You know quite well, deep within you, that there is only a single magic, a single power, a single salvation...and that is called loving. - Well then, love your suffering. Do not resist it, do not flee from it. It is your aversion that hurts, nothing else." - Herman Hesse

Me, Myself, and I

Me

sitting at my desk...jogging pants and a white wife-beater...hair piled up on top of my head...and typing furiously

Myself

barefoot...music coming up from the floorboards...bent over a table doing body work on a close friend...loose clothes and stringy hair hanging down on either side of my face...pulled in by the exchange of energy

I

black combat boots, short skirt...laughing hysterically with my best friend..eating indulgent food drooling over the waiter....feeling life with every inch of my being

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. -- Dr. Seuss


My AIM: adamoinsania


If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of
yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us.
-- Hermann Hesse


www.myspace.com/spinningblue

Poetry for the Unamassed.


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Tuesday, September 05, 2006
t-shirt nazi


I have learned this week that an announcement was made at West Monroe High School that skulls are now banned from any article of clothing worn by students. 

Hm.

Is this what we are spending our time on in the school board meetings? Banning the image of an x-ray'd human head?

My son has a skull shirt from a local clothing company called Mojos.  Instead of teaching the idea of promoting local business in his free enterprise class, apparently the idea is to teach, "you are what you wear and skulls are scary to us normal folks".

Only once has anyone said anything to him about his clothes.  He was wearing a t-shirt which was vaguly flame-ish and a teacher told him that he shouldn't be wearing demonic clothes to school.  To which he pointed at the kid next to him and replied, "Hey, don't look at me, that guy's wearing a Jesus shirt."

I love my son.

There was no reason given for this absurb ban.  Possibly, they just didn't like the connotation that the image of the skull conjures up. 

Two words here.  Johnny Reb.  School Mascot.

School Flag: confederate (rebel) flag

Another student theory being passed around is that "they" don't want anyone banding together as gangs and using the skull as a symbol.  As we already know, even just simple colors and strips of fabric can be used to identify gangs, so really, what's the problem here? 

I'm not sure when Jolly Roger became such a bad thing.  The whole idea is just silly.

So, please, West Monroe High School, maintain some sort of sense of humor here. 

After all, I maintained mine when your HIGH SCHOOL football team got astro-turf.


Thursday, June 22, 2006
an sharp intake of breath


I've had dreams this past week.  Lots of them.  Self-mutialation, searches, sex...you name it. 

Last night I dreamed that I was in a church.  It was a huge beautiful gothic cathederal.  There was a bishop there who talked me into being baptized.  Not, sprinkled, but dunked.  For some reason this church had a huge baptistry.  He told me that I should do it, not for myself, but for the good of mankind.  I would be helping others. 

I walked up the stairs to the baptistry to take a look.  It was the size of a full room and the water was very warm.  I remember thinking in the dream that it was like a jucazzi.  Then I noticed that the water flowed slightly over the edge of the thing  and that it was slowly flooding the whole church.  No one seemed to notice, or either they just didn't care.  I walked into a small room where the bishop was waiting for me.  I told him , "just so you know, don't hold me under for very long, because I start to freak out."  He said, "Ok, I won't hold you under for very long.  Just relax."  He grinned mischiviously.  He was wearing a long priest's robe.  Then he said, "What if I put my hand up your skirt while I dunk you under...would you relax then?".  "Don't do that", I told him.  "I would have an involuntary sharp intake of breath and breathe in all the water!".  He smiled and I woke up.

Kind of explains my present outlook on religion....being fucked by the church while being fucked by the church. 

__________________________________________________________

It's funny about dreams.  Our thoughts are wonderous things.  They become feelings which in turn become life and death.  Our feelings for one another cause other lives to be born...and sometimes our feelings for one another lead to death. 

I've had a lot of experience with dreams.  And more than usual experience with pre-cognitive dreams.  Sometimes dreams bring me information that I would not have been able to handle in real life...on some subtler plane of existance.  Or things that were right in front of my face that I just could not see in waking life.  Or things that were being hidden from me by others.

It's not crazy, it's not wierd (ok, maybe a little wierd), but it fits into my theory of collective unconcious.  Every thought changes molecules in the air, causing numerous other changes....and we all experience these changes in one way or another. 


Monday, April 17, 2006
I flew my kite into oncoming traffic (my life at present).





I had always considered that my kite might get caught in a tree (a la charlie brown), but had never thought that it might get run over by a car.

That's what I get, I guess for flying it at night in front of the record store.

Hey, it was windy, it was a beautiful night, I thought, why not! Then about the time it was way above the street, way above the power lines, I realized what would happen were the wind to die down. And just then, it did. And my soaring tie-dyed kite swooped down and right into the passenger's door of a silver 4-runner.

Luckily, it was Mary driving by at just that moment.

Ordained weirdness.

Meant to be unusuality.

Posted at 07:33 pm by angryalchemist
 
Monday, March 13, 2006
The House of Manic


The house of manic is situated on the corner of criminal activity and euphoria.

There is a lizard queen here. She rides around on roller skates with a bottle of vodka. We worship her because she is out standard of normalcy.

There are no beds here, no sleep - only bar stools that spin and spin. - Molecules that bounce, unaltered by conventional ways of thinking.

The house of manic has no walls. - We got bored one night and blew them up with toilet bowl cleaner and empty water bottles.

Our favorite phrase at the house of manic is, "it can't be that hard, can it?" - sometimes prompting us to build home-made solar powered nuclear fusion machines - only to disassemble them the next day because we needed the duct tape for the inflatable swimming pool.

The noise here is constant. -definable sounds of music and typewriter keys - no song ever lasting more than two minutes. We live off a diet of heat-lamp fried chicken and gas station cappucino, the kitchen long-ago transformed into a moldy piece of living art- dirty glass sculptures piled high to the ceiling.

The foundation of the house is made of grey concrete. It is covered in poetry written with hot pink retractable sharpie. We lay on it at night and deconstruct words and ideas and theories. Conversation is our highest artform. Followed closely by sex. We have lots of great sex here.

What we don't have here is electricity. We forgot to pay the bill.

Sometimes the neighbors drop by and offer us cookies and alternative ideas of betterment. "Therapy", they say, "religion". What they don't understand is that we choose our lizard queen above all other gods. She gives us a life of measured chaos, time slips, fearless flights and lucid dreaming.

The house of manic is a great place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live here. - Especially in the winter - it gets cold with no walls and no heat. And the lizard queen always goes into hibernation. Our duct tape is replaced with red tape and police tape and we mostly just hold hands and hide out until the sun starts to shine again.

-Then, on to the dreaming - and the worship - and the vodka - and the racing, fleeting thought that nothing matters.

Thursday, February 23, 2006
the positives of depression


I have been working my way though Brad's Henry Miller book for almost 6 months now. (i promise i'm going to return it soon) I read a passage yesterday that reminded me of what it's like to go though and journey out of depression. If nothing else, you always know that things change...and life can never be bad all of the time...and I do truely believe that the more you go through, the more yourself that you become.

"What fascinates me is that anything so dead and buried as I could be resuscitated, and not just once, but innumerable times. And not only that, but each time I faded out I plunged deeper than ever into the void, so that with each resuscitation that miracle becomes greater. And never any stigmata! The man who is reborn is always the same man, more and more himself with each rebirth. He is only shedding his skin each time, and with his skin his sins. The man whom God loves is truly a right-living man. The man whom God loves is the onion with a million skins. To shed the first layer is painful beyond words; the next layer is less painful, the next still less, until finally the pain becomes pleasurable, more and more pleasurable, a delight, an ecstasy. And then there is neither pleasure nor pain, but simply darkness yielding before the light. And as the darkness falls away the wound comes out of its hiding place: the wound which is man, man's love, is bathed in light. The identity which was lost is recovered. Man walks forth from his open wound, from the grave which he had carried with him so long."


Tuesday, February 14, 2006
new musical obsession


the reception's gotten fuzzy.
the delicate balance has shifted.
put on your gloves and your black pumps.
let's pretend the fog has lifted.

now you see me.
now you don't.
now you say you love me.
pretty soon you won't.

if we get our full threescore and ten,
we won't pass this way again.
so kiss me with your mouth open.
turn the tires toward the street
and stay sweet.

all the chickens come on home to roost.
plump bodies blotting out the sky.
you know it breaks my heart in half, in half
when I see them trying to fly.

'cause you just can't do
things your body wasn't meant to.
hike up your fishnets.
I know you.

if we live to see the other side of this,
I will remember your kiss.
so do it with your mouth open.
and take your foot off of the brake
for christ's sake.

Friday, February 10, 2006
something's wrong here


I hate being the only one awake when I really need to talk to someone.  This blog was born out of that problem.

I don't know why I have all of this sudden anger, but now that I look back on it, it's been building for a while. 

Damnit.

I see myself.  I know what I'm doing and it's pointless to try to stop.  I'm a nice girl.  I let people take me for granted.  I let things get to me. 

Maybe it's healthy.  Maybe it's self-preservation.  Maybe it's cowardess.  I can't talk about what's really bothering me and so I wait for it to build up and then I just kind of implode and walk away. 

People who know me have seen this happen. I let people go and I don't look back.  And I can feel the beginnings of that happening now.

That scares me.

I let people push and push and push and then all of sudden I turn on them and there is this look of blankness in my eyes.  Then they get confused.  Where did I go?  What did they do wrong? 

Is it too much to ask to just treat me with dignity while you still have the chance?

Maybe I'm just not giving mankind enough of a chance.  Maybe I'm giving it too much of one.

I don't know who I'm even talking to here.  Myself, really, since I'm the only one up at 4:45 in the morning reading this. 

Shit.  I thought maybe if I got up and wrote all of this out, I could get some sleep. 

Something's wrong here. 



Wednesday, February 01, 2006
alcohol


I am all lips and teeth.

I take your words
and seal them in a bottle
so that I can uncap them later
when I am at home in the dark.

I take in my breath.

I take a drink.

Sunday, January 29, 2006
spazz records


Ok guys...for all of you who have been asking, here's the info on the record store! We are all very excited about this!!! Brad is getting ready to make his initial order, so if any of you have requests, you can email him at this site:

www.spazzrecords.com

______________________________________________________


Spazz Records grand opening Feb. 18th with Red Garage performing at 6pm.

Punk/Hardcore/Emo/Indie/Ska/Goth/New Wave/Glam/Groove/Screamo/Garage/Death Metal/DarkWave/Industrial/Black Metal

and 1 really funny looking Rod Stewart record.

We buy, sell and trade CD's/tapes/LP's/EP's, weird novelties, T-shirts, underground magazines/fanzines. If you are in a local band and would like to sell your wares here, bring it on.

Bob Teague is moving his traveling Thursday night "open mic night" to the store so be sure to come on by and hang out or get up on stage.


______________________________________________________

I can't freaking wait!

jen

Tuesday, January 24, 2006
they didn't do it


When Josh was in the 7th grade at Lee Jr. High, a couple of his friends got "wrongly accused".  I never got the full story as to what exactly happened, I just know that his group of friends were in an uproar about it.  Whatever it was that they did is irrelevent.  What matters now is the protest that followed.

One of the boys decided to make a t-shirt to wear to school.  It was a plain white t-shirt with various colored permanent marker on the front stating "Kris and Cody are innocent!"  On the back it read, "They didn't do it."  The shirt travelled around to various kids and was worn by just about every member of the seventh grade at one point or another. 

I was doing laundry last night...zoning out and inhaling fresh, warm lint, when I was snapped to attention by a screaming toddler nearby.  That's when I noticed that, yes, I was folding the Kris and Cody shirt once again.  My son is in high school now!  Come on!  Will this ever end? The once loose t-shirt is now small enough to fit on his frame like the rest of the tight emo-wear he owns. 

Did Kris and Cody ever find justice?  Do they appreciate that I and countless other moms have laundered this shirt approximately 827 times?  How long can this t-shirt possibly stay in circulation? 

And the more frightening thought:  which girlfriend will be wearing it to sleep in first? 

God, help me.


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