Like I’ve said before…
There are times where I am ecstatic and there are times when I am angry.
Right now I am furious for potentials. Potentials that are at this point simply figments of imagination or quite possibly true.
I am angry all over and it is a drug that is dirty but has no charm.
Let's hope for the best. At least at worst it is still a feeling that is fleeting.
Tonight I am playing a show in LA with the wolf (a close friend of mine who considers himself to carry key traits of a lone wolf). I’m somewhat excited for the show- although it will be for the most part ambient AND improvised so although I leave room for unexpected great success I don’t imagine it being TOO breathtaking.
Oddly enough, I’ve been more concerned with the notion of considering oneself a certain animal based on personal characteristics.
I’ve been asking others what they consider me.
What do you think?
The past couple have days have been extremely stressful and mentally, emotionally draining. I dreamt of a hurricane destroying an out door school. In my dream who was I?
Definitely a potential victim.
What I believe this means is that my unstable mental/emotional side that has been inactive side for quite sometime has been dormant and emerged at random through frustrations in life.
In what avenue? self-destructive “partying”.
What I’ve been frustrated with? Finding an avenue of expression. Two days ago I found myself scribbling on a pad. The moment I found aesthetic in arbitrary circles, scratch marks, and lines I felt the desire to put it on canvas.
Have I been daunted by the idea that my relative purpose in life is to pursue a completely unpractical occupation? I think so.
My identity in comparison to most- is very difficult to sustain.
I feel like I’m not making enough (money) to support my expression. I used to draw. Then I stopped because I saw no room for success. I used to produce my own music- then I stopped because of creative blocks. I cannot continue without constant change or I become flighty-ironically so.
Conversely, if I do find a way to be making money to support my drive- will this socially acceptable job consume me and deter me from continuing on my righteous path?
I am taking next semester off. The time I spent abroad last time was so rich that it changed my way of thinking, it changed my soul, it changed my bare bones, it gave me a spine.
Today I was not depressed but I felt stagnant. At work I was washing one of the delivery cars while a Mexican man and woman were at the dumpster near-by looking through garbage for cardboard boxes.
He said, “My friend. How are you doing?”
“Not too bad, man. It’s not that hot, I love it.” I replied.
“Even if it was my friend, it’s beautiful. It’s a beautiful day. That we are living. Some one dies everyday.”
I agreed softly. Just then water from the hose hit the floor and splashed my shoes.
I thought: FUCK- these are suede. I was about to trip out-
then I stopped and didn’t. I finished washing the car in peace.
He’ll never realize his impact.
I hope I am/will be as moving as he.
[step 1: Ingredient 1- Intensity/Adrenaline/Movement Source- being abroad
Ingredient 2- Honesty
step 2: No more drugs or alcohol
step 3: Play more acoustic guitar]
I need to serenade myself.
Today I am frustrated and very angry. I went to Chris’ school today then we had lunch, I haven’t been eating in peace this affects my stomach. Much like many of the days after smoking a heavy amount of marijuana- I was in a haze. I’ve been paying close attention to the human beings around me and how they and I, I and they, they and they, I and I, relate to each other. I became aware of symbolic speech, symbolic subjects, and reflected on a discussion Brian and I had last night while high.
The topic of identity:
Identity on a superficial level (however still especially important in modern times), is in the form of social standing. Degrees, diplomas, awards, records, credit scores, affiliations. Core identity I’ve come to understand (or what I seem to believe) is the response to aesthetic. An immediate response is linked to a forever developing core.
IE.
A younger man decides to walk through a forest at dawn, the mixture of jasmine and oak together create a very profound effect that relates to his upbringing in a small town having experienced moments of solitude at play during a quiet autumn days with very similar lush vegetation- that is commonly known as smell memory. The importance lies here. During those moments there was no declaration of the moments beauty- it was appreciated with out the notion of why it was beautiful. There were no reasons for liking it. A small child is not able to deem an afternoon “serene” nor is he able to appreciate his first love as “winsome”. He cares not and knows not of the elements of beauty. He can not relate his first experiences to anything else because he has no experience of anything else- therefore he defines what is beautiful to him.
What are the parameters used when buying, or wearing an article of clothing?
Considering that wearing clothing is a socially acceptable form of conduct, and that one is free to design oneself in a vast number of ways, it is reasonable that he/she chooses to dress in whichever manner. This is an enabler of individuality. There are two forms- fashion and style. Fashion is a fleeting aesthetic driven by mass social acceptance (even of the esoteric kind). Style is personified and driven by a persons reaction to certain articles of clothing purchased and worn that accumulate into a particular wardrobe as opposed to a genre of clothing that carries many articles of clothing synonymous to each other.
There are certain things that will never go out of style in the United States.
A baseball cap on a male, blue jeans, converse etc…
For reasons being that they bear an affinity to the American aesthetic (however, dying or stagnant it maybe considered). A baseball cap embodies the American spirit through a game forged in one of the richest points in US history. A game that symbolizes capitalism in its purest sense.
Why not beehives, bell-bottoms, and afros? Fashions.
And now the topic of Love in relation to identity.
Does a man really strive to figuratively “marry his mother”?
Are these buried aesthetics truly in control of what this person defines as his perfect mate?
What about the insecurities that may need to be justified when he “marries his mother”? How much trust is fine for someone? Why is less trust justified in one relationship and not another. It’s only logical that a human be granted x amount of space. What determines x?
There will always be someone more beautiful, more intelligent, and more compatible to you than the person you are with. This is truth- and since it is truth humans should always be fleeting- like fashion.
But unlike the newest fashions. There are the days that were painful and that you remember, and are solemn to the thought. Is it wrong to disregard such a painful memory? Depression is the sore fibers of strengthening muscles. Should I really throw my holeist shirt into the garbage? It was my favorite.
I’m starting to get heart palpitations right now. I think I’ve been drinking too much whiskey.
Today I woke up and took a shower, afterwards I got lunch with Chris. When I got back I lied down on my bed and took in the day with an open window and moving fan. It was in this natural meditation that old obscured memories were unearthed by daylight.
When I was younger I went with my father to Hollywood and saw a black woman dressed in bright colors, she carried a plastic bag on her head. I hadn’t been exposed to her culture yet; at that point she simply appeared outlandish. I was amazed by her balance and concluded that the process of carrying something on ones’ head was a nearly impossible task worthy of admiration.
Around the same time my mother took me to buy a Halloween costume in Hollywood with one of her friends. I remember the entire setting composed heavily of deteriorating concrete. A group of punks walked through the scene. One punk had an enormous mohawk that was bright green. I had never seen such a shape of head. To me, his head was a kind that carried no hair but a sharp metallic substance with protruding steel spikes. His was a type of head that was more so engineered by logical design than human conception.
To see the world as a child.
And I continued in my mind- driving with my grandmother, grandfather, mother, and father. Up the 10 freeway heading west to the place I was born. My father told me at a very young age that it was my freeway. And I continue to look outside towards the gigantic concrete pillars that angle other passes further into the sky. My eyes are half closed allowing the more important rays to sift in through my eyelids gently touching my retinas.
On this Friday, I find myself repeating in my mind:
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
Having strapped cameras to their chairs they roll and spin quietly in circles. It may be one of the rare times they hear added harmonies to the rhythms of their motorized chair; the gravel rolling under the wheels, bits of confetti quietly tearing away. They don’t mind the arid smell of dust on a surprisingly humid spring noon. The ecstasy of having a camera to record the motion around them. They are rare. After the cheering begins to settle and the masses begin to disperse they find themselves still haunting the groins of the venue long after the celebration dies; the cement temples that tie to the stadium where people park their cars, or the narrow streets nearby that still hold some looming spirit- you still see them spinning and recording simple joys. Spending a day with lemonade. Rolling, steering, and weaving in and out of the event but not the crowd.
