feeling: outshined
trans-krypt 1:
"hey what's up?"
"hey." (something in voz.) "where are you?"
"home."
"what?"
"home."
"what?"
"HOME. mi CA - SA."
"oh."
"where are you?"
"alhambra." (what, like, city hall? wandering around the whole town? again, something there. you are not in alhambra, you are in the middle of something that you do not wish to share, which happens to be geographically located in the city of alhambra, so then, why not? or, why answer the phone at all?) "can i call you back in a little while?"
"yeah sure."
"okay."
"okay bye."
(so...again, why answer the phone at all? why not just let it bounce to voicemail, if in the middle of something? why create aura of shadiness? why let me interrupt? whatever, too weak for this stuff right now, slim shady, you playing chess and I can't even figure out checkers at the moment, not even sure how i was able to drag self out of bed this morning it was a small miracle or something and i'm low, low, low, looking california, feeling minnesota, etc, and then riding the metro last night, feeling the lowest in a long time, we're somewhere deep underneath the hollywood hills/sign and this long, stringy haired chicano dude sitting across from me rummages around his beatup old backpack a while and finally pulls out this little mini-boombox and a cd, pops it in, and suddenly the train car is filled with the opening riff of "Eye of the Tiger" from Rocky III — DUN! ....... DUN! DUN! DUN! ........ DUN! DUN! DUN! ...... DUN! DUN! DUUUUUUN ............. I look over and the dude grins at me, like, yeaaaaa, man, fuckin eye of the tiger, brother! eye of the tiger, mutherfucker! and i grin back, and he plays with the volume a little, plays another song, then packs it all up just as quick and starts to exit at sunset vermont station, and i'm still feeling kind of sober, even though i'm drinking, and the dude turns to me right before he walks out and says, "hey man, someone let the dogs out, they'll show you where the truth is...")
"the truth! the truth! i need to find the truth!"
the elders are saying stuff like, "fuck that woe is me shit, that saps your energy, son, move beyond that, clarity, cleanse yourself, healing, yoga, spiritual guides, organic wheatgrass, meditation, tofu, hierbas, bla bla bla," and i'm all like, yeah, okay, i know? i need to be healthy, take care of myself, flush out the toxins, surround myself with positive people, don't allow energy to be misdirected, all that? but you know what, maybe sometimes we could all use a little self-destruction, okay? i mean like, a couple of cigarettes, pick up a few bottles of wine, get drunk with some good friends, dance a little, stay out too late, make some bad decisions?
who gets mystified? who gets mystified?
depression is a contagious disease. it is a parasitic entity that resides in your body, dormant, waiting to come into contact with other host bodies and their parasites, at which point it activates, blooms, like fungus, and if i could only find some kind of permanent distraction that still involved breathing, if only all of this would slip into chaos already. reality tv is just not real enough anymore. they are x-raying under my clothes. they are waiting to collect my dna. they are training their surveillance cameras to monitor my movements for suspicious patterns of muscular activity, if you do not walk the right way they will zoom in and lock on your body, are you carrying something underneath your clothing, are you feeling bien chingon/a and strutting your stuff in style, are you out for a nice leisurely evening stroll with your honey, are you hiding something, are you just trying to survive...
watcha...watcha...
trucha with the truth.
.....................................................................................
references:
"Paranoid" — Black Sabbath (1971)
"Eye of the Tiger" — Survivor (1982)
Imperfecto — Harry Gamboa, Jr. (1982)
"Outshined" — Soundgarden (1991)
"hey what's up?"
"hey." (something in voz.) "where are you?"
"home."
"what?"
"home."
"what?"
"HOME. mi CA - SA."
"oh."
"where are you?"
"alhambra." (what, like, city hall? wandering around the whole town? again, something there. you are not in alhambra, you are in the middle of something that you do not wish to share, which happens to be geographically located in the city of alhambra, so then, why not? or, why answer the phone at all?) "can i call you back in a little while?"
"yeah sure."
"okay."
"okay bye."
(so...again, why answer the phone at all? why not just let it bounce to voicemail, if in the middle of something? why create aura of shadiness? why let me interrupt? whatever, too weak for this stuff right now, slim shady, you playing chess and I can't even figure out checkers at the moment, not even sure how i was able to drag self out of bed this morning it was a small miracle or something and i'm low, low, low, looking california, feeling minnesota, etc, and then riding the metro last night, feeling the lowest in a long time, we're somewhere deep underneath the hollywood hills/sign and this long, stringy haired chicano dude sitting across from me rummages around his beatup old backpack a while and finally pulls out this little mini-boombox and a cd, pops it in, and suddenly the train car is filled with the opening riff of "Eye of the Tiger" from Rocky III — DUN! ....... DUN! DUN! DUN! ........ DUN! DUN! DUN! ...... DUN! DUN! DUUUUUUN ............. I look over and the dude grins at me, like, yeaaaaa, man, fuckin eye of the tiger, brother! eye of the tiger, mutherfucker! and i grin back, and he plays with the volume a little, plays another song, then packs it all up just as quick and starts to exit at sunset vermont station, and i'm still feeling kind of sober, even though i'm drinking, and the dude turns to me right before he walks out and says, "hey man, someone let the dogs out, they'll show you where the truth is...")
"the truth! the truth! i need to find the truth!"
the elders are saying stuff like, "fuck that woe is me shit, that saps your energy, son, move beyond that, clarity, cleanse yourself, healing, yoga, spiritual guides, organic wheatgrass, meditation, tofu, hierbas, bla bla bla," and i'm all like, yeah, okay, i know? i need to be healthy, take care of myself, flush out the toxins, surround myself with positive people, don't allow energy to be misdirected, all that? but you know what, maybe sometimes we could all use a little self-destruction, okay? i mean like, a couple of cigarettes, pick up a few bottles of wine, get drunk with some good friends, dance a little, stay out too late, make some bad decisions?
who gets mystified? who gets mystified?
depression is a contagious disease. it is a parasitic entity that resides in your body, dormant, waiting to come into contact with other host bodies and their parasites, at which point it activates, blooms, like fungus, and if i could only find some kind of permanent distraction that still involved breathing, if only all of this would slip into chaos already. reality tv is just not real enough anymore. they are x-raying under my clothes. they are waiting to collect my dna. they are training their surveillance cameras to monitor my movements for suspicious patterns of muscular activity, if you do not walk the right way they will zoom in and lock on your body, are you carrying something underneath your clothing, are you feeling bien chingon/a and strutting your stuff in style, are you out for a nice leisurely evening stroll with your honey, are you hiding something, are you just trying to survive...
watcha...watcha...
trucha with the truth.
.....................................................................................
references:
"Paranoid" — Black Sabbath (1971)
"Eye of the Tiger" — Survivor (1982)
Imperfecto — Harry Gamboa, Jr. (1982)
"Outshined" — Soundgarden (1991)
posted by kualyque at 12:16
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