Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Twenty-Six

pain melts - self inflicted pain sparkles upwards - a man on the street - so many strangers in this strange, strange world - our home town, tonight - some thunder and lightening, and a rain that drenches everything into a deep, rich green - we lie on the couch and think about the birds and ducks and possums we've seen before in the parklands by the lake - i think about how they are managing in the relentless rain - i imagine their silhouettes stamped proudly and unafraid as the lightening strikes again - i imagine their wide open night time eyes dart sharply as the thunder take over everything - we've eaten dinner and under blankets we drift in and out of an ever-tempting sleep - a sinking sleep that allows us to let go of everything this body and mind put us through - a sleep to remind and teach us further, that death is not something to be feared, but is something beautiful and rewarding - we all work so hard and put up with so much in this life, surely death is the ultimate reward - the sleep to begin an eternal rest where our bodies are soon forgotten and our minds lead us through the infinite possibilities - dreams are limited by time and alarm clocks and routine, but soon, in death, we'll be able to comprehend infinity - we will be infinity

but now i am sitting on my couch, drinking a beer, thinking about the things i did, said, and thought today - im thinking about jelly-beans, i'm thinking about the stasi book i'm reading, im thinking of the younger version of myself i walked passed on the street - im thinking of the people i spoke to on the phone, and the people i said hello to - im thinking about what i should do with myself, and how to show those select few that they really have no idea and shouldn't be so self-centred - no-one is that important - i write here, but rarely draw anyone into it's realms on my own accord - i take photos of myself and make videos of myself, but that is simply because i have a vision - i don't take myself too seriously, despite being quietly convinced i am the true sole chosen one, only because i am in fact me, and know no-other way, and therefore, no-one else does - one day, within a great depression, or an endless, endless energetic bliss, my story will be told and the world will never be the same again and it will be the one true direct avenue to god and existence - however, there is a good chance i was find it alone, and therefore take it alone

two nights ago i was sitting in a luxury apartment in the city, alone - the windows were massive and the view of the buildings and lake and bay and people and yachts and sky were instantly impressive,especially as they were being viewed from such a comfort - after sharing a couple or few bottles of red wine with a loved one, i stayed up all night drinking beers after beers in my underpants and a flannel shirt - i sat by the window and rested my legs on the window sill - sad music played like the late night sad-man who'd come to accept his misery and heartbreak in the arms of an ignorant and confused loved-one - it was beautiful and the lights were off inside my luxurious state of being because the city lights painted his picture for me, and i couldn't take my eyes off it - if the stars are god's, then the cities at night belong to the sad-man

the sun has set, and now it is time for me to walk amongst the trees and grass - i have nothing to take with me except this beautiful mind-set i've found myself in this evening - a deep, rich green, a need for nothing, but an appreciation for all thing available in this strange, strange, lucky little life.

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of My Mental Empire: Part Twenty-Five

upon arrival the jazz band played - with no introduction, as a jazz band should - they played the celebratory section of the cerebellum, igniting the mind and tantalising itself into a warm and slow haze - it drifted as swayed along with the movements of the sweaty bodies that drifted and swayed along with the movements of the music - if jazz be music, that is - a man younger than myself finds himself next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder - his head has sunk with drunkenness, yet he still finds the ability to nod and shake his head in appreciation to the jazz that plays - i rest a hand on his cheek like his father never did and it makes sense of the jazz now and he's back at the bar before i know it - im alone - we all stand and watch the cats blow, but i don't notice a thing - inside my mind is sifting these notes and taking notes like a neurotic art-man - i don't see what everyone else sees - fame is a teenage wet dream and best left sleeping - art is sex when you never want to sleep - i appreciate art - and you don't need eyes, ears, taste, touch, or lobes to understand it - just a heartbeat that keeps the universe alive - if the universe existed, and life on earth wasn't around to see it, would it really exist? - if we stood here right now, and no jazz-man gave us his soul, would we be confused? - i head to the toilet man, and walk and stride like im being watched by a million ex-girlfriends - i piss nice'n'easy and my hair looks good as i wash my hands - a drunk man says something funny and the rest of us laugh, but we all eventually head-on back out head-on into the jazz sounds and stand with our friends and loved ones - eventually it's time to go and we're all a little sleepy - someone wants another drink and we tolerate them for a few more minutes - by the time we've found a ride home there are more drinks being bored and we're back ridin' - somehow the dude in the back-seat is your new best friend and you never want to stop or getout of this ride - you joke about keep on ridin' man, but everyone gets it - by the time youre home you're simply tired - sleep is easy but sometimes you dream of nightmares and wake in the sweats and you can't explain any of it - things so traumatising demand an explanation but as you lie awake listening to the heavy breathing of the girl next to you and looking at the gray-fuzz that is the ceiling and it's fan, you cannot explain the terror-dreams that your mind just put you through - where did that come from? - so much death, in such a fashion, and why did those particular loved ones deserve to be a part of such a horrific scenario - i gag myself awake again, think of new ways to apologise to my loved ones, and scan my cd collection for some music to drown out the trauma

Art Intimidating Life - The Ruins of my Mental Empire: Part Twenty-Four

bring it to me wrong - i want to see smiles on my face when i think of what human flesh tastes like while stuck in saturday afternoon's traffic - a bland type of beef - why is it so frowned upon? - i see myself as a beast at feast-time as i gnawr on the chicken bones during lunch - i imagine the confused chicken wondering why we springled it's carcass with herbs, spices and sauce - why we cherish the smell of his cooking flesh - m.gira screams jesus christ as the airconditioner only serves to remind me how hot and humid it is outside the car - outside a fat man with no shirt on pushes a trolley carrying four slabs of cheap beer - taking it back to his hot and run down house that doesn't have any locks or windows or doors that work properly - i watch him walk and see the sweat glistening off his tight skin, struggling to contain the pertruding lard underneath - i picture myself slapping a small log against the back of his head - i imagine his initial look of confusion, and the anger in his eyes as he attacks me and i realise i've bitten off more than i can chew - but that's okay, since he's a fat-fuck anyway

sometimes i laugh and smile for no reason - i laugh and smile to myself and it's because i think about the absurdity and my role within this mundane existence - the car is full of groceries and beer and wine and there are cds scattered around on the seats and the floor - my comfort level is at an eight, as a man in a white car cuts in font of us, only just - the traffic is crawling, and so i laugh to myself - i imagine the man in the white car commiting some horrid crime and can see him crying silently in his cell throughout the first night of the rest of his life in prison - there is dust and dirt on the concrete floor and the flurencent light above gives the cell a sort of scout-hall feel to it - quite fitting actually, as it was a scout hall where his crime was committed

i scatter my hands through the glove compartment looking for some sort of relief - a bo diddly complilation looks good but the cd case is empty, and i wonder where that cd is - the knowledge that this cd case is incomplete irritates me and i run my fingers over the air-conditioner vents - i turn my head see a cute young girl sitting in the car next to ours - she's wearing a singlet top and her brown hair is in a pony-tail - her car is scattered with playboy bunnies - i wind down my window and genster with my hands, pretending to take her photo - after a moment or two of pretending not to see me, she looks at me through the corner of her eyes and soon her head follows - she laughs but i only nod my head slowly, thankful im wearing black sunglasses

over time, the traffic begins to movea little faster - i lean back in my seat and try to fall asleep - i welcome the dream-lands of twisted tales and familiar faces - i succumb to my exhaustion and try to ease my mind - the sun still beams and we still have a while to go - moving slowly, we eventually see what has been holding up the traffic all this time - two cars have ying and yanged, and somewhere around there was supposed to be a motorcycle - the ambulances and police cars protect the area and their lights flash silently - a police officer wipes his brow - and we continue on our way alone the open road to nowhere special