this is why my life is fucked

"The fusion of the tracking of money and the suppression of dissent means that a huge area of vulnerability in civil society – people's income streams and financial records – is now firmly in the hands of the banks, which are, in turn, now in the business of tracking your dissent."

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/dec/29/fbi-coordinated-crackdown-occupy

http://www.justiceonline.org/commentary/fbi-files-ows.html

what say you, you know what i mean?

oh check it out my roommate lent me her wind stick. its great but the signal man it sucks. reminds me of that fiasco last year. ugh. but yeah, it works.
so many stupid love poems and frustrated ramblings to sort. two ridiculous story frames and i promise i wont reply to familiar posts and inadvertently troll peoples missed connection posts. lol. gee whiz. i swear just because other peoples stories turn into the stories in my head...

so meanwhile i found my notebooks but my passport is still missing. beware.

so i tried making soup today, i made it before...chicken soup, congee. but it didnt really work this time i was being a space cadet and used half brown rice so its basically over cooked rice. and a boiled chicken. its pretty delicious though. aha yeah and im trying to make presents and stuff for wholehearted but you know, i get spun. so now that its like 2 in the morning i dont know what to do (sleep) comes to mind... i have an appointment tomorrow. durr all i want to do is stay up late and look at stuff like this:
http://astrocat.com/samaras/

i dont wanna be a robot
they said
i dont wanna be a zombie
they said
.:

i dont wanna be a robot
said the farmer in the big truck
preprogrammed lines to go into the grain
into a bag into a processing plant
watching dvds in air con, chillin,
dreaming of flying and piloting airwaves

i ate a falafel sandwich and ran into a post
he said
pedro driver of big trucks,
airplanes and falafel sandwiches
.:


amidst the noise, the clamour of letting go
frees only half of me
the other half is tied to you, my friend.
ring my bell l.o.l.
lool or ulol
bulul or bulong?

ok so there are some ideas.
very messy poem lol

tthe broken glass in my sink comes from gloating.
the headache from not drinking enough water
because i dont have a vaporiser, distiller i mean. ben stiller.
my poems make no sense when i havent eaten.

to all the farmers and all the kings horsemen
put humpty dumpty back again
we will all follow the red brick road
make it right straighten the arrow

when seasons tides come in my brother
you will tell me what you have done
to become so becoming of the title
changed we all are to use these geese as marrow

for our soup or our wheelbarrow?
grease the oil and turn the wheel
spoke the verb and crank the gear
up a notch, this hill has more footing.

i want to write to all the farmers in the world.
to rhinos to the endangered species.

i do not know what to write so i write this i cant find the note book i wanted to transcribe something.

i used to watch this

this was one of my favourite shows wth?
my favorite boy showed me slim goodbody.
these old shows are what we are made of. do you remember them?

hello lovers and haters

id just like to remind everyone that most of my words here are transient in nature

i never read my old diary posts.

they are for your enjoyment and i leave them here as fuel for your troubled imaginations....

have a wonderful day, i love you.

levitate me

ive taken to use snuff
i found some on the bus,
might have been the same day i saw a tag telling me to trust.

sometimes ill be thinking of something spectacular, unheard of, marvellous and fun
ill be writing it down typing it out getting it heard saying it out loud
then something horrible will happen.

the water pipes and their noises bang,

something goes crash upstairs,

the wrong song comes on,
a video finishes buffering,
my phone will ring...
all at the same time.

when i wake with a start from falling is it me levitating?

so i have a lot of crap in here. stuff i bring home with me and stuff people leave here and junk. so im going through all my stuff and i texted some people about their clothing theyve left here, shoes, stuff. if i didnt text you then your stuff is here and if i ever put my thinking cap on ill remember to bring it whenever we *might* see each other. all others stuff is in a big white bag i am donating to the sally ann and the rest goes to the trash.

wow,
write a little here.
see a little there
*yawn*

fixing, throwing out and missing.

when i applied at emily carr i didnt understand the project
map your week, when i had all these shows i wanted to show, so i sent that in and applied as a continuing studies applicant as i had taken a few years at psid and pwu combined... my cv, it had my cousin, chickens, a rented costume from ccp, kaka, a painting of up fine arts i gave to rina, other images i cant remember enough to elaborate on...

dsm v

new dsm is (almost) out need to read it and imagine every new (or updated old) possible malfunction, disease, manifestation, etc etc etc happening to me ;D

years ago, in vancouver
i associated this feather
with an encounter
with this native man who frightened me a bit
im unsure why
i think its because he saw me and my brilliance
and i ran away, got scared.
i couldnt understand his intention
his revelation
i associated him with a story he told
or the story i made up and beheld
in my mind for a while. for a long while
every time i saw a feather on the ground
a white feather or was it black
i felt he was around and sometimes he was
i would see him after seeing a feather in my path
it was uncanny and scary
as fuck
if you can imagine magic without knowing what it actually is
that is what black magic felt like

then i moved so many times
my stuff my life my memories
associated with the past present and future
i saw a coyote in vancouver
the last place i lived in
there was a freaking coyote on the streets
that night
i saw a coyote and it looked at me.

defeatist personas interfere with my line of sight
the path i walk is cluttered with broken furniture,
torns posters, abandoned suitcases and cardboard boxes.
fill up all this space with your hatred for me
un-understand me as i, you, and no matter.
inconsequence, subsequent incoherence depicts
illusionary vestibules of grandiose gatherings
of pomp, of old mad persons of unknown origin.
wearing red. and pouring white all over themselves.

FRENCH EXIT

all your sex are belong to us

CORPS AND BB (big bizsnatch)

all your love are belong to us,
all your works of love are belong to us
all your work are belong to us
they said

this, now

http://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/georges-bataille-the-solar-anus