saml

June 2008 - Posts

• Still attempting to be poetic

  Through Kinks

   

  My lips lightly pressing swelling clouds

   

  Soothing drums like rain drops my eyelids shut

   

  Sometimes

   

  I never want to open them

   

   

  Emotions, moods, transition like fabric sheets

   

  Unfolded, Tossing, turning but finely threaded still

   

   

  Warm Skin, Wet Skin,

   

  Rigid, resilient, rough…

   

  Vivid breaths, colors, sounds, thoughts, -

   

  Consume every stone mile of us  

   

   

  Bones intertwined

   

  Hearts repel like northern magnet charge

   

  Devouring Depowering and harrowing

   

  Invisible to the naked thy

   

   

  I do forget that I can’t hide

   

  But you don’t stop

   

  I…

   

  Never mind

   

   

  Seize me in fists full of flesh

   

  And kiss me

   

   I’m close

   

  Posted Jun 29 2008, 11:48 PM by saml with no comments

• “I’m not a rapper I’m an entity" and other random thoughts

  -John Brown (white rapper show)  

   

  Sometimes I find that limbo burns between fire and cotton smoke.  The texture soothes like plastic ocean shores or ripples in a waving flag.  If purgatory sits between than why is indifference hotter still? Eyes in an irrevocable dehydrated sting Inevitable upon approach  Yet there’s always time to sneak a squinted glimpse however it may burn  And there it is; not light nor smog but a moving liquid screen Whipping and smothering rapids in the air Why is it? and how can it be captured in description?  If she is nothing but an alteration to the atmosphere But a curious illusion with very little substance to speak of  

   

  My family likes to spoil

  Self sacrifice reigns

  Seeing others smile- knowing it was our doing

  It's How we feel alive, powerful, significant…   

   

  Is it so much to ask that someone care- not just go through the motions and say what they’re supposed to say and supposed to want so their rewarded with what their supposed to get. Is it so much to ask not to be treated like a variable in an equation to be evaluated and perhaps used for the final product. Why must I prove myself worthy can’t I be loved simply because I am lovable. Why are people so hesitant to wing it as if they really had a choice?     

   

  I think that the chemistry of emotional attachment is minuscule compared to the blown out Intellectual proportion. That when we think of how much we will miss any given object actually- we would deeply feel very little of its absence. When one values and explores their internal world- externalaties have but little impact. If we can accept that everything is transitory, ourselves included, and we can love at a distance aware of the inevitable goodbye. If we can stand strong and detach ourselves from the urge to cling and grope- we might realize that life is so much more enjoyable when we’re not afraid to lose it. I do understand the impulse to repel from uncertainty and the insecurity that risk provokes. But I do believe if we think there is another option we’re kidding ourselves and robbing ourselves of the natural experience-induced high.   

   

  Posted Jun 23 2008, 02:24 AM by saml with no comments

• Why am I so out of it?? Part three: Realizing that it’s futile to speak of killing time

  I’ve been sick for about a month now and I’m pretty certain it’s from tripping. I won’t be specific because it’s irrelevant but I do, despite popular belief, consider this said chemical to be a hard drug. It is the cheapest, most accessible, most disregarded drug of our time but in my experience- fucks you up more unlike any other. Ironic, right? 

   

  It’s been a while since I’ve digressed into that culture and really it’s because I no longer care to seek it out. But my new ex-rehabilitated neighboring object of sexual tension did, and he had nothing but time. So with him I digressed. 

   

  After the enlightening Facebook conversation with the previously mentioned friend and victim, my new neighbor called and we met mid-campus in the rain. I was stilled embarrassed from relentlessly patronizing his life of chasing highs and I also wanted to tell him he could talk to me, he could be honest with me, I wanted to help him like I wanted someone to help my former self or prove that she could have been helped with a little effort. So we talked but instead of sober bonding we went on a little mind trip. 

   

  We tripped one day and we tripped another; the second time harder and more substantial all the while watching the first ever Land Before Time. I think he pointed to the grandpa brontosaurus and said “He’s G-d.” To which I responded “Yes that’s Karl Marx.”  I remember trying to stand and feeling that the acceleration of gravity had increased tremendously- my cheeks felt heavy. I remember walking, stomping shakily, one foot in front of the other in an exigent production… And I contemplated death watching the Christmas lights, thriftily decorating the wooden sublet floors, flickering like pearls of fire. 

   

  “Where is everybody?” My detached consciousness wondered. “There is no one here but us” it answered itself. But I felt the presence of others all around tenaciously protecting me from confronting akwardness, boredom, and the pointless inevitable dystopia of significantly altered states.     

   

  With the lights on- my vision was coated in pink-white noise. And without them graphic-novel blacks and whites conquered every form. And it wouldn’t go away. “When will this end?” I begged him. “I don’t know.” And then he said hesitantly “Hopefully soon.” We kids never like to admit when we find something elevated in status and deemed cool unpleasant, when we’ve had enough, or when we can’t take it anymore. To not bask in the coolness of cool is to not ourselves be cool and therefore most, especially those who spend their time treasure hunting for highs, would rather self-deceptively believe in their divinity. 

   

  “This is it.” I said to him. “This is what we’re doing now.” “Drugs are so stupid.”

   

  I realized I had just spent my night being fucked up- hallucinating as if plagued by mania, unable to process as if mentally inadequate, dizzy, delusional, and anxious, overcome in unfounded worry, moving like heavy liquidity- and begging for it to stop.  

   

  But low and behold- no off switch.    

   

   

  I had voluntarily swallowed insanity. A new state of being- yes, a break from reality- yes, but insanity none the less. I would surely not want to be stuck this way I noted as that very fear began to percolate inside. I much prefer the ease, the torment, the malaise, the exhilaration, and the anxiety of living- real living.  

   

  That being said- I did come to feel the validity of that realization while under the influence of drugs. Remember I have been in rehab, I have participated in and seen the hollow depths of anti-substance propaganda but never have I confronted the truth with such rigorous honesty before that night. 

   

  -Which leads me to believe there is something to be said for altering one’s perceptions; looking at oneself through the intoxicated mind’s eye drenched in world-shifting chemicals. There is something to be said for escaping natural tendencies, ways of thinking and short-circuiting one’s neurological wiring to the point where judgment does not have the dexterity to latch onto previously engrained biases. There is truth to be seen in a distorted mirror- especially if one’s mind has already distorted the greater culturally accepted facts of doing hard drugs. Perhaps a negative view compromised by a negative substance would have a positive result?    

   

  Do not misunderstand; I am not promoting drugs, I am merely presenting an effect of their consumption: What one chooses to think about is often very different form the options presented in waking life. And the persistent compulsions in which trains of thought are pursued are often untainted by previously accepted truths. It’s as if the breaks installed by societal norms are temporarily out of order. And whether that’s frightening, liberating, or hilarious in can open you up to a new way of seeing.      

   

  It had occurred to me before, that drugs were cool: Both because my peers told me so and because society, run by rich, tired, old, fat, sex-deprived, self-important white men, frowned upon them. It occurred to me that drugs where fun because Hollywood glamorized a culture of high-chasing gorgeous youths and because the anti-drug campaigns tried really hard to make the consequences look compelling- therefore one could only rationalize that the procurements were perhaps equally or more compelling. But without the dexterity of mind to summon these biases- I could honestly reflect on my inebriated experience while inebriated.  

   

  What I realized like an anvil on the brain was that I was ingesting temporary retardation paired with mania. Some symptoms I was experiencing are frighteningly parallel to symptoms that would come with a hybrid schizophrenia- Alzheimer’s. And while I think that gazing through the eyes of a Schizophrenic would be a life-changing learning experience I would not willing try to cause myself full-blown mental derangement too often.

   

   

  Furthermore, It is my belief that if there were more efforts made to expose the stupidity of drugs [the here give me 20 dollars for a mystery bag made of g-d-knows-what that will *** you up so bad you forget how to tie your shoes] rather than the compelling life-threatening dangers only a carefree badass would overlook- that counter culture would not be so quick to accept getting fucked up as cool. 

   

  To be continued (it’s too fucking hot to keep writing in this room- rrrr I could kill my father and his air-condition installing procrastination) …   

   

  Posted Jun 14 2008, 09:57 PM by saml with no comments

• Trabajo Con Perros

  This will all be gone one day…

   

  Molecular structure

   

  Generated in Situ 

   

  In German it translates to wetlands

   

  Though it refers to nothing geological

   

  Even Planck time

   

  Most active enzyme need only be five amino acids long

   

  Existence is beautiful

   

  Is it not liberating to worship that in all its fortuitous glory?

   - Samantha L.

   

   

   

  p.s. Just got microsoft word- will post new writing soon

  Posted Jun 13 2008, 03:32 PM by saml with no comments

• Pretty Certain I'm alive

  Although it doesn't feel like it. I'm such a mess. Trapped in California... Seriously, trapped!!! I live two miles from anything even remotely stimulating and I don't have a drivers license. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRoar.

  No cigarettes!!! No Cigerettes!! No Cigerettes!! Have to take care of my health. Hardly a fix to speak of...

  Can't even write, have to wait for my Microsoft office to come... My 60 day trial expired.

  I'm going to burst out of my skin. So fucking angsty. Need a shower...

  Thanks for listening

  XOXO,

  Saml

   

  Posted Jun 02 2008, 11:35 PM by saml with 3 comment(s)