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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.