The Sock-Monkey As Alone

                                                                                                                             "I don't have much time for sympathy, cause it never happened to me."                                                                                                                         -unwritten law                                                               Her mouth hangs open with the promise of some pleasure unknown, with pleasures of a gospel without verses. The dream is nice in that British sort of way, in that sort of way that it's not as funny as it thinks it is. It’s a painting in my mind, an image of a faith in humanity I can't deny in spite of myself. That even this mean little creature can be loved. That all the sickness can be sweated out sworn and thrown away with a communion wafer. The visions come and go as I lay in my bed stoned out of my mind smelling and looking like shit trying to make since of what I h

    "Your a tall white man with a shit load of swagger." -  Rachel Brooks      Pegasi 51 are the best British 77 style punk band except for the sex pistols and they just so happen to be from the bible belt (my home town technically). Now irony is a funny thing, she can set the mood or under mine authority and this particular irony is about as ambiguous as Sasha Pain's ass, which is to say it's a good one. They are the Damned as God intended, they are Television with testosterone issues and they have too much fucking integrity, which is to say they are too congruent with a reality that is no longer reality, they are the best at what they do and no one gives a fuck...almost no one.      Let's go back in time together, it's Halloween last year, I'm wearing pajama pants, it isn't a costume. Drunk college kids are makin' a damn fool of they self while I'm trying too pretend like I'm not happier being fucked up then playing nice with

  " They say that I have no hits and that I'm difficult to work with. And they say that like it's a bad thing ." - Tom Waits.       It's only six, but it has already been a long day, the dirty streets and bad air let me know I'm in Knoxville, they let me know that I am home. I'm squatting down outside the entrance to the Pilot Light (a darling little club owned by a man named Jason Boardman, who runs the place out of his own pocket, a darling little man who won't hesitate to say he loses money every year just too keep the doors open. The pilot light is a Charity, the doors are open for no other reason then some strange desire too share a wealth of music with a few people, who may appreciate for a moment there is more to life then shit jobs and bills.) I'm smoking a cigarette I just rolled, while some middle class bohemian is walking by, he is walking his dog and the dog does not like me. His two daughters are wandering the streets just in si

     The way we look at identity is, uncomfortable. Your mind is as much out of  your own control as any other force of nature. The storm is founded on the ego, the survival impulse buried in a elaborate fiction. The elaborate fiction is a defense of the reality of your survival. All living things that are not broken have a will to life. While the best of us have a rage to greatness or what I think zen teachers like to call "the will to truth." The truth whatever that may be, is something close to ambition without goals or pure effort without any attachment too results. What is hard, is that we as human beings have to see ourselves (the fiction of our identity, that most people call the soul.) as something that gets in the way of us (the blood, bone and muscles that is reality.) from getting what we need, not what we want. Their is no end to what we want, because the ego uses the fiction of our identity like opium and it's a hard habit to quit, but reality is always waiti

     I woke up this morning and I was not hung over, I was lets say, feeling it. I've been struggling to get off the floor for as long as I can remember and the strangest thing I've learned from zen is that I am already off the floor. Sure I can make better choices or i could stop regretting the past but none of that changes right now, none of that changes the actual reality that is me, or the things surrounding me. so then what exactly does it change? Nothing more then my perception of it, not clarity but the desire to be rid of clarity, the desire to be rid of of the arbitrary reduction on reality that is me, or the illusion of this thing that I call me.     Box-car racer was a great band, I have no shame in saying this. As I am writing this, I am listening to their self titled debut, which I hope will stay forever there only release. it's reminding me of things i don't like to think about, of moments and people who no longer exist in any form. People I miss, who ar

     When Sucker Punch came out most people hated it. They talked about the visuals, the effects and the girls, all but calling the film a soulless shiny object. they said it didn't have personality or character, they said it was sexed up misogyny or walmart feminism. That all the things these young women went threw, was nothing more then traps for grown men to fall into, too sadistically smile at these barbies come to life. That it had no purpose, no song or reason, only the desire to play with the Bambi eyed cast like a pit bull plays with a kitten.      Let me start this by saying in no uncertain terms, I disagree with all that bull-shit. I disagree with the naive way that most people choose to look at things that make them uncomfortable, that we live in a society where the reality of what actual empowerment is, can't be said on basic cable, or out-loud at all, for that matter. That all the shit they went threw, be it Baby doll, Blondie, Sweat pea, Amber or the gangster Roc