Well, i set this blogspot up about two years ago i think,
with grand ideas of blogging, and escaping the Ego Petting Zoo that is Myspace,
and the Social Fellatio of Facebook,
but something akin to 'life' kept getting in the way.
as a poet it is better to stick to poetry and the poetic license that it affords.
and then there are my notebooks, and other peoples books
(mostly dead people- but you wouldn't know it the way they carry on),
oh god how i love sleep.
like Muchukunda did.
So why bother now you ask?
I suppose i went and took the effort to publish 7 years of my
poetry, prose, haiku and notes on life,
entitled 'ALUC(i)NA' (it means hallucinate in spanish).
mind you it's only about 2% of all the postulation and contemplation of 7 years in my skin,
but you've got to start ending somewhere.
It's also a bit of an experiment-
just to see if i don't decide to blog myself to death;
to entertain myself if anyone.
the same intentions were spawned when i fit the Myspace shoe-
but already i see that network expiring.
(it should be reserved for artists to showcase-
i don't care how many friends you have in brackets,
no one has more friends than fingers,
it's just not practical in the scheme of truth).
Maybe we grow old quicker now that our techo-industrial world complex with it's manicured lawns is outdating itself so damn quickly.
we can already say "oh remember gen 1? or gen 2?" of a fucking phone or talking microwave.
the Gods of a plastic world growing old in the company of their own devices,
their demise just a pull-cord away...
trees must feel like this-
watching generations of humans live and die under their boughs,
while they grow and breathe so slowly.
we have numerous generations of devices and gadgets bought and sold and landfilled;
hell, even television shows are starting to outlive us.
fuck being reincarnated to reruns of MASH and the Simpsons-
fuck television for that matter....
did i digress?
of course i did.
i can think, spell and type,
of course i will always digress-
sometimes that is the point.
Maybe i will write here on a more regular basis,
i prefer my notebooks.
there is nothing mysterious about a man who writes for all to read,
but just enough to make them think and feel...