KBR LAB

Familiar places are the worst ones to winter within.  Isn’t there anything new out there?  Is it really all just more of the same?  Had I assumed my words were bricks and stones to pave a path to something else, while they were only ghosts?  Was I foolish to think a transparent being could produce anything solid enough to build with?  Is my world merely superimposed over this one, like my body, my soul, one less thing to see?

Nov 13
Migration

I have so much in me that I don’t know what to do with, so much anger.  The problem, the space I contain, is so vast that when given a large amount of something, I can house it, allow it to root, grow it within me, grow it strong.  But anger, sadness, grow the most beautiful, and love grows the most false, so I prefer to keep it open, while others fill with anything.  So, as always, mine is a problem of space, a problem of too much, a problem of me.  What can I do but escape or not care, the only actions possible, and I’ve tried escape before, only to quickly realize you escape into what you escape from, resulting in circles, always circles, and I don’t have the appropriate equilibrium for it, so I suppose I have no other choice but not caring, an action close-kin to giving up but with much more effort involved and no catharsis promised upon completion.  Faced with the same shit, I really have no option, none that save energy, none that exceed survival, none that make me whole, open.  In this situation, the same as always, the aforementioned inevitable, I give in.  I don’t care.  

Nov 12
Aforementioned Inevitable
They’re all the same,
in the end. 
Nov 10

They’re all the same,

in the end. 

"We are only, alas, what we imagine ourselves to be. But in that “only” vast universes of being are capable of taking form and shape. If only we knew that we can be all that we imagine! That we already are what we wish to be."

- Henry Miller “Stand Still Like the Hummingbird”

Sep 17
The day begins, I appear, then we both get dark. 
Sep 4

The day begins, I appear, then we both get dark. 

sometimes 
vision blinds.
Aug 27

sometimes 

vision blinds.

When the weight of the darkness swells like an awful melody, I learn to take one more step forward and within that step, within that one action, is the universe of my existence, end to end, the decision, the struggle, the work, forward motion, unsurity, fear, fear, fear, strength, belief, contracting muscle, blood flow, fear, fear, fear, peace, pride, insatiability, fading, hunger, urges, pressure, fear, fear, fear, strength.

Aug 8
One More Step
3 statements on the only thing.
Aug 7

3 statements on the only thing.

I was made for this.
Aug 3

I was made for this.

I sit like lines on a page, blank, waiting for purpose to visit me in the form of ink that stains and seeps through my tight weave of person.  I love people based on potential, a potential they’ll never reach, so I love the idea of people, and life is the furthest thing from idea, and somewhere closer to it, there is writing, words on pages, birthed from tight firsts gripping weapons filled with ink waiting to shed idea and see what comes of it, what grows from it , and restraint, the thing that stops me from drenching a page black so it becomes the absence of potential, so it is destroyed by realities, nothing in between, but instead I allow the white space to meet the black lines and their juxtaposition makes everything possible, without white space, these would be only ideas on top of destruction, too faded to see, only more of the same, the same, much like life, much like people, much like reality.  

Aug 1
Filling in Blanks

"That piece of paper was worth half a million pesos. The next day, I would go to the bank and they would take the check and give me a stack of papers of different colors, some resembling each other, that were also worth half a million pesos. That night I could exchange the paper from the bank for green rectangles and yellow ovals and red rectangles and silver-plated circles. All those geometric shapes would also be worth half a million pesos. But their sphere of influence would be limited. The chips only had value at the gaming table, the check at the Banco Provincial, and the money itself in the country. It’s necessary to believe in certain symbols for them to have value. And to believe in them you have to be inside their sphere of influence. You can’t believe in them from the outside. A bank teller would scoff and think I was crazy if I brought him the silver-plated circles and yellow ovals to exchange for cash. We imagine that those closed circles, as they trace the perimeter of their sphere of influence, could somehow intersect, but in reality they never touch."

- Juan José Saer “Scars”

Jul 30

It seems I may be more lost than ever, or at least as lost as always.

Jul 26
Observational Travel
Sometimes I hear past doubt and noise, and the world speaks through me.  
Jul 24

Sometimes I hear past doubt and noise, and the world speaks through me.  

It isn’t easy to remain sleeping while living within a constantly repeating cycle, yet most do.  Most never wake up.
Jul 23

It isn’t easy to remain sleeping while living within a constantly repeating cycle, yet most do.  Most never wake up.

It’s funny how everything cycles and disbelief becomes belief all over again, how things you thought would never happen but knew would, happen, again, and isn’t this what I’ve been preparing for, August?  It slowly approaches to reset all the pointlessness and if every year is going to be this way, I am not sure I will survive, or that I want to, so how can I sustain myself?  With short breaks, little band aids when I know the only fix is something I couldn’t execute the first time, but after two times, I have no other choice but to react.  I hate to waste my time writing, thinking, plotting about this, but if it is a reality then I have to make a plan to stay whole so that I may, by chance, go on.  My future, no matter how bleak, is up to me, so staying whole is a necessity.  There is no other way to look at this, but the way it is.  I am not wrong, not questioning my purpose, but merely obeying, respecting, growing it, outward.  This is a wasted page, words put down, covering six months of a life already lived, or more appropriately, suffered through.  I have no business with any of this, no business trying to make it better, no place wondering or debating over, but will I be able to do it?  I really don’t know, but the truth is I cant wait around for a life that only exists in intervals.  

Jul 20
Wasted Page