Idiologist

Sleep….

The world whispers quite words into my ears, it tries to lull me into the warmths of sleep, the deep quiet of the night.  But my mind says no, there is still too much to do, too much to think, too much that I have not done yet to let myslef sleep.  Sleep does not come easy to the restless mind, sleep does not come easy to me.

For the last few weeks sleep has been hard to come by, each night harder to reach as my mind stays awake for hours on end pondering thoughts on everything that is going on, everything that I could be doing and everything that is to come.  I feel as though my mind has awakened to world and it longs to see and learn it all, regardless of the constraints of the body or its needs.  When sleep does come to me it comes for long hours at a time, pulling me into a depth of relaxation and comfort that I know cannot last.  But it is on nights like tonight, when I have to work tomorrow morning, that I wish I wasn’t as restless as I am, that I wish I could sleep.  Now that it is nearing five in the morning I know I will not sleep tonight because I will only have to awake in a few hours time and I will feel worse for wear if I only have that few hours sleep instead of staying awake for it.

~Adam ‘Trigger’ P.

I know I haven’t written anything on here in quite a while, but I am back and I bring my poetry. It is one you might have seen before, especially if you have seen me perform or have been to my wensite, but that gets very few hits anyways. I am bringing some of my poetry to hopefully get more feedback and also to push my website a bit more.

So here is the first one for you guys, a piece I call ‘Beat Re-Generation’.

I am the child of the children

  Of the Beat Generation

I am the disillusioned grandchild

  Of a disillusioned grandparent

It’s true it skips a generation

Disillusionment leads to enlightenment

  Which leads back to the disillusioned

A Beat father birthed a glam

   Rock daughter who created

  A Beat son of her own

Who lives in a modern coffeehouse

That longs for the independent days

Of a 24 hour open mic in

  A 24 hour underground spot

It all moves in cycles

Round and round goes

  The wheel of time

Alternating patterns of life

Spewing out a political activist

  Followed by a drill sergeant

Which in turn leads to another activist

        I hope my offspring doesn’t

        Join the Military but that

        Would be just my luck

I am the grandchild of

  Kerouac and Ginsberg

The son of Reagan and Kennedy

My brother is the Gay Rights Movement

And my sister is Feminism

We are the dysfunctional

   Atypical American family

And I am the middle child

Who finds his voice

  In the echoes of his ancestors

What I say isn’t new

  It just hasn’t been heard

    In a long time

I give it a new voice

Spitting the same old cry

On a new batch of saliva

   Watering an intellectual garden

   That hasn’t been touched

      In a generation

My words fall like raindrops

  On a barren desert mindscape

Reincarnating ideas of

    Love and sex

    Finding oneself in Zen Lunacy

   And the haze of tea smoke

My grandparents found themselves

        On the Road

I want to get back on the road

   And see where it takes me

Railroads replaced by airplanes

  Which will one day take you

    To space

I don’t know if I will go that far

    But who knows

I go wherever my feet will take me

Down the road

  Across the country

    Up the proverbial mountain

Driving a gas electric hybrid

   In place of hitchhiking

Visiting the great places

   I always heard about

     In stories and dusty books

I am the reborn generation

   The Second Beat

      I am the Rhythm Generation

The Re-Generation

I haven’t really felt too compelled to write any blogs recently, I feel that every time I start to get something out it screws up somewhere in the process and I no longer like what I am saying. I feel like I lose control of my voice sometimes, letting up on the voice of my rationality and falling into a deeply subconscious and emotional rant of some sort. But that isn’t what I want to do, I feel like my emo self absorbed side isn’t something others should be reading and not something that I want them to really be reading. But why would I even start to write those things then? Maybe I want to people to know what I thinking? I don’t know.

I have been very confused recently, with things moving in directions I could not have foreseen and myself also moving away from those events in ways I didn’t expect of myself. My outer persona has not changed, not in any way I can see or in any way that anybody has commented on. But I have felt more angry recently, more separated from the world, in a very isolated state of mind. I am still connected to the people around me, I have still been gong to work and hanging out with friends and doing things with people, but I feel as though part of me isn’t there. I feel like part of me doesn’t want to be there, it wants to be curled up in a ball under my blankets, crying itself to sleep. I feel like that part wants to escape to somewhere deep in the woods and listen to loud angry music. But still at the same I don’t want to do any of those things. I cannot let myself lose connection to myself, I cannot fall into myself, because if I do I will not be able to move my perceptions back out into the world, not for a long while I don’t think. I would become a black hole unto myself, focusing everything around me, a quantum singularity, a universe distinct and separate from everything else. That is the last thing I want to be.

Well, my site has been and running for a week or so now, with very little action going on, and very few people checking it out, so I decided to put out a little more advertising. This is a little more advertising: GO TO MY WEBSITE!!!

Read my poetry, comment if you like, since every one of my poems has a comment section at the end of it. I also have another running blog there, though usually nearly the same stuff as here, sometimes different. I also have a guestbook that I highly recommend that you sign, it is a nice way to show that you have been along. And if you really like my poetry and want to help support a starving artist and his dreams of his own published book, there is a nice little donate button on the front page, that links you directly to PayPal and then directly to my PayPal account, completely safe and secure. If nothing else, just go and check the site out, maybe you will like it, maybe not, but at least you raise the hits on my site and make it look more popular when others show up to check it out.

http://www.freewebs.com/idiology

Things have climbed high and quickly, precariously perched in my mind just ready to come crashing down. And down they have come.

The Vox Cafe went as expected, amazingly and even better, with people commenting well on my words and my ideas behind them. The atmosphere was amazing and the people were great, but sadly the one I wanted most to be there was absent. But all still went well. People are interested in my book and I think I have many possible buyers hyped for the release of my book, which I have decided will first be sold at the Vox Zocalo at the next Cafe, along with part of the proceeds going to Build a Village Kenya. This is in part for all the help Vox and its crew has given me in the spreading of my words and also because I feel that helping the people in Kenya is the next step in my career of becoming a real, do something special, sort of writer.

Now it is the time afterwards, when things come crashing down, and crash they did.  After the load-out that night I came home and crashed, falling deeply into a restless sleep, that though it was long, was not very fulfilling.  My dreams are plagued with thoughts of the future, with thoughts of finishing the book, with thoughts of how the hell I am going to pay for the publishing of my book, and with thoughts of the I have steadily and unknowingly pushed away the one I love.

I spent today wandering around my house and the internet, doing a whole lot of nothing, waiting for something to happen. I tried contacting her, to no avail, and I tried reading myself through the time I had to waste, finishing a very good book that I had to force myself to read instead of watching my phone hoping for a call.  I went to class, which I normally enjoy and instead sat there while my teacher lectured and spaced, a pencil in my hand and my notebook of poetry on my desk. I simply did not feel inspired in the slightest to do any sort of writing. So I sat and I read.

Then I came home, trying my hand at contacting again to much the same result. So again I sat and read. But when I finished reading and still nothing had happened, I figured that maybe nothing was supposed to happen. So I sat, I just sat there. I meditated on the previous days for a long time, meditating on the Cafe and on her and on everything that has been going on. And I felt a lot more separated from it, but it felt good. My phone finally beeped with a received text message, from her, and I rushed back here to my computer to read the email she sent in response to my own from the day before. I was relieved and comforted by her words, harsh sounding though they may be, because it was the same thing I had realized during my meditations: Distance.

The crashing down was not a bad thing, it is the natural thing to occur after so much has happened. I came down far from where I was and it has given me distance to work with, distance to view my actions with, and distance to change my next course of climb with.  So begin my ascent back up to the hectic and fast-paced world with a clearer head and a settled heart, ready to take it all and still keep my distance for self-reflection.

*Edit* Sorry, pressed wrong button yesterday/two days ago depending on time, and saved this instead of posting…here it is now.

Well, there are five and a half hours left and counting before my first real poetry performance and I am not worried in the slightest. Other matters occupy my thoughts for the last few days. Though I have seemed tp be working almost non-stop on things for today, my mind has been somewhere else through most of it.

My mind has been on my muse, my mind has been on my love.

The story behind what happened between me and her is long and rather complicated, but the short side is that we dated after she got out of a long relationship, then after a little over a month she didn’t want to date anymore, she didn’t want the obligations brought on by couple-dom, so we weren’t dating anymore, though we were still friends and more. I was still in love with her and she still loved me back, but we weren’t obligated to each other like we were before. Our relationship actually grew due to this, becoming strong and more connected to each other as time goes by. But, I fear that someone else may have caught her eye, someone I have called a friend since I have moved out her to Thousand Oaks. I know that we are no longer dating and have obligations to each other, but still I cannot say that it would not hurt me deeply if they were to start dating. My heart still greatly longs for her and though we are not obligated to each other, I cannot entertain the notion of being unfaithful to her, of seeing anyone else romantically.

So that is were my mind is at the moment, lost in the teeming, swirling masses of my thoughts, where ten billion possible ideas and outcomes ricotchet and reverberate through my skull. And though there are so many of them, I cannot seem to grab onto just one. As soon as my consciousness gets a grip on one, another comes by and knocks it out of place. Hence is the state of my head.

But I must be rid of these thoughts for tonight, for tonight I perform, my first big chance to make a name for myself as a professional poet, and I must surely not screw this up, for if I do I will feel even worse than I do right now.

Here’s to hoping that tonight goes as well as I hope that it will.

I hate skateboards.

Actually, I hate my skateboard. My skateboard seems to find the smallest possible thing to catch on, when it can pass over well sized and seeable rocks without a problem. My skateboard likes to catch on tiny unseeable rocks and cracks and send me hurtling off. My skateboard especially likes to do so while I am carrying a twenty pound backpack, just so that my arm carrying said backpack gets thrown out of place. My skateboard also likes it when I have great angry bloody scrapes on my knees and pock marks in my hands from the texture of the street. My skateboard hates me. Maybe it is because I haven’t ridden it in a while, maybe it is just gettting back at me. But I stopped riding it for the above said so reasons. So maybe my skateboard just hates me.

My inspiration is coming mostly from a single source right now, which is kind of different for me, since I am usually inspired by a multitude of things, by almost anything really. But right now, almost every single one of my recent poems has been inspired by the girl I am in love with. She says and does some of the most unique things that I can’t help but to be inspired by her. I guess she is my muse.

It is a weird thing to actually find yor muse, many people talk about searching for their muse, but to actually find it, well it is kind of a rare occurence. Sort of like finding that one sock that went missing from your favorite pair of socks, or finding a ten dollar bill deep in folds of your wallet that you had no idea was there. You always hoep for things like that to happen, but you never really expect for them to. Yeah, it is kind of like that.

Last night was very interesting if I must say, which I am, so I am saying it. I went to a meeting of the artists and crew for the next Underground Cultural Pub, sponsored by Vox Studios, and I met people that I had never met before and learned new things about people I had met before. Overall I must say again, it was a good night.

The line-up for this sunday looks and sounds amazing. It has this whole acoustic singer/ songwriter jam session feel to it that I am totally digging. I think my poetry is going to go over very well with the crowd these guys bring in. I am gettign hyped just thinking about it while sitting here at the computer typing away my thoughts almost as fast as they are coming to me, but I like it that way. I mean, if I could type as fast or faster then I could think, I think I migth quickly run out of things to type and then just sit for awhile trying desperately to think of something to write. At least this way my mind has a slight lead on my fingers and can get a little breathing room if it sputters out for a moment. Ok, enough tangent for me, where was I? Yeah, the line up looks great and I think that the cafe is going to an amazing success and I can’t wait to get up there and do some speaking with a lyrical tongue and no beats backing me up, I really can’t wait.

Well, this is new, another blog for me to try and keep up on. I will though, because a lot of the people I know out here in Thousand Oaks use Vox as their way of posting blogs. So I will too, for one I don’t want to be left out of the fun and two, what better way to keep in touch with people without running out of money on my cell phone.

Hmm, well you only ever get one first post, so I better try and make it a good one.

Things have quickly been escalating in a new and great direction, moving me to start doing some of the things that I always wanted to do but would do someday. Well I guess today is someday, because I have been doing those things. My book of poetry is almost finished and my first real public performance of my poetry is just days away. My website is almost done and soon I will have business cards too. Things are quickly pushing me into the business I always wanted to be associated with: the arts. I am a poet. I am a writer. I am an artist. And I am an activist. This is my business, my career doing the things that I love.