oneironesia

Oneironesia: the inability to remember a dream upon waking (oh-nigh-row-nee-zhuh)

An Out-Of-Place A# — July 22, 2015

An Out-Of-Place A#

We can end up in a variety of places
some by our own choosing
then there are times where we find ourselves
in a location where we feel as if
this place was set before us without our consent
by pure circumstance
and often we find ourselves juggling both, in tandem
trying to get a grasp on whatever silly predicament
we find ourselves in at the moment
forgetting that it is most likely fleeting in nature

I love listening to this song
because I can hear the addition amongst the subtraction
notes fall in and out of time
contradict then reconcile with one another
a single musical note can not be at fault
it only stands out of place within the structure it has been placed in
much like how we find ourselves in a variety of places
sometimes without our own choosing

I can place an A# in any song I like
at any moment I like
The A# can not stop me
it can only bend to my whims
however irrational they might be
in a given structure

Perhaps we are Bio-Anatomical Notes
placed in a specific measure
of a larger cosmic movement
composed by an infinitely greater
yet cosmically insufficient, composer/creator
who has, in some instances, placed its notes appropriately
but in other cases, missed the mark

Had all marks been placed correctly
we wouldn’t have things like
flat tires, stab wounds  and broken hearts

What we would have, however
I couldn’t say
as I have never experienced a life
of correctly placed notes
at least in a succession of any decent length
although I suppose, “decent” is relative to the observer

One could also argue that
even the seemingly bad things that happen
are indeed correctly placed notes
that are just perceived with outdated and short-sided hardware

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That One Album — June 27, 2015

That One Album

What if a muse is nothing more than a chronological binding catalyst
lamenting a particular emotion in time

Set forth to distract from personal evolution
by perpetuating a pleasurable moment

Rather than recognizing that external conditions have changed
and, in contrary, by reverting to former conditions and neuro-pathways
the host allows the muse to give the green light to: Limited-Consciousness Time Travel

This, although being a somewhat, tunnel-visioned approach
allows the host to return to a particular moment
when the muse was first introduced and fully understood

The host can then decide to initiate the muse
in a way which either stunts growth
or develops it

Stunting: indulging in the lamented moment
without creating anything new to add,
just wallowing in memories

Developing: Indulging in the good parts of the lamented moment
and deciding to create new moments
in conjunction with the aforementioned muse-moment

Devil’s advocate?

I know I like writing to certain albums
and I feel creativity pulled out of me
from those tracks

(seed)

Life is your spirit institutionalized. — June 12, 2015

Life is your spirit institutionalized.

A prisoner who has been locked up for so long that the natural, outside world feels unnatural to them, is categorized as being “institutionalized”
If given up to the outside world, an institutionalized person will feel awkward,out-of-place and strive to return to that state of comforting confinement.
Much like that prisoner, the spirit inside us that chose to reside in the host viewing this now, has made a comfy home in the physical world,
forgetting the infinite potential of non-physicality it came from,and refusing to return to it, due to it’s short-sided commitments and the stakes it prematurely perceives as important.
If I had to sum up this thought in a sentence, it would be:

Life is your spirit institutionalized.

Putting The Omen In Moment — June 9, 2015

Putting The Omen In Moment

Seeing the answers you seek

In the iridescence of a beetle shell

Or

Receiving illumination and confirmation

In the directional rotation of a leaf

on the surface of a pond

must be one of the highest echelons

of Intuition and Interconnectivity

Or

it is just you

creating the omen in the moment

connecting dots to reinforce your interpreted perceptions

which are, at best, gambles

waged by your central nervous system

sent to the brain

and cross referenced against a catalogue

of archetypes and formerly experienced stimuli

finally, reaching a deduction

somewhere between fear and fantasy

Or

Perhaps it something else entirely

Repetition, Shock, Beauty, and Hindsight — June 4, 2015

Repetition, Shock, Beauty, and Hindsight

1:
So much Repetition
a felt tip that bleeds through the folded napkin
with a night of horrid hallucinations
birds singing sour notes
echo-headed and sleep deprived
tense scenes directed by the ghost of Kubrick
surreal and ugly
dim and voidful

2:
Shock
long silences( getting to know the white ceiling)
playing out scenarios in an attempt to figure out
that which couldn’t possibly be figured out by a biased brain
friends slowly inch their way in
throwing seeds in your pond consciousness
creating rippling peaks and valleys
slowly your fountain begins to generate movement
interrupting the surface scum you’ve been letting form

3:
Beauty once again
wiser for the wear, you actively return to the journey
brand new perspective goggles
enjoying smells
musical goosebumps
tasting your food again
getting lost in conversations
wondering how you could have ever forgotten
even for a moment, how ecstatic the processes are
of navigating the unknown territories that define your experience
Hindsight illuminating the risks
as foresight validates the reason for taking them

Another Masturbatory “I” Piece — June 1, 2015

Another Masturbatory “I” Piece

I am my body/ I am not that entirely

I am the clothes on that body
I am the chair that the clothed body sits on
I am the hardwood floor that supports that chair
I am the walls that connect to that floor
and I am the sum of all the beautiful art on those walls

I am a fleshy representation of the piano that sits in my living room
I am the lamp that cast various shadows in the living room that is I
I am the catalyst that lies between all of my “A’s” and “B’s”
I am the straight line
I am the circular logic of my schizophrenic counterparts
I am the sole source of the doubt that is cast in my immediate environment
I am also the bio-mechanical structure that facilitates change here
I am the flesh suit that blinks randomly and accepts failure a bit to easily
I am the amazed observational unit who observes it’s own brush strokes
I am the relieved serpent whose ideology is pierced by the sharper fang of his peers
hallucinating in tandem with those alternative, wire-structure, collective-experience modules

I am the observer who believes “I am” to be futile and elementary
I am not I at all
which is to say,I am nothing and all
which is to also say, I don’t give a shit about this proclamation
it is just another masturbatory gesture in a sea of misdirected,ambiguous notions
masqueraded as something “unique” amongst a sea of brilliant minds

Let’s see if this goes anywhere —

Let’s see if this goes anywhere

I haven’t had a blog since the old days of Xanga, somewhere around 8 years ago. I will start this off by posting 2 things I wrote recently. I feel a surge of words and creativity coming in the near future, so as the title says, let’s see if this goes anywhere.

It has been awhile
since I have been here
what a warm sensation
to be in the writer’s room
an all white environment
mine to paint, however I choose
I sit, encrusted with fuzzy warmth
bliss bellows mellowly from the speakers

I began this round with the above words
I had to get out the familiar to begin something else

you can’t milk water from a stone
power snakes in through shielded cables
binary awaits, holding it’s breath for signal
air stands still for a micro second
the observation circles a single dust particle
frozen in mid-air
and then everything is active again
the particle continues on it’s path towards the arm chair
only to catch a rogue current of misdirected breath
now propelled towards the ceiling vent
A guitar leans casually in the corner
bubble wrap occupying a one foot section of the folding table
guarding a box which guards an intolerance to a larger problem

the photos of a bitter, dead woman
stacked in sequence
a stranger to me
and to her, everyone a stranger
in those last days
these photo albums may as well have been
pamphlets to life she never purchased
children she never had,cars she never drove.

fresh blood makes these fingers type
fresh blood warms the skin
breath in,replenish oxygen
now my neurotransmitters take new data
and cross reference my mistakes and accomplishments
head to my chest and back again
analyze the CNS
I am alive
and unable to prove most of my experiences
positive stimulus
negative stimulus
neutral stimulus
multi-faceted stimuli creating electrical storms
which foreshadowed the great neuropeptide flood of 2015
cellular communities were altered
some for the better, some no longer thrive
Elastin has taken a hit these days
but nothing serious, nothing like Nepal or Chile
mild grocery store inconveniences
and extra dehumidifying
I am still, as far as I can tell, Lucid
and I only truly want
that which I fall short of attaining
by my own lack of practice and understanding
which is really not that bad
considering I can always learn more
and repetition is the name of the universal game
so practice is inevitable
whether I am proactive or not
it is just a matter of time before
my face catches up with my hands