...

must be getting old. i did actually considered today whether or not i have enough time to ever fully learn russian. creepy.

...

do you know what awesome is? awesome is when you pick up some random translation of rimbaud and later figure out that the guy who translated it wrote a book about jim morrison--that's what awesome is.

september 25th

"I wish he was here." -- John Paul Jones


I'm a few days late, but when it comes to remembering him--well, that happens everyday. Forgive me, Bonzo, for it slipped through my mind--but you are always in my heart. And in the hearts of many others.

Be well, wherever you are.

"why was cupid a boy?"

"The secret of artistic creation and of the effectiveness of art is to be found in a return to the state of of participation mystique--to that level of experience at which the weal or woe of the single human being does not count but only human existence. This is why every great work of art is objective and impersonal, but none the less prodoundly moves us each and all. And this is also why the personal life of the poet cannot be held essential to his art--but at most a help or a hindrance to his creative task. He may go the way of a Philistine, a good citizen, a neurotic, a fool or a criminal. His personal career may be inevitable and interesting, but it does not explain the poet."

Carl Jung

101

so apparently, before i knew it, we made it over 100 posts.

so I chose to talk about it. You know, the big issue. The cause of the greatest illnesses and the merriest joys, the thing that makes you cry and makes you laugh, the thing that can pump your heart right outta your chest or can make it stop dead in its spot. That one little word that opens up every door--mankind's most vulnerable soft spot. Those four letters that can make it spin, or make it ground.

It is just a four letter word, as someone once wrote, you know. Believe it or not, it is made up of four letters, and comes out of your mouth and disappears into thin air.

Yes, children. It is love.

Since I lack major experience on the matter, but too much confusion; I'm not gonna say much on it. But a friend of mine got me fooled for a minute today, and I believed something wonderful had happened to her. I was filled with joy and happiness and I wanted to know all about it and hear all about it--but there was that sharp, instant little pain in the left side of my chest, that just appeared and stopped right after. And that's when I realize, that unless you're fully an angel or completely fooling yourself--everybody gets that feeling of "why not me" in the pit of their stomach one time or another, over "the" issue.

SO that made me think of all the women we blamed up to this day, the women we made scapegoats out of--women who were at fault at times by the way--but we slashed them and torn them and accused them of breaking up friendships, killing their significant ones, or making them meet their ends. Like I said, some mustta had something to do with it all, but some maybe, just didn't. What am I getting at? Well, it's bullshit, ladies. All of it. The real truth is that we wanted it. We wanted to be them, we wanted songs to be written about us, we wanted to change someone's life. So kid yourself all you want, but I got it all figured out.

We just wanted what they had. It's not even who they had, it's just that they had'em. So, I apologize from all the women I've accused up to today. I should have been more honest. Not that any of you were true angels or anything, but I should have seen it before.

So maybe, it'll be more clear now. All we can really hope for, after all, is just what D.T once wrote: "Though lovers be lost, love shall not."










and a nameless thousand more.

bird that whistles, bird that sings

So my last few days of summertime has ended.

Can't say I'm not glad, I was getting tired of the "thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season", so I'm all up for some shivering and getting soaking wet in rain and coffee that doesn't just fill up your brain with warm thoughts but also fills up your blood with, well-only warmth. You can think of a lot of things as the summer passes, flings, families, weddings; if any, deaths, fruits, friends, lines, lines, lines and songs...But me, I wasn't thinking about anything as I just laid there on a towel over the sand, with a few sweet melodies in my ears and my gigantic hat covering up my face--now pinkish from the heat--and my sunglasses hiding my one swollen eye (i have no clue what happened, but the working theory is that I got bitten by a SOB of an mosquito, sucker got me right under my eye, and i walked around looking all badass with one red-brown circle around my right eye for 2 days straight), I just sat there. You know, like Buddha or whatever. I had a million ideas pass through my head I suppose, but none really got stuck, which happens to me at times, but this time it was weird--there was this feeling of peace and carelessness as if it could all just pass me right by and I could just sit there with the breeze in my hair and my toes in the sand.

It was only a few days away but it can always do you good, I tell you. First off, there's the road. Miles and miles of these fields, and dead sunflowers, and the shrewd yellowness that just spreads its wings everywhere, cows and lambs and all that having a feast over the half dried out grass, a single horse here and there staring into the sun (i'm not kidding, I've seen at least two horses just standing in the middle of a field, not eating, not doing a thing but just staring into the sun) and good music ringing in you ears. Tangled Up In Blue is proven to be one of the greatest road songs ever. 100 songs or so of the man and you never once get bored. 3 and a half hour straight. He gets you there.

Then there's the family. Good at times and bad at the others, but effortlessly enjoyable at the end. Family brings out the food and the old jokes and the stories a thousand times told, yet told once more. And I was stuck too, before I left, among all others that I have failed and who have failed me, so this was a good escape.

There are the experiences. Like, I walked for a while--among the grass and the crazy plants and the thorns and the million times i got bitten and stung and my legs became this mutated pieces of meat, but I didn't care. I tried to get out there, sun burning the top of my head and tried to see if I had it in me. To be there. To be on the road. Did I? Silent smile, that's all I can offer you. You take it anyway you want.

The single, most amazing, surreal thing that ever happened to me. Visiting this old chapel down in the village, I tried to wind up my path backwards to see what was back there, and bam, a little far out, this donkey turned around and let out the most infuriated cry--almost a scream--and I turned around to look at it as it screamed at my face. It was an angry donkey. I had never seen an angry donkey, but this one was furious. I know it sounds stupid now, but you should have been there, you should have seen it, an acid trip mustta been something quite close to that. Angry donkey. As if the world could get any weirder. A donkey, of all.

Finally, the way back home. Ice cream melting in your mouth at 6 o'clock in the morning, sun is barely up, the morning coldness of the winter school days is definitely out there and growing, and Dylan again. Shelter Of The Storm this time. "Do I understand your question man, is it hopeless and forlorn?" I dozed off before I could get the answer.

This is getting longer for no use, it's time to wrap it up. Summer, children, the best thing about summer is the end of it. When the air gets cooler, and the sun goes down and the beach is practically deserted and Corrina, Corrina plays inside your head, and you know when you get home there's gonna be a big dinner and desert and laughters and hugs and kisses, you bite on your last slice of apple, and the world is there, and it'll be there tomorrow and all you feel bad about is having not read enough. Soon it'll be october winds and november rains and new year's eve and snow, if we're a bit lucky, and coffee spoons and chocolate cakes and school and tears and fights and gossip, and if i live to see it, who knows, there might be more.

PS: Since these songs brought out the perfect nothingness for me the on the beach, here's a list of them, in case you get to sneak out of the city for a few days and hit somewhere a bit warmer. And you wonder why my head gets so crazy, well, this is a tiny piece of a very large, disorderly puzzle.

The James Gang- Walk Away (start with something up beat, while it's still warm and the afternoon is just rolling in)

Bob Dylan- It's All Good (some dark irony always helps)

The Doors-Hyacinth House (do you really need a reason for jimmy?)

Led Zeppelin- Down By The Seaside (your head feels a bit lighter now, and it's time to slow down the beat a bit)

The Rolling Stones- Time Is On My Side (haha-i read bobby the other day talking about how the stones ripped this song from somewhere and of course had a hit with it)

Elvis Presley- That's All Right Mama (not thinking begins round now)

The Beatles-All My Loving

The Beatles-I've Just Seen A Face (I've listened to so much Beatles this past few days I feel like I have John inside my head)

Robert Johnson- Love In Vain

The Doors- I Will Never Be Untrue

Ella Fitzgerald- It's Only A Paper Moon (you're completely blank by now)

Frank Sinatra- Oh! Look At Me Now

Billie Holiday-Let's Call A Heart A Heart (oh holy emptiness)

Ella Fitzgerald- My Melancholy Baby

Joan Baez- Love Is Just A Four Letter Word (now you get a bit depressed, i don't know whether its the words or the voice, or the combination of them)

Bob Dylan/ Johnny Cash- I Still Miss Someone (the original Cash version is perfectly fine too, but honestly, when I hear the yonder one's voice, I get a feeling of familiarity--so me and Johnny, we're using him as an icebreaker)

Bob Dylan- Corrina Corrina (the perfect ending to the day--you stretch yourself out, turn you face to last few beams of the sunlight and smile for the life of yours)

short notice

it may not be california, but looks like i'm going to somewhere after all.

i'm off to a few days of vacation kids, wrapping up the last days of summertime to go out and get cozy on the sand.

"Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than treason
To go with the drift of things
To yield to with grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?"

R.F.

So long.

positively 4th street

fried of a friend quotes a few words of mr kerouac and that draws the blues to my head like a magnet of lonesomeness and sorrow.

it gets a few days closer each day to the day i gather up my ideas and stick them inside a duffle bag and put on a proud look upon my face and declare "you don't know me!"

"friends will arrive, friends will disappear" sings the cranky old man. i don't know what to say. i wanted to say something but i think it slipped out of my mind, and i can't seem to get it back right now.

cause i certainly had some fancy heavy way to put it. some quotes here and there. now i got nothing, man. a thousand faces and they all run out.

might was well put this on--to make reading this not a total waste of time.

...

"Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence."

T.S.E.

"try new mexico, i hear he's on a tortilla"

hahahahaha. man, i love this show.

...

this is the kinda perk i'm talking about.

internet dinners

i admit, this one definetly has its ups, and its downs.

the world of everchanging technology, I mean. after a day of suffering in the hands of that gigantic cyber man i just had enough of it you know. if i could just take us all back to candle light and pen and pencil, i'd do it with pleasure. seems to be like we are overdoing this whole world wide web deal, and we're forcing ourselves to become dependent on those little intangible letters and arranging our lives accordingly.

not that it's a whole waste of time, don't get me wrong. there are tons of perks to the jobs, i think i owe half of my life to the internet. as i'm typing these down i'm listening to a playlist made up of woodstock performances, how cool is that? and how else, if not for that beast of burden that i would have gotten the chance to do that? things are much more accessible now, and that's good, that's all right.

but isn't it all just...disposable? if everyone else does it at the same time, can't we all just stop?

but i guess it makes me a hypocrite, since i'm going to scatter these words into that black hole in a minute or so. besides, the who's next on the playlist.

a million times or more dear

i've been looking for this complete version forever now. yay me.

it takes a lot to laugh, it takes a plane to cry

airports are funny places.

contrary to the other departing and returning places as train stations, ports and all, they're surprisingly cold and lack any kind of emotion of any sort. i went there today, thinking it'll be hell through and through, all those people on the way to a brand new life--breaking free, heading out you know, getting on the road....strangely, there was nothing. nothing of that sort. there were suitcases, passports and luggage weighing; there were children sleeping on the seats, too much grey was everywhere, people seemed tired and out of place.

you shouldn't depend on airports. airports are gigantic scaled versions of planning, paying, preparing schemes. there's no traveler's spirit there, no impulsive actions, nobody breaks free. it's like...like accepting everything you know. becoming a misplaced piece of an undefined system. see when you throw you bag over your shoulder and take that first step into the bus, that's a different feeling. when you slam the trunk close, when you take your one foot ahead of another--when you still can see the sky and the earth, when you're not stuck in some thousand ton steel box. i don't have anything against planes, don't get me wrong. it just, you know, feels like killing the essence of traveling, the true spark of the journey, of the road.

i stared at that screen with the arrivals and departures, there was nowhere i wanted to be (all right, Moscow maybe, but not now, i have a feeling that it's not now). I think we have an emotional clock too somewhere within that just lets you know when your time's right, and my time just isn't i guess. i don't know what or how or why, but i kinda saw myself today--in a way i hadn't before. I sat on the seats--i watched the people-- it just didn't click.

you shouldn't like airports. you should like that feeling of an eagle spreading its wings apart right in the middle of your chest, you should like hitting the asphalt, you should like chasing the sky, you should like moving, you should like having a home nonetheless, you should hate leaving, but die to leave--but whatever it is, you just shouldn't like airports.

...

i could say something smart, but i'm gonna let this one go by.

i kinda like this version. i will be back to write more today. now i goota eat.

...

"Sure you can sit around your house, without ever leaving home, stick in your ear buds, and listen to it all alone. But you gotta ask yourself, what’s the next generation gonna write about? Sitting home alone, you’re not gonna write a song like this.”

muttering small talk at the wall

i know that i've been just blabbering about the man forever now, but this is just way too cute for me to pass on. not to mention that i just used the word "cute" in the same sentence with him--even that's kinda creepy. there you go.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LX8VdSOsvJQ&feature=related

...

"The dream has sucked the sleeper of his faith."

D.T.

I guess at some point you start seeing the million dissapointed faces. everyone has a dream, and everyone had seen them dreams crushed.

they've got some hungry women there that'll make a mess out of you

yes i know it's superficial and very much a cliche, but i have to put this here, i think there's something more to this jimbo that just being the rebel with the pretty face, and being out on a gap purse or whatever--i think there's something in his eyes.

he gives you a feeling of spring. in such a time too.

a handful of rain

i turned up my radio and there comes stormy monday of allman brothers. now that's what i would describe as poetic.

the world's upside down today--i woke up to the rain and the wind and all the rest, full on natural disaster afoot. it hasn't been raining ever since noon, but people are still trying to pick up the pieces. we took a walk down the roads to see what was happening, and man, a lot had been happening.

first and foremost, the humane desire to see and recognize destruction is just plain awesome. people seem to be flocking only to see cars upside down, bridges fallen, trucks floating carelessly through the now flooded highways. and children--dragged outside by the parents who are after finding something to be thankful for in their own miseries-- just randomly run around. they don't really care about anything beneath the surface, you know. it's just plain fun to see 5 people trying to turn a wrecked car upside down. but they are still so beautiful, even in all that mud and craziness, they just play games, chasing one another down the road, they hold each others' hands, peeking once in a while over the barriers to see what's happening. long story short, it's weird to watch people react to unfortunate events. you know, as Whitman would put it in a slightly different concept, the wonder is always in a mean man or an infidel.

anyways, the electricity was off all day, so I had a chance to get down with The Town And The City. it's so weird ( i really need to start finding more adjectives, i really do) you know, it's so neat and orderly, and so not like Kerouac, but just juicy in its way of showing you where Kerouac had been before. there's more to it, but i'll hold my tongue until i'm done.

so what was i talking about? right, destruction, disaster, endings, pain, misery...gotta admit they're appealing people. sometimes, a disturbing feeling pierces me through the heart, and i wonder if we all just randomly go after the sudden combustion, if we all just admire the poet, the rock star, the beautiful one only because at the end of the day, the Morrison kind always burns itself out. and that's the kind we look for. that's the kind we seem to cherish. the kind we seem to love, once we are all blinded by the explosion, by the million lights.

or else expecting rain

it's been raining for two days now--and i'm sickly delighted with it. if it was up to me, it'd be raining all the time.

ordered chronicles vol.1, i'm home, warm; my phone's dead (i swear i didn't do anything), i'll be getting some coffee in a minute. i'm all right, i guess.

"Oh, come forth into the storm and rout
And be my love in the rain."

R.F.

wild child

"Childrren's hearts are full of innocent, almost unconscious, love, and such blows ewoke in them a sorrowful astonishment and tears which God beholds and will count. For their intellect is never capable of grasping their full guilt."
F.M.D

indian summer

i really don't have anything to say for the night, and the heat is killing me, but i've been looking at some old jim pics, i don't know, it makes you feel humane for some reason.

...

"Politics is entertainment. It's a sport. It's for the well groomed and well heeled. The impeccably dressed. Party animals. Politicians are interchangeable."

good one.

myself forever reproaching myself

"Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see
around me..."

this one's like a good bottle of wine, it gets even better as time passes by. i've been chewing up on it for two days now. i close my eyes and there the words are.

heave and sigh.

rats' alleys

it's about all those people who do what they want tonight. about a thousand dreams fulfilled. about a thousand more broken. the void. the void. the man who spoke of the void.



there is something graceful and angellike in a black-and-white photo, don't you think?

barbaric yawp

i felt like strolling down the whitman lane tonight, so i'll give you a few lines of his.

O Me! O Life!

O ME! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the
foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I,
and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the
struggle ever renew'd,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see
around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me
intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring-What good amid these, O me,
O life?

Answer.
That you are here-that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse


i requested my song on the radio, my stomach's full, my eyelids get heavier, i began
the town and the city , but something still doesn't feel right. huh.

well, i plugged it in my socket and the house exploded

"More light."


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBvKSiljieo&feature=fvw

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxGrGaVipQc

"damn it, one can't die without explanations."

so, I'm done with the idiot.

i don't have to tell you how good it was, or how talented the man is, or anything of that sort. the name fyodor just naturally comes with those attachments, and i'm sure my endless praises to the legend won't really make him any more or less than what he already is. you don't make bob dylan any better of a song writer by stating out the obvious, you know what i mean? not like you have to be a genious to realize it either. anyways, moving on...

myshkin is now definetly one of my favorite of them dostoevski boys (i do still have to say that mitya is still the king of the lot) and he, as always, remimded me the simpleness and purity that i've been missing in everyone lately, including myself. oh well, we can't have too many idiots now, can we? that would ruin the beauty of those that exist among us. i'm guessing we have to just admit the fact that we have fallen to far to get back by now, and you gotta accept the human nature as it is--corrupted and complicated.

though i have to say, his angellike heart didn't stop him from ruining practically everyone's life, and well, it was sort of intentional too. I think his real sweetheart was Natasya (suck it up, Aglaia!) but i'm not really sure whether if that is just my way of seeing things or that it was the way it was told in the story. i guess everyone would see it differently.

the ending was a bit abrupt, I have to say. i won't get into details here to ruin everyone's pleasure, but man, i kinda didn't see that one coming.

anyways, as always, praise the lord of the words, and here are a few words of wisdom fallen from his pen, to conclude:

"But I'll add though, that there is something at the bottom of every new human thought, every thought of genious or even every earnest thought that springs up in any brain, which can never be explained to others, even if one were to write volumes about it and were explaining one's idea for thirty-five years, there is something left which can not be induced to emerge from your brain, and remains with you forever; and with it you will die, without communicating to anyone perhaps, the most important of ideas..."

i'd give you a few more, but i'll let you digest that first.

love you all.

"repetition of salutes"

well , this is an odd day.

yesterday was just great. it's that feeling you get when you know you are among the right people, it's priceless. looking upon faces and bright and beatiful and knowing that you are loved among them, and you would be taken care of. treated like a glass vase at times and as the wall to lean against in others. friendships are valuable, delicate things. and you take as much as you give. that's what i notice last night, my dearest angels, they take what i give them and work with it, and manage to love me and call me a friend with that. it's a good feeling. it's home. it's warm.

there is this thing in the pit of my stomach though. unsettling, restless feeling. i've been cruel to people, i've been acting like a spoiled brat, and it works out fine anyways, cause they are family, and they will be with you no matter what, but this constant guilt inside is just killing me. in a way, it makes me happy, to know that i'm decent enough to feel bad about the wrongs i've done, but it also sucks the life out of ya. i mean that, i feel like doing nothing today. i do have to get done with the idiot though, it's been like 3 weeks, and i think fyodor would turn in his grave if don't get with it soon.

just watched the season 4 gag reel of supernatural. as always, they are just adorable. turned my frown upside down a bit. also watched when harry met sally last night. it was fun, but i'm done on the romantic comedies for the next decade or so. too much is just too much.

one of my dearests told me today that she was planning to get me no direction home as a birthday present. i love people who stop for a minute and actually give a damn about what they are getting to the other person. i think it shows how much you care about someone. that's why i love my gals, one had got me a dvd about the gospel years of dylan and the other dostoievski's life story. i love'em, i really do for pondering over things.

CCR are is on as i type these. gotta love that manly, midwest, truck stop type of raw, macho, thick tone of fogerty.