what happens when virtue over extends itself
what happens when its detained
derailed
or deflated?
When it pretends to be something its not?
What is left then?
What binds us to our limitations and frees us of our ridicule?
Make me some gawd damn room, in this hot air balloon and stop feeling like that hand book is going to save a life or condemn another to hell.
*************************
**************************
quote from guy on bus: "you're fucking fun-Am-MenAl.....and you looks fucking wise, like you could teach me a tinG or tWo...mmmm....."
quote from boss: "Just don't fight with anyone today, okay?" (said as though I fight.....ever?)
quote from administrator: "You can't use you're watch as a calculator, but you can use a calculator"
quote from my brother when asked how it feels to be 5: "It feels kinda funny"
quote from dude: "Why aren't you DIGITAL yet?"
this sucks.
Im feeling quite exclusive and whirlwindish, french connection specialist, large work/school schedule, hanging out with family more, travel, and being a part of the walker again.its incredible.
Beyond incredibleand honestly Im not sure who will pay attention to the art anymoreyou should all be jealous.APRIL 17th!!!!
(p.s. maybe you shouldn't pay attention to me...from today on...starting NOW)
right now, its hard to distinguish the deference between being awake and asleep.and Im not sure if its good or bad or even relevant. I feel squelching expectations.that leave me feeling drained, dizzy and emotional..but again..there is this strange curtain of excitement..the best way I can describe any of it is by relating it all to a soy bean.
I am a soybean to the extreme.
The cold needs to stop.
And those fingers need to stop reaching upwardsthey are starting to feel more and more ridiculous
They have no goal, no aspiration, no desire to reach their bark-like, bone white fingers around my neck
They arent even desperately trying to claw towards the sun.they just stand blandly upright, like some limped and wistful idea, confused and indifferent. Bland and cold.
At least ideas have a spark.
My fingers feel numb and incompetent, this skin feels inept and useless. Baggy and tight in all the wrong places.
It itches and I wonder about this thing, this thing that revels in its highs and lows and licks up the victories and let downs like trolls and ogres gobble up goats and children.
I want to touch you. in a way that deons't make anysense, but you know what it means all the same. and you will make of that, what you will....
Do you know that?.could any of you ever realize how often my brain whirls and ticks and jumps and sometimes even smokes with this hungry fondness for conversation.and inhales unintentional arm bumpsbecause its a form of contact. Its scares me.
sometimes.
because I know that its hard to get. Hard to get your head around....and right now my head is around a brick, and a cacti of indiscrible proportions.
But Im supposed to help create you.and Id love to be unaffected and audacious, but I know youre supposed to do that for me too.whatever.
that's not the point.
I cant help but feel like Im stepping towards something so good and perfect, that maybe its bad
And Im not supposed to.
Im not supposed to be saying this, or reaching out in hopes of contact or running in place with my delusions dangling above my head. But I need to grasp onto something real, because reality isnt concrete enough. And the only thing I can feel is how numb my fingers are.
They remind me every keystroke
Every click
Every pause.
Backspace, breath, and bundle of nonsense. words.
I reach for my tea, cold, again, and if I could blink, Id remember how dumb(amazing) this all really is.
what happens when its detained
derailed
or deflated?
When it pretends to be something its not?
What is left then?
What binds us to our limitations and frees us of our ridicule?
Make me some gawd damn room, in this hot air balloon and stop feeling like that hand book is going to save a life or condemn another to hell.
*************************
**************************
quote from guy on bus: "you're fucking fun-Am-MenAl.....and you looks fucking wise, like you could teach me a tinG or tWo...mmmm....."
quote from boss: "Just don't fight with anyone today, okay?" (said as though I fight.....ever?)
quote from administrator: "You can't use you're watch as a calculator, but you can use a calculator"
quote from my brother when asked how it feels to be 5: "It feels kinda funny"
quote from dude: "Why aren't you DIGITAL yet?"
this sucks.
Im feeling quite exclusive and whirlwindish, french connection specialist, large work/school schedule, hanging out with family more, travel, and being a part of the walker again.its incredible.
Beyond incredibleand honestly Im not sure who will pay attention to the art anymoreyou should all be jealous.APRIL 17th!!!!
(p.s. maybe you shouldn't pay attention to me...from today on...starting NOW)
right now, its hard to distinguish the deference between being awake and asleep.and Im not sure if its good or bad or even relevant. I feel squelching expectations.that leave me feeling drained, dizzy and emotional..but again..there is this strange curtain of excitement..the best way I can describe any of it is by relating it all to a soy bean.
I am a soybean to the extreme.
The cold needs to stop.
And those fingers need to stop reaching upwardsthey are starting to feel more and more ridiculous
They have no goal, no aspiration, no desire to reach their bark-like, bone white fingers around my neck
They arent even desperately trying to claw towards the sun.they just stand blandly upright, like some limped and wistful idea, confused and indifferent. Bland and cold.
At least ideas have a spark.
My fingers feel numb and incompetent, this skin feels inept and useless. Baggy and tight in all the wrong places.
It itches and I wonder about this thing, this thing that revels in its highs and lows and licks up the victories and let downs like trolls and ogres gobble up goats and children.
I want to touch you. in a way that deons't make anysense, but you know what it means all the same. and you will make of that, what you will....
Do you know that?.could any of you ever realize how often my brain whirls and ticks and jumps and sometimes even smokes with this hungry fondness for conversation.and inhales unintentional arm bumpsbecause its a form of contact. Its scares me.
sometimes.
because I know that its hard to get. Hard to get your head around....and right now my head is around a brick, and a cacti of indiscrible proportions.
But Im supposed to help create you.and Id love to be unaffected and audacious, but I know youre supposed to do that for me too.whatever.
that's not the point.
I cant help but feel like Im stepping towards something so good and perfect, that maybe its bad
And Im not supposed to.
Im not supposed to be saying this, or reaching out in hopes of contact or running in place with my delusions dangling above my head. But I need to grasp onto something real, because reality isnt concrete enough. And the only thing I can feel is how numb my fingers are.
They remind me every keystroke
Every click
Every pause.
Backspace, breath, and bundle of nonsense. words.
I reach for my tea, cold, again, and if I could blink, Id remember how dumb(amazing) this all really is.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
captainawesome:
I had a friend that worked at the walker. then they fired him when they decided to do construction. I'm looking forward to the reopening but the outside of the building is now one of the worst eyesores on hennepin ave. Seriously. But i do love some of thier exibits. so i guess i can look past the akwardly shapped metal shiny things they consider walls.
thecowboy:
dude.