I guess I was hoping to prove to Amber that this blog had few readers if any. That there was nothing to be concerned about. She was also concerned the father of her kids might be reading and/or bothered by my blog. I was wrong and she was right, on all counts.
I am very naive, even still, about how truly available to the world things put on the internet are. To think that a person could sit in a small cafe in Europe and pull up this blog, for instance, is still a little hard to wrap my feeble head around. So this will be the last entry for sure. I do want to keep peace. I tend to make trouble when I don't bother to look around corners, looking before leaping, checking mirrors in a lane change, et cetera...I'm that guy.
So I'll keep my own journal and feel free.
Thanks to those who were readers. I will continue to check on and comment on other blogs.
Brad
22 May, 2006
16 May, 2006
Eat Cake, Have It
To my thousands of fans, who read this, my blog, the very best blog on the entire internet, every single day - As a family conclusion the computer will remain off for a great duration. Cassin, 7, plays too much runescape, and too much blog spotting and myspace (4 accounts) and the occasional porn site on my part. I think it's good for us to get out of the corner and talk to each other. So be it.
As far as this blog goes, my girlfriend Amber requests that I do not write about my current life and living conditions, her, or her kids. I respect that need for privacy. I have pretty much done so since January anyway. Now Amber also requests that I do not mention or write about ex-girlfriends in any way. So recent posts and other recent old bits of recovered poems et cetera all fall into the forbidden catergories.
I used to write a real journal. Posting on the internet is not the real thing. Wrote whenever I wanted, about whatever I wanted. It was just one big word.doc. I'll have to go back to that some day, some how. This will remain archived and floating in space for now.
To you all, good bye.
b
08 May, 2006
Hello, Good Bye
On the same day Grant McLennan died in his sleep, on the opposite side of the planet earth, my brother's wife gave birth to their first child, my mother's first grandchild. Noah Jack Burkley was born at 5:27 PM Eastern time. Blue cigars, and tiny tennis shoes!
Grant McLennan was a member of The Go-Betweens, one of Australia's first contributions to intelligent post-punk rock beginning around '78. He released several solo albums full of earthy and heart felt songwriter songs. He collaborated with Steve Kilbey on two albums under the name Jack Frost which were stunning albums as well. Recently he reunited with Robert Forster of the GBs for two more albums with mixed results and the two were even interviewed by Teri Gross on NPR in the states.
That said, The Go-Betweens were one of my favorite bands, and that's why this news was sad.
GL's spoken lyrics from Trapeze Boy (Jack Frost)-
I hadn't thought about Mrs. Morgan for years, until I read in the paper
that she had died. When I was a boy, Mrs. Morgan played solo with my
mother every Tuesday afternoon. There were two other women there, but
I can't remember their names anymore. Monkey, Magda, something like that.
Mrs. Morgan collected opals. Her husband Ted owned a circus, which kept
him away and out of the picture most of the time. I'd come home from
school and the women would be hard at the cards. I liked Mrs. Morgan, she
always had a little chip of opal for me, and said that I should save it
for a sweetheart. I came home one day and Mrs. Morgan was crying in our kitchen.
My mother told me to leave them alone. I learned later that a boy from the
circus had fallen and died. He used to ride the trapeze. Mr. Morgan went out
of business and they moved away. I've still got the opals.
It's funny how someone you've never met manages to stay with you.
I have listened to Grant's voice for years, but never met him, yet he manages to stay with me as he will with many.
Condolences to the McLennan family.
May 6, a bittersweet date.
I haven't met Noah, my nephew yet either. The earth and universe have this unperceivable exchange of life force that we all face and feel. My little post about the loss of a skateboard, and my "RIP" title, though more really about Eri thru digression, seems a little silly in light of today's entry.
Congratulations Ben and Michele.
b
06 May, 2006
04 May, 2006
The Semi-Radicals
The semi-radicals want something to hit them in the face
The semi-radicals take solace in the volition of secum rejection
Nothing to them is the essence of the real thing
How do I go about snapping myself out of the observation of everything and get involved?
My one way is to record my obsefvations and offer them up for consideration
What is central?
Egypt? Gaul? Nepoleon? Streets without Sphinx?
Thumb your nose at fate.
I dare you.
Serendiculous – ambivalent portmanteau word meaning something that involves serendipity in the gut and a ridiculousness in the head.
'twas once upon a time, on winter night, I came home with a strange but abandoned pict from a dumpster drunken did I taketh. to my bed and passed out I awoke two star signs later to find the lady at my side, in the flesh, and of angelic flesh only. she took my headache into her hands and altered it's shape. she kissed hypnotic, like Mesmer in on a leaning tower landmine. she bartered my pains for pleasure. she showed me the gates of her garden, a gate beyond the double door. she melted both my poles, which drained my ocean.
with her perichance prince of rescue, skin and bones she was, but still the painting, dicarded so sadly alone before, but now, further destruction, rain, and sun, from temporal disconnect,
nevermore, not to be.
beyond my old upright symbol of infinity door, found, was a sun of red shadow like the buffet light on a piece of dead cow hip. sweet was this light, sweet like home, endless night. left my body behind, joined her in the painting of ad infinitum nauseum. the circle of all life as a snake in a deosil circle chasing tail. Ostara past, Ostara future. together even as adam, every man and woman as eve, one.
Caution: in the studios of eternal now, paint dries in the strangest of ways.
Take everything into consideration,
Including everything that everyone tells you.
“paisley and flannel go together.”
But believe nothing that you don’t believe,
Inside.
Inside = “they do not go together”
Know the inside and you will know what is introduced for what it is,
but do not disrespect the good confusion of others.
Tell not the paisley flannel that they do not match,
and remind yourself how everything matches
Knowledge can be accumulated like the need to collect gold,
But wisdom is accumulated like the need to not need gold.
Those wrapped in the action of one act or the other feel not the need to need the other,
But still do
And this is natural,
Everything is natural, one and two
It has to be,
Or nature is not nature,
It is something else.
What else is there but nature?
How can anything be unnatural?
War is natural, don’t fight it.
You can fight city hall,
But you can’t fight a war.
You can fight in a war,
But you can’t fight war,
The tree-huggers went away because they lost,
They were natural to last for a time, but they were stoned,
And up the wrong tree, like Eve.
Drugs are for children,
Drugs are not for children.
REFLECTION:
Why does this stuff come to me?
Wisdom = no one’s possession because it is everyone’s possession.
Except for those who happen to have more or less, we all have five toes per foot
So too, wisdom.
Thus the word Thus
Thalamus theodore adores the thimble thought throne of thelonious themes
Though I am too quite the apathetic
Theloneous come home
Thorough is this thought
This thought
The one of grandeur
The one of walk
Thatcher and her mushrooms from mosescandenavia
Thematic Tina had always the way for me, Yogic keys and the charge card of your dreams
Then, out of nowhere
The blue sky shattered into the scattered home base of nonsense and Jesus loves me like the devout monk
This wish only: to wish for a love for Jesus, and disservice to myself by not?
Thorns of leather and brimstone amen?
This is the question
This is the task at hand
Tony is not a super hero named Jesus
Then how do I get home?
I am lost beyond pera-meter
I gander gaze long at idle wait diesel go-bus or interstate
Like child at the hear of christmas in mid july which then was light-years from godecember
Got not a lot of hope for myself now
Debt to my ears and over
Is it all over?
Proper burnt at the american stake burial?
Not in this life-time I tell you
Not on my shift
Nut case frothy smile mother go home home home
Shake off the beautiful sunset and remember the rain for years got good gunk funk hear fear star gaze and radio; Red light infra-program murder crack whore routine habit whole hole home gone home
Kim I’m sorry but you seemed to loved me and I didn’t even care about myself
but I didn’t know what else to do back then
I just want to say sorry to everyone.
That’s all any of it ever is sad drunk apologies from the chief through sad Kim with that sweet scandanavian smile and then andie whom of which I never bother to contact but do, as in this morning did remember to contact in waker dreams done and gone but done more so then was I
Thus sayeth the lord, never did I readeth ever the words of your Shakespeare, nor till never now do I ever wish to even do so now or forever; clever treasure the same asundery blunder agony of you foolish star-field squanders
home land security nightmare love mon momma nothing who is the one but everyone amen
Amen amen amen
I hate the word amen
Without absolution is the word amen
Without absolution is everything, amen?
b
P.Z. - I think this will be the last blogged compilation of fragments from a found folder "other prose" in my computer of old stuff, '00 - '04.
The semi-radicals take solace in the volition of secum rejection
Nothing to them is the essence of the real thing
How do I go about snapping myself out of the observation of everything and get involved?
My one way is to record my obsefvations and offer them up for consideration
What is central?
Egypt? Gaul? Nepoleon? Streets without Sphinx?
Thumb your nose at fate.
I dare you.
Serendiculous – ambivalent portmanteau word meaning something that involves serendipity in the gut and a ridiculousness in the head.
'twas once upon a time, on winter night, I came home with a strange but abandoned pict from a dumpster drunken did I taketh. to my bed and passed out I awoke two star signs later to find the lady at my side, in the flesh, and of angelic flesh only. she took my headache into her hands and altered it's shape. she kissed hypnotic, like Mesmer in on a leaning tower landmine. she bartered my pains for pleasure. she showed me the gates of her garden, a gate beyond the double door. she melted both my poles, which drained my ocean.
with her perichance prince of rescue, skin and bones she was, but still the painting, dicarded so sadly alone before, but now, further destruction, rain, and sun, from temporal disconnect,
nevermore, not to be.
beyond my old upright symbol of infinity door, found, was a sun of red shadow like the buffet light on a piece of dead cow hip. sweet was this light, sweet like home, endless night. left my body behind, joined her in the painting of ad infinitum nauseum. the circle of all life as a snake in a deosil circle chasing tail. Ostara past, Ostara future. together even as adam, every man and woman as eve, one.
Caution: in the studios of eternal now, paint dries in the strangest of ways.
Take everything into consideration,
Including everything that everyone tells you.
“paisley and flannel go together.”
But believe nothing that you don’t believe,
Inside.
Inside = “they do not go together”
Know the inside and you will know what is introduced for what it is,
but do not disrespect the good confusion of others.
Tell not the paisley flannel that they do not match,
and remind yourself how everything matches
Knowledge can be accumulated like the need to collect gold,
But wisdom is accumulated like the need to not need gold.
Those wrapped in the action of one act or the other feel not the need to need the other,
But still do
And this is natural,
Everything is natural, one and two
It has to be,
Or nature is not nature,
It is something else.
What else is there but nature?
How can anything be unnatural?
War is natural, don’t fight it.
You can fight city hall,
But you can’t fight a war.
You can fight in a war,
But you can’t fight war,
The tree-huggers went away because they lost,
They were natural to last for a time, but they were stoned,
And up the wrong tree, like Eve.
Drugs are for children,
Drugs are not for children.
REFLECTION:
Why does this stuff come to me?
Wisdom = no one’s possession because it is everyone’s possession.
Except for those who happen to have more or less, we all have five toes per foot
So too, wisdom.
Thus the word Thus
Thalamus theodore adores the thimble thought throne of thelonious themes
Though I am too quite the apathetic
Theloneous come home
Thorough is this thought
This thought
The one of grandeur
The one of walk
Thatcher and her mushrooms from mosescandenavia
Thematic Tina had always the way for me, Yogic keys and the charge card of your dreams
Then, out of nowhere
The blue sky shattered into the scattered home base of nonsense and Jesus loves me like the devout monk
This wish only: to wish for a love for Jesus, and disservice to myself by not?
Thorns of leather and brimstone amen?
This is the question
This is the task at hand
Tony is not a super hero named Jesus
Then how do I get home?
I am lost beyond pera-meter
I gander gaze long at idle wait diesel go-bus or interstate
Like child at the hear of christmas in mid july which then was light-years from godecember
Got not a lot of hope for myself now
Debt to my ears and over
Is it all over?
Proper burnt at the american stake burial?
Not in this life-time I tell you
Not on my shift
Nut case frothy smile mother go home home home
Shake off the beautiful sunset and remember the rain for years got good gunk funk hear fear star gaze and radio; Red light infra-program murder crack whore routine habit whole hole home gone home
Kim I’m sorry but you seemed to loved me and I didn’t even care about myself
but I didn’t know what else to do back then
I just want to say sorry to everyone.
That’s all any of it ever is sad drunk apologies from the chief through sad Kim with that sweet scandanavian smile and then andie whom of which I never bother to contact but do, as in this morning did remember to contact in waker dreams done and gone but done more so then was I
Thus sayeth the lord, never did I readeth ever the words of your Shakespeare, nor till never now do I ever wish to even do so now or forever; clever treasure the same asundery blunder agony of you foolish star-field squanders
home land security nightmare love mon momma nothing who is the one but everyone amen
Amen amen amen
I hate the word amen
Without absolution is the word amen
Without absolution is everything, amen?
b
P.Z. - I think this will be the last blogged compilation of fragments from a found folder "other prose" in my computer of old stuff, '00 - '04.
01 May, 2006
My Rapture In 2002
Root all beer of evil I tree?
Beet red bumps on my scalp like the 11 o’clock news and I can’t even see this.
“Too many big words,”
I hear the children complain.
The tall flatmate did hand me a 1/3 bottle of Shiraz out of nowhere, and I asked him,
“are you sure?”
He never said the word, “yes,” and they don’t case fight in stair stare cat fights like the last two did.
One of the two is still one of the two.
One is different.
Cats.
I plan to move into my new place soon. Today was an off day off, and a Monday at that, and I was going to go without. I am cashless and I need to get milk or coffee in the morning. It is good. I drove to the tire store this morning and filled my travel mug with theirs from the waiting room. Did take an eyebrow near my exit but… Then I made Ben a CD of sweet Drake, Belle and Sebastien, Church, Harrison, and the odd Starsailor track which hits me right only half the time as if somehow mood dependent. I too depend on mood.
But I plan to move into my new place soon. It is the upstairs efficiency and tiny like I want it to be. In many ways I can’t wait. I am listening to the made CD as I write this. Ben will hate starsailor, I know it already, but the CD is done, as what’s done is done is… Stacy at work read my book and really liked it. I am getting the, “I like the drug part…” or the “I like the cop part…” stuff consistently, either or. I just finished the wine and didn’t even notice. This now shonky flatmate loves to slam doors too. I have eight evil dollars. There is something quite liberating about putting down whatever pops in. It pops out. It gets out. Gone. Captured.
I have to get more wine. It is good see. I wasn’t going to, but now, it’s like port, but with more acid, and less of a fruit. It sits well on my tongue now. I am as addicted to coffee as I am whhiinnee. That is just the other end of my bipolareality, AM, PM. I am wide awake and I do not have to get up early, this is all coming off the fingers quite easily tonight. I will rush off, but I will be right back. Wait here...
…I- back. I bought white merlot, and had my cards read. White Merlot, guess I’ll go play bingo with the girls and eat potato salad in the morning. I’m in for more problems as far as the cards go. But to me that is life as we all are. I don’t care, but there is to be a point where I “give up.” How could I give up again more than I already have, on occasion? Then it is all too clear as an earth card and do a 180, and then find spiritual love, but then again this is all quite all what I do, and don’t wanna hear. And this musix is all the quite cali dreamin’ late 60’s, but was never there I.
I high my my why? I do in the end tend to recall a lot of things I could not otherwise. I am the reincarnate mate of Prince Albert and Emily Dickinson, with a slight overlap perhaps, and stints in the civil and Vietnam wars. Vietnam was a civil war to me, as a creature stands at my back even now with a high raised knife to spite the “let it roll,” of an ego geo bo, Harrison plays. Hair on my neck is for cutting too.
Hunger into the departure hunts. I love to imagine myself, no more out of my way, going by my observation deck, my writer’s bungalow. Windows! And they are. I can see myself now, already, up there. My new place. I cannot see the street from here. But! But from the future window will I see this street? I rode my bike out into the path of a car one night coming home from work, my mind was everywhere elsewhere. I was sick though when I saw my miscalculation, seconds after. It was such a simple oversight. How long can the average person hold their breath under water?
The cards on the table by the other flatmate, the other one, the new one. I cut them. I just can’t see how things could be any worse. How could I be forced off this plaid plateau? Gainesville? I tend to love those I will never see again most or more than those I see before me, this would be a curse, but love is actually neutral, so it is an illusion somehow. What then is it? Real, but something else, yes.
Maybe, no. There are the many, any lonely people in the word, whether they “have someone” or not. The newer screen savers are good too. I watched “Life as a House” with Dia, her mom, and Melissa tonight. Moving. Meellissaa said it got bad reviews. I am sure Donnie Darko did too then. I will from now on write all the reviews for earth. I am not Whitney Strieber or Art Bell, but I must be a paranormal specialist of some kind. Prince Albert was good intentions mixed with thick mental nonsense. Me too. Skinny dip for me. Show me your tits, on Yom Kippur Disreali June! Show me your priestly rings! I have tried to read the Gnostic texts at dusk but have been sent into the immediate bla blagh. I have tried to write while “out of mind” and only got the morning after blues and it all goes into the trash, torn up.
My, what nonsense drum circles there might be in my future! I am a little too awake but so, as in the same a little, weary now too. I start to fade fore rea,l weather or not the end of page, you analytical bastards!
There is a woman I have seen at many bars and parties who claims to be Debbie Harry. I never believe her, but keep listening each time. I hear her talking but hear nothing. The aching mundane breakthrough has yet to arrive. I can only see her body and calculate the way it feels. If I see her somehow in daylight, she would be another person. And on, on, oh well.
Ahh, I see you. I see two evil dollars left. I have some change somewhere too. Rapture?
b
Beet red bumps on my scalp like the 11 o’clock news and I can’t even see this.
“Too many big words,”
I hear the children complain.
The tall flatmate did hand me a 1/3 bottle of Shiraz out of nowhere, and I asked him,
“are you sure?”
He never said the word, “yes,” and they don’t case fight in stair stare cat fights like the last two did.
One of the two is still one of the two.
One is different.
Cats.
I plan to move into my new place soon. Today was an off day off, and a Monday at that, and I was going to go without. I am cashless and I need to get milk or coffee in the morning. It is good. I drove to the tire store this morning and filled my travel mug with theirs from the waiting room. Did take an eyebrow near my exit but… Then I made Ben a CD of sweet Drake, Belle and Sebastien, Church, Harrison, and the odd Starsailor track which hits me right only half the time as if somehow mood dependent. I too depend on mood.
But I plan to move into my new place soon. It is the upstairs efficiency and tiny like I want it to be. In many ways I can’t wait. I am listening to the made CD as I write this. Ben will hate starsailor, I know it already, but the CD is done, as what’s done is done is… Stacy at work read my book and really liked it. I am getting the, “I like the drug part…” or the “I like the cop part…” stuff consistently, either or. I just finished the wine and didn’t even notice. This now shonky flatmate loves to slam doors too. I have eight evil dollars. There is something quite liberating about putting down whatever pops in. It pops out. It gets out. Gone. Captured.
I have to get more wine. It is good see. I wasn’t going to, but now, it’s like port, but with more acid, and less of a fruit. It sits well on my tongue now. I am as addicted to coffee as I am whhiinnee. That is just the other end of my bipolareality, AM, PM. I am wide awake and I do not have to get up early, this is all coming off the fingers quite easily tonight. I will rush off, but I will be right back. Wait here...
…I- back. I bought white merlot, and had my cards read. White Merlot, guess I’ll go play bingo with the girls and eat potato salad in the morning. I’m in for more problems as far as the cards go. But to me that is life as we all are. I don’t care, but there is to be a point where I “give up.” How could I give up again more than I already have, on occasion? Then it is all too clear as an earth card and do a 180, and then find spiritual love, but then again this is all quite all what I do, and don’t wanna hear. And this musix is all the quite cali dreamin’ late 60’s, but was never there I.
I high my my why? I do in the end tend to recall a lot of things I could not otherwise. I am the reincarnate mate of Prince Albert and Emily Dickinson, with a slight overlap perhaps, and stints in the civil and Vietnam wars. Vietnam was a civil war to me, as a creature stands at my back even now with a high raised knife to spite the “let it roll,” of an ego geo bo, Harrison plays. Hair on my neck is for cutting too.
Hunger into the departure hunts. I love to imagine myself, no more out of my way, going by my observation deck, my writer’s bungalow. Windows! And they are. I can see myself now, already, up there. My new place. I cannot see the street from here. But! But from the future window will I see this street? I rode my bike out into the path of a car one night coming home from work, my mind was everywhere elsewhere. I was sick though when I saw my miscalculation, seconds after. It was such a simple oversight. How long can the average person hold their breath under water?
The cards on the table by the other flatmate, the other one, the new one. I cut them. I just can’t see how things could be any worse. How could I be forced off this plaid plateau? Gainesville? I tend to love those I will never see again most or more than those I see before me, this would be a curse, but love is actually neutral, so it is an illusion somehow. What then is it? Real, but something else, yes.
Maybe, no. There are the many, any lonely people in the word, whether they “have someone” or not. The newer screen savers are good too. I watched “Life as a House” with Dia, her mom, and Melissa tonight. Moving. Meellissaa said it got bad reviews. I am sure Donnie Darko did too then. I will from now on write all the reviews for earth. I am not Whitney Strieber or Art Bell, but I must be a paranormal specialist of some kind. Prince Albert was good intentions mixed with thick mental nonsense. Me too. Skinny dip for me. Show me your tits, on Yom Kippur Disreali June! Show me your priestly rings! I have tried to read the Gnostic texts at dusk but have been sent into the immediate bla blagh. I have tried to write while “out of mind” and only got the morning after blues and it all goes into the trash, torn up.
My, what nonsense drum circles there might be in my future! I am a little too awake but so, as in the same a little, weary now too. I start to fade fore rea,l weather or not the end of page, you analytical bastards!
There is a woman I have seen at many bars and parties who claims to be Debbie Harry. I never believe her, but keep listening each time. I hear her talking but hear nothing. The aching mundane breakthrough has yet to arrive. I can only see her body and calculate the way it feels. If I see her somehow in daylight, she would be another person. And on, on, oh well.
Ahh, I see you. I see two evil dollars left. I have some change somewhere too. Rapture?
b
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