Stream 1

I am not sparking or lightning light of mind at the moment, I’ll just splurge onto this page like rage rage onto the canvas though it’s a strain such a strain but no no pause I suppose I’ll just do it yes what am I talking about there’s people outside talking all chat and walking and skuffin pebbles and I’m in here taking about what they’re doing and becky’s just gone and told me to write my life story but I can’t write what I have been doing if I havn’t got the slightest clue care or inclination about what I am doing but to be fair as I glance at what I’m actually thinking I wonder if I am actually thinking or feeling or believing these things because I see that I just invent positions angles ideas emotions even whole characters and selves for fun for lack of anything else to do for lack of desire or direction I suppose its all down to expectations like I expect so fucking much from life but havn’t got the energy to take it or don’t really know what it is I’m supposed to lay hold of or maybe its yes its because what I expect and desire and want so very very much doesn’t exist any more so I’m reduced to reading about people for whom such wants were not a fantasy or desire, not I’m just sitting here basically not alive except for my fingers spraying all over the place and not to anyone particular benefit or even detriment I suppose I should learn to expect less I suppose oh fuck I suppose i probably will which will be even worse. God look at the dreadfully average stance and planar level of these thoughts they are stuck to this dreadful average world made of lamps tables chairs walls ceilings walls floors walls and doors and windows but more walls than doors or windows you see even as I try to see this world I’m always symbolising everything and it should be wonderful except that my metaphicical capacity has a morbid bent I don’t know maybe I’m tired, I know if I was in Ireland I’d be happy and my mind would leap and latch onto the sea and stones and green and I’d see the elements which I can understand and things wouldn’t be so complicated and yet so unimportant yeah I’d like a world where everything is simple and absolutely crucial, but here‘s a labyrinth without there actually being one maybe if I just laid down in a corner I could become content with the cracks and the meagre rations and the stagnant air and just wait for the beast to come to me. Sigh sigh groan and stuff I didn’t really sigh or groan I’m inventing postures because I’m lying supine on the world and wrapped round its dull curvature that just proves that however far you go you’ll eventually get back to the same place, though maybe eliot was right and that’s the journey you know to arrive at the place you started and to know it for the first time but then what hah the whole thing is utterly impossible as ladislaw said and he half knew he half felt what he was talking about and I less than half know and do not feel anything oh god I want to want so much and one day I’ll just stop thrashing around in the mists of the past for some castle that’s already sunken into the mists and lay down and stop wanting to want and lie there fireless and average like Walcott said and things will be simple and the mists will clear away and I’ll see this city and the people as the atoms they are and I won’t be a person any more I’ll be a sensory animal driven from distraction to distraction by distraction again as eliot said I mean fucking hell even trying to think about the simplest things I go to eliot because I don’t have any real thoughts of my own but then again who has oh yes girls yes they do because they feel stuff maybe that’s it maybe I should have a look for emotions but they are sensory and I don’t feel very much even in the physical self I can see what self harm people are about I suppose it’s not about attention at all but noone will understand them just as everyone will see right through me, oh well I don’t suppose I’m really that unhappy here we go yeah there was jd what was I saying oh yes I don’t suppose I’m really that unhappy I’m just inventing it to try and stimulate some sort of pain like a feeling even an intellectually invented one but it wont work ha ha I feel like tantalus yes I like him very much and ikarus will always be my hero and paris is damn cool you see I was brought up to want to be these people, obviously they never said so but when you looked at the fucking idiots you were learning with that were more interested in their lives and the desks and classes and cars and streets and other people and their families and moneys and draff like that and didn’t care about ikarus I mean that is the most tragic thing in the world and no one cared like the musee des beaux arts and even that I can’t lay hold of because paz showed me that poem. Yeah I remember the poem I wrote on the bus when I had that hideous hangover that was some pathetic fallacy there I suppose it actually works like when the tree tentacle finger skeletal bones rapped on the bonnet(sic [top of the bus? hood?]) and I felt touched and then I thought of tentacles of my mind like reaching straining fronds thrashing about looking for something to latch onto yes haha I’m some freak squid head hm maybe that why my hair is like this, just an extention of my desire for desire damn I wish people could understand how fucking good that poem I wrote is, prayer, but it’s only relevant to me or anyone who feels like I do which I doubt and hope not I suppose by way of fellow feeling yeah sympathy and all that eliot as in george who I once thought was a man she’s a wonderful person you see now I’m writing as if someone’s going to read god no I must not my life will not be read by anyone ever its not that interesting but it wracks me ah some hideous bent alley towards solipsism and an opium den no no screw honesty to myself If there’s a spot of evil in me I’ll rub it out yes I’ll be unimpeachably perfect I’ll quote myself again and again and again and I’ll become a great poet and create and create and be and spread and spring and watch and then do stuff and talk to people and love yeah do you think you could ever give that much you who so reserved and contained and complete you who know no fear because you don’t care about anything jesus christ yeah can I invoke you never tried to talk to you before and to be fair I don’t think I will now sorry maybe another time ha ha invocations love that word but you can’t use it really because its just calling up spirits that don’t exist but that’s what talking is and what art is it won’t exist in a hundred years those bastards who just LOVE reality are going to break my metaphysical capacity yeah my philosophy is so good it will turn the tide back to the romantics and the Tennyson days fuck yeah but ha ha no sammy it won’t because you’re an anachonism bad luck better luck next time better luck last time rather ho anyway where was I yes those bastards who just LOVE reality can’t see the point in the lovely lies of imagination and they have never looked at the stars and seen faces stare back at them you see that’s what metaphysics is that what mankind is its just looking up at an array of dots and seeing your face staring back at you ha ha god made man in his image I know its been said before but we made god in our image we made the world in our image we make ourselves in our image we have to or we don’t really exist I absolutely flatly refuse to be a simple real shambling assemblage of atoms and chemicals so there so long as I can if you love reality so much why don’t you marry it! Hah yeah well there you go look at that lamp there staring at me it’s even gat the gall to advertise itself max 60 watt bc with a little picture of itself under its chin to make itself feel better well yeah go for it I don’t mind I’m me ho ho what does that even mean I’m me, anyway its not true because a subject cannot be an object or maybe it can I don’t know but moving on you see I’ve noticed that jd and kinky and people and stuff have entered my thoughts from the outside and are going to draw me away from myself and for that I thank them and becky too yes I suppose other people are the most important thing yeah that’s what I learned in school today ha ha but only being half ironic probably totally sincere actually but guarded because my self is the stone that covers the cave where I lie crucified well remember that poem you wrote about her yeah the stone is rolled away love changes everything even I suppose doesn’t matter who the love is for if you can roll away your self for just one second and go and hug someone yeah hah maybe that’s it whatever I’m too tired yah I could have done a lucky tirade but it would have been too artful, too artful altogether, and lying is pathetic but I say that but doesn’t my metaphysical desire absolutely rely on lying no you’re connecting the poetic and the prosaic worlds they don’t correspond come on sammy keep up catch up up diddly.