Write like no one is reading.

So, no more poetic shit. At least not for today. Yesterday was extremely interesting to me. I meet an agnostic and a devout Christian. Both were incredibly intelligent people. They both had two different sides of viewing the world of religion. It’s so funny how I just stood in the middle. I don’t know for sure which side to take. Sides are so boring. So, I trangressed to  typical natural  human reaction. Believe it or not, the agnostic individual ideas were so mind blowing and I could help but listen. The other side was all the usual rhetoric that I’ve heard my whole life. So, I’m stuck here, in the middle.

I’m tired of hearing the same story over and over again. I think my mind is a little bit more capable of the generic explaination of life. The meaning of life, the creation of life, our natures and why we are. It all seems so blasé to me.

35 years have passed and I am no closer to the answer than when I was 5 years old. I can’t stand the lemmings of the world accepting the popular opinion. At the same time, I’m not going to accept new thoughts as pure fact or truth. No matter how compelling they are. It’s become another life long battle of enclosed walls for me.

Generally, I am coming to a pure resolution in my life. No longer will I accept anything. I just want to control the energy and fire that is within me. I want to let loose a barrage of pure expression to the world. Now, frankly, I don’t give a shit what the world thinks now. It’s my release. My regression to the pure moments I had when I was a child. Where I felt the moments as the happened and appreciated all of them. Bring it on, cause I’ve reached my metamorphisis. If I lose you, it no longer become a priority in the mental cave. Bears be out!



So, when your stuck with an idea in your head. How do you bring the creation that is naturally bred inside you out. When does everyone else become meaningless or meaningful? The night is usually robbed from me. Through my corporate obligations and my yearn to survive. There is a great world out there. Great ideas and great minds dying to converse their thoughts with you. When another night passes, once again, through my hands, I feel weak. The obligations are mandatory but my soul continues to hunger. Creation doesn’t seem to take root in any one place. It can spawn in cities and villages that encourage it. Like taking in a wandering stranger from the road. Some are more willing to do so than others. Hence, the result is more creation spawns in “certain” domains.
We should all gather in a nice little group.

Once a week and just let it all fly out at once. No judgements on opinion. No worries on offending any one particular group. Picturing my mouth open and another white stream coming out. Dark in the center with slight, sparkling highlights of bright white. That, my friends, are my inner deep thoughts and nuances. Likewise, I would be able to witness the same from you. So, how do I get to this point of creationism. Where do I find others with the same desire? You feel stranded in this island of mush-minded men. Well, so do I. It will either come to a point or never arrive. I intend to find out either way as diplomatically as possible.

Take it as it comes.

Simply, the world revolves around a certain uniquely human energy. When you pass another individual, you question certain aspects of the universe. When the world has become a constant state of boundless energy. Visually, it is like white light running through the alleys of the hollowed streets of an urban city. There is an uncertainty as to where this light comes from.

There have been many times where I wonder and ponder wether I am the only one who can feel this thick layer of thoughts. I run my fingers through it like a child first runs their hands through water. The sensation is so orgasmic by the sheer touch of the sheets of their delicate skin.

Now, as I grow older, I still feel that curtain. That mistic film of paranormal existience. It’s only a wonder why the cat is the only other witness. When you walk outside, swing your fingers in the air and touch every fold of the world. Thick draped blankets of every persons existence run through my soul. It’s something I pride myself in feeling.

Living inside my skin.

Generally, when I feel the brewing anger inside of me, I tend to react the same as anyone else. Lately, I’ve been questioning whether there is anything truly unique about myself. I put myself into the same category as everyone else. When does the dream end and the malcontent begin. Our souls are made to be different from on another. We are all, “snowflakes”, fallen from the sky. Each one different from the other. Our taste and texture felt, shivering burning on our skin. However, I’m beginning to question my uniqueness.

I go through life with the same feeling as everyone else. We all strive to be the best and the worse at everything we do. Now, I can see, we are really like a small tiny bee, following orders from the nest. We are all thrust into this massive world of enviormental dangers. The dust, the smog, the pollen and all the features of the natural world brush against our skin. Then, we return to the hive, bringing all the elements of the world into our family. Systematically, we wash off all the data that has been inscribed into our wings. Only to wake, to the same moments etching into the next mornings sun.

So, am I unique from anyone els?. Am I different than everyone else? Does this madness only come from my enviorment? No matter how hard I pound my brain against this wall, it doesn’t change. Now, I see, we all pound the same wall with the same force of our combined souls. A vast nest of cells, one against another, feeding off each others energy. What is the solution to this? That is what I am staring at this very moment. Do I stop the perpetual motions of conformity?

As perplexed as I am about this mondain assetment of the world, I try to figure out who is unique.

How to piss yourself off.

I love when I write the title and I have no real understanding of what I’m beginning. I like it like that. Maybe I should go to Starbucks and sip on over priced coffee like the rest of the douche bags.

Step by step, I’ve found that I have the uncanny ability to not just piss people off but myself off as well. I can take the simplest of moments and make it an instant molehill. This comes from years of training on the “mean” streets of New York. Where the simple things in life can piss you off (or it’s just me, again).

I just have this overwhelming sense of anger brewing inside of me. Where I want to diagnose myself with Joe Pesci syndrome.Where I fly off the handle at the drop of a canoli. Maybe I should sublet myself to non-stop reality television shows and wait for that shiny red button. The button where I proceed to bang my head against the wall for some more creativity.

My family, my wife’s family and my friends know all too well that I piss myself off pretty often. I go through “rehab” weeks where I tell myself that I’m not going to do it. So, I sit there like a lit lantern. Then it starts as a small tiny spark. Nothing big, just the usual situations that normal people can handle. Sometimes, I make it weeks without a ignition. People notice that I’m extremely friendly, outgoing and complacent. Then, the urge kicks in. Like a heroin addict looking for his next fix. Looking my next excuse to bring some hell on someone else and myself. To embarrass all my hard work and relapse one more time. It is a brutal cycle that is slowly, over the years, getting better. It used to take a day. Then it was a  week. Now, it’s maybe 2 weeks at best.

I’m worse than all those rock and rollers. I just keep coming back for some more. Pissing myself off and pissing all over myself. I’m good at making others suffer but the fact I can do it to myself is an art that needs to stop.

I blame my mother…. Don’t we all just go back to the same excuse. My mommy did it and didn’t love me. My mommy loved me too much. It makes me laugh out loud. Really, it does, because I know it is not her fault. I choose to be enriched in anger. To be pissy at the smallest thing. They say the secret to long life is to not sweat the small stuff. Looks like I’m in a pretty shitty situation at this rate. Well, back to rehab. Let’s try it one more time. I’ve always wondered what a washed up 80’s child star felt like.

Music. Radio. Sucks.

You know, I really do like music, just not the shards of glass they play on the radio. Music, to me, is an ability to put myself into the notes. However, it looks like the commercial stations across the country do not believe in supporting originality. I don’t know when the last time I heard something decent play. The last time, to my knowledge, was when Alicia Keys first dropped. I was in awe of her talent. You could hear it in her voice. The talent was thick you could taste it. Now, she’s just another photocopy of everyone else.

I understand that everyone needs to make money. So, these “new” artists need to make something the masses will like. However, it becomes boring after a while. You almost feel like they are mocking the hell out of their audience. Like we are all simpletons (and some of us ARE). Strangely, I used to hunt down some old Jazz tunes just to calm this zombie mentality. Instruments and chords and written soul on paper.

So, my search has now turned to YouTube for some original works. I have to sort through the Top 40 list to find something worthwhile. There is an abundance of great electronic and dance music out there. Where are the original rock bands? When I try to search YouTube, it gives me latino artists. Why? Well, I listen to old school merengue and salsa. It’s always refreshing and new to me. I’ve even found a metal band called Puya from Puerto Rico that was great.

What bothers me is why are these songs not getting played on the mainstream. Some of the music that I listen to has Top 40 written all over it. What’s the deal? Who’s dick do they need to suck to get airplay? I’m not going to stop my search and recommendations would be greatly appreciated. I’m open to anything that is not played on the radio. I need to listen to some talented people. Hell, even semi-talented would do.

Now, are you wondering, right now, why I don’t go out to see bands. Well, I don’t exactly live in an area where music is breed. There are exceptions of course. South of this county there are some great places and great talent. However, I can’t drive 60 miles round trip to catch it. I really wish there was a place here, but there isn’t. Unless there a band called Old Folks Home, I’m screwed.

Sad and lonely are my ears. My short attention span doesn’t exactly help matters. I’m already bored with the Youtube searches. I spend more time looking for 1 song that I want to. My time is incredibly valuable. Please help the music radio sucks foundation and throw me a bone people.

Lackluster Dreams in Sunny SoFlo.

Now, that what I call stream of consciousness writing! That was the other title banging around in my head. It’s been a few weeks since my last blog. Not to say there wasn’t anything to write about. I’ve been having my typical toss and turn nights. Where all the words are bouncing around in my head like my tenants downstairs. Slamming ideas around and giving me a splitting headache. Wondering to myself, exactly how much of my thoughts are normal.

Well, that’s where this comes in. This little computer that maintains a holding a pattern of weird images. Let’s start with my first thought : images. Really, Kenny, images is the first thing you want to talk about. Yes, yes it is. See, for a really long time I’ve found myself dreaming with my eyes open. I’ve mentioned this years ago on my Yahoo 360 blog. There seems to be a “happy” place that I go to. I can picture anything and imagine anything at that very moment. It’s really wicked fun to be honest. I don’t need to drink, get high or do anything “extra” to make this happen. Just a nice boring apartment. No stimulation from my surrounds. I needed a generic lackluster state. Where no one thinks different in design and accept the status quo. Welcome to Florida, where imagination comes to die. Where I sit around looking outside the window with my cat. We must both be thinking the same thing. Where the fish? Oops, I mean, where’s the inspiration. I can sit out there, sweat and take in nature. However, that nature is disturbed by the loud children that are also so bored out their minds they create their own nature.

You wonder, why am I here? Well, I’m here in dullsville because I believe in love. My wife is the best person (and her family) to come out of here. There are the occasional good guys. However, I feel like I’m living in  a styrofoam cup. Personalities are forced and disinteresting at best. I feel just like my cat. Forced to eat, sleep and shit the entire day away. The only exception is that I have a job where I get to socialize with the dullest of folk. There are again, exceptions, to this rule. There are writers and poets and artists here. They are talented, amazing and beautiful people. They dream of making it big and leaving Florida to pursue their deepest desires. Some, have come to settle that their dreams will remain locked up. Closed behind an opportunity that came and went long ago. They recount their ideas to me and I pay full attention. Who else could understand better than me? So I listen and I enjoy every word. That way their dreams doesn’t die in their head.

Florida, this area, seems to be built for retiree’s. Where you create a section of the country that caters to nothing to the past. You have the past years and past lands that this land cannot understand. The only people who grew memories here where driven out years ago. Their spirits still linger and they toss and turn. Toss and turn like I do at night. Where my thoughts spill out of my ears and into man made creations with no soul. Can you see them? They get lost, expecting a taxi to run them over. Except they are greeted by the full moon and tiny little frogs that jump to nowhere. Like little appetizers for all the birds that have traveled from up north.

I will not allow my creations and images to die. They are wicked and solid and strong in nature. They are created on the daily show in my mind. They will live on in the archives of the internet. Because even the Internet is connected to a world of zeros and ones that can lead them to the planet. Run free my friends, I will not keep you captive in the sometimes state.