Flavigula

Can it be? Shall it be? Will it be? Is it inevitable?

What is Pohanka, anyway? Destruction is all I have ever sought. It creeps in my stillness and energizes my manic times. I slithered to Karolina’s place, laced with vodka, the other night, and fonud myself unknowning of myself or of anything natural (though this is, in some ways, a transcendental state).

God damn it!

So I am banned from there for eternity. (Eternity is a very small amount of seconds for poor Karolina.) I tried to watch ‘Idiocracy’, but despite James’s and Christian’s lucid and adamant claims that the film is excellent, contemporary and telling, I found it pointless and tiring. Cynically, Perhaps I am growing into a toadstool of cynicism.

Listening to Amon Duul now takes me back to 1997 where Brynn and I were stoned out of our mind listening to music of my choice. One night is most rememberable, however: She was stoned out of her mind and collapsed onto the bed (or pretended to, perhaps) and I put on Operation: Mindcrime by Queensryche (an awful album, as I have come to see). I undulated to the singular unadorned riffs whilst she slept. As an aside, highchool brought this album to presence. Miller and Ira were obsessed with it. Well,maybe only Miller. I recall him playing it to me at his place in Fort Stockton. It is empty and disgusting: An idol to American ignoance.

Clap your hand because you want to die. Every victim is searching for his hangman. Sigh.

I cannot understand it, though many years I have listened to it. It is grand, but bizarre. I calamyty.I grant my soul as a bitch. Scratching pages don’t matter. I am wasted.