power

control. that power that pulls itself over people and renders safety in situation. a security by way of hierarchal position. why is such a silly thing so appealing? the every day is like a chess game to some. There are certain strategic moves that must be made, opportunities that if given must be snatched and utilized. every new occurrence holds an opportunity to secure your power rank among the participants. today i feel like a pawn. by their definition i suppose i am a pawn. i don't care for their competition, it is foreign to me. thus i am a piece that will allow itself to be placed. my ease of motion is not due to lack of knowledge about my position, rather my ambivalence to their world of power placements. why do many social constructs function under this system of politics? what lies. security is earned by reciprocity. power continuums are ephemeral at best. such structures will fall if one or few connections are broken. i was discussing animalistic nature last night. (fictitious) transcendence and the alienation of the intellectual. what lies. meaningless words. she is so spread out and moving in all different directions, her organ particles colliding with each other outside the screen of observation spinning around each small moving point of gravity. there is no pull but the local. no transcendence no Truth in words. fuck gravity.

splitz

i have wonderful people. i do, i always have. having wonderful people is one of the most amazing comforts in the world. they are the family you build rather than the family you are given. they are permanent in a different way. i hardly ever know how i gained such amazing people to be in my family. i sometimes attribute it to my town; its oddities and ability to hold groups and cement them. these mountains are magnetic. but even though the power of this place seems so potent and viscous at times, i know it is not unique. it is simply one of many vortexes in the world, one of many collective states of mind. there are people here with some common spirt inside of them, but it is not the reason for how i find and keep them. nor is it the reason for them. catalyst aside, i find it indescribable how fortunate i am. last night i had one of the most touching moments. the three of us were driving home from drunken (at least on my part) bowling. 2am with our windows down on the highway listening to explosions in the sky so loud i could feel the sound in my throat. i felt as if i were in love. but not the kind of love you have for a person, though it had the same pointed intensity. i was in love with a moment and its beat pulsed through me with all the possible desperation of joy it could take on. there are people who never know such intensity, never have the people to create it with. i wish i could give them this gift.

age

i have been trying to understand age for my entire life. i cannot yet. and what i do see of it leaves me unsettled and terrified. i am not talking about old age, connotations should not be so readily assigned to words. i am terrified of the continuum, not of an end. a number is meaningless, but the forward current of points that drape the spaces between numbers... well, that is where the secret malignancy of growing older lies. age is not asymptotic, zeno's paradox falls to pieces with the motion of a continuum. i went to a soccer game tonight with a friend i used to work with a couple of years ago. it was her husband's soccer game, an office team. everyone was married, everyone had small children. little boys running around on the sidelines kicking size 3 soccer balls at their mothers while kimberly and i drake obligatory wine coolers and i grew to realize i cannot tell her true things. why does age rot? at small numbers the passing of time drives involuntary change, tricking us into believing growth is a given, almost like breath. but at large numbers the passing of time drives nothing. people say "i missed my boat". the graph levels out and slows until it's motion eventually just stops. somewhere between breath and dying we have to teach ourselves momentum. this is the terror. how can we teach ourselves the power of our own mass when we do not know how to determine our velocity?

first

..
i used to write much more than i do now. i used to draw. today a state farm commercial i saw in passing triggered a memory of what it used to feel like to sculpt. it remembered me of the nothingness of firm grey clay and how such a nothingness found out the small places between fingerprints and held there until completion or frustration set it aside. it is a disappearing muscle. a week or so ago, while drunk at a party at my house, i found myself pulling out an old sketch book. In it's thick watercolor pages resides a portrait, not yet finished, of the most beautiful picture of my mother. the photo from which it was drawn lay face up on this painting, and sitting there drunk with this unfinished expression, i tore from my wall a polaroid of myself that looks so much like her. i thought it ridiculously absurd regarding these two photos and an unfinished painting. there under my impaired inspection were three pieces of evidence of three lost eras, with nothing in common but the tie of an echo of form, a series of overtones my untimely observation did nothing but damp. i don't draw any more, nor write nor sculpt. though i can form the equation of such an overtone, i cannot express it. the frustration of form was/is always the battle.