Thank you, trevor for reading through the whole of my rant, that takes a special level of bored curiosity i thought few could stomach. You're shin-dig is looking to turn out to be insane, or so i'm hearing. But D's conspiracy-theory patronal figure seems to think that some of MF's friends from out of state might be DEA spies. I'm speaking in code to protect us all just in case they really are zeroing in on us. 'cept of course for the blaring link to YOU, but who would ever put it together that bitter dirty-punk raver designated underappreciated trevor could be the same bitter dirty-punk raver designated underappreciated blogger posting at punkinslut@tripod. oh well.

searching for topic.... searching... searching...
Results [1] hits, displaying 1 of [1] (20 items per page):

1. The DEA, The Internet and YOU.
Catching the signs of a DEA bust, perpetrated through use of the internet and web-based technology. The setup, the stake-out, the plans and the pull-down. Avoiding and unnecessary felonies on your record. A How-To from the editors of "Not getting caught: For Dummies"
URL: http://www.dea.gov/trap/fordummies/GetCaught.php



404: URL not found.

:::minutes pass:::



;sldjfg;asdoytb hdar;fgha;royt;weh0q34503467[tj' sL:DJF{APSE%&*B+


~ [ MainMind : 12/15/2000 01:41:48 AM] *@*


The conspiracy grows. This is just the start. Today will be remembered.

how is that for cryptic????????
~ [ MainMind : 12/11/2000 11:53:40 PM] *@*

something went screwy.... just glad it wasn't me...
~ [ MainMind : 12/11/2000 03:55:37 AM] *@*

On a mostly unrelated note, i got an urge tonight to type up crap i was runnign through my head. be warned, it's shitty angst-filled crap-like poetry, not quite fit to even be called a poem. but here it is, because no one is here to stop me.

Emotional Sewage Treatment Plant:

Taking bites out of me,
simple expressions of need.
An organism feeds:
An organism feeds:
Organisms need to feed:
Organisms shit.

Soft embrace of porcelain,
Cesspool basin my new home.
Languidly sinking down,
Flushed the fuck away,
The crap you can't bear to face.
The sewer that sucks me in,
The smell that engulfs me.
The filth clinges:
Bitter memories.

Looking around you're next to me,
Down in the shit, discarded equally.
You hadn't forced me beneath you,
Just forced me to your level.

You didn't claw when I pushed you away:
How very fucking nobel.
I didn't see the sacrifice at the time,
Nor understand the pain at that age.
Blindly outlashing:
Excriment in my eyes.

Now here I am in this pit,
So where's my fucking shovel.
I've got another six feet to dig.
I've got another life to live.
I'll never have enough scars to heal.
Bitter, I still feel the falling.
Anguish, I still smell the stench.

Welcome to my humble home.
Hope you like the little hole:
The grave I've dug,
To fill with "love",
At the wreaking end,
Of this sewer we sailed together
Alone I and belov'd Mother.
~ [ MainMind : 12/11/2000 03:18:04 AM] *@*

Well, I realize that it's about time to update my blog. I find it hard to get myself to sit here and do something becuase i always feel i don't have enough time to sit and really go off on anything, which i would if i was to really blog the way i feel i should. but those are mostly just excuses to allow myself to be lazy and let myself beleive my fear that no one is actually reading this, and this is just yet another completely futile part of my existence. I want to save the world, or at least one person, but i can barely save myself from the pathetic depravity of angst-ridden adolescent depression. It's damn welll time I flip the switch and decide and stand defiant on something. above the crowd and lead instead of just observing passively like has become my oh-so comfortable custom. If i'm going to save anyone, most of all myself, i can't remain passive. I ought to be the alpha-male. I have the intelligence, I have the fortitude of character, or i used to... If physical strength is demanded, I can develope that. I can be your motherfucking Messiah, damnit. But for anyone to believe in ME, i have to believe in myself first, right? Confidence is sexy, i hear. But i somehow always equated it with cockiness. having been the stumbling, bumbling, sweet and innocent guy for twenty years has definitely shown me that that is by no means a woman's first choice for a mate, or a group's choice for a leader. Good intentions and sincerity, although valuable, are not top commodities (sad, no? someone prove me wrong.) Confidence, goals, VISION. and the strength to make the vision reality, to attain the goals. ThOSE should be the alpha males, the leaders, the people with those qualities. not the rich fucks, with connections up the motherfuckingwahzoo. And besides that, what is the goal? Do YOU, my imaginary reader, have a goal? In life? For today? For this week/month/year???

I've noticed lately that i'm really tense, and shit just bugs me, little shit (hence the pro-noun use of "shit"). One day, in calculus, I was saying something about worrying about a final coming up to Andy, and he said something like "what's this? Last year you were all 'don't worry, it's just a final'" Last year, i was layed back, calm, understanding, patient, i was fucking ZEN last year. Karma and all that, everything had a reason, and a purpose, and Reason and Purpose drove everything. Recently i've been seeing the world in levels of entropy, lost energy, destroyed possibilities, fucking BITTER. a flipped fucking coin i am. the zen master has left the building. So I thought, pondered, meditated the causes and looked for signs, changes in patterns. I tracked down the event to the day. I know the day the coin was flipped from zen master, when it started twisting and tumbling through its two phases like a 2-D mooon on crystal meth, changing by the hour, different every minute and when it finally landed on the bitter angered weak side. [just for a visual, we're talking a gnarled iron coin here, old as time, one side imprinted with a yin-yang the other a good ole punk-rockin' Anarchy 'A', does that work for ya] My thought process led me first to the day the coin finally landed on the A, the day I left some town in connecticut after visiting a chick we'll call M. The moment, the memory that made me realize this was the defining day, was on a ride through some backroads in her family's truck, both of us high as vulchers (not kites, not hawks, that day when hearts were ripped apart like desert dried carrion, we were vulchers and cannibals) she drove on. I watched the passenger side wheels come to the edge of the pavement, which sat precariously above a washed out graveled shoulder. I watched calmly and thought about her bad driving and how it could render me dead. I thought about it calmly and didn't care. I don't know if it was because i was happy with the situation, just happy to be with her, or if it was because i had sunken below the level of caring, this is why the coin was flipping, it could be said to be controled or viewed by either side equally. That night, all the fires that raged infernos, called my hopes and dreams, at least concernign her, were quenched with bitter ice cold deliberate action. And so i was flipping like that back until the time when the flipping began. Which i've pinpointed too. (It's almost sad that i've dissected my psyche this much. it'd be even sadder if someone out there, one of you, reads this and thinks, knows, that i've calculated wrong somehow, and that my hypothesis is all wrong. but enough tangents) The moment the coin was so abruptly forced from rest and the serenity of zen was the morning i was woken up by a friend, and told that M's boyfriend had finally up and dumped her. We all kind of expected it, she didn't. she was (supposedly) in total love w/ him. (don't start with me about how much of a bad idea it was to fall for a girl in love with someone else, i know damnit, i know. but she said she loved me too, and i wanted to believe it.) So anyway, from that moment i awake to console her in my friends dorm room, well, that's when the shit starts. the extreme kickstart to the waxing and waning of phases happened that night, i was in my friends room, the same that had awoken me that day, M had left some time earlier, supposedly to go to bed. But she returned, knocking on the door, and just telling me she wanted to go to the roof. (i had learned the previous quarter that the hatch going to the roof in one of the dorm's stairwells had a broken lock, and so we could go right on up and out) We sat, initially apart, and talked. she sobbed. I for some reason remained distant, perhaps fear: i didn't want to be just a rebound, perhaps because i'm just too stupid to read all the blatant signs, perhaps i wanted her to experience the feeling of being miserable and alone, bitter even then. She looked at me through tearful eyes and said "this is when you kiss me, please" So, i meakly voiced my fear about being a nothing, and she easily reassured me i wasn't and wouldn't be. i wasn't hard to convince. From that day, about a week before finals week, spring quarter '00, which'd make it around the last week of May, until about the last week of June, My outlook on life modulated between the extremes, hinging mostly on my level and quality of interaction (this is pathetic, neg?) with her. egad....
she's transferring to a school closer to her home for the next semester. she gave me a long tight hug, last time i saw her, wrote me an email telling me i would be missed the most, she might return next year.

But the zen could only exist when i could see the pattern into which the pieces needed to fit. How much easier is it to do a jogsaw puzzle with the box cover? We've got to know the pattern, to interpret the signs. Hope is grokking without truly knowing and understanding all. Life is nothing without hope and hope is nothing if there is no object of that hope, what is a wish worth when you blow out your birthday cake candles, and your mind is a total blank? Aimlessly we hack through the muck that is our human existence. Mother culture forces on us a default dream of making money, just because that's what has always been done, and what always must be done. So we consume, and we work. Who is truly happy? How many take every challenge of every day with an understanding nod, and patiently work through them to the answer and conclussion? That is zen. not just pretty patterns in the gravel of rock gardens. If someone tries to say zen is blankness of mind, or supreme serenity whatever they want to call it, they want you to be a blank slate. What good is a chalkboard, clean and empty, upon which you cannot write? These are the same people that would probably believe that the universe is chaos simply because they haven't taken the time to look closely and inspect all the details, and there they would see the INSANE ORDER or every little interaction between every atom in the cosmos. In their blind ignorance they shout random and meaningless. We are missing the puzzle box's cover. There are rules to every game. parameters within which variables must reside so that the function will remain relavant. The scale of the atom is outside the parameters to directly effect our lives in any incredibly real way (without manipulation) The scale of the worm is just barely inside our parameters. our sad human lives are barely (if at all) inside the parameters to operate in the function of the universe. We are meaningless on that level. Where am i going with this??? I don't quite know, just musing outloud. ah, fuck, alright, the POINT is without a goal, i cannot find zen, sadly, that chick was a goal, and working towards that i could be satisfied, the data was flowing in at a fast enough rate to keep me level. i still have, and had, my pseudo-ultimate goal, touching that fourth rock, but the data for that can't flow in fast enough, my processor yearns for some fucking information. It can't go unused, or it gets all fucked up... is that what this all is... i'm satisfied because my mind is amused? My understanding, patience, happiness even, is just a simple function of the level of stimulation, ENTERTAINMENT???? This is sad. Am I just another consumer, groping like an ameoba for something to feed me, my ever present hunger for processor-worthy crap? Have i over-simplified? Is it far too late for me to be attempting this level of thinking? Have i gone mad? TELL ME ABOUT THE GOLFSHOES, MAN! hmm....

reading this rant over, i realize that i am, sorry, was, disgustingly dependent. describing it the way i have, the way which sadly best fits, makes me seem like an incredibly bi-polar maniac. I realize this is kinda long, if you've made it this far, i give you props for your sick interest in my demented curb-side psychiatry ranting. and if you made it this far, and you have any thoughts on this or anything, whatev', write me hate mail. I enjoy it. If you despise me for poluting the web with this crap, blame jen, 'cause she commanded me to update my blog.
~ [ MainMind : 12/11/2000 03:16:11 AM] *@*