The new month is upon me and I can't help but resist the turn of a new tide. I have tried to turn before. I have declared and renewed the vision so many times that I am cynical of my own wish for change. The imbroglio of my inner man has woven itself into a knot of dreams and deeds and nightmares and misdeeds. New. Each day is new. But the calendar turning from its out of control early thirties back to it's innocent 1 has a way of reminding me. I know every time I look in the mirror that change is necessary and now. I know that truth is tantamount to this pursuit. I know that discipline is the dialectic. But I know I won't.

Can I really convict myself of a crime I am certain to commit? Or should my certainty shame me from recidivism to repentance.

So I think that the worst of the human condition is visible in what means we take to pursue immediate temporal pleasure. Personal pornographic demons are seared behind the eyes of a marred saint impersonator as he casts stones. So who am I to ignore the writing in the dirt. Instantly, the feeling in every corner of my body what my spirit can only wish to ascertain through diligence. Consequences be damned. Vomit be damned. Loss of Innocence be damned. I see the blatant error of my neighbor, but my plank is lodged. The scar tissue has over grown like a vacant lot and my sight is now nothing but tainted memory mixed with carnal imagination.

Psalm 27
4 One thing I ask of the LORD ,
this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD
and to seek him in his temple.

Please renew my passion for eternal pleasure God. This world is but a shadow of your beauty. Let it never be satisfying. Let it never be comfortable. I seek that which is beyond any sexy substance. Break me Lord. Break me.

So God is the ultimate pleasure. The single calling of humanity is to enjoy that pleasure. Why do I serve my flesh a silver platter of delicies when my spirit is dying of hunger? I don't know who I am any more. Pleasure I have sought. God I have not. The journey seems to have leveled off now. No mountians no valleys just joyless exsistence and sins of ommision.

To dive into a pool of shallow water is infantile unless you are shallow yourself. I have a friend who is 2 feet shallow and can dive into 3 feet of water just fine. She was raised in the Sahara and never got a proper amount of Vitamin C. Camel milk happens to be quite Vitamin C less. She tours with the circus jumping into shallow pools at her our risk. She makes pretty decent cash for a leper. She still has most of her skin. Water is apparently bad for leprosy so she has recently been diving into pools of vegetable oil. This helps her skin look young as it dies away and falls to the ground. Shallow circus folk are incredibly loyal and she always remembers my birthday. This last year she bought me a paint by number set. She never fails to send Christmas cards to me even though she's Jewish and one time she congratulated me on the birth of my child. I don't have any Children anymore but it is the thought that counts.

My Honey Bee

Buzz Buzz
Goes my Love
My little honey Bee

Right from the start
She's polonated my heart
I want kiss that beautiful Bee

She's got a ring on her finger
And one heck of a stinger
And I'm gonna marry that Bee!

I have been thinking about becoming depressed. You don't have to do anything with your life you just have to lay there and think about how bad you have it. I've got it pretty bad. Oh yeah. I've got it pretty stinkin bad. I have all my limbs but that is not to say that I don't have a bit of suffering. Seriously. Are you feeling that.

Happiness is relative to the sun. I hate the mornings when he dosen't show up. I feel like an orphan in a big city. But days when he peeks through my window and shines on my face while I am still dreaming of her, these are the days I love.

To degrade the grading system of humanity would be too trite. I hate the appearences of things. Who am I to see the truth behind the hersey? I hate when judgement is rooted in misunderstood asumptions. Communication is a buzz word among people who don't even know what they are talking about. Take a look at the thoughts I stand for and keep your eyes to yourself. Would a tie change my pride? Am I proud of the humility it takes to look stupid? Tie one on for the team and creap one day closer to the reaper.

I love a little girl named Melissa Gendreau. Love is an interesting thing. I totally don't understand it, but I know that I love her. I think love is commitment to one person. Love is an action. I am over philsophizing it. I just love her. Yup I'm gonna marry that beautiful girl.

Death and the Maiden

I bought a toothbrush from a villainous toothbrush salesman on the corner today. I walked up to him slow and steady, like glue running through the fingers of a monkey who does sign language. I looked into his eyes and saw my reflection. I looked good. So good I asked myself out on a date while looking into the toothbrush salesman's eye. This caused a moment of slight awkwardness like when you accidentally spit on a friends lip while speaking and then try to clean it off with your shirt. I politely turned myself down informing the man in the reflection that I was neither gay nor unattached but if I was either, neither, or both I would definitely look him up in the yellow pages. By this time the toothbrush salesman smelled the fishiness of the situation. I had been eating fish. Salmon. And hush puppies (bread balls often eaten with fish but not themselves fishy). He asked me point blank. "Do you or do you not want a . . . " Lost in the subtly of stupidity and the silence of unfinished point blank sentences I says to the salesman. "Why of course. It's for my wife." He didn't believe me for a minute. He saw right through me like an invisible wall that you can see right through without even seeing it. I had to cover my lie with a better lie. "I need it to kill a . . . " I thought that the man was in the business of unfinished sentences and would appreciate the irony of my own subtly. I tried to make a knowing face like I knew that he knew what I was talking about. But instead he said. "What are you talking about man?" I hit him in the face with my briefcase like he was an ex boyfriend, and took the pile of toothbrushes and ran away, throwing a handful of change at his bleeding body. I went home. No more fish breath and a happy wife with a variety of toothbrush choices.

Is this not the pinnacle of human pride. I am writing my thoughts with the arrogance that someone cares. I don't even care about most of my own thoughts, why should I expect you to care? Or does anyone care? What would it mean if you cared about my thoughts? Would you want to know me, or just about me? Has it become the same thing? I would like to say that I care about people and the world, but the cynicism of my young American mind questions the hypocrisy implicit in that statement. Do I care about people really or do I just want the world to believe that I care so as to make myself appear caring? Man I ask a lot of rhetorical questions. I think that is because I care whether or not you, the person who cares nothing about me, thinks I am intelligent. I'm a dork.