A fluctuation in habit

No mans life can be encompassed in one telling. There is no way to give each year its allotted weight, to include each event, each person who helped to shape a lifetime. What can be done is to be faithful in spirit to the record and try to find one's way to the heart of the man...

a day without facebook or myspace... difficult. my addiction to social absurdities is fed by these sites. watching people exploit there personalties into little white text boxes/ hope resides there perhaps?/. speaking of tiredness and depression. excitement and desperation. effortlessness and exploitation. fear. hope. madness. how i love them all. each word felt differently by its maker. branching off into new realms of possibility and definition.

he will be saying prayers in the garden just follow the others...
sad scene unfolds. abrupt. takes many by suprise to see this event take place so early on in the picture.
and the world turns to ash before my eyes...

cynicism is realism. defined by question, executed by answer. turning logic to dust. i sprinkle its sad remains to the wind, with a gleeful look upon my face, as if iv just witnessed the end of the world... time now just a void. possibilty made of fluroscent colour and beautiful imagery. as Terence Mckenna would say, "now the elves are near"....
the sound of silence echoing throughout my thoughts. disturbing the voices of lost souls that bring me to unknown places, where only fear and complacency reside. i speak my first words. a foreign tongue. alien voice. they break through the air and tear apart the landscape. the first tremour of creative consciousness destroying every ion of unobserved simplicity.
i am no longer the son of man, but the son of space. unnocupied space. twirling artisticly through time. no pattern. no equation. no reason. just there. now here.

i couldnt do it. it was nearing 12 when i finally gave in. funny, some people cant kick smack, booze, tabbacco. i cant kick people (lol). i havent had a proper converstation in a while. though when i say conversation, i dont mean conversation at all. atleast not by all human definition. i dont think there is a word for 'a proper conversation'.

hes pretty hot
why would you say that
well... he is
well yeah i guess, but why would you say that to me?
i dunno, just sorta came out
...
...
lets go get a drink.

did this conversation exist? i dunno. perhaps. im asleep most of the time anyway. that sticks like a pin in my mind though. if it did happen then im sure i was pretty pissed off for the rest of the day. it was probably replaced later that evening by wet kissed that shattered anxiety into a million pieces. small talk, big talk, flirty talk, stupid talk, emotional talk, surreal talk. dammit i should take not of these things. they could be such a good talking point.

thats not a converstation though. thats just an every day, run of the mill occurence. girl says something, boy dislikes, girl gives half assed apologey, boy gives half assed acceptence. and all of a sudden nobodies believes you anymore. you still wanna get laid though, youll pull it off somehow. youll say you didnt care and that she must trust you alot to have told you. ahh maybe got out of it though. drive home. can i come in?
small talk, big talk, flirty talk, stupid talk, emotional talk, surreal talk. new wed get there in the end. can i go home now? gotta let the dogs out.

life is one big series of emotional 3 minute clips. full of juicy fruit words like tenderness, treachoury, fluition, concsiousness, salvation, minimilist, surrealist, apperition, density, equation, temper, temper, temper, 4 leaf clovers, oblique, tangerines, sex, murder, fear, semi-illiterate, fuck etc etc etc. most of which are spelt wrong when written down. who cares? i dont. i know what i mean and im sure you do to.