You're all just pissin' in the wind.

a plan. $683 for settlement of parking summons. $40 for Class E NY Driver's License. Unknown amount for replacement Social Security Card. Unknown amount for notary fee. $50 for Defensive Driving Course. Unknown amount for Medical Exam. $60 Licensing Fee. $75 Fingerprinting Fee. $25 Drug Test Fee. $150 for 24-Hour Taxi School Course. $25 Reserved Testing Date Fee. Every last scrap of my financial worth. Driving by June or July maybe 5 days a week for 3 months to save, then 1 day a week during school.

growin' up kurt
i can't say when it was completed, but somewhere along the way everything got flipped, everything is inverted. all of my notions that i grew up with from school, the television, my parents (they did better than most i know) are the tail side of the coin, the absolute adverse of what i think now. i could list some books that could be perfectly to blame, but they've been only beacons, escorts along the way. it is now that every thought that passes is automatically turned on it's back, and i hate to feel that it's too late. so, i'm just gonna flip that one too....

Current Music: the band. (stage fright)

wally campbell
there are a lot of people in new york city who sit gazing searchingly at others on the subway with damaged-old journal books open and the back-end of a pen resting on the gums between their teeth and lips. they all look freakishly similar. they all wear hats. they are all too hip, too embarrassingly gifted. none of them write too effusively when they do finally scribble something, and in mere seconds their stop arrives and they tuck the journal-book back into their intentionally prosaic shoulder bag and exit. i don't know that it should be so disquieting to know that you are probably not the only one in your city reading an old trade paperback of "the sorrows of young werther" or if it's better to accept that you will never be a singular human being and just file contentedly into the shared, collective (and singular) psyche of your own species.

hello brooklyn
there never really was anything to write about...just look at the gap

it's been two weeks (or three, it's going) in NYC and I've been assaulted at least twice. Once voluntarily (here in Wmsburg at Mission o' Burma) and another quite unexpectedly (pepper(spray) in the right eye at my new job). But the shows: almost saw TV on the Radio (the clouds were malevolent), Camera Obscura at Bowery last week and this week Mission of Burma at Warsaw (to pull some perspective - in FLA I saw a show once every two-3 years and one was a three hour roadtrip to Erasure (not to put them down, (Eli) -- they were great)) -- I've also been spending way too much time at East Village record stores and too much time listening to John Wesley Harding (the album not the band).

she gave me a shirt
of green it says:
'logic is shiny
and my
sun
is a
girl'

indeed i like it

and i like her

bygone the one who was lifted
by precocious petition
toward the animate repetition
in his chest

whose determinate erudition
allowed his thoughts to fly poetically
(as a classroom cherub gathers wool)

without venturing his immediate purlieu
he built the reliquaries

now bounding
with our lazy transversal maps and lenses
we do not know our heaven

when we do not know that our heaven
should be built from the opaque stones of unknowns

to be razed and trampled into a glow
atomized and re-realized as sisyphian myth

and that we are unconcious idols
who in our present position: idled
are on the bounded concious pursuit

the perfunctory suicide of science
of infinite little doubts
in institutions of knowledge-solid generalities

Current Music: Syd Barrett

one sentence of proust (davisly translated)
These were the sorts of provincial rooms which, just as in certain countries entire tracts of air or ocean are illuminated or perfumed by myriad protozoa that we cannot see, enchant us with a thousand smells given off by the virtues, by wisdom, by habits, a whole secret life, invisible, superabundant, and moral, which the atmosphere holds in suspension; smells still natural, certainly, and colored by the weather, like those of the neighboring countryside, but already homey, humid, and enclosed, an exquisite ingenious and limpid jelly of all the fruits of the year that have left the orchard for the cupboard, seasonal but moveable and domestic, correcting the piquancy of the hoarfrost with the sweetness of warm bread, as lazy and punctual as a village clock, roving and orderly, heedless and foresightful, linen smells, morning smells, pious smells, happy with a peace that brings only an increase of anxiety and with a prosiness that serves as a great reservoir of poetry for one who passes through it without having lived in it.

i would like a night of stout (or wine) stirred with the illusory truths of cognitive exorcisms

"I took a bath this morning in six war speeches, and a sprinkle of peace. Looks like ever body is declaring war against the forces of force. That's what you get for building up a big war machine. It scares your neighbors into jumping on you, and then of course they them selves have to use force, so you are against their force, and they're aginst yours. Look like the ring has been drawed and the marbles are all in. The millionaires has throwed their silk hats and our last set of drawers in the ring. The fuse is lit and the cannon is set, and somebody is in for a frailin. I would like to see every single soldier on every single side, just take off your helmet, unbuckle your kit, lay down your rifle, and set down at the side of some shady lane, and say, nope, I aint a gonna kill nobody. Plenty of rich folks wants to fight. Give them the guns."

you are in the jungle
"Man has a symbolic identity that brings him sharply out of nature. He is a symbolic self, a creature with a name, a life history. He is a creator with a mind that soars out to speculate about atoms and infinity, who can place himself imaginatively at a point in space and contemplate bemusedly his own planet. This immense expansion, this dexterity, this ethereality, this self-conciousness gives to man literally the status of a small god in nature...Yet, at the same time, man is a worm and food for worms...he is out of nature and hopelessly in it...up in the stars and yet housed in a heart-pumping, breath-gasping body that once belonged to a fish."

broken drum beat in liquid blue light
i have a thousand lp's sugar and you can still shut them up and down by earing a tragically cultish snip of soundtrack that is right now the only pleasing sound in this whole incredible arcade

Current Mood: don quixote
Current Music: "death has no season, so i know that i'll never die."

i didn't sleep.
and everything is out of time-

maybe this is the dream...

Current Music: your silent face|new order

survival in the lofts of 1980's new york
Dear Golda,

You never sent my Kong Maximum Track 3800 beat machine with 8-part sequencer and mono effects package including bonus 808 State mixtape. Please send. I want to bend it with my casio pulse code modulator. I've already malleted my rhythm midi's so that it plays cowbell infinitely at 54 bpm. And I have already sent the detroit legends trio cassettes with accompanying alvin toffler book, and will send shortly the Telex demos.

Please send soon.

Thank You again,
---- Sincerely, K.A.

Current Music: wall clock superfunk

Dear Pepsi,

your BIG truck fucked up her day.
It was parked in a go lane (not enough room to park in the quickie lot). I guess the rules of the road don't apply when there is a public function such as that that involves delivery of fizzy sugar water. THANKS Pepsi...NO citation necessary just keep the cola comin'! She could not get around your collossally hulking m(ass) of soda freight. So she backed up and crushed a matchbox car. $104 Moving Violation. I think YOU, PEPSI, were the one that was violating the moving.

She wanted to buy a dress from a thrift store. That's where she was going, but because the world needs it's ceaseless backstock supply of Pepsi-Cola she now hasn't even got the money to buy a can of pop --and it was bloody hot out there waiting for the heat to show up just before you wheeled out slowly forward unimpeded on to the next thirsty gas stop-

THANK YOU OPULENT PEPSI GODS

If anything could justify anarchism, it is the knowledge that the greatest artists toil in poverty, to enable a few dealers to grow rich after their deaths, and a few fanatics to hoard their works in warehouses. The most notorious vices are not so grotesquely irrational as this mania for hoarding, which, owing to it's apparent innocuousness, has not yet been recognized as a malady.

1904

you are my salvation

Since you have drunken up the drear
Death-darkened storm, and death

Is washed from the blue

Of my eyes, I see you beautiful, and dear.
Beautiful, passive and strong, as the breath

Of my yearning blows over you.

I see myself as the winds that hover
Half substanceless, and without grave worth.

But you
Are the earth i hover over. - DH.L

If today was not an endless highway,
If tonight was not a crooked trail,
If tomorrow wasn't such a long time,
Then lonesome would mean nothing to you at all.
Yes, and only if my own true love was waitin',
Yes, and if I could hear her heart a-softly poundin',
Only if she was lyin' by me,
Then I'd lie in my bed once again.

I can't see my reflection in the waters,
I can't speak the sounds that show no pain,
I can't hear the echo of my footsteps,
Or can't remember the sound of my own name.
Yes, and only if my own true love was waitin',
Yes, and if I could hear her heart a-softly poundin',
Only if she was lyin' by me,
Then I'd lie in my bed once again.

There's beauty in the silver, singin' river,
There's beauty in the sunrise in the sky,
But none of these and nothing else can touch the beauty
That I remember in my true love's eyes.
Yes, and only if my own true love was waitin',
Yes, and if I could hear her heart a-softly poundin',
Only if she was lyin' by me,
Then I'd lie in my bed once again

laundry.

(the sheets).

it is
just

that.

when the train left the station
It had two lights on behind
Whoa, the blue light was my baby
And the red light was my mind

All my love was in vain

All my love's in vain

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