'We once lived in a world of wonder. We now live in a world blessed with our own shame and ignorance. Everything we ever wanted is coming to be and nobody actually gives a shit.'

This is quickly turning into a music blog! More music of the supreme:

Out there, someone's listening.

everything

Inside every black hole contains a universe. The more matter that falls into said black hole; determines the greater the rate (time), size and mass at which that universe grows. A black hole existed in some other universe - and as more matter was acquired by it over time it became a Universe-in-mass black hole - and within its singularity a new universe was born - our universe - along with its own unique physical laws. A possibly infinite number of these black holes exist throughout scattered universes, each one slowly aging into entropy until somewhere yet another universe is birthed. Every universe has a half-life. Its rate of expansion is set by how much matter falls inward due to another universal force - let us call it 'dark energy.' This cycle is yet another process of stellar and cosmic evolution, as the matter provided so far in creation has only once been found to bear life, here on Earth. I think the answer to 'what is the universe?' is quite clear - plain staring us in the face. But there are some deeper questions now. Why this universe? Why these rules? Could have it been made differently? These are things Einstein had asked. These are questions for which the answers may never be known and we move beyond the realm of science and religion and into the realm of Lovecraftian horror (because the true reality of how it all came to be would terrify us I believe). There is nothing but silence out in space, Earth is an island of biological evolutionary triumph (and stupidity, har,har) - I think there is a reason for this. I will note that this is all speculation, and there's no real way to dispute the hard scientific facts but it's still fun to think about it. For what purpose or end does it exist? Has it none? Is it here just to ensure the proliferation of sentience because it is actually an extremely rare evolutionary event? To what end does it all serve? Has it an 'end?' Well...on that note, I bring this discussion to an end. I think we best live out our days in honor and glory, for the love of everything dear. I think we only get one shot at this thing we call 'life' - and it solely determines the value of everything contained within life - like the properties of a Universe-in-mass black hole, now there's an idea!

I believe we should be handing out compact discs of Mozart in the streets. Get these people hooked. Maybe they'll play it for their children, maybe they'll play it for their elderly, or maybe not. Who knows? But I strongly believe that music is a tool as much as a weapon;, to flood their ears with higher, nobler truths. In the world of today, we don't need religion to know the voice of God, all you need is a piano.

This week, I've been off work so I've taken the time to get out more.

Last night I walked the streets for hours. No time for bars. I've got nowhere to go, nothing to do, no one to be home to. I've had a lot of time to waste, which is good. I feel that by walking I can get an even closer look into things; see the glint of broken glass on the pavement first hand. I missed the bus on University Ave and had to walk all the way to 58th to catch the last one of the night. Buses don't run late here, no later than 11:30pm which is outrageous compared to the Baltimore/NYC or any major city standard. The air has settled into a nose-drying, throat coughing briskness. No moisture. Aired. There is a tinge of static electricity in the atmosphere that keeps the hairs on your arms standing upright, and if you're not sick or ill from it, the feeling keeps you alert and awake. Makes you want for coffee or mint tea. Still walking to the stop in the darkness, hands in my pockets. I'm surrounded by auto repair shops, tortillerias, adult boutiques and old movie theaters converted to episcopalian churches. We're near Euclid Ave now, the 'Bend as it's called because University Ave literally 'bends' mid-city around Oak-Park. I've even heard it referred to it as 'the elbow' for the same reason but also pertaining to the frequent muggings and beatings that happen here. But on this Sunday, they're wasn't much going down. A perfect night for observation gleaming. Across the street from 58th stand two Moreton Bay Fig trees, planted ages ago when the city was young and have become synonymous with this city - A giant stands in Balboa Park that I climbed as a boy. Strange things emerge and disappear from the shadows - the local hoodlum take on a ghastly appearance, shifting back and forth under the lamps of crime-light inspection. The bus arrives and I'm on my way home. Back to the safety of my room. More to come Later this week.

"...it was on the tip of everyone's tongue. Tyler and I just gave it a name."

4:46pm

Today they came for the car that had served as their home for 3 months. The man - multiple narcotics violations, petty theft, had served jail-time before. His voice was hoarse as a dry riverbed from all the drugs and alcohol that he had washed down over the years. The female - older, mid-50's, not much on her. She really got me. As the police loaded the car onto the flatbed tow-truck, I could hear her cries - tears that could fill an entire planet with oceans, a world of thunderstorms and agony. "How did it come to this?" I hear King Theoden's words bouncing off the castle walls...A people turned to exile, no room, no stars, a place where the people roam lost. There was a social worker, bald white man in a grey tweed sport coat to provide counsel to the couple. He spoke mostly to the female, The male fleeing across the street in a fit of rage. For them today was a visit to hell. They lost everything. Intervention came for them too late. Would she go to a shelter? Would they be out on the streets? I have more hope for the woman than I do the man. Today I bear witness to what the various stages of abandonment, depression, addiction, can do to people. It turns people feral, expels them from themselves. Today I stare at injustice face to face. What can we do, what can I do, to reign in true justice among my fellow people?

Another stunning song. There's been an increase in homelessness around the city heights neighborhood as San Diego becomes more like its ugly big sister, Los Angeles. Outside my apartment, homeless couple living out of their car. The car isn't working. It sits up on blocks as the man pulls parts off the machine, leaving trash and the car's guts lying everywhere. The car is packed full of personal belongings. They've been there 3 days. The recession has killed the hope of some people.

This song is smooth as fuck.

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/10/15/162949884/for-about-20-cardboard-bicycle-could-change-the-world-inventor-says

Rain falling on the roof @ 3:00am. Beautiful. Went outside a little while ago. The air smells great. Hasn't rained in months. Finally, the long, hot summer of 2012 has packed its bags. The air has been washed clean of over 6 months of constant stench, pollution and heat in SD. I am ready for you, cold. I am ready to be comfortable again, I am able to deal with you cold. It's easier to cool down than it is to heat up. Now I can start putting things into order.

Solitude is a hard won ally. Faithful and patient .Rollins

Follow me @ http://velospace.org/user/35164

This week I bring you one of Kondo's most exhilarating jazz works. Part industrial, part avant-garde jazz, this Bowie-esque album provides the listener with a quiet, disconnected musical experience. The music is clearly inspired by Miles and Handcock but its coupled with unique Japanese flair and electronic beats. The way Kondo warps the sound of the trumpet gives this album depth and a darkness that contemporary jazz lacks - and yes, I'm talking about that crap you hear playing live @ every coffeehouse around the country. This classic 80s album wipes the floor with all that crap. Hard to find, but it's definitely worth a listen.

One pedal crank over the other cruising, cursing the streets. Left, right, left, right. I hear your empire-down.

The days go on and on frenzied
I think if you were to lay beside me
I could finally close my eyes
And get some sleep

The music. THE MUSIC.

Local California Noir

Published in 2007, Drift is a novel composed of various intersecting narratives that encapsulate the city of rage, the San Diego city space and the sea of lives that inhabit it. The central narrative follows the life Joe Blake, a downwardly mobile part-time English professor as he falls in love with a former student, Theresa Sanchez, a single mother struggling to find herself in the midst of the daily grind. As the connection between the two of them becomes more intense, they discover a common yearning for a more authentic life, a deeper sense of being that a city like San Diego just doesn't provide. On their journey they explore the meaning of identity, community, sexuality, spirituality, and justice. As Blake wanders through the county's wasteland, the reader encounters a drunken sailor and a prostitute. Later, the novel follows the descent of one of Joe's students into homelessness and insanity. This narrative is juxtaposed with that of a pious office worker fleeing to the suburbs of San Diego at rush hour. As the novel continues, the minor characters include a retired cannery worker, a flophouse resident, a cultural critic, an editor, a labor organizer, a Vietnamese immigrant working in a restaurant, a Somalian taxi driver, a maid in a desert motel, a speed addict, an elderly blues man, a suicidal businessman, and others. Their stories range from the sacred to the profane and take the reader to a wide range of locations both physical and mental. What I really always liked about this book is Miller's historical narrative inserts. Seems everything godly and ancient is quickly destroyed in the materialistic confusion that a place like San Diego generates. Readers of Henry Rollins' Killifornia or Visitors To Los Angeles will appreciate this important piece of narrative. Don't come here. There is nothing to see. In sum, Drift is a philosophical, historical, and political novel that challenges the reader to really look at the price of living somewhere that has only one thing going for it: nice weather (and having lived here so long, that really is the only thing SD has going for it). It is a journey that, hopefully, will result in both discovery and more questioning in trying to unravel America's 'Finest City'.

fantastic.

I'm over it. Too much wasted time. Too many late nights. The graveyard wants all of you. It wants your sleep, your life. Moves the bike out from between your legs. Its taken from this blog. I can't begin or go into all the factors, but I'm ready to move on to another profession. Something more personal, something with more humility. Something real that I actually enjoy. I used to feel good when I started, now I just see the laziness, rampant workplace violations, and gross incompetence of everyone. Working for a small business is a bad idea. Sure, it's a steady paycheck, but they want all of you. I hate employers who place everything on the worker - from job duties to getting a schedule covered. It's very unprofessional. I'm out this bitch.

Must share. Great undercover work. Get them criminals.

http://www.npr.org/2012/09/01/160386904/in-bike-friendly-copenhagen-highways-for-cyclists

A hero can be as simple as a man putting his coat around a child's shoulders and reassuring him the world hadn’t ended yet .BM

light up that dark jazz...

'The character is of men, never ever of mice' Q dropping Steinbeck. Like!

The following is an analysis I wrote some time ago after reading one of Joyce's most prized shorts titled, Eveline.

 “Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest way 'round is the shortest way home.”
― Ulysses  (really what James took from bicycling around Dublin before retiring to his office to write.)

You can find a link to the original text to Eveline here http://www.online-literature.com/james_joyce/959/  

Eveline – James Joyce analysis
The first two paragraphs describe/set the mood for the piece by giving us an idea of Eveie’s past. The death of her mother. The relationship she has with her brothers and with her father. She is expected to assume the role of ‘mother/woman’ before she’s even had a chance to experience girlhood. This sets the mood for the piece. Eveie’s situation can best be described as alone, isolated, unable to experience true love and leave with Frank due to her past experiences and social obligations. This adds to her alienation thus chastising her; in turn this highlights the pressures that a 19th/early 20th century woman faced/faces in a pre-feminist era and no doubt women and girls still experience today. Evie is drawn to Frank because he is everything that she has not-experienced. He sails the open seas, is eccentric and he’s seen lands and experienced things she can only dream of doing with him. The resistance to leave her old life; sever her ties and act on a leap of faith (journey to Buenos Ares) with him highlights her inner conflict. A great social chastity belt imposed on her by family and the social expectations of others.

The smell of cretonne in the curtains is a direct reference to her memories. The smell of cretonne (a chemical used in heavy cotton draperies in the 19th-early 20th century) give off a very musty, old book like scent that is not unfamiliar to those walking into and old bookshop or antique store. The scent is quite nostalgic and we remember, along with Eveline, the days of old and glory, when her mother was still alive, when her father was happy, and her brothers young and playful; innocence, comfort, peace and home.

The conclusion of Evie's story, or better yet her own epiphany, reveals that she is not ready to be with Frank or anyone, and even perhaps, must find her own way. She speaks innermost with God to direct her in the best path possible, but in the end something stirs her and she cannot bear the burden of being Frank’s burden on the voyage to Buenos Ares. She flinches and leaves him at the guardrail. He is left leaving in confusion, giving him no sign of love, farewell or recognition. She freezes up – and the sea cries out in anguish, which, as described in her monologue, can best be summed up by Frank’s cries…”Eveline! Evvvvvieeeee!”

These narrative devices possess the quality of the classic heroine…self/internal conflict; of the desires of others verses the desire for liberation and to break free – to be a woman, avoiding the extremities of martyrdom that Joan of Arc or Mother Mary had to meet. It’s about freeing oneself from the world of men, in search of something greater, becoming at last a holy woman, a mother. Perhaps, unlike the myth of the hero for males, the woman is cast down; and only through the hellfire of her past is she able to emerge and find the true love within herself.

A window into America's Finest Pity.

Hot nights and still air. Summer nights and a sinister moon sitting suspended over the city, blurred by a haze of pollution. Tonight's track from 4:47 onward is solitude. A fortress of power.

Success can only be measured by three things: failure, introspection and courage .Soichiro Honda

Long before the legendary NSX and s2000, Honda's first production 'vehicle,' was their bicycle powered by a 2-stroke motor.

I think I may take a short hiatus from this writing business and focus (at least for the next few days?) on music that breathes life into a lot of these empty nights. Nights that 'draw out like a long blade' as Red put it in Shawshank Redemption. Much of this stuff I find simply by digging around cyberspace, I don't really waste my time with vinyl, although that kind of digging is fun too. They come up to me with words of praise at the coffeehouse. They must really play a lot of crap in the bars and clubs. It's a great feeling knowing I have converted them to my cult of music taste. It would be cool to guest DJ, I think music can either make or break a small business, and it's important to set the right mood. Loud isn't always good. I found chill is always better, a 'less is more' kind of thing works best in trying to cultivate a social atmosphere. I play strictly what I listen to. Profanity and everything else. If it offends - it's obviously not for them. A butch lesbian was amazed the other night - "Is that Romeo Void?" their debut song, 'Say No' blaring in the tape deck. She was enthused. Like a strait man couldn't possibly like Riot Grrrl rock?! Well, Pre-Riot Grrrl in the case of Void. "Yes, yes it is" I reply to her through clenched teeth, as I'm reloading coffee hoppers. Her smile carries over into check-out time. Cobain once said he would have been, '...proud to have been a New Waver back in the 80s' during a chat with Much Music Interview. Thought the Wave really broke down some walls, no pun intended. In which case, I hope the music I play does too. I just hate the impersonal nature of pop music and how dulled people have become to the Starbucks treatment. It's a total buzz kill. For good listening, see the post below.

A super chill mix for tonight's ride.

Pretty interesting stuff. http://www.dailygalaxy.com/my_weblog/2012/07/stephen-hawking-has-launched-the-most-powerful-shared-memory-supercomputer-in-europe.html#more

Very impressed by Dark knight Rises. Nolan stayed true and delivered an awesome finale. Most importantly, was its hope (for a dark, Batman film?!) which I can really appreciate.

Is any of it ever real? Time is a predator that hunts down memories. So maybe it's better to just let them go? I fear my memories are in a desperate struggle for survival - I'm the only one who can save them; sometimes they mean so little to other people. They help time. Amazing how the people we know transform back into strangers they once were. That's when it's really gone.

What I've learned through failure becomes a precious part of me, strengthening me in everything I do. So let the tough things make you tougher! .Soichiro Honda

Things are changing. But nothing changes. And still, there will be changes soon .Enigma

RISE

It's cool how culturally relevant the Dark Knight's story is to today's socioeconomic climate. And it's personal. It's real. You feel the recession on Bruce's shoulders, his own guilt, the madness of all the empty faces, the despair of the millions displaced by corporate hegemony. While Bruce is part (financially) of the 1%, his own personal tragedy is what really compels him to fight for the underdog. To use his wealth and influence to dish out the pain on the powerful and corrupt who deserve it. Tragedy knows no economic bounds, and after many years of internal struggle, the socioeconomic climate requires a hero to rise again.

I'm very exited for Nolan's final film of the series.

Hugs are life-starters .Freeman

Exhaustion's sitting at the foot of the bed when I stumble in from work in the morning. Exhaustion makes me feel tired and haggard around the face...Makes the feet ache, the hands numb and the eyes sting. She doesn't understand and we've been through this many, many times. Exhaustion never wants to hear me venting about how fucking horrible the night-shift was because Exhaustion does what she always does - telling me to suck it up and deal with her. I could sleep or sleep with Exhaustion for hours and still wake up with my cock inside her, she knows me that well. Together we are locked in a game of tug-of-war, her vice grips forcing my eye-lids down - the way sand bags weigh down a hot-air balloon; the Titanic taking on all that water as it took a dive for the bottom... Exhaustion loves it when she brings me there, to the bottom. Her attitude reflects all the strangers that pass me and wander the streets there - washed out and draining. I have seriously considered breaking up with Exhaustion...damn near abusive I tell ye. Gonna call Rejuvenescence tomorrow. Gonna take that babe out for tea. Gonna make PLANS with that one. Gonna turn things around. Rejuvenescence is a lot different. She hydrates me, gives me back my swagger, turns to kiss me, gives me advice, restores my energy... Rejuvenescence comes like a class of water - she always gives me back myself.

Somebody who follows a crowd never gets further than the crowd. If you walk alone, do your own thing, you'll find yourself in places nobody has ever been .Einstein

Voyager re-watch. Although 'Ashes to Ashes' lacks some continuity with the rest of what's happened on Voyager thus far - I have to say that it was a damn good episode. Probably the best episode of Season 6. After being killed in an away mission, Lindsey Ballard is brought back to life by ETs who re-animate her body after burial at space. Garrett Wang (as Ensign Harry Kim) does an outstanding job with his acting, he is the man! I highly recommend this episode and this series. Contrary to all the Voyager haters out there - it's magic.

I am the sun

Your smile is a precious gift to me. It's a rare treat, like hovering above a galaxy and seeing the only planet within it suitable for life. Out of 400 billion stars. A globed jewel in a region of space otherwise inhospitable to life. I would try to make a landing, but the task of such a mission leaves me laughing. The rules, the distance, the time it would take to get through to you. I'm sure there's plenty of other stellar phenomena in the way - and along the way. I'm sure you've narrowly escaped supernovae, avoided near asteroid collisions, seen all life within you extinguished, marked time after time by catastrophe. In all the eons that have passed I've seen you go from molten fissures to icy cold sheerness; all the way back again to bring and to bear new life in your landscapes. I've seen your shores polluted by the lies of many, seen them taunt and abuse your terrain, damming your rivers and stealing your heart. I've seen the promise of your surface, what things - how they sometimes mislead. But I have glimpsed your core as well, my globular sweet - so that even I, a Sun may find comfort warming myself by your center's fire and heat. For here it is told, that I am the sun, together we make a pair, but our system is one.

You can hear the keys being pressed into the piano's housing. Simply amazing.

Getting a lot of positive feedback on my graveyard shifts. Nearly everyone who walks up to the counter says I should be a DJ. Nearly all the albums I play no one has ever heard of, so they tell me. Damn, I must be doing something right? Been thinking about starting an internet radio station. The feedback confirms that I know I play the best music, kinda like Rob Gordon.

Only the best.

"...so now that the sun has set on this failed city, let us not raise our voices above a whisper. Let us not look into each-other's eyes, let us be safe in darkness, silence and still our hearts for a moment, or many moments. But most importantly, let us forget - until the cities are reclaimed by nature, until denial and greed have finally dried up all that once flowed, until the lie has perished, until all is as it should be, until next time." - Nights Behind the Treeline .Rollins

'...when no more light is left, only Music (in the form of radiowaves) will remain in the Universe..."

Interstellar Medium

Visions. There's a ranch house at the end of long, featureless road. Their are acres of land all around this ranch, tall grass blowing in the dry wind. There are curtains blowing in the kitchen. A warm cup of coffee sits on the kitchen table. A cigarette is burning in the ashtray resting on the steps of the enclosed porch. Their is a familiarity about this place that keeps me here. A pound of Earth inside you that speaks my name. Memories of our baby. We're tilling the land. Inside, the house smells like oranges. We listen to old country 45's as the sun goes down. It's always quiet. 'Speech is great, but silence is better' is the vibe here. No need for words. I know I'm home when I'm on that porch with you.

I've been riding around town at night. Late night marauder. There are certain qualities that become apparent in the night - Alone at night when it's all true, speeding downhill on my bicycle, neck-breaking speed... Where is it, what is it that is found in the night? Aside from the super cool gadgets that only Bruce Wayne can buy, what is it that attracts us to this cowled crusader? I'm all for conquering your fear, but I just can't seem to put my finger on the reason we all appreciate Bruce so much. And okay, maybe YOU don't like him. Perhaps you hate him. It doesn't really matter because at some point in your life you wanted to be like the Batman (I've known a few Selina Kyles in my day) Don't deny it, we all have. His stealthy abilities, his perceptive nature on the human mind - Yet, he doesn't even have any super powers. He's just a man, but also more than man - You can definitely count on his raging will power in the face of his parents' death. So, what is it that gets the heart pumping with excitement when we see the Bat-signal, or the moon, the stars in the sky?

From all woe, greatness rises.

I hold destiny by the hand

I lead her

She leads me

Together we are trying to escape the infrastructure

The catacombs of our doings

These decaying urban ruins

Destiny is easy to lose sight of

She slips free of my hand sometimes

And goes off to be with all the small, wondrous things

I am left to fend off the shadows

The demons that haunt

Who distort destiny

When the shadows pull her frown

I must run to catch my destiny

When she is dragged down

I feel like I’m paying for crimes I didn’t commit. But I KNOW the real crimes – common deeds and actions of the everyday…and I’m tired of having my sentience eroded by their incompetence day after day. I’m sick of being aware of every aspect of every action and mode of behavior in the minds of those that surround me. It’s soul depraving…and it robs me from myself.

I step outside my door - alone. I step out into another city block of their prison, another zoo, another forsaken, artificial habitat. Another day, another night; another stage latticed and engulfed in confusion. An external world that makes me feel ill-at ease inside myself. Forcing me to examine myself under a microscope.  Fast forward, Rewind, Pause - Seeing me through their eyes. I’m trying to keep to myself. I’m trying to do the things I want to do.

Mid week I regurgitate the thoughts in my head…every night I slave my health away; serving the ungrateful, bizarre and intoxicated alike.  It astounds me how they can walk through life without a shard of responsibility stuck in their conscience, move about without feeling or any class whatsoever.  Traffic passes by and sirens moan and wail in the late hours of the night, encompassing a feeling or a wavelength that is unnerving and surreal.  It’s amazing how they can all be so passive - and myself, with my abilities and cultivated brilliance, manage to screw it all up.  They walk around as if life were a novelty key-chain lanyard purchased at a tourist shop; hanging from their pockets when it should really be hanging them by their necks.  When one place things in a pocket, they are easy to lose…attachment, the ship’s anchor; is a unifying force with the power to stay and remember.

…But no one wants to remember anything anymore.  Too many things fucked up.  Too many machines to back it up.  Why do the math if a calculator will figure out the problem?  Even the ‘artwork’ around the neighborhood has become so absorbed, filtered and processed through the toxic killing machine of industry, media and socioeconomics; everything - everything has been reduced to state of oblivion.

THE MEDIATOR BETWEEN HEAD AND HANDS MUST BE THE HEART!

Saw an angel yesterday. Went to buy some gatorade. She was working the counter at a 7/11. The look she gave me I will not forget. It was warm and comforting. Like solar radiation. The first heartbeat of a life. I saw a very bright light. It was as if time stood still. Then the halo faded - I snapped back to reality as the register drawer slammed shut. Next thing I know it was just a girl handing me some change and the rest of that day resumed.

...each moment unimaginably precious...

May 10th, 2012 Walked home from the cafe today. A pretty girl on her bicycle smiled, passed me by hours ago. I see the bottoms of the gutters. My shoe's reflection in them when I step over the curb. My body aches from working graveyard. Exhaustion weights me down like an oil tanker full of lead. It feels good. Had to kick another bunch of transients out of the restaurant last night. How much shit am I willing to put up with? How many more nights am I going to do this to myself? In this uncivilized, desperate age, I have felt the distance between myself and the late night losers who frequent the store offset by the sounds of gunshots, coyote howls and sirens. I sit outside on my breaks taking it all in, swathed in cigarette smoke and still-born intellect from locals and students in the after hours of 3-5am. The pain of having to get a store ready for morning reminds me of having gone beyond myself, of accomplishing things I know I did and did alone. It makes me realize how stupid and petty the world really is. Who's gonna steal my tips tonight?

-Managing a small business.


I can't find her. I keep looking. I'm really just fed up. I want to test and see if my heart can be broken, the way a scientist tests their theories in laboratories - am I as passive as gas or as viscous as a super-fluid....?

This time of year has me thinking a lot about women. I like the ones in my imagination the best. The Imaginary Women. They're the women that I tell myself about when I'm feeling empty and alone. When I get home in the morning, dazed and tired of the sun, I quietly sneak into my bed, imaging the scenarios and transitions that would transpire. I put my arms around her in the kitchen. She's brewing coffee. I laugh because that is exactly what I just got home from doing... It works for a while, and now and again sticks for awhile, until I can drift on to other thoughts.

the cosmic lounge (ISS)

We do not determine Space/Time. We are conditioned by them and the Human mind cannot comprehend anything without reference to them.

El Cajon Blvd
University Ave
Those were the main two streets that ran down the central corridor
Of San DIEgo
Two narcotic filled arties
Two gaping wounds
From these two bowl ducts
You could get almost anywhere in town
Get almost anything
And still end up nowhere
Their intersections seethe
With rotting agitation
Like two parallel carcasses laid side
By side
North and South
Running East to West
Two bodies in a grave
Two bullets locked into a chamber
Cars fire down their barrels
At killer speeds
It was easy to get lost on those streets
Hung up
Left for dead
San DIEgo’s mortal tomb
Transplants
Junkies
Faggots
The used
And abused
El Cajon – 'The drawer' en Espanol
University -  An educational institution designed for instruction, Examination
Advanced learning
Well, I got all I could stomach
All I could ‘learn’ From those two streets
To see that The Gateway into San DIEgo
Leads strait into the mouth of Hell.

untitled

What happens when the absence of words takes over? What do you do with all that silence? Do you live inside? How much terrain exists in there? Entire universes? Do you feel like a child again?

It's been many months since my last post and I've had to break my pact with this blog. There have been a lot things going on that I just didn't have the time nor patience to catalog.

I will say that I've grown exponentially - mentally physically, spiritually - i may have just gone through a Kafkian metamorphosis, except I don't have six legs but my eyes are certainly compacted.

I've noticed things I never noticed before, things about myself and the people around me I never realized.

My quest to understand what's out there, the cosmos had led me inexorably back to a place where all things begin, inside our imagination...

...so much so that I'm now considering to write a novel, graphic or just a book.

My roommate is away and I should take advantage of this time.

The bike rests against a wall to my right, below the blackboard. The tires have little air, the single brake cable is shot, and I haven't had a ride in months.

I'll have to fix that.

Summer might be a good time to get out there.