a stream of consciousness, becomes a river, becomes a lake, becomes a sea



This is the space above the calendar. Above days and months. Above such trivial concepts as today and tomorrow.




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"Only a couple of generations ago, we the people sang the songs and told the stories and generated our culture from the bottom up.

But now, more and more of our culture is spoon-fed to us top down by corporations, TV networks and ad agencies.

We must reclaim our culture. Start telling our own stories again. Singing our own songs. Producing our own meaning.

Creating our own cool..."

- Adbusters Blackspot Campaign




The Revolution will be
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As a total slave to opinion I have to put this link here:

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But what the fuck do those guys know?

Absolutely fuckin nothing - that's what. This link makes my blog stronger for no other reason than I bothered to have it here.

Does that make this place any better? No - obviously not. I'm popular simply because I choose to be popular. I chose to make myself accessible to the masses.

But don't mistake my want of accessibility for respect...

...I still hate most of you more than you can imagine.





It's lonely down here. What purpose can a paragraph find at the nigh-bottom of this blog? Should I be humorous? Informative? Why am I here? I wish I was that other paragraph above the calendar. Oh the wonderful things I could do from up there...






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Sunday, June 22, 2008
the secret


the secret is.

that we all long for the feeling of a good heartbreak.

if only because it reminds us that we once loved.

and imagined we were loved.


This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 05:16 am
It is still at large and should be considered Armed and Dangerous
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the wait


i've been waiting here all night and finally the rain hit.

now i can curl up and know for sure that its worse out there than it is in here.

for once.

and all too briefly.



This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 05:09 am
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Monday, April 14, 2008
seven strands of conversation


i could explain to you the whole sordid tale of it, but i'm not sure i could do it any justice.  i've been gone.  you either knew that or you didn't.  rather than bore you with the details, i've supplied several asynchronous strands of dialogue, half fragments of conversations you'll never hear in thier entirety.

hey, its better than some half baked excuse right?



This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 06:24 pm
It is still at large and should be considered Armed and Dangerous
(2) confirmed sightings

strand: poetry and impossible mathematics.


adjectives fail... i'd have to invent a whole new language to be able to tell you how cute you are. some strange mutant hybrid of poetry and impossible mathematics.

so, that's what i'm doing whenever there's a lull in conversation - i'm reconstructing symbolism, recomposing the very principles of communication, imagining that somehow, somewhere, sometime i'll be the one who'll let you know how beyond cute you are.

we don't exactly have a word for it yet... but i'm working on it.


This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 06:22 pm
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strand: but boy, crazy.


hey, i live in a constant state of forced fake amnesia. you don't have to tell me about drunken stupidity, i wrote the bloody book. luckily sales for "I, Mortified - the unofficial biography of a drunk" by [solender] have been very low.

sometimes getting together with your mates and giving someone a good send off is really all you can do. the irish were all about it. the maori and native americans too. some papua new guinea tribes had some really messed up death rituals which i wont get into, but boy, crazy.

the mono-culture we participate in most of the time has dumb rituals. we should invent some better ones.



This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 06:16 pm
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strand: sorry


was i too harsh? i felt a bit harsh.  sometimes there isn't nearly enough distance between random thoughts and typing fingers.  betwixt things said and feelings hurt.

i am sorry.


This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 05:07 pm
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strand: comes with practice.


what is the implicit structure of your evening? what are its underlying themes and quintessential properties? alcohol? dialogue? the usual moments of panic as you blurt out something inappropriate in the front of the wrong person? you really are the queen of that btw. but to be fair you are also very quick with a follow-up cover. which i can only assume comes with practice.


This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 05:01 pm
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strand: half way to nowhere in particular.


there's an underused english term called "dawdle".  it means to semi-aimlessly, almost indeliberately, saunter towards your destination.  my mum used to tell me, in her finest catholic manner, that i would "dawdle to the pearly gates if [she] wasn't there to chase me".  (and now i am totally missing her)

anyway, dawdling is what i was to doing on the bus.  its what i always do on the bus and, i guess if truth be told, what i always do in life.  don't mistake my contemplative expression for thoughtfulness.  when you saw me i was probably most of the way to nowhere in particular.


This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 04:55 pm
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strand: one more day.


friday swings back in, as if nothing happened.  shuffles off the working week like a heavy jacket and orders a beer.  "do you mind?" he quips thumbing at the waiting barman, "i seem to have left my wallet in my other metaphor", and so it starts...

one more day jinny jinx.  just one more.  its always at times like this that, try as i might NOT to think about the paradox of infinite divisibility, somehow it is all i have in my head.  damn it!



This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 04:54 pm
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strand: was andy mad?


i went and got x-rayed on saturday cos for some reason the pain became more intense as i sobered up (weird huh?).  i was all about the "spiral fracture" but the doctor said i would probably have known, with the screaming and the yelling and the passing out from pain, if that were the case.  was andy super-mad?  does he need a hand with the fixingness?  did you tell him i was sorry for breaking his house?




This thought broke free from Solender's mind at 04:49 pm
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