I'm Having A Crisis

I left my job the job so horrible I forgot how to breath and how to see and how to get the work done so horrible worlds collided and the universe shook so horrible I could hear the world cry for putting me in this state of self-pity make me a victim please hurt for me please tear off your flesh and let me bleed for you please so that I am no one and the world is laughing at me with me the world is carrying me on its shoulders and I am pounding on its back screaming let me fall. please. Let me drop to my knees and blow the world, grab it by its balls and bite I'm a dyke you tool and I'm using you just for my benefit spit the worlds face and drown in its cum I am begging you to drop fall push ache pin me down while I scream because I am pushing through soil while digging my roots and I'm completely directionally challenged. I am climbing up fucking tree tops hopping to G-d the water won't swallow me whole- what a horrible way to die. Wandering if flames, earth, fire, water are always the worst way to go and fearing who I will be when one takes me. Is it so crazy to want to live a life for you without plannign what your future babies will do? To want to be happy to travel to see the world and maybe not save save save. Making no sense trying to be smart is a failing endeavor.

Its Raining

Its Raining.
And the air feels stiff and sticky. It feels thick and moist. Heavy with the weight of the too full clouds. Aching with the desire to spill. It makes me feel cold, almost sweaty, with the tingle in your feet making your toes sting and the depth of your belly roar. Your eyes water and melt and wet hits your cheeks, slimy and unclean. You feel tight. Enclosed. Exhausted. Warmed but too too hot. The rain begins to creep through your soles and you cringe with each step, an evolving puddle beneath you. Quicken your pace to get inside, but your smoke is still burning and your too cheap to throw it out. Find a shelter to protect you. Finish the smoke. And watch. All of this for a little rain.

I work in hell.

Yes. That is right. Hell. By no means an exaggeration. Every morning I put on my wrinkled, probably dirty, clothes, look close to my best (or worst depending on the day), and ride the long subway ride to hell.
Everyone has a Hell-ish subway ride in the morning. Not just me. 8:30am and everyone is on their way to work. crammed in tight,with your head neatly lodged in a sweaty dirty mans armpit. That is hell-ish. I then go to hell. Once again, not an exaggeration.
Contrary to popular belief, sometimes hell is not such a bad place. Sometimes the people are ok. Nice even. People like you and me. Its the devil you have to worry about.
She doesn't come into the office much. For the time being she is away, some hot resort with her i-pad on her lap, working away in the sun and acting like the rest of the world has somehow punished her and she landed up there....on a beautifully sunny beach. rough life.
So, for now at least her insults and abuse come only in the form of telephone calls and emails. Thank goodness for small miracles.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!
YOU ARE PATHETIC!
I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO CLOSE THIS FUCKING BUSINESS DOWN IF YOU DON'T SHAPE UP!
GET ME ______ ON THE PHONE FUCKING NOW!!!!!
You would think her keyboard is permanently stuck on caps lock. But, no. She just wants to make sure you know she is screaming.
Thank goodness I have yet to suffer from physical abuse, although she has told me not to stand near the stairwell "MY LAST ASSISTANT GOT PUSHED DOWN."
Life working in hell has its challenges. So far. I am still breathing....all be it my breaths are short and shallow.

Work. Nothing New.

2

Im attachéd to a screen my eyes glued with the blue sticky tac they used in elementary school. Wecolored with markers and made little figurines of men and women my eyes are burning in the back of my head inside in my brain where you cant see but you can imagine all the muck and yuck buried inside not the kind of brain that neatly stocks thoughts the kind of brain that blurs and bleeds with the screen and florescent lights hurting itching curring purring and vibrating inside and i feel an ugh in there in the screen seeping into my brain seeping into the stcky tac blue colored women and men dolls of childhood with images to keen to cry to available too accessible too many roads and people and consciousness that can’t rid the presence of space around you like a car driving by too fast and all you ca hear is the vroom vroom and it makes you want to run zip boom bah through the air and feel it slap against skin against flesh with sounds that aren’t usually there and moments that aren’t as alive as you want them too be in a big city with lights and bolstered to your eyes are the screen looking down at you plastered to walls and street sky’s these walks are bleeding and it makes my eyes feel too connected and i want to go back in time install myself on a city corner where i hear hoofs and banter and a screen might just be what keeps the bugs out but i am stuck like tarred feet to people and places that run in circles like a treadmill and you just don’t want to run anymore, but stop being so self indulgent because maybe i do stop ll=ooking in a mirror i want a try to see to look i want to know what a river reflection looks like for the first time because its then that i become me and a super8 film of my cohabitant face and my chubby fingers reminds me of watching myself on the television a star and an object something someone else can see even when i can’t see myself. Ive never liked that the layers of me that you can see without me knowing it. I don’t know what themes you are looking for when you look at me but i want you to know an d always remember and false memory systems of media and portrayal and beytral just remember i’m looking at you too. That commercial you saw it isn’t real it isn’t what you experience it wasn’t an event of your past its jsut waht you want them to think and that whats they want they aren’t paranoid. I mean i am not. I am just in this mirror and stuck when you climb out and a wave of sight floods through all you see is a couch on a head a live head on a painting and the looking glass is broken when statues of fragments past future present blurring boundries and popping out of stone with too much make up and too few clothes. This was useful if you can see the influences but the screen is the clip i want you to pay attention too. And the lights go out. Sssshhh quiet sis boom bah. 1962 a film of montage and sound find it terribly influential on French noveau post apocalyptic world. Departing plans on fences just feet resting. A stage setting and a face that we are supposed to remember or is it just from a commercial. On account of our scars. Have you ever seen it? Kol nidre. It sounds like kol nidre how funny what they think is the apocalypse reminds me of my day of rekoning.s. mad science and experiments and the unknowing. The image of a womans face she refers to herself what she found on the street. Interst in what in mad science in witnessing death your own how many memories can you remember for me and how strong does that make you go back a screen we were talking about a screen a floscrenct violent violet screaming machine we were taklng about my brain how inside and outside have freaked have passed judged and webbed a cob of desire and fantasy a screen a dead and bloody and manufactured machine these lines influence emotional response these lines are stuck in me like alice and Gertrude and words i know i have spoken before there i am referencing the cry or a word when you thought i was referencing me i wink but you cant see. In the film version you would know and see devoi of context. My new moments will be captured this way this new endeavour this new copyright do not repeat hallow shallow ear telling you with whispers this is you what to do and autobiography for you to underscore with your own soundtrack try that read me again read me with sound make it with your nose your mouth your hands read me and feel the tongue on the cheeks the brain in the screen the screen silk and remember the words with tricks. Go.

You've Gotta Start Somewhere...

I've never blogged and I don't read blogs. I don't particularly like the idea of publishing my journals, I don't like the idea of sharing my thoughts and I don't want to add a link to my blog on facebook. But...with that said...isn't there something sort of interesting about someone stumbling on it? Like a family member finding your diary without having looked for it. Or finding your mothers old scrapbooks or journals from before you were born hidden in a bottom drawer with old binoculars and ponytails from first haircuts. If this fell into you lap, if you happened to find me without looking for me, than these words are open to you, and if you read the first line and pressed the little x on the right hand of your window thats ok too, because for one thing I have nothing particularly interesting to tell you and secondly, the things that are interesting in my life aren't about to pop up on a computer screen near you. It's creepy how much the internet knows about you without you wanting it too.

I'm really not as paranoid and horrible and cynical as this first entry might seem to be, defenses are up and my ability to communicate throughly stunted by the strangeness of writing this online. I'll get used to it. Bear with me and one day my words might leap out of the world of cliches and into some other more realistic, more difficult, slightly inspirational world that I am completely unprepared for.