keep me postage loco

och. where to begin. it's important to go back to the beginning or the middle in this or it wasn't worth doing at all. there have been points at which i felt the computer scream fatal error! imminent death! hakkefleisch! and there have been points at which i felt that i was becoming human. participating in all of the classic problems. i fell in love. marched right in to the fiery inferno of love. was loved. was made complete. got restless. looked under stones and picked up twigs. felt love. for someone else. but i didn't love. i felt feelings rush like espresso. something powdered with power. i was offended. got pissed off. i stopped the tide of love. retreated. the tables got turned. i felt betrayal. anger. crushed. consumed. like i wasn't getting to the things i needed to and needed to get this over with. i felt thirst. to devote. myself. to thoughts. to play in a space that was old but new again. to choose to do so. to listen to myself. to ask myself questions. to rethink. to relearn. to challenge. to recognize myself. then more rage. financial ruin. empathy for the world in that i thought i remembered that this had all happened before. to other people. that i had jumped in the arena. was finally living. was screaming. facing myself. this is me? i want to be good. acceptable. to you. but all i do is quietly challenge. nothing. i felt extreme violence. i, the most passive. aggressive. to face that i express visually. and quickly. that your conversation bores me. that when you bore me i want to hit you. that there is so much to say i need to compress and expand and shock. i need to hit myself as much as i need to hit you to make you stop talking. to beat you in to linear regression. in as subtle and furious a way that makes sense to my flawed existence. i need to rationalize and to blur. to excoriate and subterfuge. to mine the things in between things. to embrace logic and data and absolute babble. to jump in to idea space and shake my head until thoughts fly. to get in to that room of conception. walk in the god damned door. lock it. break it down. walk out. peer over the edge of things and fall the fuck off. i feel so much anger i don't know where to begin. it's anger at myself. anger about the illusion. the fantasy world that i occupate.

it's time to break up the icono with a little clast – it’s spring.

time to go ghetto.