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Logbook, page 38

Odes to my coy mistress. Metaphysical poetry updated weekly. New entry

Moral Centralia

written by owen, published 2009-Oct-30, comment

I am a solver. I genuinely believe that every problem can be solved by paitient thought and constantly re-arranging the variables involved in the problem. Little round mirrors. Lately I keep thinking that I will solve myself out of a job. Who needs a job anyway? There must be a easier way to keep idle hands out of trouble, find something you love.

I am often at work in the early mornings having the urge to go home and then when I reach home I am thinking about something at work - something to solve or document. I think its the traffic - it drains my soul, murdering my time in cold blood. Curse the hours we have to keep.

Happiness writes white. I can already feel the pain for the people that might try to figure out the references, especially since I live so much in the presentense. Incommunicado. It should be hard, especially in the future, with computers that run on water. But then again in a million years nothing will matter and the moon will lost to the emptiness of space.

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Gods Child commented: it's better than pretensetense or presentiments but since you are such a solver what is the solution to your inverted schedule? Did you ever go to a school with shifts? I only caught the afternoon once and then it was to New York to meet my parents again. ... read 4 more

If There Is Something

written by owen, published 2009-Sep-15, comment

For the past couple of weeks I have been doing nothing but filing papers and writing reports. It was a good day. Added to the fact that I left my cellphone at home. I always knew that love would tear us apart. Everyday is exactly the same. I walk the line, hang around the tall grass, but I'm not obsessed, I'm just impolite.

Now that the summer's night is nigh upon us with not a single good hurricane to cleanse our battered souls a fresh. Yeah, you know its been a good week depending on how many times you have been referred to as "slightly-serial killer-ish". Nobody is perfect I guess, bring me champagne when I'm thirsty, bring me reefer when I want to get high.

I've been at 60% good this week, even though I love the scent of Ponal (translucent drying) cold glue. It reminds me of art class in high school. Sometimes I stick it on my fingers and let it dry just so I can peal it off slowly, and see the perfect rubbery copy of whatever it was stuck to. Its a wonder how scents, music and monkeys can bring back memories of simpler times.

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Tami commented: I can understand scents and music, but how do monkeys bring back memories to a better time, not unless it is called Bubbles. ... read 9 more

Cream and Bastards

written by owen, published 2009-Aug-24, comment

After I lost my keys at the beach a couple weeks ago, like a small child that took off her GPS locator and went falling in the forest with no one to hear it. I was lost without permission or "keys" (as normal people would say). No matter how many times I would retrace my steps I could not find them. It eventually felt as if I was just kicking more sand into the child's shallow grave. Where is a metal detector when you need one? It could have been worst.

Its almost the end of summer and I've achieve absolutely nothing I had set out to do. Fools and charlatans may get wise but only cream and bastards rise. Its like I am trapped in some pointless loop until my nephew gets back with some new video games so that I can escape the boredom of my own mind. Problem is I know that I can never be satisfied.

Every so often I get placed in a uncomfortable situation involving or doing something I hate. Now normal people would not mind going the extra distance but I am like a lion in a cage. These things that I hate or hate doing are very distinct, and never changing. I behave like a cornered snake whose instinct is run away but will bite if there is no other options. I spend my entire life avoiding these situations, its a methodical task, like life versus death, nothing else matters but escape. Imagine a person's entire life resources geared towards avoiding the things that annoy them the most. Bueaty is a cruel mistress.

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We Fly High "Ballin"

written by owen, published 2009-Jul-22, comment

I got thirsty. So I when to the supermarket. Not content with the usual juice I thought to seek out something new, a forbidden fruit. Slow down, here tonight, might be gone tomorrow. Seem like tropical rythms is in the habit of mixing all of its fruit flavors. It was nothing but mango carrot passion, guava cherry, fruit punch, pineapple guava carrot and a pink one. It is like one of the fruits sued the company for racism.

Don't annoy me please - I have enough problems. I am sitting here at my cubicle trying to do work I was assigned 8 months ago, I have it all planned out in my head as I go along, I am the constant gardener. It maybe Friday afternoon for you but I live in the future. Its been Friday since last week, everyday is exactly the same, I repeat the same routine. I am not bored enough yet. Just because I say nothing does not mean that I want to say something. I was born in another age.

Note to self; I need to buy a new case of Juice. I don't know why I keep buying the Sunday Gleaner, maybe its the fact that the old man travels all the way from, god knows how far, on his old bicyle to bring it to me personally for the last couple of years. I could be spending that extra hundred dollars on drugs and alcohol. Instead I scan the headlines and read the health section for the latest advice from the doctor on the effects of lesbian encounters while on vacation. Getting my hands black with ink like a mechanic or a monkey.

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Tami commented: Try Fruta or the variation in flavours of Minute Maid. Read the Gleaner online, it's faster and leaves less ink on your hands when you're done. ... read 14 more

Blame it on the boogie

written by owen, published 2009-Jul-07, comment

When I woke up this morning I wondered if I wanna be starting something. Or if I got to be starting something. I may be too high to get over or stuck in the middle. It seems as if you actually can't live forever, no matter how famous you are. The liberian girl will always come back for her books. I mean, what if you stare at the man in the mirror and realise that he is a Dirty Diana or a stranger in Mosco? What if you don't know who you are? What if you can dance or shake your body down to the ground? No one wants to be defeated.

I don't know, fine, you win but that movie was a awful souless piece of masterbatory garbage. It is really a rare treat, vapid, jejunity. Some wonderful in us died last week when that movie came out. We will never be the same. The only life worth living is a life lived for others.

We are all victims of our desires. I am 65 days behind on my Dilbert comic strips. Everything is amazing yet no body is happy and it is impossible to keep track of it all. The internet is just full of stuff. Pornographic memory can only get you so far. But all I have to say is if ANYMORE one of mothers and fathers just wake up and decide for some random-hippy reason that your going to leave the internet - I'M NOT GOING TO THINK ITS FUNNY!

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Mad Bull commented: I take it this is your Michael Jackson tribute? ... read 2 more