dystopia

Strange days lead to Strange nights
What do you control when you have no control?
Everyday the flames get higher higher higher
You can move your feet one in front of the other, you can even move the speed faster slower. But where can they take you? How far can you go till you are constrained by all the chains that bind?
You can open your mail or leave it stacked away. Yet bureaucracy revolves on its axis, heedless of Schrödinger's cat entwined.
Tread water the shore remains ignored.
Everyday the sky gets lower lower lower
You can pop the tab, swallow the pill, follow the white rabbit and yearn. In the morning the glass is still a mirror not a magic lantern
Everyday the tide gets blacker blacker blacker
If we cut off the water then the jackals will return
A sharp stick
Strong hands digging in a pit of mud
Our tongues they are all on fire
Soft things can be squished
Hinges can be snapped
The earth is on fire
You can paint on a smile, outline your eyes
Pull up the muscles
We are all hungry we are all tired
The walls we build are higher higher higher
You can hit the snooze or jump from bed but everyday you ride the same line, sardines like sheep in pipelines, messy mechanisms of the Powerful.
Higher higher higher
Let the mother fucker burn
Control is imaginary
Self determination fallacy
We're afraid of dying
Plug in Check out
A can of paint explodes, dripping rivulets over plastered advertisements.
But a little bleach and a minimum wage check rerights remnants of reality.
The earth the earth is on fire

limbo: when the aliens descend

there is a state between awakefulness and dreaming. it is unrecognizable when you are in it- the state of full cognition flows right into this limbo without marker. but it seems to me that this limbo might as well be a whole 'nother person taking over my body. invading my skin as my conscious slips from control. maybe it's an alien having fun with a corporal human. or maybe it is a me from an alternate world.

i have often wondered if our dreams are reality some where -- after all, if the multi universe theory is correct , everything that can be is somewhere. why not then our dreams?     if in a dream we can see into another version of ourselves, maybe this limbo is a different kind of blurring between our realities. this would explain why i still feel like me even if i can only vaguely remember what has happened, what i have said and done.

could this also be what happens when we drink? maybe not when we just drink to a state of drunkeness, but when someone's conscious blacks out, when we are still acting and speaking and doing, but not recording any of it. maybe we aren't recording it because a different version of ourselves is recording it.

have you ever stayed up all night? had a sleep over? as a four year old or fourteen or forty four? have you had those late night conversations where you know you are making complete sense and then you wake and your friend or partner or sister laughs and says "you were saying the funniest shit last night!" and you don't remember.

i have long loved to document those moments. well, i love to capture those moments for myself. but if they involve other people they can sometimes be embarrassing or too revealing just as often as they can be good fun.

but alone they are like tapping into some secret. the bulk of my really bad poems in highschool came from mining limbo. i wouldn't be able to sleep, would sit up under my skylight with my journal de jour and scribble away my thoughts. in the morning i would look over what i had written. the last few pages often enough were illegible - even my other selves have atrocious hand writing. but before it trailed off into chicken scratch, there was pure adolescent angst gold.

i don't do this anymore. i don't have the luxury, my days packed going from one thing to the other in my desperate attempt to realize a career of a working artist in nyc. it seems my nights are a delicate balance between struggling to sleep and dropping like a rock. if i tried to write as i sleep, i'd probably keep my mind spinning on endless tracks till dawn breaks.

however, i do take a very long subway to my pinnacle of manhattan. at least late at night i do. and i am becoming adept at thumb typing. which means my itouch is filled with "notes" thumbed out as i force my eyelids open to stave off opportunistic thieves, rapists, and hoboes.   sadly the touch screen keyboard isn't quite as forgiving as my  young penmanship. and the apple provided automatic word correction doesn't always help.

but flipping through those late night subway ramblings, i again wonder- just whose thoughts have been pouring out?  i'd like to meet her.    


ps. if you haven't seen the joe iconis rock and roll jamboree yet, what is wrong with you? don't you get how awesome it is? my sister, katrina rose dideriksen, is a superstar and joe iconis somehow taps my brain. not to mention the awesome stylin' of the rest of the iconis family. seriously. get on the train.

they only come out at night

i admit to be a little exhausted right now. i'm relatively good at fighting the exhaustion caused by running between part time jobs and rehearsals and auditions and attempting to have a teeny bit of social life. however, i feel slightly justified as for the last week and a half my apartment has been a total disaster zone. living in a disaster zone is not conducive to restful happiness.

then again, it is really just your typical manhattan story. a few weeks back i get a call from the super announcing "they have the right" to break into my apartment. which they will be doing. through my window. this doesn't leave me feeling particularly secure in my little inwood abode. i mean who's cousin has been hired to so easily walk through my window into my apartment?? as fierce a hunter of large creepy, crawly, and flying invaders as Chui is, the only human she seems intent on taking down is me. my calves are particularly attractive targets when she is hungry.

though she has been known to leap onto my back when trying to make a point, she clearly put no such fight up to the invading hordes, who proceeded to demolish the wall of my bathroom. when the leak they claimed to be fixing could not be found, they haphazardly covered said wall in what appears to be black trash bags.

one does not want to be able to see inside the wall of one's new york apartment. one does not want the creatures that live in one's walls to be able to gallivant about ones bathtub as if on holiday. even when one has hungry feline friend.

the unknown plumbing bandits are still parading through my apartment while i toil at my "survivor" jobs, leaving bits of crumbling cement and tile strewn about.

little do they know, i've lived in africa. i have plenty of experience finding alternative means of brushing my teeth.