excellent lesson in human behavior

Hello. It's me. It is Sunday, no, actually Monday morning now, and I can't sleep. I am afraid I have gone off the deep end this time. This time... Why does it always happen this way? It is a pattern; something that follows a series of events that always lead to the same place. Predictable. I am looping again again again again. Not sleeping. Living with complete guilt and self hatred for doing the things I didn't think I could live without doing. It's all so necessary for me to experience time and time again. Without the good there is no bad and vice versa. What a precarious balance I live in or die to live outside of. Contradictory you whisper? Yes of course. I've announced my faults. Faults to you, that is. I personally see it as natural human complexity. I'm no ant. You've heard it all before. Redundant much? Yes I am that too. I sometimes find myself saying the same thing three times in a row before I realize I am doing it. People don't seem to notice. They do actually notice but don't act like they do. Thanks for protecting me with dishonesty as I know you meant well. I need to be heard. No. I need to be understood. I need to be understood in the way I comprehend it. If the tone is wrong or I get the wrong reaction then it didnt happen like I wanted so, rinse repeat and refuckingcycle. Insight to a delusional mind. Thank you television of the eighties and nineties. You watched over me well as you could.

Remember when you would see (on a tv show) a person prepare themselves for company? Say the person is alone in their apartment washing dishes and talking themselves through a conversation they need to have later in the day. The door bell rings unexpectedly. The person bolts to the living room and turns on the radio, picking up a paintbrush and setting the scene for the guest. "Come in" Guest walks in never the wiser. "Oh Hi, I was just painting a little. How are you?" And so on and so on. Why the fuck do people do that? I used to do it all the time when I was younger. I can't say I do that now exactly, but it is all about intention and connection. It's all about facades and falsehoods. I did it so people would see the real me; or the intentional me. What a mind fuck.

I find it very important to be understood. I need a person to see the complete scene I have set up for them. It is crucial in my happiness regarding relationships... sometimes even random stranger conversation. When I see a person not 'getting me' enough times I back away. I don't enjoy explaining my words (however excited or empassioned I may act otherwise). I need to be understood for who I am and what my intentions are. Few get it. Few get me. As a disclaimer I will tell you I am okay with that. I do ask for a lot in my good friends. I ask for even more in my lovers. Everyone finds these needs of mine tiring. Everyone needs a break from me. Some times it's temporary and other times it is permanant. Cest La Vie and all that cliche nonsense.

I am trying something new this time. I am going to try and keep my friends without bribery or self destructive habits or negative compromise. I am going to try this new self-sustaining approach and see how many friends I really have when the chips settle. It will be an excellent lesson in human behavior and sociology, or futility. Either way, it won't cost me a liver or lung or paycheck or day in bed. I miss you. I miss being understood. I am going to try and sleep again.

I really thought diorama

this is as pure it comes, or goes depending on what viewpoint you have in this sordid business that is blogs. i hate that word. blog. it is so very unattractive to me. brain > fingers > keyboard > monitor > eyes > brain. i have no idea what i am wanting to say today and that excites me to no end. the fruit is rusting on the vine, the fruit is calling from the trees. i bought a pack of assorted rainbow fine point sharpies today and i cant help but keep them in roygbiv order. i tried in vain to toss them aside but i have returned them to the proper order 5 or 6 times now today. > my coworker knows something is up too but i am surely not talking. not yet. if you want to know just ask. don’t try your schoolyard psychology tactics with me buddy, it won’t work. at best i will take the time to make it even more intriguing and less understanding... if i have the time. at worst i will just ignore you and play the i-dont-speak-english-or-hear-well-or-see-well-game. < so i have all the rainbow and a white and a black paint market(-t+r) too, so where the fuck do they go? i placed black underneath the row of colors and the white on top. it seems to make sense but something about the little set up is wrong. i can feel it in me bones i tell ya. now please keep in mind, this is unfiltered me so step back from the lights please. there can be no judging here. the markers, yes! when i wrote "set up is all wrong" I really thought diorama, which is kind of misplaced with a set of sharpies right? a diorama is essentially a three-dimensional model usually enclosed in a glass showcase of some sort. so why do i place persona’s with my markers? little cute faces? i have 13 ghosts on my desk, all with different faces, all white, all dead. my markers want them so badly. and the red whispers "just a little blood, it will look great". but no, it wont really look that good on a white-sheeted ghost. ghosts don’t bleed. come on. black and white and white and black and that is it. but lo and behold i turn to my right and the little ghosts’ once empty eye socket is full of blood and a little drippy too. fucking red. fucking arrogant marker... sooo not using that one for a week at least. i’m keeping the ruined ghost too, cuz you cant just trash a spirit, but the marker is going to learn who’s boss. black over white and white under black. no. that is backwards. what is it about fridays that wind me up to spring? nothing ever actually happens. i wrote most of this like this:

third thought
first thought >then i took a deep breath and thought of someone pleasant.
second thought

reverberation of scattered memories

"Because memory and sensations are so uncertain, so biased, we always rely on a certain reality - call it an alternate reality - to prove the reality of events. To what extent facts we recognize as such really are as they seem, and to what extent these are facts merely because we label them as such, is an impossible distinction to draw. Therefore, in order to pin down reality as reality, we need another reality to relativize the first. Yet that other reality requires a third reality to serve as its grounding. An endless chain is created within our consciousness, and it is the very maintenance of this chain that produces the sensation that we are actually here, that we ourselves exist. But something can happen to sever that chain, and we are at a loss. What is real? Is reality on this side of the break in the chain? Or over there, on the other side? "

Excerpt from South of the Border, West of the Sun, Haruki Murakami

and this broken chain of mine swings haphazardly yet sometimes strongly enough to create a whiplash or snap effect at the end of the line. This action creates a violent reverberation of scattered memories and (alternate)realities to float off into the void most likely to never be relived again unless through some form of deja vu or subconsciousness. The void is the darkest recesses of my mind: the places where all the monsters thrive. Collectors of every single thing that floats into this realm. Dissemination of truths. Cultivation of fears. Laundering of reality chains. The place where my greatest ambitions and purest talents are bound beneath the floor, stilled and quiet for safe keeping. My reality is a broken chain. My reality is a broken chain. My reality is a broken chain. *snap*

societies consumption

Voice A: Stepping out.

Voice B: Again?

Voice A: Outside the myriad shapes of forms.

Voice B: Why must you be so cryptic? You're not a genius you know.

Voice A: Outside the formed opinions of those that must be kept.

Voice B: But you are an asshole.

Voice A: Aware.

Voice B: Well at least you can grasp that concept.

Voice A: Hardly.

Voice B: And the asshole moniker fits like a glove.

Voice A: It's hardly the point given the situation.

Voice B: What is the situation exactly?

Voice A: Do you disagree? Please, if you do, tell me your thoughts.

Voice B: My thoughts are that you should patiently wait for an answer before answering it your fucking self.

Voice A: Any other angle besides my extremely fixed one would be welcome with open arms.

Voice B: Given your childlike abandoment of having a normal converstation I think I am justified by asking what you what exact angle are you talking about?

Voice A: Armed with the knowledge of what can not be seen.

Voice B: The unseen? What kind response can I give? It is all subjective.

Voice A: By me.

Voice B: Most likely. Whats your objective?

Voice A: Or you?

Voice B: Well if it was my question, then yes, of course.

Voice A: Where was I actually headed as I stepped out outside the box?

Voice B: To a location unbeknownst to me. You love that whole inner-turmoil persona don't you?

Voice A: The box.

Voice B: never heard of the place.

Voice A: There are so many names associated with it and, for prosperities sake, I choose the box.

Voice B: So you still won't tell me where you are headed? Asshole.

Voice A: It portrays a certain hopefulness I require when venturing out and into the World Unknown.

Voice B: Are you going to buy some porn or something?

Voice A: The World Uncertain.

Voice B: Well it does come in a black bag but I am certain about that world. Pervert.

Voice A: I never was one for gambling.

Voice B: That's why we've never been to Vegas?

Voice A: I was headed towards a mass of shapes.

Voice B: Ha! She was that gross huh?

Voice A: Something my periphral vision deemed to be the correct path.

Voice B: I am not one to judge you. We've all broke our mirrors.

Voice A: The path of the righteous man is beset upon all sides with the tyranny of evil men.

Voice B: And ugly bitches.

Voice A: The evil man is your own ego.

Voice B: I am not the one finding a mass of shapes at the local spank emporium.

Voice A: The evil man has a heart and soul.

Voice B: I do when it comes to what you may or may not be bringing home.

Voice A: He had a mother.

Voice B: So you are bringing home a guy?

Voice A: He was a baby at one point in the past.

Voice B: You don't say? I assumed he was born old and worked his way young.

Voice A: You might have loved him.

Voice B: Maybe in my gay past life.

Voice A: He is not an insect in human form.

Voice B: Did I say anthing about gay bugs? Not once.

Voice A: This man is a living breathing human.

Voice B: A gay one maybe.

Voice A: He has been processed and bottled and labeled for societies consumption.

Voice B: Not my consumption. That's your disfunction junction.

Voice A: I guess his brand has expired.

Voice B: I am just going to agree with you. Will that make this easier?

Voice A: No person seems to enjoy his taste these days.

Voice B: That is so disgusting.

Voice A: We serve him to the Gods.

Voice B: He is a rainbow slurpee.

Voice A: They will drink anything.

Voice B: And by anything you mean sperm.

Voice A: And they have been drinking anything since the first knee fell into the earths rich soil.

Voice B: There was open homosexuality in the biblical days.

Voice A: This is the big trade off.

Voice B: One mans butthole is another mans vagina.

Voice A: Sacrifice is no longer required.

Voice B: No it's not required... as long as you don't live in the south.

Voice A: Our Gods are no longer hungry Gods and the celestial plate is full.

Voice B: Big Gay Gods. It all makes sense now!

Voice A: Amusing how the box loses all edges once a person is at an adequate distance.

Voice B: No matter how far from it I get, a box is always a box.

Voice A: The box is now a bubble; a soap bubble if you will.

Voice B: I won't.

Voice A: Full of color and shapes, ever-changing, always manipulating one color into another.

Voice B: So you are going interracial too? A real go-getter you are.

Voice A: It is a complicated yet inane process.

Voice B: Besides all my jokes, I really am interested in this process.

Voice A: It is the boxes technique for survival.

Voice B: Okay. Survival of the fittest?

Voice A: Who is to question that?

Voice B: I am. Specifically when faced with such an obscure question.

Voice A: I accept this truth for whatever it is and move on.

Voice B: Your Truth may be different than mine.

Voice A: My arms swinging in harmonic opposition of my legs.

Voice B: And your brain sits precariously neutral some place inbetween.

Voice A: What a well thought out process of give and take.

Voice B: I see an error in the system.

Voice A: Ebb and flow.

Voice B: Bull and shit.

Voice A: This and that.

Voice B: Completely and retarded.

Voice A: I let my machine wiggle me to the corner street beside the Church that Hitler built.

Voice B: Today I heard some one say that Hitler was a good man.

Voice A: Oppression saves lives.

Voice B: It didn't save his own.

Voice A: Control promotes well being.

Voice B: My being well denotes a certain lack of it.

Voice A: It is all perspective.

Voice B: It's definitely all in the way you look at it.





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was an accidental experiment created to try and find a true source of original dialogue. Something purely ethereal and not premeditated. It's in the roughest form but I think I already like the basic formula. Scanner Darklys emphasis on the left and right hemisphere of the brain working seperate of each other is why (in complete and amused retrospect) I wrote this out the way I did. I started as I normally would start writing: no topics in mind. Nothing exiting ahead of the next letter being typed. Real Time Writing is what I call it, or RTW.

Voice A's portion of the dialogue was the first bit I wrote out entirely. I didnt know at the time that I would be including another voice to the recipe. When I ran out of Voice A monolouge I instantly started answering with Voice B, keeping a careful reminder not to read ahead of the present dialogue presented to that character. I didn't edit a single word either. I thought this was fairly important needing a constant as well as variable (no matter how one sided it still came across). For Voice B and myself it was the first time we had ever had this conversation. I know it comes across as strained and confusing mostly. I also had this feeling while talking with Voice A. I plan to perfect this exercise of mine and hopefully gain a better knowledge of where I am heading. Next time I might step it up and include actions with my dialogue.

If you have actually gotten this far then I must say Thanks for reading. It was hard enough for me to not quit half way through. Please don't hate me for the consistant inconsistancies but there is no filter in my head. I is me is Jbee. Now I feel bad about putting you through this. I am going to give you a little something I told myself I wouldn't. It might ruin it for you but hey, it's not like you will ever (ever ever) read this again. Love ya bitches.



Stepping out. Outside the myriad shapes of forms. Outside the formed opinions of those that must be kept. Aware. Hardly. It's hardly the point given the situation. Do you disagree? Please, if you do, tell me your thoughts. Any other angle besides my extremely fixed one would be welcome with open arms. Armed with the knowledge of what can not be seen. By me. Or you? Where was I actually headed as I stepped out outside the box? The box. There are so many names associated with it and, for prosperities sake, I choose the box. It portrays a certain hopefulness I require when venturing out and into the World Unknown. The World Uncertain. I never was one for gambling. I was headed towards a mass of shapes. Something my periphral vision deemed to be the correct path. The path of the righteous man is beset upon all sides with the tyranny of evil men. The evil man is your own ego. The evil man has a heart and soul. He had a mother. He was a baby at one point in the past. You might have loved him. He is not an insect in human form. This man is a living breathing human. He has been processed and bottled and labeled for societies consumption. I guess his brand has expired. No person seems to enjoy his taste these days. We serve him to the Gods. They will drink anything. And they have been drinking anything since the first knee fell into the earths rich soil. This is the big trade off. Sacrifice is no longer required. Our Gods are no longer hungry Gods and the celestial plate is full. Amusing how the box loses all edges once a person is at an adequate distance. The box is now a bubble; a soap bubble if you will. Full of color and shapes, ever-changing, always manipulating one color into another. It is a complicated yet inane process. It is the boxes technique for survival. Who is to question that? I accept this truth for whatever it is and move on. My arms swinging in harmonic opposition of my legs. What a well thought out process of give and take. Ebb and flow. This and that. I let my machine wiggle me to the corner street beside the Church that Hitler built. Oppression saves lives. Control promotes well being. It is all perspective.

Rest of My Life

A luscious smile accompanies intelligent and magnificent eyes. When I say she has a perfect smile, I really mean her smile is perfect for me. This smile urges me to touch her lips and listen to her mouth, tongue and teeth form seamless words that I will listen to for the Rest of My Life. I want to be swallowed whole by this feeling. I am enraptured and on the edge of running away. I watch her talk to someone from a distance. She has absolutely no clue that she is the Most Beautiful Woman in the World. She listens when I speak. She is interested. She comes and goes when she pleases and, for me, it is like waiting for the wind to return to my sails. We barely know each other but all I want to do is talk to her until the sun sets and rises and sets and rises again. I am never going to forget this moment, though I may forget every other surrounding detail with time. She has infected me with conscious understanding of what I truly want in life. This knowledge is as priceless as she is to me.

Forever Changed