Thursday, January 26, 2012

I get that "pointing finger" feeling. When everything collapses I want to blame the world. But there is no blame. There is no world. Only me. I am the beginning and ending result of my own creation. I have my fathers genes, but not his blood - not any more, at least. I have my Mothers lessons, good and bad. I have all of these things, these tools. And I use them for what? To live? To survive? To get through another day? I have a dark mind. Painful thoughts linger.. This is experience. But, it is young. It has the potential, just as I do, to grow. Become something greater than, even if it is in a small way. Like Bill Withers said... you have to get used to OK, because sometimes that's as far as you'll make it. I'm getting used to OK. I'm getting used to not pursuing. And it's hard. It's hard to have no direction. It's hard to live like a drone. But, this could be what I was made for. Not for anything special.. not to astound the world with what I can do, but to be apart of the world and drone along with it. To do drugs and drink and fight and brawl. To be selfish and ignorant and nonchalant. But, also to love and give and be caring and compassionate. To make greater mistakes and distances. To stoop so low that I don't recognize even myself. And then to emerge in some yellow light as some victorious hero. A hero of my own fashion. I don't want to be my own enemy. And that, I have. My only competition is me. The only one that knows every one of my weaknesses is me. Sure, I have friends, enemies in disguise, suitors, tailors, lovers, and foes. And I know them just as they know me. We are surfaced. Shallow, individuals. We want it to be pretty. I want to live an ugly life. A gritty, modern pirate, sort of life. I want to work on some huge machine with a hundred other men and live the life of true hard work. I want to pay homage to those who work so hard before me and for me. I don't want to live in the plastic society. I want to scrape the bottom with fellows that know that empty feeling, that hole that lingers in your chest when something great has been lost. My broken spirit wants to mingle with other broken spirits. Spirits that have healed and grew stronger. Souls that are wise and aren't jealous. Keen spirits. Deep spirits. Mellow souls. I want to feel some warmth in the cold. I want to love some honest woman with a soul as gritty as mine. We'll roll embraced on the dark wet concrete. Everything has been so pretty... It's not real. This is my lack of satisfaction seeping through. That wanting feeling disguising itself yet becoming unmasked. It's not deep. It's shallow. It's not real, it's fake. But, it is, and it is true. I'm bored...
I'm just bored. Bored with this industry. My soul needs more. 

Another empty corner of the internet to be unveiled

Stop. Think About it. I already am.
Done.. I'm done. It feels useless. It's annoying. It's frustrating. It's stupid. I don't get it. I got it once, it has died out. It's pressure. It's tension. It's stupid! I don't want to do it anymore! But, I feel so obligated to it. Like I have to. But I don't have to. Everyone else has to get used to the fact that I don't have to. Fuck everybody else. It's me I'm talking about. I just don't care. It's useless. It's weird. I feel haunted by it. I have other things. I have many other things. Maybe it's this place. Maybe it's my Mom in every other room, her voice traveling the walls. Maybe it's my hands. Maybe it's my voice. My brain? My mind? My soul? Destiny? Maybe are must. It MUST be me. It MUST be my mind. It MUST be my hands. Now, jealousy. Why be jealous when we're all equal? Though I have what others may not, other have what I will never. So stay happy and fat inside your private gate, with your four wheel drive and your warm lover. Some people have it. Others don't. I'm somewhere in between having and have not. Wanting to want not. Nothing to not. Tied to many knots followed to loose ends. Everything slows down. People slow down. Skin droops. Nails thin. Hair trimmed. I'm sick of trying this over and over and over. There was a time for this. There was a time. Now it's old. It's done. I've heard the future. There is no room for my noise. Even if it's only for me. There is no patience here. I've been waiting. And there is the problem. WAITING. Waiting is not action, but rather the action of waiting. I'm tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired.

It's just nonsense. Why did it work so well  a few years ago? Why does it all feel so lost? Why. Why. Why.

Disconnected from myself.... Disconnected from the people around me. I'm caring more and less at the same time. Because everything feels the same. Who are these people? What are they saying? They're all talk. And they will talk about hopes, dreams, passions, ideas. But there is no ACTION. Don't wait for me. Take off. Or help me help myself. I can't be helped, but only by myself. My ideas clash, my attitude high. What am I? Some lost treasure? Never to be found? Buried beneath some sand? I am tired. TiRED. It's stupid. I can't say it enough. I SO TIRED. I don't want to watch TV. I don't want to do anything. I'm just waiting around in this place. In this tired apartment amongst tired dreams, amongst, tired decisions. I'm taking care of you - perfectly able to take care of yourself. I'm trying to be nice about it. But I'm furious inside. I'm angry ALL THE TIME. I don't want to be here. But, I have to be. And I KNOW I'm supposed to be. I KNOW I'm being Taught a lesson. I KNOW I'm being punished. I know I know I know. Just GO AWAY. For a little bit. JUST GROW into something larger. A place I can be alone. I like it there. Alone. Alone. Alone. I don't care to be anywhere. ANYWHERE AT ALL. It's the same. It's all the same shit. Shot. Dead. Killed. Murdered. Suffer. Pain. Move on. IT's all sad. It's all trouble. It's money. It's power. It's greed. It's detention. It's arrested development. The SOUL IS HUNGRY. THE SOUL IS HUNGRY. I'm need nourishment. It's all sooooo gray. The plainest shade of gray drenches my mind. The shroud of colorless grief overhead raining down wont pass. All this wrought because I can't play guitar? I just want to fucking sleep. I just want out for a while. I can vent can't I? I can let my frustrations build and burst right? It's ok because it's all planned anyway right? My destiny predetermined RIGHT? My choices already made right? this verse already written OK? Who does that? Who puts us here? Who drives us to this lonely place? I don't want to decide for myself. I want you to choose for me. I want you to take control. Take everything. I am willing. I've been willing all my life. If I can't decide and you wont. Then just stay here. Nothing anyway. Nothing at all. Perplexed am I. Always. Forever. Never again. Fuck it. Dammit I'm lost. Lost in this maze. Just let it all out. Pouring through me. Dripping off me. Imprisoned in this big head of mine. Breathing gets shorter and shorter. My head starts to ring with the pain of an oxygenless brain. YEA i make up words. Yea, I have long legs. Yea I have man tits. Yea yea yea yea yea yea... So bored. SO BORING. Everything out here is a wasteland. Wasted PEOPLE. Wasted time on memories. NOthing last anyway. Nothing is important nothing is alive. EVERYTHING is DEAD. I'm bored bored bored. So bored that I don't even care anymore. I stopped caring a long time ago. BECAUSE I CAN. I chose to. Nothing NOthing NOTHING. I'm bored... This place is nullifying. These people are tiresome. This job is useless. And it's customers DRONES. DRONES OF THE FAKE WORLD OF SHITTY DESIGN. SHITTY INDUSTRIAL DESIGN. SHITTY INVISIBLE CHEMICLE  DESIGN.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

I care not to be too obvious
for that I always am
even now.
Even on "frayed edge" that
John Fucking Hollander warned me about
I'm still obvious.
Did you know I stole you're book, John?
I bet you did not. This isn't about you, anyway.
It's about being totally obvious. To the point -
something I am often not -
even now - evasive.

This is a love letter to lovers. This is a song of sweet solemn to those that have hearts far beyond vast canyons. A homage to the braves of marriage - matrimony's white doves (in love).
This is for the long haired, forever-changing-colors girl. The pierced cheek - silver tongued beast - of beautiful merit and honesty. I became you for a while and now you me. So, you must be blind. As I was and remain. I'm boasting you to the highest praise. For you, there shall be no other praise worthy. High up on some great steep I will shout down for you, toward you.
Will you ever hear me?

So to evade is to wash away what I really want to say. Growing in me are many personalities - all disillusioned and honest liars. They speak for you, they speak for me.*
One of these souls reads you in black forms. Exciting your words into inspiration, for that, you truly must be. Every sentence in your poems, though simple, extends complexities beyond the reach of any man. That it is true, the woman in you. She's a loving soul. A spirit worth no dollar, but of a million verses of gold. I'm mean to you, because somehow I love you. I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of myself. I'm afraid that my sensitivity has gotten in the way. That I'm becoming less-than a man. And I'm afraid it is true. Though, I am in love with you. This is not weakness, my nerves grow stronger day by day and in Gods name I pray for you, love. Majestic lady, hear me not as a weak man, but as a man than had been weakened and grew mighty out of gloom - though, different.

I tell you to stay away because it is honest. I tell you to stay away because it's fair. I tell you to stay away because I am unaware of your exact intentions, but I know you. I know what you want. I can't succeed in this. I have my own fight to carry out. I wont be caught in what ifs. I wont strive toward anything. I will only be in love and out of sight, thus out of mind.

I want to tell you the truth, but I'm so scared. And Proud of that fact. So what.

*My usage of commas has become absurd.

Blaine Counter is

lost in theory.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

My Own

The year is here. The year of the great the Dragon. 23 years ago I was born. I've been looking forward to this year as my year. A year where I can aspire toward something more - or less.

Twenty three. I look back on all that I have done. Things I have said, mistakes I've made, friends I've gained and lost, lessons learned... all chapters begin and end. To me, 2012 represents the grand opportunity of starting again. Of collecting the trials and tribulations of the past and observing them as a shore boarded sailor observes the storm still at sea. "I was there." So much has happened... I feel it longingly. It's a sad and true mystery of events gone now. All I can do is move on. I am a bull going on forever. Peering at the vast collection of works both complete and unfinished I see many inconsistencies in my progress. Two steps forward - three steps back. My drawings mere doodles on doodles. Endless doodles... feelings, none the less. Curious musical experiments and ideas laying about either in my mind or on my hard drive. Poems written.. some charged with emotion - others soulless and dull. All apart of a much larger experience - the experience of me. I've been wrong many times, I've been wronged by a few. It's the things that I got right which I emphasis with a more profound understanding (of self and others).
I came across a small notebook. Inside was my resolution for 2011. The date was set in early January. It listed everything I wanted to change about myself (at that time) throughout the course of the upcoming year. I read the entire list and took a moment to reflect. I thought something along the course of, "I wrote this in 2011 expecting to make all of these changes.. and here I am doing the same things and it's the middle of November! What happened?" I don't believe in the excuse "Life gets in the way." Life isn't something to get in the way of. Life is a constant. Nothing gets in life's way. Not even death. There is life in death. Death is not evil just as life is not necessarily good. But, they can't exist without each other. The changes I wanted to make couldn't have taken place without acknowledging that change was needed. So maybe I felt I didn't need to change. Or maybe I felt as if I could not. The feeling that swept over me once I had read that list couldn't have happened had I not written it down. What made me evaluate my myself was when I realized that I was feeling a that moment everything I felt when I made the list and then some. So something changed... not necessarily a good change, but a change indeed.
I can wasted no time blaming the past for who I am today. The past is an apparition come and gone. I am a constant, arguably so. The difference between the past and me is I can change - the past cannot (at least not yet. I'm sure the men in white lab coats and their funding associates are working hard at changing that fact). Change doesn't come easy. "Anything worth it hurts a little bit." A good piece of advice I picked up from a song. So I'm patient.. always have been. Asserting assertion into my life. Picking up the pieces. Completing tasks. I'm a better communicator. I read into peoples characters very deeply. I'm polite. Moderate. Consistently improving. I complete tasks. I lead myself toward good places. I am my own man. And I'm honest with myself. I'm happy. Thanks.