"Ace of Spades, Clubs, Queens and Jacks"

It gets lonely by the White Tanks, as beautiful as they are. I imagine talking with them sometimes, puting my ideas to their peaks. They will change too, though.

I told the library assistant that I was getting rid of my TV today and she r/ejaculated: "why would you do that?" "Because it's fucking hideous sitting in our living room." "I just don't know what I'd do without law and order reruns. Are you one of those people who cannot have their foods touching?!" "Shut up."

There is no existence in elementary education for me--it takes some different kind of individual that's into control and forced learning. There's no room for an individual, they'll ruin your job history otherwise.

"With the we are number ones."

Centurion

the ethics of how memory works

All I could think of was Joan of Arc, and I kept chuckling to my self as I drove home listening to the tale end of an npr program about scientists controlling the intensity of memories that are recalled...or some shit like that.

I think they said they could first provoke the recall of the memory, then control the intensity of the emotioinal effect of the individual. That is all besides the point--the real thing to talk about is the fact that scientists are advancing in the area of "should this shit really be tampered with?" Of course, so I remember them mentioning, this has something to do with getting people's weight under control--at least that was what they were researching when they stummbled upon this new "big toy" of the ethical playground of today.

On one end of this, as a friend of mine says, "life is pain". The reporter mentioned something about someday using this advancement in helping those who have had experiences with memories too unbearable to survive them. It is good to help. There are the extreme cases where it is easy to say: "they need this". But, like the 2/3rds of this Earth, darkness obscures.
The people of the capitalist system will do well to exploit the medicine-meant-well, and we will throw this into the bin of "crap the presidential candidates can argue over". Like plastic surgery, hormonal drugs, and all the other well intended medical advances, the susceptibility of this to abuse by those in the shadows of imprudence, as well as those who are filthy with money, is already apparent--I can imagine it in their dreams, and then not in their dreams: another injection to escape reality.

"Life is pain." Life is experience and is nothing without pain, among other things.

What is it that draws me to find necessity in relating to the rest of humanity, past and present? (The question of what is necessary to relate to past humanity is more difficult.) Experience is what bonds us to the rest of humanity. The links we have to all humanity--before and possibly after (if it is feasable)--are becoming fewer more rapidly. The link to the humanity of Christ is drifting somewhere, though some say that God and religion are the only tools you need to remedy your mind. Others say: deal with it.

Perhaps we are widening our experience of freedom by adding more possibilities of choice. However, the reality of not having to deal with what is dealt puts us in an estranged category that I am too unfamiliar with to have any emotion about...much like worrying about alien life.

When it rains, I get this done.

Well, I thought I was over this crap--but when the white tanks are eaten by grey and rain wets everything, the old habbits come back.

My mind feels like it's going to explode, so I don't think this will be much more than a flash of a face in a crowd.

I've been listening to the British Sea Power: the Decline of the British Sea Power, Friend/Enemy (side b especially), and Joan of Arc: A Portable Model Of. They all give me a sense of something homemade, like babies or experience.

This is my brother Jimmy. We have a pretty good time together. He is wearing Franny's tutu on his head.

Baptist Camp equals get laid.

The outer shell was God/seeker, the inner was all making/out. All of those poor girls really thought I was praising God next to them.

It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate
clapper at the center of a bell.
It moves when he moves, a ghostly fish in a
halo of silver seaweed, the hair
swaying in the dark and the heat -- and at night
while his eyes sleep, it stands up
in praise of God.
-Sharon Olds

I cannot do this.
This was a pretty depressing reflection, but only because I was so fake. I should have seen through the Sundayschool lessons about Baptist Camp that told me to be ashamed of wanting to kiss and touch there. I am the one who--instead of changing--facaded my way to their lips.
Love,
Paul

Post Script:
The explosions in the sky show was glorious. Ther were a lot of interesting souls there. Thinking about the bouncers--how they laugh at the silly kids and there silly music--and how they are necessary for these things to happen. We coexist/ed. There were a lot of sappy girls there, flowers in hair to match the ones on their silly dresses. A few Indian guys were carying pitchers of amber colored beer around and tried to get past the mohawked female tattooed bouncer, but she wouldn't allow it.
I'm in the process of redishing the rear wheel of my bike. Since we survive a dirt road and desert terrain, I have a chance to really take shit apart, including my almost inner city soul.

Death as follows....so it goes.

He thought the human race was pretty silly, but nothing is sillier than time travel. He also thought of the semicolon as a hermaphrodite. Way to slay, Vonnegut. At least he was saved from suicide.

We are moving to a house this weekend. Chubby knobbies will win over slick skinnies at this loci.

My soul has been dormant for a while. They say that's what Arizona standardized testing does to sixth grade teachers. There's an explosions in the sky show on the 26th--it's a start. (I'll honor Vonnegut by abstaning from hermaphroditic tendancies.)

there's no such thing--do what we can.

"The women of Ravenna kiss
Rarely and deep, they kiss back.
And all they know about life is that
We all have to die."
Hermann Hesse, Ravenna (2)

Spring Break, mother visit, and unravelled. Awkward. Thus. Thus.

the day after yesterday

When space is our philosophy, we lose everything we are.
"Like an ancient astronaut."

Love loves to love love.

These tall, thin cells absorb much of the sunlight that enters the leaf. In these cells are many chloroplasts that a plant needs to make sugar. The veins of a leaf contain its xylem and phloem. Water and minerals enter the leaf through the xylem.
I just loaded up some music on my school issued Ibook, and getting ready to shoulder in to second quarter grades.

Project Winter Slay...

Oh, yes. I am pretty excited about this winter break, as long as the gumption sustains. I'm planning to convince my brother-in-law that gore-core metal can't slay as mutch as we could if we were in a winter band project. If he turns me down, I may have to sustain the project solo style--instrumental may be as far as it gets. If anyone would like to make a guest appearance, get that cock out.

"...violated by existence from behind."

The next break is what I work for. I'm getting pretty sick of it. I really want to get a tattoo right now to make me feel and isolate me from my progression as of late.
Love,
The Will

A quesadilla and 3, 4, 5 ,6 Beers

Sorry, but at 25, I still complain about my parents. That's ok, Tim Kinsella's mom breast-fead him 'till he was 4.
Joe-3cm, just before deffication. Again, sorry...and sorry. I went to see Make Believe last night with one Joseph Mains, and two: Matt Fahy. It's always is good to seeee them. Sam stood still so he could play with an intense face. Tim told tales-tenaciously traversed Twain's talents, too. Tim asked: Does anyone have anything to say? All the lovers could come up with was: I love everything that comes out of your penis and your ass. I will finish six beers to hold true to the title. Fuckabees.
Love,
Paul

"Anyway, I'm sort of glad they've got the atomic bomb invented.

"If there's ever another war, I'm going to sit right the hell on top of it. I'll volunteer for it, I swear to God I will." -Holden Caufield, Catcher in the Rye.
We had two tricker treaters. Given the lack of creativity that was probably used to compile their costumes, I should have given them toothpaste, or something to the likes. Franny cries, and I have to get ready for other people's children.
Love,
Paul

Popeye Eyes and Squinty Skies

I always hope it goes smooth when I do number two, but when you hope in the context of terds it always comes out stinky. Our plumbing isn't doing so good right now as it is, and a tonka-dunk just throws another wrench in it.
The week after the fall break was pretty depressing. I spent a lot of time with friends and was getting pretty used to seeing Frances during the day so much.
I have a "formal observation" on Monday, so I better get crackin'.

Quiet Please

With taco sause on my school issued cheeseburger, and a roomfull of lunch-detention regulars, I will say it over and over again. We've formed this comfortably awquard relationship, viz., me laughing at their jokes when I'm not supposed to. And, I let them say "crap" freely. Lunch is over...

Like GODSPELL was for Jesus

I'm waiting for my next parent to walk in and have a pow wow about their bright urchins conduct. Sixth graders are sly...they are sneaking little slys. Most will deny every ill accusation to the bare bones. And, they like MANGA (working at Borders has earned me that little bit of info about current styles in literature). Man, and they think they are the COOLEST.
Along with beanie babies and soap novels, manga is the smelly fart of psuedo culture. I fart a lot too, though; this is my only creative expression that's going down right now. Parent walking in....

the science of sixth grade

The education of Avondale Elementary School disctrict just got a little feistier-I am now an emergency certified educator. I've actually been in this class since school kicked off this year, but only as a long-term substitute. Although, an emergency certified teacher is just three steps up the fake teacher ladder from long-term sub.
Sorry for such a lame post, but not much has been going on...other than Frances being freaking cute and shit. there are more pictures at: www.flickr.com/photos/franfranny/.

Doomed Terd

I remember when I was five: there was a Payless my family frequented for nutcrackers and such things- the same payless that I would thieve a hotweels car from three years later. I had waited until poop was peaking out of my sphincter to tell my dad that I needed to go. Walking up the yellowish hallway to the toilets we all know about in Payless, a terd dropped and my dad picked it up with his solitary, calllllused hand and carried it to it's doom.
I can't wait for those moments.
Frances Elliot Chapman: 7lbs. and some change, 20 inches long. Born to squallor August 28th, 2006, 4:43 am.

Put on your gumption

I'm about 100 pages or so from the end of Ulysses. The last 23 of those leafs are as periodless as a tight testical school boy. I need to hit it harder if I want to stick to my goal of finishing before baby girl Chapman is birthed, which is closer than I think, I feel. In the words of my father-in-law, Papa Jim, "Oh, help me wizzard."

the light becometh dark

clouds have been rolling in, and rolling back out again.