filtered emotions
eclipse a sense
you should feel
certified honest
chilling to know
relief sadness empathy
sorely lacking
tears come for all
not this time
I have wondered at my own humanity
penetrated
no searing light
no dark abyss
a shallow pool
reflects my musing
I shake my head
in supposed disbelief
and wonder
who will expose me?

monday, march 31, 2003

>l've been scared in the past to tell people how I feel about them;
>there's a fear of rejection, fear of being taken the wrong way, fear
>of making yourself vulnerable... and all you have to say is, "your
>cool man, i like you." The thing is, people are afraid to say those
>things, but they shouldn't be, because it makes you feel great.....
>one of the best feelings in the world is making other people feel
>good.
>
>That moment when you've pushed fear aside, and trepidation is gone,
>when you have total confidence, is just amazing.... so why is it so
>damn hard to do? for me its my parents and family, it is so hard
>for me to tell them how much I love them, how proud I am of them,
>how amazing they are... and I don't know why. . . .
>
>the thing is, you think you have total control over your emotions
>and happiness, but then occasionally something happens, just for a
>moment, that you can't control, and it bugs the shit out of you...

gaucho cup winner from history

return to civilization...

whatever.

flight evades me
fright however
pervades my daily life
live my creed
or so I say
read the words everyday.
I lost the thoughts
that brought me here.
in daily life
fear compels me
helps me see
I let it go
in my dreams anyway.

Oh, to be a member of that grand party; an invited guest at the
least, how I would beam in splendor. To be carried about on the
shoulders of the wicked and the cursed, bathed in the shining light of
the true God, where none other than the almighty himself would presume
to pass judgment. The freedom that such a status would allow, the
heights of depravity that could go unpunished in the mortal world, seem
unattainable.
I can only dream.
I can act towards acceptance, I can show myself worthy, and I
can let no person stand in my way. Only my own worries sully my
supplication, my own trepidations keep my mind clouded. I cannot judge
myself; I can only believe my actions pure, my thoughts focused, and my
heart full with righteous energy. When faced with difficult decisions,
I must not impose morals, ethics, beliefs, or laws to the outcome. I
must rid myself of such fetters, I must remove the remaining barriers to
clear thought, and I must not stop until all of you are dead.
Do not think I only rant and rave; do not think I am not honest
or capable. Make not the mistake of believing you can turn me, find the
good in me, for I am the essence of good, I am pure beyond measure, I am
the hand of god, and I will not be judged by the masses, the mortals,
the sheep who impose their doctrine in the name of our father. If I
must purge this realm of such men to prove my worth, I will do so with
fervor.
Perhaps, if I act purely, I will gain acceptance, and I too will
sup with the master of time, the father of all worlds, the King of all
living and dead, the all-knowing grand emperor of being. Perhaps it is
I who will stand before him, face his judgment, and be taken into him.
Oh, the thought of it makes my body numb, my mind dance, my heart
bloody. It must start now, it must begin now, I must rid my mind of
thoughts that anchor it to the perversity of law and order.
Prepare yourselves for death, for I shall not tarry.

Been gone
Down some road
Never going back
Regret to inform me
You can never go back
Told myself
Never go back
Break that promise
Embrace what's past
Never go back
Embrace what's past.

A cramped office cubicle. JOE sits hunched over a keyboard furiously typing. SUPERVISOR appears over his shoulder:

SUPERVISOR: Hey Einstein. You got a minute?

JOE: Uh… yeah.

JOE and SUPERVISOR walk a tedious, labyrinthine path through an expanse of cubicles, coffee pots, and fake plants. SUPERVISOR stops in front of a closed door, opens it, and turns to JOE:

SUPERVISOR: After you.

JOE and SUPERVISOR enter into what at first looks like a closet, but as the light turns on it becomes a massive room filled with boxes, and other large items. The only apparent area of the floor visible is a small entry near the door. SUPERVISOR, without looking at JOE, turns on the light:

SUPERVISOR: Einstein, do you know what’s in this room?

JOE: This is where we dump the body when someone quits.

SUPERVISOR reacts with surprise, not the type of surprise when someone is shocked, but the type of surprise when someone knows too much…

SUPERVISOR: Well, not exactly....Joe... (Long pause)... This is where dump their families before they quit.

JOE: Fuck you. (JOE turns to leave) Jackass.

JOE is stopped by SUPERVISOR’s strong grip on his shoulder.

SUPERVISOR: This is your new office Einstein, you ungrateful fuck. Have a good afternoon. (He leaves).

JOE stands for a moment by the door. Eventually he reaches for the handle, but stops as he hears the BEEP of a computer booting up from somewhere in the room behind him. JOE listens intently. He again turns to leave, but stops.

JOE: Fuck it.

JOE begins to climb over the boxes, old office furniture, bodies wrapped in plastic bags, decades old computers, and other office detritus that fills this unending room. After several minutes climbing and crawling, he suddenly falls into a small space on the floor, barely large enough for a desk and chair. On the desk is a computer, waiting for someone to log in and begin work.

JOE: At least I won’t have to look at their faces anymore. (He sits down and begins typing furiously)

Several moments pass as JOE becomes visibly agitated. Finally, without saying anything, he stands up, rips his monitor from the desk, and throws it into the shadowy reaches of his closet/office. He watches disappear into the distance, then sits down.

JOE: Well, shit.

Release the sounds of fame from the panes which surround the clamors
heard plain.
Select small numbers, expounded often, in groups freed less than common.
Have a heart for small men, wounded men, the bleeding men seen suffering
slumped and draining, for they will return to you in numbers, in kind or
flaming.
Protect your faith from fanatics, unflappable in siphoning until
falling.
Wound yourself, fool yourself, whether withered or wondrous; wind
yourself in happenstance and happy delusion.
Manage the day to day voices inside yourself; keep the din from building
and blasting and breaking yourself.
Let no one other than those respected judge actions taken by you,
thoughts held by you, emotions expressed by you, or that which defines
the center of you.
Pass on factoring the worth of placated princes of putrid masses
meandering among the days lived by you, ignore ignorance among the herds
not avoided, musings muttered baseless, righteous and indignant.