| ...I don't know, but my hearts still beating? |
[Sep. 8th, 2005|09:25 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  weird | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The White Stripes - Get Behind Me Satan | ] |
I just want to fall on the floor and laugh for awhile, but that would be quite odd. I can't find the headset to my phone either, and that worries me.
Nevermind I found it.
I watched a live Simon & Garfunkel dvd last night and it was weird seeing them in their sixties singing "old friends", sort of cryptic. Right now I feel sort of empty; not in a bad way though. I'm just stuck with an emotion that I can't describe. I guess it's not super important.
I started this thesis awhile back and intend to finish it here:
The Human Concept
You know what we must be? We must be toys for greater beings to have-own, admire, and effect for motives unknown. Because what are my brothers and sisters really? But trivial creatures who all but jump and plea for attention. All of us. In each we have our own ways in which we do so-plea for attention. We plea for others attention, and we plea for our own attention! But its not really our attention is it? We detrimentally believe it in some corporeal form to be ours, sub-consciously of course. But it isn't. Most if not all of us are fake in lamans terms. There is no such thing as true individuality. We all grasp parts of friends and people we meet, tv, radio, magazines, books, et cetera. We're like magnets dragged across millions of metal paperclips and only picking up selectively. We create ourselves sub-consciously.
Getting back to the point, I conceive perhaps we're always acting too. What if our sadist of a creator(I believe in creation) created us this way for one big melodramatic play? It's clearly a wild theory in our boxed conception because our existence resides on the rock we live on, not throughout everything. But there is clearly a reason for us being.
A theological man will tell you life is of trial and tribulations and the way you live your life pends on whether or not you advance or dismount into hell(Or what not). You boil any mainstream religion down and life is a trial in all books and teachings. But I profess, why could our creator not use his infinite wisdom and such to divine whether or not we're worthy? No, it's just not airtight, there are too many loopholes in the good book and related teachings.
As a side note, I don't believe in constructed religion. Spirituality should have cathedrals, not Catholicism and all. Teach the woman and man right from wrong, teach him moral fiber, and teach him of a creator and of an afterlife. That is all.
Back on track, I do confess to currently believing our creator to be a sadist. I don't believe earth can see peace ever, but the state of affairs is constantly juxtaposed from extreme to extreme. What I mean is as we in America enjoy everything, live like Romans, and waste food. The people in Haiti die by the hundreds everyday, Africans starve and stay at war, the same for the Israelites, The Columbians are dirt poor and there is no hope, puerto rico is a banana republic, and the list really does go on for quite some time. There isn't really a medium of contentment, there's gluttony and hell-on-earth. But why?
Possibly, as I began, we are all a living, breathing, eating, shitting theater for the creator to enjoy. If we are in "His" image then he is hypocritical, biased, emotional, and not perfect as well. The bible itself cannot surpass that common contradiction. Though the bible itself was a gospel written by the great imperfect man.
So who knows what our purpose is? Useful or not, we live and we die, and we do things in between. Our learned scholars try to philosophize the meaning and visionaries like Dante, Faust, and William Blake try to give us their own artistic descriptions of the afterlife. Maybe the real afterlife has already been described on our plane, but who would really know? I don't know "His" design for us, I don't know "His" plan either, but life is not just a test ladies and gentleman. And it's certainly not meaningless with a void at the end of the tunnel.
Here finally is my style of helter skeltered philosophizing, it's not too grand, but I try my hardest to make some sense..
Devon |
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|
| Were you hoping for a miracle? |
[Sep. 6th, 2005|05:20 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  pensive | ] |
Weary
"I am here,
While you are there,
I don't know you,
But we are still together."
Shed a tear,
As I hear,
This wearing on the Reverends ear.
"It's dark outside,
I killed the moon,
With a silver spoon,
I killed the noon!"
"Now here is both vacant,
And without spaces,
Because I payed the amount,
But someones patience,
Payed the Ancient.
..I had to be like Faust."
Memories are meant to walk in,
Remember me as you're walking,
If you can give the effort:
My souls a kite,
My hearts all right,
And my mind,
It needs no guess work.
I know it's very vague. the Faust line may help.
" "'s are for dialogue.
Devon |
|
|
| A Cowards Test with Bouncing Checks |
[Sep. 5th, 2005|08:24 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  apathetic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Bravery - No Brakes | ] |
I literally walk out of Marlons front door, get into my mothers car(I needed a ride home, couldn't get one with Joe.) and before she took off, she is pulled over(Already over!) and eventually arrested for what will stay as undisclosed reasons.
In case you don't know me good enough, I hardly enjoy life. At this point I'm close to hating it. But following that, I feel odd saying I ENJOY my STRIFE while simultaneously disliking it. Twisted.
What am I to do if she stays locked up for awhile? I live with my mother dearest in case you didn't know. I might have enough to cover the bills if I cut off the cable tv & internet, stop smoking pot, give all the cats away, and budget crazy. I only make like 900$ a month. Plus my fathers life insurance check is 500$-and-something. But what a fickle mess my life is becoming, again.
I'm loving it.
I'm hating it.
Life, it's costing me.
I bathe in it.
But I'm faking it.
Cautiously.
Intrusively,
Exclusively,
It's consuming me
And you will see.
I won't care.
If you don't care.
I don't care, I don't care, I don't care, I don't care.
It's true! |
|
|
| Green Grass Growing & Frosty Poems |
[Sep. 3rd, 2005|07:48 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  lonely | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Lemonheads - If I Could Talk I'd Tell You | ] |
First of all, wow.
Robert Frost
Volume: A Boys Will
Title: Ghost house
I DWELL in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.
It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me--
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,--
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.
I enjoy reading Robert Frost.
I worked today and got an advanced paycheck, because I am payed weekly on the Monday and I am off Monday because of Labor Day of course.
Sometimes I itch to get away from my friends. A itch from an itch I cannot scratch sometimes. But once in awhile I'll go through all the strife and then get really lonely. I get really lonely when I do get lonesome. I'm pretty bipolar. I'm not giving invitations for a pity party, I just figure stating it is better than containing it. But I think a lot of things are best kept inside. But this results in people not knowing things about you sometimes, so I'm going to give you guys some arbitrary information about ME.
I never had an imaginary friend, always thought it was foolish.
I did and do talk to myself however.
I question the foundation of what most of "us" call reality. Meaning I look for alternative answers to problems rather than the norm.
I loathe normal. Not saying I strive for supreme individuality(Well, sometimes..), but anything cliche will make me sick.
I believe in being yourself fully.
I believe the theater is sadly dead. I rarely watch movies.
I mess up pronouncing words a lot. I read 10x more than I talk, resulting in involuntary mistakes in our modern english.
I blacked out my early childhood up until shortly after my fathers death. There's a term for this I believe.
I have fleeting hallucinations of people around me all the time(almost always outside), so if you know me outside the net, that's partially why I look out the door a lot. =)
I'm a classified melancholiac, and I believe people think it's worse than it is.
I'm not insane.
I started seeing light more vibrantly after experiencing LSD.
I rarely, rarely hate something. Even my enemies, I'm just not a very hateful soul.
I hate my town.
My attitude is misconstrued as sardonic, pessimistic, cynical, et cetera. My attitude in reality is just very monotonous and it makes people either reluctant to be around me or in lighter cases just bums them out. =(
I like neutral colors best.
I only like extravagant and plain fashion sense.
I become slightly wealthy when I become 21 years of age.
I'm nearly always bored.
I suck at singing.
That doesn't stop me from singing.
I'm not easily embarrassed, just easily disappointed and made uncomfortable.
I'm extremely apathetic and don't care.(=P)
Regardless of some peoples' sneaking suspicions, I loathe being pitied. It embarrasses me.
I don't like being a charity case, but I am very charitable to others.
I'm afraid of planes.
I'm afraid of the vast outside world.
I'm afraid of the pain of dieing, the pain caused when I die, but not death itself.
I'm scatterbrained.
I live vicariously through music when I'm lonely.
I'm very intuitive.
Friends find me mysterious.
I'm a failure as a boyfriend.
I have a bad memory.
Sometimes I'm thick skulled,
and sometimes I'm extremely intuitive!
I'm a Pisces!
Sorry if it was too much stuff. I guess me being lonely resulted in this state of affairs.
I guess I'll take my leave and make the best of my well-deserved night of solitude. Goodnight everyone.
Devon |
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|
| Plastic Mint Trees and Brief Entries |
[Sep. 2nd, 2005|05:07 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  cynical | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Pixies - Manta Ray/ Interpol - Pub. Perv., Carlos D remix | ] |
String Masters
To take me back,
You make me act,
The worst way,
(Mercy...)
To place me back,
Where it's now black.
String Masters.
I make pull.
Them bastards.
Shameful.
The seasons and time,
The messages told,
The reason for rhyme,
They had it a second ago..
String Masters.
The bathe pool.
Things Mastered.
We make do.
Is this a song or poem? What's the hidden message? You decide, because it doesn't matter anymore if it has a catchy beat...
More later tonight, I'm preoccupied.
Devon
P.S
(Busybodies, Beelzebubs,
Watch your black back,
Cause here it comes!)
=/ |
|
|
| September Leaves and Memories |
[Sep. 1st, 2005|09:09 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | thoughtful | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Paul Simon - The Only Living Boy In New York | ] |
Not much went on today..I worked and all the usual things. I had a sale that didn't happen today, kinda bummed out, but things will work out as they usually do. I just got done trading Interpol tracks for Johnny Cash tracks on AIM. I dig the guy(Cash), but I won't elaborate because I don't feel I know enough about Johnny Cash to be entitled to an opinion. Right now I'm tuned in to Simon & Garfunkel and yawning miserably. I wish I had more enthusiasm to be conscious. Kinda depressing.
In my opinion regular people just don't understand people that would not care to live and have the courage to kill themselves. I know a (quite literally) insane individual and he is my good friend, I was with him when he was sane, writing great poetry, and debating with people. Now I'm standing adjacent to him while he raves, rants, and shouts things that completely fit the posterchild crazy. He lets people hit him in the face, and when he sleeps over at houses at parties, he tells people not to sleep because he'll kill them. He may or may not really want to kill people however, I don't know. But the thing is, he isn't acting; he went from space cadet to MIA..
But hey, I’ve got nothing to do today but smile...
Devon
P.S, "There's a fine line between brilliance and insanity."
Who said that? |
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| Busting Tables and Cynical Fables |
[Aug. 31st, 2005|03:40 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  tired | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Depeche Mode - '86-'98 Album | ] |
Hard day at work, my feet and lower back hurt. Pity me.
I have nothing planned for today but relax and inhale some vapors. I got off Sunday, as usual, but also Monday(!!) because of Labor Day(No more white). I do believe I will head up to Varina to Marlon's abode so we two, hopefully three(Kyle) can record.
Silly me, I forgot to mention I'm in a friggin' band, or sophomoric pseudo-band. We play, we try to record stuff, we write and we produce material, yet we haven't played a single gig yet. So we're a trio without a concrete name. It splits-with-fence between The Plastic Bottles, my favorite, to The Backdoor Gentlemen. Both great names for more than one reason, and they both appear to be catchy(Are they?). We copyrighted both however, so like my material posted, don't try ripping them or you'll have an unfortunate lawsuit.
I just wrote this a few minutes ago, no name, not finished, but close and I wanted to post.
I walk inside the room and take a breath.
I nod my head and take my leave.
This is my story from birth to death.
I plot I'm dead for the sake to breathe.
This isn't gore this isn't a mess.
This isn't lore this is a contest.
Contact..
Thoroughly..
Contract..
That you will see.
I can see you turning round and round
I could see you burning down the town
I can see the sadist in the pictures
I could see you chasing all the scriptures
When will you breath?
When will you leave?
When will you catch your death?
I'll put it to the test.
I'll Contact..
Thoroughly..
I'll Contract..
You fluently
Anyways, have a good one.
Devon |
|
|
| Hurricane News and Cafe Blues |
[Aug. 30th, 2005|06:40 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  productive | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Caesar - Paper Tigers | ] |
I wake up, I get up, I dry some clothes, I go back asleep.
I wake up again and get up again, I plug my phone in the charger and ask Kyle is he awake, he is. I get ready and go to work. I walk to work. I get high while walking to work. I am late for work because I enjoyed my morning stroll. I didn't quite enjoy the day at work however, but it wasn't as vigorous as it could've been. I come home afterward; around 3pm. I sit down and relax. I rather appreciated the short time I had to unwind, it put me in a positive mood. I went outside and helped these mexican people down the street start their lawnmower, but I didn't help cut it. I came back into the house and began coughing rigorously; my throat hurts. Now, I'm here typing this and listening to Caesar. The business mentioned prior to today is going to happen most likely, but it's pending until I get payed.
I'd like to post a song at this time. It's nothing new, but it's completed and is based upon a skirmish between two friends of mine, the scuffle was resolved however. Actually, several scuffles happened this one particular night, it was during the harvest moon I believe. "Lunar Madness" Indeed.
The Dramatics
It comes to fear,
It comes to tears,
What can become of this folly?
Fighting is near,
Knew you for years,
And the feeling that is melancholy.
Oh, I'm so tired,
My tolerance has expired.
When the match is lit,
This match doesn't fit,
And all you can see is the fire.
When it doesn't appeal,
Glances you steal,
With the person that you beg to differ.
But the static concealed,
Fades from the real,
When logic becomes what you figure!
This is so tired,
My tolerance has expired.
When the match is lit,
This match doesn't fit,
And all you can see is the fire.
But what is the cause for this pyre?
Thanks for reading,
Devon |
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|
| Vivid Dreams and TV Screens |
[Aug. 28th, 2005|09:50 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  uncomfortable | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Talking Heads - Psycho Killer | ] |
I awake, Rachel looms above me. How did I wake up? Was I awake beforehand? Did I go back to sleep? I don't recall. We had a good day together until she left at 5:30pm. I had friends over; Sam, Marlon, Kyle. Marlon has left for home, same with Samuel. Kyle is tucked here for tonight. A lot of business opportunities came fleeting to me today. But negligence can't stay put for long in any of us, or can it? I don't know.
I don't know a lot of things, I sort of figure I've been winging everything in life for years now. I've been trying my hardest to manage affairs with a mind not capable of alot of ordinary procedures. It's very hilarious! I get by most of the time, that's the cherry on top.
So, tonight I created another livejournal after many months without. Goody Goody, another scapegoat. I figure I can chart my monotony and laugh about it later. However, I'll be sticking poetry and songs in here too, along with everything from raving half-theories constructed in a paranoid mind state to beliefs, ideas, quirks, bla bla bla, mindless chitter chatter and what not.
This is all I have to say now, I'm going to go try and have a pleasant night, I work mornings.
Goodnight. |
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