…and then nothing turned itself inside out**

Two-and-a-half weeks ago (oddly, the amount of time it takes for my visual memories to — and memory generally — I’ve made amazing progress the past year, in which I’ve tamed… I’m still a guy without an interior monologue replaced by an unobtrusive frontal cortex, which keeps me from walking in front of most cars [thanks neo-c! …mostly], and a previously subconscious mind which is at least unsurprising in its what is going to have to be analogized to schizophrenia, though if I had symptoms or it itself, be sure I’d know first, as I have diagnosed my own and others’ — unsolicited — disorders. When I went to school, I was then always first to diagnose any medical problems I’ve had. I’ve known the latter so easily because of the reason I’d previously never bothered with such things: My Dad did it.

OK fuck the parentheses. I get them started then shit was that a bracket then — I can only hope it’s apparent, which it ought to be helped by by the fact the reader expects a narrative…

And even in my stuff, cannot help but hope. …Hope. …Everyone remember the lessons of Pandora’s story? Pandora and her JAR, yes? Hope is the thing that ensures Zeus laughs us to our demise because he’s wreaked all the evis of the world upon us, but when misfortune sweeps our feet from under us with a bat to the shins we idiotically pick ourselves up (you humans may cry about it first, which when accompanying pain is a terribly selfish act as I understand it (and I DO NOT)… But I’m a simple man with simple pleasures, and so spent 20 years of my life jumping off up and down shit. Also hitting rails with steez…

Visiting Matt and Jess and U-M I had time to hit the rails there — the library’s perfect 10-step to kink across 10 feet to five… Makios on Angell Hall’s 30-step, it’s run-up five feet, the jump from grip tape like that on all the stairs — great way to uglify marble, and an old bouilding with a ground floor comprosed of the stuff .

So not many 20-year old guys stand pensiveley outside a college library, casting their eyes about — meeting a gf? — scanning for cops thinking: I’ll slide through the flat if I land 3/4th down the first part. Yeah. Do it.

Fewer still… Want to do this. Most with thoughts like this think of fucking up and the fact skaters tend to — watch the movies I have 50 of, called the “Nut Reel” because… Well.

And that is why they fail.

So a guy who looks maybe a little older than I do presently — that guiy doesn’t end up hanging out and skatying with his own age group, and was is the better for it because adults suck. Totally.

The kids, who are alright… Surely by now… After me checking out their skill, couldn’t help but go for imitation. The night ended for them as it often does for a skater: bleeder.

His was on his shin. A 720 tried off only three steps ended in a way that unfortunately made me glad I’d turned away… for the reason I had. He came down all spin — no drop, no outward enegy… Just all the kid’s kinetic energy put to work cyclone-kicking his blade-bone into a marble step. No grip tape… Probably a small grace.

Now… Backwards to points and maybe some sense but like I was writing, I don’t care too much for it in its usual packaging. But then I also read a page a second now, a rate that makes me think I give myself migraines but … I am the Cure for Pain.

The kid didn’t look at the blood blossoming from his stone-cut capillaries. (I just saw it again though) He didn’t cry.

Because if one is in pain and cries, isn’t that crying a manifestation of feeling sorry for oneself? The pitch, the volume, the anti-American goddamned wailing screetching yelling which all your speaking voices are set at anyway but like some things it gets worse (and all these worse things can accrue to the absolute best, I’ve kinda been there and Dante had Virgil for company…

ONE! Don’t get crying.

TWO! I write this way because it’s pretty close to exactly the way I like to most of the time concerning most things. I wanted to write as I thought, and as I’m sure to’ve mentioned before, I read the words on the screen same as anyone.

I DO NOT EDIT MYSELF!

Sorry for misspellings but, yknow, when a few thousand words jump outta your skull…

I’m not sure how much I care about them maybe. …Well… I think it’s honest to say I don’t edit anything unless I get paid to because I’m too good to treat myself like  a cog, a factotum.

(Two Bukowski allusions above, the latter made nonsense of what seemed to have been, to that point, sensical. Get both correct in comments or e-mail if I gave one (didn’t) and the venerable blah blah will bless you.

Which will do fuck-all for you. Hurry!

TWO-AND-A-HALF! There wasn’t a point In The Beginning. Something was begging to be noticed in one of my mid-conscious thought-streams (five daily, 24/7).

The above is 1/5 of the thought going through my head at this time. Another is all about eating and going throiugh every restaurant downtown… It’ll be nicce when thaqt part of our mind decides on a place in a few hours. Another is writing a story, this one about Casper, general action set, title apparently coming…. Wish he could be made a pirate ghost but if no one got it too obscure… Seven got it.

This is me, my mind, my words.

Two-and-a-half weeks ago I found myself having said “If one is sad about something one isn’t seeing it correctly.”

And now I will always have that somewhere in my head…

Do I believe it? Is it true?

Looked at most ways, it must seem a cruelty… But no.

I find it so. It is now, the truth, of me.

“This is all we are…”

[WATCH THE KNICK!]

dbmllc
AlienAndroidSyndicate343

**: Title, album, Yo La Tengo buy it twice or not at all depending on how smart you are. …Let me be clear and, as ever, honest, truthful, and factually correct: Bands derive most of their spending money from touring. …It’s why… probably… they’re constantly ewffing touring. …To sell swag, says you in the back — come closer until you can feel where the anger should be, but just won’t… happen… I cannot imagine being moved to this [and yep even if the shittiest of shittiest things was done to this the other or myself, close as can be.

But no one is ready for Ethics 999. Because all but one-ish of you thinks “ethics” and morals” are the same thing.

Not a bad deduction. Of course they’re synonyms… With different schools (muiltiple each) of philosophy (thing about philosophy: ONE THING is logically true, verifiable, proved with each thought in some of our heads. The rest is semantics. …If you ever find yourself in over your head in a philosophical discussion which gods help me I would kill to have happen…

Now off. I hope to write of Casper later [Fixing a hole in the ocean/Trying to make a dove-tail joint, yeah/Looking through a glass onion] and hope this is when things actually kinda begin.

…Coming from me… We won’t count on it, yes?

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