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BY GRING0

11/01 Direct Link
Somewhere on this Earth there exists a darkened room. In this place, hidden from plain sight, is a collection of nondescript black journals. Passages mark the pages seemingly at random, a heavy-handed stroke betraying a singular identity – one I know to be my own. There is no chronology. There is no method. Only self-important litter... emotional shrapnel, momentary confession, and mortal realization. I know this Self only from afar, the words triggering memory, the memory prompting emotion, the emotion bridging flesh with spirit. Observe, fair beings - and learn to look away. Do so gently, please. I am afraid.
11/02 Direct Link
There are two unappealing lesbians living in the flat above my own. I sit here now, forced to listen to a terrible pounding, their heavy steps against the ancient wood flooring. One of them yells, her voice muffled by the sheetrock that is my ceiling. A door slams. Momentary silence now, and my mind drifts – “How many doors have slammed on account of me?”

Tonight around midnight I will turn on my ceiling fans, the ones directly beneath their sleeping quarters. It shakes their coffins, and they hate it. I know this because they told me so. Big mistake, ladies
11/03 Direct Link

I am worried about a great many things

And I want to remove myself from the

Idle suffering.  Yet my suffrage is a luxury,

An entitlement to freedoms yet lived.

Melodrama, you fool.  Take some advice.

[Edited for content]

That wasn’t advice at all.

 

However…

 

There is the current that is our life,

It hides within its waters many false

Truths and perversions of faith.

You wade the waters just the rest of us

Do, wondering why there isn’t

Any true purpose anymore.  You greet the

Void before you, and you remember…

The spirit grows, strength is restored by wounding.

11/04 Direct Link

I used to go to the beach when I needed change.  I’d sit in singular stillness just beyond the threat of tide.  I’d close my eyes and quiet my mind.  Once a peaceful state was achieved, I’d hum the sacred OM, stating to the Universe my desires on every resonate mmmmmmm sound.  The vibration would effervesce deep inside my body, quaking my mortal core with active intention.  Time would pass without taking notice of me.  Then, while traveling through a great darkness at speeds beyond comprehension, the sound of crashing surf would reach my consciousness - and I’d think of eternity.

11/05 Direct Link

I awoke with faint expectations on this grey morning, a current of energy running through my mortal frame.  Gone now, that surreal haze of the subconscious, spirited away by some learned awareness.  In its place, a familiar hush - one that I’ve become accustomed to.  There were days in the history of this existence so full of a child’s optimism and unrelenting curiosity that now, on this faded morning in November, my heart aches to rediscover such fervor for purpose.  Trapped now, locked into this transitional conflict between two infinite poles of absolute purity, I shall remain solely - the Grey Lizard.

 

11/06 Direct Link

To hold in the palm of my hand such gentle innocence, the fragile frame of a flying squirrel.  He clings to me now, holding back my fingers, pleading with me to discard this terrible nonsense and recommence the idle scratching of his crown.  Perhaps a fool or simply committed, I resist his untamed charms.  And it isn’t long before he discovers renewed interest in a glass of wine.  I watch as he scales to the rim with precarious confidence, dangling himself above the sacred juice.  He then dips his face into the pool, and as if by order I follow.

11/07 Direct Link

I haven’t left my bed today.  At least not for very long.  My girlfriend brought me leftover cake for breakfast, and now tiny crumbs hide like camouflaged ants within the crimson sheets.  I push the bedding to the far edge, and then perform a sweeping motion with my hand like that of a pendulum.  While I do not see any progress, certain sounds do suggest that my goal is being accomplished.  Tiny particles rain down onto the hard wood floor below.  I continue the violent act, all the while slowly advancing to where the bedding awaits in a heaped pile.

11/08 Direct Link

We stopped at a dive casino in Reno.  I had gambled before but never had much love for it.  But fuck it.  I was broke.  I was thirsty.  And lady luck was coursing through my veins in the form of reckless abandon.  We grabbed an open chair next to a couple Hispanics.  The game was Blackjack, and the minimum was three bucks.

Give me twenty dollars worth, we said.

You look a little lost, she said.

No, it’s just been awhile, we told her.

She was worn looking, with greasy blond hair cascading over both shoulders.

Bets in, she said.

11/09 Direct Link

One look down the dirt road was all he needed.  The sun had long vanished, leaving in its wake a procession of dissipating cloud fluff, each wisp broken at some vital juncture as if the moonlight itself had begun dissolving what purity was left from the day.  The road looked a dark shade of blue, and far in the distance just a terrible black expanse.

He pivoted on the balls of his feet to face the direction from which he’d come.  He was greeted by a near identical image, a winding road from nowhere.

He was wary of such loneliness.

11/10 Direct Link

There is a self-inflicted wound.  It is my body.  Between it and my spirit, a nurtured callus.  My partially lived life.  To try to understand this union is to fail.  To seek peace is to compromise.  It wears me, this persona, as if I were a fitted suit.  Set adrift we eternally collide, imprisoned by our perfect symmetry.  Damn you, Creator, cursed Tailor of Fates.  Where did you hide your true intentions?  Beyond the grasp of mortal men?  That’s what I’ve come to believe, you see, because there’s nothing but empty pockets here, the product of your infinite imperfection.

11/11 Direct Link

A man flees from an invisible demon, unable to shake him.  A robed woman prepares explosives for her three sons.  A trout mocks an injured bear at the brook’s edge, making light of his inadequacies.  Nine large bowls sit in the street, each filled with blood.  Traffic stops to ponder the mystery.  Black magic in the form of weather gives the morning a foreboding gray appearance.  Three dogs in Mexico struggle for survival amidst a changing culture.  A child carries his beagle, limp and lifeless, draped across his arm.  He drops her into the fountain on the hill, then waits.

11/12 Direct Link

It’s like the stink of liquor on your breath.  I sense this terrible thing from a distance.  Like some vapor in the room it suffocates my patience and compassion.  Time now to gouge out my eyes.  Sheer will, the sticking of a hypodermic needle under my middle finger’s nail, the gentle extraction of some alter ego who hasn’t the stomach for sustained initiative.  This prolonged state of neglect hasn’t the legs, either.  There is no pleasant road for a Wolf of the Steppes, just a narrow path down into a sacred abyss where all of God’s misunderstandings go to die.

11/13 Direct Link

Is there nothing positive inside this foul mind of mine?  Desires soaked in wet ash, a clouded sensation of success sticking to the bottom of a rusted pail like heavy tar.  Bog below, I cannot stomach this state of being.  I am not sick.  I need no medication.  I have the will of a thousand mortal fools.  I seethe.

We hear certain things, small trifles during our youth.  Axioms, anecdotes, wisdoms…

So repeated they pass through our consciousness, meanings misplaced by those common senses that make this world tangible.  Somewhere a television gleams, insistent with thoughtlessness.  This is quiet desperation.

11/14 Direct Link

I set myself on the path home sometime after one.  As I reached the street I noticed a lingering sickness in my head, some alter ego bent on soulless violence and cheap muggary.  My girlfriend was somewhere ahead of me, hobbling in her own way towards the safety of home.  Had it not been for the white burrito truck parked beneath the bar’s neon, perhaps things would’ve played out differently.  Could those idle minutes spent in that stagnant line have offered me a different fate, one that didn’t employ the foul charms of officers and the cold steel of handcuffs?

11/15 Direct Link

I remember it now.  I had planned on bringing something of nutritional value to that hapless vagabond sleeping in the doorway of the El Tropical cafe.  That is, as I passed the small huddled mass of blankets while on my way to nurse my own woes, something pinched deep inside, a sharp reminder in the form of an ancient splinter – perhaps a life past lived.  I thought without thinking, I must help this individual. 

Yet the drink at the fool’s watering hole, the one on the happy side of Sunset Blvd., aggravated yet another change within me.  All was forgotten.

11/16 Direct Link

Off for a walk I went, well timed with the departing light of the day.  The sun was warm, and I strolled in the grip of her reaching brilliance.  It was encouraging.  I walked a street named Reno, then sat on some pavement.  Once satiated with the purity of daylight, I crossed through the shadow of an alleyway stained blue by the crimes of generations passed.  Forward I pushed, over the Troll’s Bridge and then down the embankment at the far side.  Some brief window watching reminded me that existence is merely a fluke.  Then I went home to piss.

11/17 Direct Link

Reluctant Thinker.

You, like so many others, have seen too much of this life through the bottom of a whiskey glass.  One day while digging blindly into that angry black noise, your rotted imagination, you meet a Maker.  This Guardian, a true manifestation of some greater sense, is all that keeps your brain from collapsing in upon itself.  And so you talk.  You - a representative of man, one against the world, lacking vision and so deeply committed to some misfortune of the month.  Look what you’ve done.  You have tired the Guardian.  Now what the fuck are we to do?

11/18 Direct Link

Time has run amuck on this day… and there is no distinguishable reason why that is so.  I am now ready to ascend to the greater realms of existence, even if only for a handful of hours.  I cherish these minutes, here and now, embracing the certainly of my surroundings.  I am wary, for it’s only moments now until I give my Self over to the borderlands.  And perhaps during some blackened hour I’ll find myself blindly aloof, pawing at the smooth surface wall where seconds before there stood a distinct outline of a doorway.  And there’ll be no wonder.

11/19 Direct Link

Behold, great world, this bright shard of inspiration now freshly burrowed behind my mind’s eye like a diamond headed spear.  I carry it as one would a splinter, both painfully aware and universally infatuated by its presence.  The course of action is simple - one foot placed in front of the other.  Repeat until victory.  Not the master plan, but rather a stepping block to the next tier of imaginative freedom.

I shall nurture this sliver of inspiration, and not only achieve the goal in due time but greatly profit as well.  All this, and without the use of tweezers.

11/20 Direct Link

I desire a profession that involves traveling and writing.  The two need not be directly related, either.  I want to wake to different surroundings every week in strange and forbidden territories throughout this world.  That action alone would be the source for some compelling writing.  I guess I could temporarily satisfy this scenario with what’s available to me now.   I wake in my bed, most mornings.  Why not wake on the living room couch or the kitchen floor.  I could lie amongst the dirty laundry in the “washroom” or even try slumbering in the bathtub.  Maybe then I’d be happier.

11/21 Direct Link

I need to produce a large sum of money as quickly as possible.  I’ve not only my livelihood at stake but also my physical life – my state of breathing.  I’m beginning to understand why some resort to more daring measures.  My living these past seven years in a cloud of self deception has produced little of value in the currency of fulfillment.  With so little to show for my years of blind dedication except for crow’s feet and a few new scars, would starting over be such a disservice?  Not that that’s an option, really, given all my wretched debt.

11/22 Direct Link

Wanted: Participants for bloody revolution.  Must be willing to give life for greater cause.  Some compensation.  Must have outstanding debts with Department of Treasury and an equal or greater share of resentment for the implied responsibility of that debt.  Applicants must be in good physical shape and possess his/her own firearm.  Must be available on weekends and holidays.  Experience in martial arts and guerilla warfare a plus.  Freedom loving attitude encouraged.  Please print and return the following application in a self-addressed envelope.  If approved, each new member should expect to be branded with the appropriate symbol of his/her association.

11/23 Direct Link

I am bound to certain fame and disillusionment in this life of destruction and certain creation.  Though fragmented, the long arch of time remains perceptible if not predictable (even if only in my dreams).  Through ritual repetition, I am now blind to the repercussions of inaction (or perhaps I simply haven’t strived to be a cause).  This road may look like any other, but the gravel under foot feels queer.  There is more still up ahead.  We will find truth.  We will feel reality.  And they will both be lies.  Godless lies. 

Love is forever.  Nothing’s forever.  Love me forever.

11/24 Direct Link

Behold the Spirit Thief.  She comes when we sleep.  Pulls from our nostrils our most cherished dreams.  We awake in the morning feeling hollow and weak.  In place of desire, a fear based greed.

Behold the Thought Pirate.  He sips beer at the bar.  With slanted ears he listens, with crooked intentions he follows.  You exit to the street and trip on some asphalt.  You come to in a bathtub, with a long vicious scar.

Behold the Black Dog.  He sits on the street… a Pooka disguised as a Pooka in need.  He will not depart without fresh human meat. 

11/25 Direct Link

Accolades today, gifted by an expected grey cloud of overall disapproval.  It feels good, actually.  There was great encouragement in those gentle words, the ones that came after the thunder of failure.  The movie has failed, but….

I sometimes wonder about destiny, how impervious it is to human error.  I’d like it to be true, and grand.  On some days I think there is only potential, subject to the laws of this physical reality.  You could do so well, but… you could go so far, but…

Life is a series of opportunities.  Either that, or it’s a prison of Hell.

11/26 Direct Link

I made a list of Fifty Ways to Improve My Life.  Out in the woods there was little else to do at one in the morning.  From within my tent, surrounded by tiers of healthy cannabis, I thought deeply about my life, but mainly of the place that I call home.  Los Angeles.  Far from sight and out of mind, I couldn’t find true reasoning.  No purpose.  What pursuits were left so painlessly behind soon became weightless wisps of time.  To be removed is cause for panic, to be displaced offers piece of mind.  If only I had the strength.

11/27 Direct Link

Live big.  Something I’ve been entertaining lately.  Go broad and push.  There are lessons down here, on this Earth.  It’s far too convenient to fall victim to the treachery of safety, isn’t it?  I want the scars.  I’ll take a worthwhile struggle.  Just make it worth my while.  Hunger.  It all stems from hunger.  Where are your Gods?  Are you afraid of your flaws?  We know too little about this world to take things any less serious.  We know to little too little about this world to not squeeze some worth from it, this beautiful fluke.  Show me the magic.

11/28 Direct Link

And so the hammer falls.  Only to be raised once again, and the next time destined for you, perhaps?  Perhaps not.  Someplace else the sun slowly sets and two figures bask in warm orange light, each clutching a hopeful appreciation for being.  Such adulation for things unknown to me.  Tell me what it is you see out there upon that cracked horizon?  Does it reflect visions from your soul?  Have you seen what might soon be?  And what should happen once the light departs, when the darkness descends?  I see.  There is a window, and within it a flame burns.

11/29 Direct Link

I can hear a drum.  It pounds with the fury of some great end.  Its sound, a throbbing reminder of near mortality, can penetrate the most resilient of hosts.  No one can defy its beckon call.  I have grazed that terrible place, entertained the Devil’s Muse, and only now do I remember the encounter.  The music persists in both waking life and the other, and it drives the footsteps of All - every single day.  There is no harm in opening your ears to these tones of supreme sublimity.  These famous notes exist within you now, at this very moment.  Hear.

11/30 Direct Link

I am not good by the standards of contemporary morality.  That was a judgment passed long ago by some other personality, one far less adaptable than what I am now.  Whether to seek pleasure and joy over pain is truly inconsequential to the path, as just about any sot on Earth can discern right from wrong; just not that slick gray matter in between.  To look upon the many faces of experience is to enter some primitive menagerie of original intention… a place where mirrors cast no false reflections… where the various perversions of this species can all remain nameless.