Thursday, November 17, 2005

No foolin'

I can't think right now. Pain has centered betwixt mine eyes, slicing through the center of my forehead.

Court date is tomorrow morning, work right after, school right after that. I just need to survive until Friday.

I want to hit something many, many times.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Prufrock Losing Nature (Rough Draft, sucky title)

J. Alfred Prufrock, you poor bastard you. You've slept your way around town, possible taken part in other activities unrecorded by your poet, yet, what have you found, or yet, what have you discovered? Humanity is lost,perhaps? Sex is good, but when it's over, what's left?

Something along those lines I'm sure. Essentially you've discovered that despite all of your possessions, carnal conquests, and late nights lost in crowded streets, you realize your life isn't worth a damn. Your salvation...well, let's face it, what salvation?

Prufrock roams about the streets in the twilight, searching, eagerly for his latest conquest. He has not intention of gaining insight or any sort of wisdom from whomever he meets. He is urged by lust.

The poem is written in fragments, demonstrating how society itself is fragmented, no longer able to stay linked, communicating in distorted signals. Together, culturally, we have achieved much, and are proud, but as people, as humans, what have we truly acheived? Nothing compared to what we have lost, as we have completely disregarded nature. The people are high-class (ladies speaking of Michaelangelo), but their souls are empty; pockets are full, souls are empty.

We roll over with any person we meet, orgasm, and fall asleep without any real thought, or interest in who they are. Society is dirty. We have fallen so far from nature that we can no longer reveal our true selves to anyone, we must wear masks and script the lines we tell others. And, for the people we take home, that we procreate with, it is as essential as dying, for the sounds of sex and death are the same.

It takes time, and a degradating ritualism for Prufrock to become tired, and realize his life is not worth anything.

Nature, natural instincts no longer operate as a unit. His mind and body are at odds; should he go out again, conquer another female, or not. After all, he realizes he is tired of that life, tired of the masks, and the lies.

His fall from nature, his lost sense of self causes him to suffer, and like any true human he knows he suffers alone (line 58, pinned and wriggling on the wall). What caused this suffering? Industrialization. It forced men to be machines, to no longer communicate, and now, these same men, who can no longer do the job they've known to do all their life, all they can muster is to leer out of their window, searching for death.

Progress has dragged his will so low, he regrets falling from nature. He wants to be back in the ocean, back in the depths, to be able to comprehend the mermaids' songs (line 73 and line 120ish). The rich, the successful have gained the best in clothes, food, and lifestyle, but their spirituality isn't even a memory, it was never a comprehension. They must lie now, because they know nothing else, and at times, one must play the fool, and kickstart the evening. It's hard to be themselves.

Eventually, Prufrock agrees, because he sees this life as a living hell (line 98).

Prufrock dares if he should eat a peach. When we eat peaches, they ooze, they smear, as he has smeared his nature, and any semblance of ever being one with it. He does come to realize that redemption is possible. Now, this is after he has developed consciousness (line 125).

Friday, November 11, 2005

Drummer Boy

This old drummer can't keep the beat anymore. I have no home to call my own, my beliefs have become international folklore. There's my sister, she's lost to the myth of dreams, while my brother loves those flowers that make him scream and see the shadows that blink, and the trees that speak. I'm not much for being in the spotlight, especially when it's being produced by a mushroom cloud. Why does death have to be so loud? There's not much left of my beats. They've been broken in half, splintered at the soles of marching feet. This old dog's just shit out of luck.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Transition

Been sober for three weeks.

Couldn't be more miserable.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Much More to Say

I discovered the depths to which my heart will crawl to in order to find some form of emotion.

Today, I witnessed children, forced to be men, break down and show that, yes, they are still children, and I couldn't help but break down with them. They act tough, speak with vulgarity, think they run the show, but what they chose to relinquish is control over their own life.

It was an emotional rollercoaster today, worthy of a bid for the centerpiece at a Six Flags park.

No one wanted to admit it, but everyone cried today. There was death, and it was barriers.