phocks

The periodic reading during hurried lunch breaks of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius seems to have spurred on previous ideas — ideas that up until now had been lying dormant — to take on something new, a new project, or whatever it was that had built itself up in my head as what would seem like a good idea to spend a good deal of blood, sweat, and tears on for a considerable period of time, in order to reap the perceived extensive existential gain, whatever that may or may not be.

The idea is simple, and It’s been brewing away for probably months, or maybe even years, up there in Neverland: to pick simple, everyday things, things you may not think twice about, and write about them analytically in terms of their evolutionary existence, etc, mainly in order to offer an alternative view on our perceptions of the things around us — something like that anyway. We’ll see how it turns out after things begin to take shape.

So what I’ll do is I’ll pick something, something from the day, or something that occurs to me during the day, and then I’ll write about that, just to make it a little personal. That single object will most likely then get expanded into its basic form, or what it is, like my tambourine over there on the bed is a member of the percussion family of musical instruments — stuff like that, all biological, and trace the history and origins and study its continued existence in the universe. Follow?

This will be it, and I’ll do it every day for a hundred days, or more realistically, as frequently as life allows for however long it takes for me to throw the towel in. That should theoretically fill a book; I’ll publish it, and BAM! thrust skyward towards ongoing influence and memory in high society, to an escape from a weary workaday worldliness, while at the same time helping a few lonely souls along the way reach the fabled “new” perfect bliss and enlightenment.

I have no idea what I’m going on about… or do it? It really depends upon the state of evolution that this sentence you’re reading now has in your mind at this given time, or down the track, or before you even read it, while I’m typing it now.

Self-fulfilling prophecy. Who knows?

When a man gains the high ground, an elevated position upon which to perch, and to cast a firm gaze over what was once his incomprehensible surroundings, he begins to see things in a new light. That is, those things that once surrounded him and dazzled his senses become arranged in a new way when reconstructed and rethought.

This may well be fiction, as may any string of words you should come to hear in all your days. In the end, I sometimes wonder, what’s the difference? A recent venture to the top of the hill did not meet with a genuine imparting of the divine. Not at all in fact. What was I thinking?

In truth, an idea has been kicking around the insides of my skull for quite some time now, and it seems this idea is attempting a prison break manifestation in any shape or form it can persuade my body into creating. I did have a kind of revelation in the shower before. Never start from the beginning, so I’ll be certain not to even try.

Restless wanderer waiting to be free, awaiting release, it seems you must stay, as least for a short while longer. Shapeshifting mist of a beast, settle on a more permanent form, solidify your existence, that you may be released, and your institutional torment ended at last.

Written at lunch, streams of words.

When the terrors of the night come wandering by
I know for sure that we all someday must die,
For the walls are painted with a million shades of grey
Telling a story of when the wind ran away.

Into the ocean, into the sea,
We alone will believe what no one else will see.
Try as you might, you will never walk down
All those paths in your lifetime you might not have found.

Actors and agents they claw at my door,
But letting one in means they all must want more.
Today is the day that they all throw you back
What news do you bring from the old weathered shack?