dennis steinburg

sometimes, i miss the days when i used to be shady.

drug induced psychosis is no fun.

I feel like writing a bunch, because I never do it anymore. As I said before, I've been getting into a lot of 60's/beatnik kind of literature, so I can at the very least gain some insight from the hippies that have tread the path of self-discovery/self-destruction that I have decided to follow. It seems like a very cerebral way about it, and I really doubt that a lot of other people have to do this to be okay with living their life. I'm at some kind of crisis, a crossroads of sorts. I'm totally failing everything that I wanted to do, as well as the things of necessity. And yet, I have no physically/emotionally painful reminder of how bad this is, which is a first. I just don't feel the stress. I'm kind of glad, because it seems like such a bad way to live. Without it though, I feel like I'm just letting my life go. Shouldn't I feel the sensation of falling, when I am actually falling down the precipice of my doom? Getting in trouble with the police, academic probation, the drugs and the alcohol, where is it going to stop? I know a lot of that is lame, but I'm pretty sure there was a point in my life where I never thought that I would do those things, and would kill myself if I ever did. All these falling expectations, where is the final destination going to be: the ground, where life starts afresh, or should I grab on to whatever cloud 9 that I've been told is the answer to happiness, these phantasmal idealisms that state that I should work hard for family, god, or money? Why ask such banal questions, why bother.

What it is, is that I don't have the willpower anymore. I see good, I see bad, and I'm stuck somewhere in between. The pain is too brutal and the good too intoxicating. Everything sullies the beauty of the present moment, the perceptual truth. Do I focus on the good, that I know will spoil, or the bad, the psychic grittiness that drives me away from bad memories, bad vibes? Do I figure out a trajectory where I shall leave a legacy, the only hope I have of being eternal, and something?

This is an awkward age. I want importance, but I have none, and I have no guarantee of ever having it. There is hardly anything worth giving a damn about, but I want to know what it is like to have somebody give a damn about my nothing. I hate having the same wants and needs as another person, because I know I won't fight them for it.

All I have to offer is the promise of something that comes from nothing. Art is like that. All I have is spontaneous music, shaky flashback doodles, and mystical anecdotes about the nature of existence. Whatever talent I had before, or whatever the totality of my given purpose is supposed to amount to, it is averaged out to those three things.
I have a mind that is full of storms. What good is that, except for a good ride while it lasts?

I downloaded a bunch of ebooks from the pink palace today and listened to a bunch of drugged out musings by drugged out writers being dictated by pothead voice actors. There was fear and loathing, Aldous Huxley's doors of perception, some camus, and some lecture on jung on the side. There is something soothing about the drone of someone about to die trying to read to blind people. It is very mind cleaning to have someone elses voice replace your own while you try and listen and do other things at the same time. Now that I said that, it seems kind of weird, and maybe a couple days after the acid wears off, I will look back on that and shake my head.

Man, the last time I wrote in this thing, things were so different. Yet I am mostly in the same place. Same old barely breaking even in life, same old trying to give myself a mind-fuck in the "right" direction, same old drug-induced hallucinatory euphoria to escape from the inevitable fall into the depths of reality-based despair. Now that I think about it, maybe they aren't so different.

Maybe thats the way things are supposed to be. All this pseduo-buddhist, eastern mysticism bullshit that I am starting to believe in, it barely keeps me afloat. I am reaching back towards whatever everybody around me has forgot, under the pretense that they will come to me begging for it later. So far, no takers. I have this nice little contained philosophy which, according to the current condition of my living, is pretty useless. However, as long as it goes one step further than traditional religion, and requires me to search for an answer instead of defaulting to some divine construct, I'm happy and better than jesus.

I call it acid buddhism. What you do is take a bunch of drugs, and meditate. You think about how to stop the very natural yet very taxing process of thinking, and turn it into infinite peace. Honestly, thinking is so much fucking work, and it's amazing how it never fucking stops. The times you stop thinking are when you think about impossible things, like the sound of one hand clapping, or whether or not a tree makes a noise if no one is there to hear it. Theres a whole branch of buddhism about that, koans and whatnot. Plus you put the outer manifested physical focus of your brain right between your eyebrows and you're golden. It's that simple. Plus you forget about why things are and remember that all you wanted to know was how. Plus you assume that whatever is the smallest unit/force/particle of the universe is the seat of conciousness. Just wait until metaphysics, particle physics, biology, chemistry, and religion all crash together, and you see that I, as well as all the old ass buddhas and gurus, are right. That's how you are one with everything. Oh yeah, and you drop acid and see flowers explode and snakes slither through the sky and play guitar until you die. Thats where most of the draw comes into play.

I don't know how many people actually get this metaphysical stuff, or actually give a shit. I wish there were more people, because I am tired of being right by default.

Nope, I'm not different at all.

bob marley: my hero.

lets see if i have anything important to say.

i'm having a hard time figuring out where i am at. Lately, I have been noticing that I have not given a shit about everything around me. I wish I would give more of a shit to other things. But what is going on inside is far too interesting and annoying than anything outside of me, and incidentally, it is harder to see when you smoke pot everyday.

I've seen a lot of impotent ideas being thrown around me, and thrown around inside my head. They are like people taking freshly carved arrowheads and just tossing them around like rocks. That idea was kind of impotent, but the point being is that everything around me is shittily done. Everytime something happens the needless imperfections hit me in the gut. Now if i did anything about it, i would feel like an asshole, since everything is mostly trivial to begin with. But living with the idea that your feelings are incorrect is a tough thing to handle, especially since I like to be so simple. It's all about some subtle timings of thought, that I can't ever get right. Remembering this at the right moment, forgetting this after exactly this amount of time, etc. So I am not in complete control of my mind, and I guess that bothers me.

Actually I think it should bother me, a lot. How the fuck did I become not my mind? How come my mind gets to decide what gets thought around here?

And it is either that kind of thinking, or the idea that thinking about it is stupid and I should just stop thinking about it. I understand the beauty of ignorance and mental blindness, but I thought I wanted to fix it. Then I think how can I fix the basic framework of my thought? Then I go into a drug binge, and then feel too good/shitty to care, until it starts over again. I guess that is the cycle of life.

I seriously think the only way I can deal with being alive in my position is to keep my blood junked up with a precise drug cocktail at all times. Self-medication is the best kind of medication, and hell I think I'd make a good doctor anyway.

I feel like I should get away from myself, and start a life that values the beauty of those that surround me, rather than live in my brain toilet world. Would you call that better living, or just closing your eyes and letting the shit cake on your ass?

I wish I could just straight up believe that good things happen to good people, and that things work out in the end, But all I see is shitty things happening to everybody everyday, and the only thing that is worked out in the end is who is alive and miserable or is dead and better off.

Why am I such a depressing fucker

I love you and I love everybody and the world where everybody lives is beautiful, there, now I have balanced the karma of this post

the only thing you have to worry about is change. just let it be. i think of different thoughts, and each one i am conscious of defines that moment, whether or not it is relevant. every memory is a snapshot that i will carry away and define the near future. The only thought that needs to be thought, the most powerful meme, is change. Change takes a lot of work, and a lot of doubt and confusion. But each thought comes into my mind and slowly does it leech into the perceptions of the world. I need to shed my perceptions and self as if I have infinite, as if they were what they were, just casual proposals and witty banter. I just need to cast that shit aside as if it were dirty clothes. I haven't been able to. My mind is broken. It wants to live under its own courage and strength, and I can hardly convince it that it does not have enough. Just because something is hard to prove, does that make it true? The true sources of courage and strength, those outside yourself, I just don't believe in.
This could be one of those things where you have to make a choice, whether you think you have a broken mind, or an okay one.

i just wrote a lot of stuff that doesn't make much sense. i've spent the last month in isolation and coding in php and javascript, only really talking to my mom this whole time, who doesn't actually talk. in this time i have realized that my mom is more nerdy than I am, and does not stop talking about her job programming shit and doing networking stuff. I told her about smoking pot and drinking grain alcohol and she didn't really care. i took an extract of dxm which is basically cough supressant and when I got to the point that my mind was dying, I regressed into a symbolic state of mind where I had to fix my head with a rudimentary file system shell. I tried really hard to remember what I moved to where, but it never came back to me. It seemed to be really important though.

all i want to talk about is existential stuff, about the axioms of existence. all this crazy shit about life that no one has been able to solve. I'm pretty sure that this has been what has alienated me from a lot of my life, since it is not very good conversation material. But I'm pretty sure I have thought about the infinite and felt it once or twice. Once I was lifted up into a pillar of light, once I felt as my self was expanding rapidly and emanating itself to the room outwards. I read stuff about kundalini and that is basically what it is about, life being a self-conscious energy.

i don't know what that makes me, being obsessed over that kind of shit. am i a life question nerd? a wayward philosopher or a just an asshole. it basically means that there is not a lot to me but there is some fuckedshit in what little there is.

just so it does not die i am going to feed a bunch of big words into this journal:

Somewhere I have heard it said that Jazz could be the ultimate form of musical expression. I have pushed my ears to the limits of musical dissonance and subjected them to the crackpot whims of melodic genius; it gotten come to the point where I often find myself listening to music solely to feel emotion. I remember listening to music as finding someone to say the right words and play the right chords. But when I put on a late Coltrane recording, I can listen to him feel pain. This particular recording happened to be the last concert he would record before succumbing to his chronic sickness. Through the strained and frenetic expression of his saxophone, a human being forces his soul through his lips, between thin pieces of reed, and through the disturbances of air, rapture occurs. He once said, or perhaps many times said, that music was his spiritual outlet. Using his saxophone, he builds a temple of sanctified sound, and a bio-electromagnetic phenomenon takes place. Whatever feelings of insignificance, whatever shades of gray or fragile peace resides inside your mind, a torrent of sonic religion purges, and submerges your thoughts. A baptism of soul-fire, set against the preconceptions of swinging flapper music or old-timey Louis Armstrong ballads, explodes like a nuclear holocaust with intensity and fury. A normal man takes a normal saxophone, and taken up by his hands, merges into one giant tsunami of emotion, a swath of auditory destruction, tossing my mind to the wind, a giant swirl of confusion, anxiety, and wrath.
20 minutes into this song, I hear a familiar tune:

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

Oh, what a bittersweet twist. No words actually sung, but the gist, the raw serenity of it floated on the soft wail of his sax. The gentle melody floated away from the hungry jaws of the ferocious, vituperative drum barrage caused by Elvin Jones, and spun madly against the crazed, extemporaneous piano chording hammered out by his wife. When the dust settled, the explosive dichotomy became delightfully clear, and the feeling was kind of like a brilliant, strident, fuck you to the horror and agony of what happened before.
As the roar of applause erupts from the audience, it melts into a white noise, leaving me stranded from reality, disoriented, confused, and unaware of how far the tempest has really taken me.
In these moments, these surreal pauses between obligations and corporeal involvement, I feel like I can find myself. My thoughts, normally disorganized and quixotic, find a purpose. Not a very constructive or practical purpose, but for a while, all my synapses are firing happily and in complete agreement. Nothing has to be wrong or right, there are no hard choices. It is just a man, a saxophone, and a soul with a hole deep inside of it.

take this as you will

http://kingping.homelinux.org/wordy/

try it out.




she'll never love you with those pancake wings

i started writing this in a dream haze, and then my mom started squawking at me with stupid questions (who is this singer?, don't know know who it is? how do you categorize this?)

it was just some chinese broad singing woman ballads on piano.

whatever:
a dream trip report

a timid thought you are too asleep to dismiss, so unreal that in the course of living, you give it up to mundane functions of being, letting go of your minds folly, too embarassed to allow its mistakes to live set in stone

this dream felt like it was 3 days long(it is in chronological order, but i can't remember a lot of it):


I search around my house and find a bowl in one of my kitchen drawers that gives me an aura that it was the first one i had smoked out of.

[found pipe.gif]

it was built like a small tobacco smoking pipe with a rubber handle on the bottom for better passing, and i put it in my backpack.

i smoke a bong that is very complicated and filled with contraptions, with a mouthpiece that you put onto the apparatus yourself. one person (there were three of us) kept fucking themself up, but i dont' remember how. they were berated. we were in a snowy mountain area, enclosed by walls that arched enough to shelter us from anything resembling mountain whether, but still emananting the atmosphere of a dark mountain, (similar to a place in the movie where they have to inject each other with shit to keep alive or something, it was the only famous mountain climbing movie i saw on HBO, where they were in the hindu kush and had fucking uranium in their backpacks for no reason.)

with these same people (plus a few more who somehow joined) i had made up for the purposes of this dream, we went to some place where a lot of people were eating, which happened to be that grassy area at the side of the school, where the teachers park, and i could see jolly road and the swampy area, but it was much more natural and pastoral feeling here. there were longish white metallic bench-table things set up with people sitting at other tables in close proximity. i sat down with all those people, and a group of korean girls moved from a close table to the vacant areas of our table. we talk since we are apparently familiar with them. one of their mothers comes in and they talk about getting food, and one of the people (white guy) asks them to ask their mother to get eggrolls or some shit, and they are reluctant and nothing ends up happening. (chinese food was the theme food there, by the way).


as i was waiting to go inside the english room to take a test, the hallway seemed very long and darker in feel, much like my childhood memories of hte playground. it was filled witha gauntlet of people, and jenna asked me about a computer game and whether it was good, and it was some made up shit so i didn't know what to tell her, and it wasn't civ4, rome total war, or battlefield 2, or anything near that caliber, and i gave her an ambiguous response, and seh gave me an ambiguous look.

as i walked into the english room, it segued inperceptibly into a car parking lot, much darker in character, set on a somewhat medium steep grade, somewhat made of dirt, and with ocassional hills dividing the areas up so you could park around them more efficiently

pretend the lines on the side aren't fucked up because i did this originally in notepad:
 / ----------------- \
|                                |
|      __________      |
|     [__________]     |
|                                |  this is kind of how i remember it being arranged, with angled parking spaces
|                         x     |  around the perimeters, and trying to park at "x", basically double parking
\------------------     |  since the angled parking spot was already occupied
|                                |
|                                |
|______________ /

(this previous portion reminds me of a german kaufhaus in its character, but that doesnt' have anything to do with anything)



i remember parking my car in a too dark parking spot to take a test in english.  I kept being too indecisive on where to park to waste time, seeing where other people were, and I ended up parking too close to someone elses, and having my car run out of batteries because it could not start correctly, having Luan roll it using neutral gear and the sloped terrain. i asked him for a jump start and he agreed, simultaneously complaining that he had "a hundred other people" to help too.



 i remember watching the the sky, a night sky filled with lights, both of incredibly dense star formations and clouds(normal ones and ones that were a miasma of color and beauty), and trying to leave previous engagements such as sleeping for school with soemone i made up for the purposes of my dream, who was apparently a part of my retinue, but as we rolled out of my driveway, things got too light, and what i orignally thought was a night sky turned out to be a trick of my house obscuring the light to make the night sky seem darker. as a tiny tangential question suggested that the time perhaps was too early, and though i tried to wait for it to get dark, the time kept going backwards, like it was teasing me for thinking about it, and i had an inkling to use my mind and a newfound lucidity to change the time to 9 o clock, an arbitrary but reasonable time for everything to be dark. all the digits on the clock splattered around the outside ofhte clock, as if an explosion happened in the middle of where the lcd was, and a "9 0 0" slowly manifested itself in the middle. i then tried to make a girl on my cock. failure.



by now i think i have given up, for the 9 0 0 thing did not change the sky. i remember something with sarah voice and some otehr girl i know but can't remember selling some kind of tickets for something in a brick place that reminded me of the chippewa locker area outside of the lunchroom, but smaller in floor space, equal in the aura of seediness. it also had the tackiness of those taiwanese family get togethers they had in the senior centers all the time when i was little.
did not buy anything.
i think they had to do with that night sky.

somehow i found myself in a giant library, which was managed by kali goodell and poorly alphabetized, per an anecdote given to me by abhishek (macNally was in the n section).

i tried to get up for school, hounded by the demons of my lust to watch the night sky and my indecision to go to school or skip it, i woke up at 7:50, hopelessly late for class, and distracted by kali's array of electronics. my sound system had been assimilated into a giant morass of amplifiers and stereo sets and giant speakers. the sound of static forcing itself into being as a song floated into my ears, and using the graphic equalizer i shaped it into a more perfect shape, but it started to resemble acid mothers temple, and it was confirmed by other people around me, even claiming that htey themselves had suggested it to me, and in the frame of my dream, i remembered and believed them.

// after i awake i look at the clock and it says 8:51. i only planned to sleep an hour, and i panic, but as i get downstairs to tell people how i slept way to long, i saw the clock on the computer said 6:51, and i realize that i can't see for shit. but i felt such a great sense of euphoria you only get after a good sleep, and it felt like i slept for months. also, i could breathe again.

i need float ideas

i was trying to draw different permutations of satan because my classes were boring.

i'm cool

( satan thetan )

i have been a clean boy, its kind of good and its mostly bad

"But I reckon I got to light out for the territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she’s going to adopt me and sivilize me, and I can’t stand it. I been there before."

That was the last quote ever. fuck you huckleberry finn, fuck you.


Jesus, that took me all day until 6:58 AM. What the FUCK.

I still haven't done that allegory of a cave bullshit. But i got the other shit. I am very happy. Very tired. I just did like 120 pushups and situps waiting for this fucker to print. I couldn't fit it into the three-hole punch. Drank like 5 cups of russian instant coffee and a kettle of jasmine tea.

how dramatic am I



You know, I just did that to prove my worth. I could have done this at like the beginning of the summer, or like, in the middle, or maybe start not on the last fucking day I had. But only a goddamn pussy would do that. A GODDAMN PUSSY.

school is going to kick ass. My ass.


I love all of you, okay. Now I'm off and I am going to go cut my wrists in the shower as I cry.

ok so i forgot to go to sleep today. figures. in two hours i have to be at school until 4 for a happy fun time camp for student council.

i know what i'm about to post is like the epitome of selling out, but i downloaded corel painter IX. at the very least, my mind is fucking blown. i've even tried it before, but it still gets blown like 3 months later. thats just how mindblowing it is. it makes my pictures look like i spent time like watercoloring them, and making them look good, but it really doesn't take any time/effort at all.

i mean, look at this smutty thing that i made:

( smut )


edit:haha fuck the cutting off is weird when its on a white background, i'll fix that later, maybe.

i asked someone for two words and they said apple, fire, and jesus

i was rifling through my old school shit and i came across something like this:

9th grade world history with wegener
i was kind of amazed at how awesome this was, for being so long ago. it's cute, no?



i bet that kind of shit came to fruition because of this kind of shit:



actually, this is an awesome time in history, what was i thinking

these past few days have blown my motherfucking socks off

thanks to all that have been a part of these special moments

bandwagon, just because sweet peyton did it too:

( hey )