accidents happen

   so, as your big brother in writing or some bullshit, just as the person liveblogging this project, well I can only say one thing:

maybe two things actually,

#1... Expect the unexpected
#2... Accidents happen

   Now, the difference between the two, I guess, is, well #2 is something that YOU cause.. such as an accident.. inadvertently, #1 can happen, but once again, YOU cause the accident.. unintentionally -and that shit happens, but anyways onto number one...

   A story:  Last night, I had some shit written up for my latest project "Polyester Paradigm" and had decided to hit the bar... one thing led to another, and I was unable to save this file of 2,000 plus words.. anyways, so not crying over spilled milk, living instead of dying, I chose to hit this place called chronic tacos and figure out the file once I get home... I leave the thing open.

   One thing led to another and I wake up on a lifeguard tower, still pretty drunk in Newport beach.. Theres flashlights on me, and im completely laid out on this thing.  I'm pretty sure my breath stunk, I'm pretty sure of alot of things, but anyways, I reach around for my phone and have to call my ride.. turns out, they don't pickup the phone, and im left alone on the tower with the people leaving me (finally) I see that my friend left their jacket, and shoes on the tower.. what's in one shoe?  Their phone.  great.  So I sit on the tower, sobering up, waiting for them to come back for about an hour.. Anyways, so (long story short) I get back home and it turns out that....MY FUCKING POWER WENT OUT.  All my writing for that chapter is lost forever.

   Pissed I am (in the words of Yoda) and still sad..

just expect the unexpected, shit happens, get used to it.

   smooth sailing (ha)

-gbd

ain't right

   this work has gotten so personal, and pushing; It's almost scary.

   I'm considering "[special] field trips" in honor of this project, in hopes of more inspiration, in hopes to add a few cylinders to this V8 engine.

and all I can say about THAT is we're so close in our separate work, which none of us share, we're so identical in the process and volume of creation... it's almost scary, it's almost unreal some of the things I read, and seeing the change in style, seeing the diversity of their delivery, I can't believe the proportion of creation compared to down time this must be taking.  I'm pushed to work equally as hard, without hopes of one-upping or outdoing.  I'm just thankful to have friends that own businesses, friends that push me to another level, further than what could be done, had I not been inspired, had I not seen some of their work.  It's mind boggling to me, some of the mediums of creation these gifted people do.

   so listen to music when you write, try to catch that rhythm you hear, try to emulate the timing in your words and syllables that match the solos and out of time tempos.  Retell what you hear, and see visually in the paragraphs of your thoughts, make the reader feel enveloped in this world you recreate, the world around you when you write.. try it, because we can tell when it's quiet at home, okay emily d.?

sounds good, but anyways the first 36 page draft will be out very, very..VERY fucking soon... and just like men's warehouse.. I guarantee it

apparati

   Finally at the point where I can make a checklist of all the things I need to cover, but with the addition of researching the Almanac.. I'm starting to feel as though the statement has grown longer.. the statement now has layers, and purpose, a sense of newtonistic push with a bit of asskickeryism added in.

   Yes, im listening to the Beatles, and their wild KORG solos, or whatever that keyboard is called.  The one thats been spliced all over the production of "LOVE" and littered throughout their middle catalogue..

--anyways, so im sending out little samples of the work, to people that give a fuck.  Let me know if you're one of them, ill send you a quick spiel so you can see how it's coming along.--

Trust me, its newer than the future.

Quordi Nake!!!!!!  alright.

always

Sometimes when I have a good run in billiards, I feel like I'm onto something.

   Sometimes, when I sell a few cars a day at work, I feel like I have a gift, and sometimes, staring down at my watch under a 2200 moon, I feel like I have a physical talent.  Running.  Bailing.  Letting my friends drive my car as we stop at different gas stations to buy food, to buy beer, or buy clothes for me...  I spend alot of time watching U.S. nationals on Billiard Pros, and looking at guitar tabs, thinking about how to attack the next song, thinking about how the pitch sounds through the different keys, and looking at the forks in the road, on different streets of a midnight Norco, im not sure which path to take.  I'm not sure which direction to consume myself in, because after knocking four balls consecutively into three different pockets, im not sure what I'm good at... is it school?  Is it sales?  Is it pool?  Is it a rail of coke after two pitchers of beer?  I'm not sure,

   and sitting in the morning, reading my Bible my aunt bought me.. I'm really not sure.  I'm really not sure how I match up in Robert Greene's "amoral" series, but im sure (after reading all the books) im sure I can read pretty fast, and soak up material, and express how I feel using only images.  I'm positive I can get my point across using something only so basic as silence, but picking up my transcripts and turning them in again, im sure that im not over the hurt, im not over the pierced nipples or tattoos I remember, in all my drunken sweat, and I havent been the same since we disappeared together on google, and im not the same since i've been left, but im okay and doing my best to find myself and strengthen an identity, and all the money in my bank account couldnt prove my talents, or my worth in planning to pay the raised car insurance or rising rent prices, all the money I could spend couldnt prove a thing about me or my friends...

crowning

   I guarantee that what I am writing will better a life.  Will take a sword, and put it in your pocket, so you can rally those around you, into a small army and load up in the present, springing out onto the enemy, while they sleep, while they party, and with your band of family and friends, you too will take the city back, and open the gates for a bigger group to come.

   Although im battling little sleep, and 10 hour work days, the loss of my grandma etc.. although I keep having a re-occurring dream of not doing math homework and deadlines creeping in, although I keep having nightmares that take place at school in some theme of laziness, although im battling this heat and a dying dog, I'm making it happen,

   for you.

   I'm bringing this work to life...and in the light of my tablet and amateur radio communication, I listen to the different people talk in their diverse languages -across the wavelengths in empty moonlight and dull wind.  I listen in the light, and record these conversations, (broken up by latency and microphone clicks), I listen to a very human voice sounding alien to people they've never met, to people they've never seen, and although this sort of artificial distance exists, a very naked honesty is present.  A very familiar loneliness takes root in me, and all 8 other silent listeners.

   A wanting to be heard, a need to listen.

I sit in the dark of my study room -with the world asleep, and listen back for another friend.

     A risk -only some.  A gamble?  Everything.
                           -PELICAN

comin along

dark side

did you hear us?

   Arguing.  Out front, my house, 316AM.

I tried to kiss her.  I grabbed her, pulled her close.  She fucking screamed at me, that this is how it "always starts", that I "always bail" and so we brought up some dates (thanks to facebook) she pulled out her phone as we stood in silence going through the messages...

"SEE?  February 5th, YEAH.. SEE WHAT I WROTE?  OKAY?  No.. No, don't do that to me, don't make me feel bad for this.. Im sorry for kissing you.  Okay?  It was a terrible thing of me to do, and it won't happen again."

   We argue some more, I smoke a cigarette.  I haven't smoked one since March, but here I am, two in a row as she takes the recant on a deeper level, and we get on the subject of her ex-girlfriend.. We get on the subject of sex last summer, and I tell her that she shouldnt have been rubbing my leg in that garage tonight, because two hours ago we met some random punks, out front of 7-11 and I stood off with them against some mexican dudes, so they invited us back to where they squat, or stay, or whatever.  And full of puppies, running around the drumsets and amps, we drink beer and she gazes at me, next to my hand on the couch... I see all our years, and the ticket we got together, when she had a warrant for her arrest.. I see the time she called me, too drunk to walk home from the bar, so I drove out, picked her up, and the first thing she did when she saw me was hit me in the face.  I bled underneath my eye, a little.

   She was pissed, but I said nothing, because im a fool, because she was drunk.

   She probably doesn't even remember,
but this morning her dog was licking my face, and I swatted around the bed at it, and the radio came on and I turned over to cover my ears, and it was already 1030, and I had already missed breakfast at McDonalds, and I told her she was mean, and she denied yelling at me, and I told her she was right, because she was just screaming really loud.

Could you blame me? I asked.  Rubbing her stomach and feeling her push against me.  I kinda smiled with my eyes closed, and told her she was never allowed to pee again.