Dip Your Face In My Stream of Thoughtless Words
…splicing sounds of radio men in space suits on wobbly malfunctioning space crafts, encountering martians and losing friends to the tyranny of some unknown voice in the distance who may or may not be a robot or a human, an alien or a god. the unknown sends them searching into strange curved corridors down dark passageways that seem to circle back into themselves and lead nowhere but where they have been all along. scratching the surface they find the doors are alive and can be told what to do, just like the ‘conditioned types’, men who wander and yet obey, in trances long forgotten. I cut these voices open. i break them down to their essences of meaning and sound. how I love the sound of those radio voices that still echo in the curved corridors and dark passageways of my own radio transceiver. we are radios. our brains are. though we are not our brains. we are messages, messengers, receivers and more. we are the paintings on the walls and the children below them huddled in balls, straining to hear the spacemen in the radio, eager for what they’ll encounter behind each door. we shudder with vibrant anticipation. men in masks and creatures on mars wander the reaches of our imaginations and where we leave off, they pick up. and where you leave off, i come in to save you. i come to teach you about things I barely understand myself, and you have come here to do the same for me. we are a radio symphony. we are a chorus of confused creative chaos that sometimes I want to run from, as fast as I can, and other times I want to open wide my chest and breath it all in at once and breath out something altogether different… that, my friends, is our story, but it’s bedtime and my lips are hurting from the cold, and my eyes are watering from the air that is so dry I can almost see it falling to the ground in a pile of powder, like something incinerated my entire field of vision and sucked all the water right out of the galaxy.
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Just stay put, and drink lots of water. The “happy truck” will be there shortly to pick you up. ;)
This morning’s dream was me trying to get a job as the head guy at a water plant. It was a long process but the gist of it is that the guy I was asking and mentoring under was a lazy fucker. And I was interested in the long sets of numbers and what they meant but he wouldn’t answer so most of the dream felt like an investigative journey from the office to the fields where I found a cat dead still and coming out of a hole, and seemingly asleep but was stiff as a board with gigantic pipes underground and an overall feeling that was neither here or there. Unfortunately I woke to my alarm and didn’t get to finish the rest which seemed to be a steady stream of concsiousness, and yes I was thirsty when I got up too. Weird eh, yes and no? December 4th 2007
I’m always thirsty when I wake up.
I like your quote about life ….
And one darling Brooke, I like the fishing pictures too, even though I sometimes fish some times, even when everything about fishing is wholesome too. Love Guru Martini is 34 hours in two days with a finger or so of brandy and a couple of mooseheads with a smoke or two, and of course good vibes along with a fire.
I like your quote about life and art and oneself was meant for Keith Handy as I had seen his quote in your ‘I like quotes’ section.
My goodness it’s never taken me this freakin’ long to load the page. Scroll, damned* bar!
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Markus: thanks! I wish I could remember what I said! :)
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*Pronounce “damned” with two syllables for great theatrical effect
No no, even better — pronounce *everything* for maximum theatrical effect. Listen to old-timey radio for inspiration.
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( ( ( M I N D - W E B S ) ) )
Splicin’ sounds and sexy sentence structures. …
“and my eyes are watering from the air that is so dry I can almost see it falling to the ground in a pile of powder, like something incinerated my entire field of vision and sucked all the water right out of the galaxy.”
loved that bit specially… falling to the ground like a pile of powder… i can almost sense that… that dusty air getting to your lungs… as if you were breathing ashes… consuming a potential fire bird that could’ve enlightened you with hope and inspiration to face once more those ivory black doors with those bright copper doorhandles… to face them and break them open, letting in new radial waves new unspoken words and unsolved symbols that need no answer, and feed yourself with this new elements knowing that you don’t need technique, you don’t need tools because you dont need answers to your questions and in this way finally breaking with reason, and returning to a mythical world were you can embrace dreams again witout fearing they will fade with the morning… the one thing you’ve got to do is shut off that imposed polluted air and breathe the fresh air of the endless contingency deposit in the back of your suit… and then you realize that’s all the gear you need for the odissey into the unknown… you realize the end of the light is just the start, because the esscence of thing resides in their mystery and that shall never be solved, no matter how hard those white costumed men try to understand them… there is no formula solution, the only solution is never knowing and having the will power to accept it that way, and just enjoy that trip while we can
Thanks, I needed that.
wow i appear in your scapbook… im famous!! a did enjoy that 15 seconds of fame… im glad i can give back to you something in return fo all that i get from you