it feels good when you bombard


i don’t how people get ideas. get to the tipping points. i have had ideas. i traveled to space one day during the REM before my dream. i had an idea of keeping myself as conscious as possible through it. but is that my idea. not really, something don juan said. i kept trying to look at my palms. and when i did i scared myself awake.

i experiment. i have been for 22 years. with cutting the hair off the pretty-smitty dolls. stealing the occasional five or ten, just to see what stealing felt like, when you needed it badly and when you didn’t. smoked. drank. traveled. fallen in love. out of love. talked to everyone i came by. read book to book. watched movie to movie. created things. took decisions. college. no college. all as experiments.

what my hypotheses? what’s the record book going to say?

i can’t predict. early on, i convinced myself over a few discoveries and inventions, that in life all you got are questions. that’s the fun of it. it is one large puzzle waiting to unravel, only that as it unravels, new bits of complexities grow and replenish. i been trying to find a way to express this with something.

a poem.

done some fair amount of experimenting with poetry.

an object.

somehow an object is interesting. it’s probably where this could grow from.


i’d have to get myself people who are ready for working with me on it. i know four or five faces. but right now to think beginning from theatre/performance seems a tall jump. i could get lost anywhere.

the idea (of how I live). the object. 

that’s the perfect place to start. maybe, i’ll jot down if I get anywhere from here. maybe not.

maybe full stop.



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