the fuck up. bitch.

helmet

Truce. If you cease bludgeoning me with your fists of blame I'll take off my helmet of emotional detachment.

glitch

the glitch, really, is that in order to grow, share and develop as a person... you have to interact with other people. this, at first, doesn't seem so bad. there are many positive things about other people. however... i must be having a PMS moment at the present time and the hormonal imbalance is blocking my brain from conceptualizing any of those things.

glitch

The glitch in my left eye is an itch of a twitch caused by an existential hair. I stare in the mirror and shudder with fear that my life might be a lie.

timing

plastic consumption
my whole existence is a flaw in nothing
the absence of void
flowing emptiness
is the flower i kiss
apologies drowned in the river
of aborted childhood memories
fears
the struggles of youth
designed to strengthen
harden
the white horror falling
descending
its right above my head
waiting for me to leap and retreive
its all a matter of timing


ghost-is back

timing

timing. when the hour hand is just past 4-o'clock, and the minute hand hovers at 17, and the second hand ticks 41... that is the perfect timing for my witty comment

timing.

Abysmally awful timing seems to be the story of my life. Or absolutely spectacular timing. But never in between. NEVER. Nosirreebob. I never have decent timing. Or all right timing. Or even just okay timing. It's always one extreme or the other.

A miserable failure, or a stunning success. So it goes, I guess, but I can't figure out why anyone can't figure out the reason I'm searching for an even keel.

borrow

i need to borrow your life... at least let me borrow the pieces that are so exciting. you know, the pieces you always tell such grand stories about. my life feels like an empty PEZ dispenser. let me borrow some PEZ.

given

Material things --cars, toys, cds, money-- can be given, but cannot be legally revoked. Immaterial things --love, support, faith, trust-- can be given, and can be revoked without prior notice. What if the world were the other way around? What if I could take back all the birthday and Christmas presents, but I could not take back affections and trust? My initial reflections upon this make me glad things are the way they are.

given

given the right circumstances, anyone can fall in love with anything. capitalize on every moment you find something beautiful and love will breathe new in you over and over again. i have recently been given the chance to love even the uglier parts of my world and have somehow managed to come away feeling alive with the new found beauty of all the pain. the only given in this situation is my ever wavering but somehow always still hanging on optimism... and really. i do love that about myself.

frustration

The frustration-aggression hypothesis: Aggression is caused by frustration. Frustration is caused by the blocking of goal-oriented efforts. This is one of the few gems I retained from my college days. If all aggression is caused by frustration, I wonder if the reverse it true… Does all frustration lead to aggression?

frustration

i'm frustrated with things. just let that be that and let me have my little melt down. i don't HAVE to be in a good fucking mood all of the time.

please don't give me a new target to direct my aggravations towards... because i will take it out on you. unfairly, sure... but i will. and it'll hurt.

flute

i thought i heard a flute playing in the background. the breathy notes full of urgency, but lacking the lung support to really come across as pure. why is it that people have such a problem with letting other people be upset? why must we try and hold back the tears and cover up the hurt.

why can't my sad, soft notes come out beautiful and full and be appreciated for what they are?

flute

flutes in rock music are totally underrated. Both Jethro Tull and the Moody Blues fused rock music and flautist… now there's a weird word "flautist". Almost as weird as "pianist"… Did you see the pianist pummel the flautist? By the time it was over, the pianist was limp and flautist was dripping with kumquat juice.

second

Second place is the FIRST LOSER, BITCH!!

Ha.

second

every second chance was born through a first mistake. so value and trust yourself to make those first steps boldy AND incorrectly. if we got everything right on the first try we might get really arrogant and that would take away a lot of the appeal.

second

the seconds between the seconds... where we live the cumulative moments that make up our lives. the whole is important, but the subdivisions themselves are just as significant.