dou bluh vie == double you

infinitely doubious.
dichotomies brought to life through extended word.

1.26.2005

[Tangential] 012605

...

nothing lost in a point of reference
but alternate layers of red and blue,
polarized beyond dimensional analysis
to visualize the essential nature of Mars;

dilating pupils remind us of blurred reality
despite expansions teeming with soul crossed vision,
while sun kissed missions bring fruition
to the concept of coincidence.

does causality warrant reason?
or is love the only proven truth?

...

wooden men escape from metallic shells -
oily from falsehood granted by a paper deed of excellence -
running madly from the steel sympathy of minor courdoroy curtains,
their progeny emigrating atop bamboo chutes and latter day sainthood.

faithful warships drudge leagues of their own capsized constellations
in search of unsaid doorways
and
comparing northern neon and the hunter's utility
and
discovering tectonic rationale in the aftershock of heartbreak.
...

star-crossed lovers unite
under banners
incredible without tragedy
improvable without connection

united stars cross love
under pretense
of security without sympathy
of self-celebration without dependence
...

the taste of her blood
ignites desire
from bowels frought with
fortune
faint with corrupted conduction
with manufactured magnetization
with parlayed photoemission

as

her dirty hangnails lodge deep into
scrape
scrounge
scream
tissue ripping from a rusty scalpel's leftovers

...

ventrical verisimilitude pumps confusion through its railroad veins
all for the caustic needlepointing of liquid dreams.
a 20 sac will do.
a 20 sac will do just the damage i need
to purge hate with despair
to find solace in poison
to make love out of fiction.

...

Origins

Wednesday January 26
...
Point of Origin.
...

As I recall last weeks happenings, I realize the coincidentally circular path I've traversed; it's humbling and fulfilling to know that the reignition of my written voice involves those who were present when it all started about - oh man - almost four years ago. What the hell man, four years?
...

- Memoirs of a California College Student.
an idea conceived by Aiyah where I should collect a memoir of observances, analyses, opinions, feelings, ideas on the various campuses I've entrenched my collegiate education. I didn't realize it until she mentioned it, but I've managed to travel through every level of California education, though while hers was progressive in the normal sense - jr college to cal state to (hopefully) UC - mine has been UC to JC to CSU and hopefully back to UC. Hanging on Bruin Walk really did give me an opportunity to see things as an observer.
Her idea included pictorials of the different regional people. Some key ideas I would compare and contrast would be class, social dynamic, campus geography, regional climate, ethnic diversity, and overall style of living and therefore happiness. We could even get into music and dance but that's a bit narrow.
...

- Norma Jean Bell: "I'm the baddest bitch" (Moody man mix); Hed Kandi's Nu Cool vol 2 compilation (disc 2).

man this is a sweet track. crisp on the claps but layered enough to give it depth. The kick is resonant, especially with two layers. Congos keep things lively. the vibes are light and dancy and the jazzy sax really sweetens it up. overall pretty gutsy (when it moves you in the gut) but airy as well. until the soul comes in. the hook is accompanied by more bass and what I like to think of as volume (as opposed to loudness, though now the use of volume means something different.) "I'm the baddest bitch in this world//cuz you belong to me//and everybody wants ya//I'm the baddest girl in this world//cuz you belong to me//and everybody knows it" [nodx2] Nice.
...

Know whats good? Almond jello with fruit manwoman - I mean cocktail. Even lovelier is how each is from a preserved source (power gelatin and canned, respectively).
...

Shiz! I just received my first two issues of WAX Poetics, a (fairly) new magazine in its 6th semester of print. It's a quarterly mag dedicated to a more indepth look at (primarily) hip hop, funk, and soul music and their respective cultural histories. The articles are serious pieces of journalism and I would even go so fas as to describe it as 20th century African American cultural anthropology (which inherently includes music and art).
Some of you might remember me speaking of a writer named Oliver Wang, whom I met back in May as one of the only Chinese American writers whose focus is hip hop, funk, and soul music, as well as Asian America. I happened on his site (as well as a colleague of his, Jeff Chang) and hit him up and he was gracious enough to invite me for a meeting. He noted that when he was coming up in the writing scene (7-9 years ago?) he didn't have many people to look up to. Anyway, the fool is mad involved in many aspects of this scene and is contributing editor for Wax Poetics. He writes all over the place, check his site, its pretty awesome. Yes I idolize him; more specifically I idolize his productivity, reputation, access, and most of all, his archival knowledge and quality of work. oh not to mention his Doctorate degree from Berkeley. I'll link to his Dissertation when he uploads it. I have a feeling I will keep him as a dependable resource when the times comes for me to document the culture as I see it. I mean, I didn't come across his page by accident. Or did I (in stupid goofy voice)??
[stupid Dzuy: "Are you sure that this happened because of this? Or was it meant to happen anyway? See, you'll never know; you'll never be able to prove that one thing was a cause and one thing wasn't!" [shaking head] STUPID!! Even though it makes sense.]

Sidenote: shot off an email to the people at WP, just to see what kind of reply I'd get. I think next time I'll have to send a piece of writing.

I realize the act of writing and submission in terms of writing is no different than what Dzuy does with his music. Produce a piece, master it until it is to a certain standard, then submit it to an authority who might critique it. What's important is not so much to always know how many steps and which ones to take to get somewhere, but to make steps at all. Ideally we plan and specify the steps we take to get exactly what we want, though that in itself is the skill we work towards perfecting. All the planning in the world means nothing when you don't move. Make the step.
...

The people at Getunderground.com have also started a magazine called WAV Magazine, WAVMAG for short. Dedicated to what seems like a more indepth look at music, art, and culture in regards to politics and social issues and technical music production. They have a sweet little press kit that describes their distribution outlets, their potential readership, and all the things that marketing is based on I guess. Good lookin mag. And since it is tied with getunderground, there is no shortage of access to the places where shit is goin down, all across the country, though I knew gu.com to be more tied with writing, poetry, and art and that scene than music. I don't know, but I shot off an email to the chief editor anyway. we'll see right? If anything I'll gain insight into their creative process from conception to print and the issues involved. [shrug] Though any reason to write is a good one.
...

Are you manifest with mad exceptional style//
that's funky funky fresh and versatile//
I keep my sounds encapsulated in a data file//
with all the electronic information on compile//
with a flick of a switch you can hear the hand claps//
on iteration on the dial on the dj scratch//
like a scientist I'm watching on an oscilloscope//
and i'm persistent to perfection yeah its soundin dope//
in my semi satellite i'm beamin to space//
and my broadcast interjected by an alien race//
in conversation for my cells is running by my brain//
only half the local cells inside my head remain//
i'm man i'm robot I'm a humanoid//
scratchin records at the speed of an asteroid//
gonna move my spirit break it down ya know//
the only thing good enough to beat the dancefloor//

Reignition... Crash & Burn

012505.
...
reignition.

Ok I know I should stop talking to her, but I felt I needed to call her back so she wouldn't feel insulted, to tell her what I had written her in my letter, because she "hoped" to hear from me. True to form, it was a mistake.

I mean we resolved issues, we got to talk about us and get things off our chests and just try to understand each other. And before I could tell her how I meant to gain closure from the care package and inadvertantly opened my heart again, she said the magic words.

"Waylan, I know this is wrong; but we should have fucked when you were here."

after some shock, I actually totally agreed.

"Dude, I know. If there's anything that should have happened, that should have happened. It just should've happened! I mean I wrote you in my letter that the only complaint I have is that I can't do anything with you while you have a boyfriend."

"You're funny."

"But even if I wanted it, even if we could have... it wouldn't have happened."

But for the next 15 minutes the conversation went to sex. And in my head I kept regretting not trying to do something while I was at her place. Where, when, how could we have made it so it was ok to do it? I was racking my brain.

"uhh," as if I should have known. "Anytime, my place."

Well fuck me (and I wish she did.). She said she was proud for not having given in on Tuesday, that she was fiending because sex wasn't great the past week (because they had been doing it every day and his dick is small), but afraid of fucking things up with this new guy.

It was lovely to learn that while she felt so uncomfortable when we were together, she felt really good, gained a sense of closure after she examined my package [the care package]. It was even lovelier to hear that later on that night she was able to have great sex with her new guy.

You're laughing right? At how I subjugate myself to this right? Yup. I can't help it. It hurts to know and yet the voyeuristic images provide me sexual stimulus that is just short of therapeutic and nearing addictive. I can see how people become insane on this shit.

"Waylan...how I'm holding back right now... I hope one day I won't have to hold back with you."

I hate to say it, but ditto.

Later that night I laid restlessly in my bed, both loathing and fueling images of the two of them going at it after she gained happiness from my gift of "closure."

At least she was happy. and now orgasm capable.

...