Madman with a mask

In a tower within a tower, there sat a man who would be King. He looked like a well groomed Yeti. Most of his time was spent plotting.

Today he was struggling to compose his thoughts. For now, all his obstacles faded into a single point as he tried to find the right words. He was failing.

His room was comfortable. It was also a cage built by his ambition.

The paper, he decided, was an indulgence worth savoring. It was thin, but strong and smooth to the touch. A rare blank slate of pristine white, almost free of impurities, accessible only to the elite. Still, he knew the papers secrets and however far his fortunes had fallen, he still had the wherewithal to use it freely.

Finally his pen found its way to the page. The ink was dark.

“1. My allies see only masks.
2. The rulemakers deem me unsafe.

— In all things, I can find no Truth stable enough to hang my hat upon. I miss my hat.”

His dissatisfaction with how “Truth” rang out against the other words ran deep and haunted him. So he drew a picture:

unnamed
When he was done, he slowly folded the paper with the precision of someone comfortable with the passage of time.Carefully he pushed the note through the crack in the stone that sealed the window. A sliver of sunlight came in, carried on a cool breeze.

As a student of chaos, he smiled at the notion that it might find its way to an unknown comrade. He imagined them at a bridge.

A life, cut

At some point during my teenage years, a tree trunk appeared in my front yard. I do not recall how.

Rather than removing it right away, I asked my parents if I could try my hand at chopping the trunk in half by hand with an ax. I was young, I wanted to enact my will on the world in a visible way. I had been reading a lot of fantasy novels.

For quite some time, whenever I was frustrated with the world or myself (which was often) I would go out and hack at the log.

I never made it very far. I lacked technique, and the trunk may have hardened over time. But I kept at it. I remember the blunt indentations on the wood.

We do not need many rules that we can depend on. But with just a few bit of solid illusion, we can mimic the transcendent. But there is nothing to depend on.

I wonder why my parents let an ugly tree trunk sit in there yard for so long. Love?

I do not want to die. But I will. I want to write a biography, but is that how I really want to spend my precious time? Making narrative out of nonsense and random imperfect memories.

The parts that feel.

David Letterman – Top Ten Reasons I, Dave, Love Candy

Top Ten Reasons I, Dave, Love Candy

Tuesday, October 30, 2001

10. It’s delicious

9. It’s candy-licious

8. Wasn’t it Einstein who said, “Candy = MC2″?

7. No time to brush? Eat some Junior Mints

6. Sometimes I put on a leotard and pretend I’m the fourth musketeer, Monty

5. Hilarious “Who’s On First” type confusion whenever I try to buy a Whatchamacallit

4. Nobel Prize-winning U.N. Secretary General Kofi Annan loves candy and what’s good enough for Nobel Prize-winning U.N. Secretary General Kofi Annan is good enough for me

3. Without candy I would never get to ask the question, “Skittles?”

2. In prisons, candy is a fun form of currency

1. Nougat

http://www.cbs.com/shows/late_show/top_ten/127207/

Some Music


What are my deepest dreams

and is there a sense in which that matters
I’d hate for my bleak outlook to unduly influence you
I’d hate to impose my will
If we are clever
and if we are cool
and if we never
play the fool
Will that make us safe?
What words can I speak
to make the hauntings go away
If only for the night
What matters more than tonight?

***************

This is the story of the Murricane

The one society came to blame
When they had run out of other tricks
And used up all the stones and their sticks
Had to swallow that bitter magic pill
Stop, look around and be still
Let me tell you about the Murricane
The one who had all the fame
Well in the end when the chips were down
He smiled and played the clown
Straight through his smirking frown
And when they saw the horror they had wrought
And knew it was just what they had bought
There was nothing they could do
Step back and see what was true
See a life worn straight through
Something in a shade of blue
Ripped out into the night
Howling it’s plight
But this the story of the Murricane
The one who saw it was the same
And when someone had to take the fall
He was there, that’s all
It was the story of Murricane
The one society came to blame
 ***************

Yo-Ho Pedro doesn’t seem to care
Look at him, and you’ll get a dead eyed stare
He’s the last one in
and the first one out
Yo Ho Pedro draws circles around the moon
He doesn’t it’ll matter anytime soon
Ask him, and he’ll tell you straight
That he’s here at all is a miracle
Yo Ho Pedro says
And says symbols don’t matter at all
But you know he’s lying
Casting back he wonders
 where his ship has gone
Yo Ho Pedro always tries his best
Lying flat on the floor, trying to find his chest
Hard to build up the energy to move
Always trying to figure out his groove
Nobody quite knows what to make of Yo Ho Pedro
A madman who doesn’t seem to care for his fate
When the chips are down
Yo Ho Pedro doesn’t think it matters at all

*****************

I want to be honest with you
I don’t know what I’m doing
Here we are
Far off in the background, suns explode
It’s all impossible
I want to be honest with you
I don’t know what I’m doing
Leaves flutter on the wind
Apocalypse or no,
Dragons wary eyes
I want to be honest with you
I don’t know what I’m doing
The illusion of the mud people
As we bounce our myths from one another
I want to be honest with you
I don’t know what I’m doing
Spend my life thinking I’m going somwhere
But deep down I know that is a lie
….
never get out alive
No matter what I do
Things keep getting heavy
It don’t weigh much
But it ain’t light
I look around
And lose my way
I lose my way
The universe spins around
Time and time again
I want to be honest with you
I don’t know what I’m doing
Here we are
Far off in the background, suns explode
It’s all impossible
I want to be honest with you
I don’t know what I’m doing
Leaves flutter on the wind
Apocalypse or no,
Dragons wary eyes
I want to be honest with you
I don’t know what I’m doing
The illusion of the mud people
As we bounce our myths from one another
I want to be honest with you
I don’t know what I’m doing

The killer slinks into the night

The killer slinks into the night
The faces he all sees barely flicker
Across his mind as he stares out into the void
The killer slinks out, onto the dance floor
His moves jerky and slow
Trying to find release
Amoung the ghosts he does not know
The killer has no solace
In the world he cannot see
Barely skimming across the surface
Too far in the hole to tell
If  up is down, or left is south
Sadly he knows that soon he’ll have to let go
And fall into the void the follows him everywhere
All he wants is a little control over the chaos
But it ain’t coming
It ain’t coming