mere thoughts

Calling All Artists!

james alan — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 03:20:53 +0000

What Has Become of You?

Why is it that every time I turn on the television, I see some fucking celebrity hawking some fucking product I don’t fucking need?

Luke Wilson: What happened man? Did Wes Anderson cut you off? This lil turd, whom I totally respected as an actor is now a salesman for Verizon Wireless. Luke, ya blew it dude.

Dr. Dre: You made the fucking “Chronic” Man!! The Chronic! Now.. He’s a Doctor of Whoredom. Officially selling his soul to Dr. Pepper and calming “You Can Trust Him, He’s a Doctor.” Yeah, Dr. Turd P.h. D.

And of course there are and have always been the already soul-less beings that get their fame and milk it for all it’s worth. Some recent unsurprising sellers of shit I have see lately are:

Christina Agulara: I don’t think this rant covers already talent-less product pushers. But now, HDtv has acquiring this bumpy stick of poo – reminding you, “Cable is Out – Buy Buy Buy – Don’t Think Think Think”

Gene Simmons: This douche never had talent. But he’s a Doctor for Dr. Pepper now too. As if this prick didn’t have enough money. Only Krusty the Clown from The Simpsons has more Products out there that this maggot.

Ashton Kutcher: You don’t deserve my anger. My cat’s litter covered turds have more talent than you. And she can grow a better beard.

Bill Hicks said it best, “Once you do a commercial, you’re off the artistic roll call forever.” Most of these never were such artists, but those that were, I’ve now moved you in my mind to the giant pool of turds occupying my “hump of hate” floating, drifting, never really dissolving – just stinking. Selling. Soul-less. Endless. The bowl will break one day. . . One day.

So what the hell is it. The Money? Are these guys THAT hard up for the cash?

P.S. > If any of you out there can think of any other artists, pushers I’ve left off the list, PLEASE! Share your disappointment!

P.P.S. > Willie Nelson, is of course, omitted and clear of all charges. Taco Bell’s got nothing on you now.

roles

james alan — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 15:45:09 +0000

so much beauty and pain the the world.
like bubbles rising to their role
only to all bust in the end.
-Jan.24th. 2009

Infinitely Spinning

james alan — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 15:39:53 +0000

no more lists
no more roles
no more wants
no more distractions
now i’m home

maybe the great shift & change that is upon us is man’s extermination of self*
(& planet). For we are selfish gods in a garden of greedy delights.

Are the good apples on the tree victims of the bad, or merely part of the whole?

A return to home, and return to earth. By wiping the slate clean, without intervention, without man the cycle can begin again. . .

If we inhabit such a fate filled world, strung out and hung out as we are, what is there to control but self?
What is there to force but stillness.
What is there to change but flow.

Be prepared for death by knowing thy self
be still and fear nothing cause nothing is real.
Do not react to fear but from the heart.
Do not be afraid to be afraid
smile in the face of illusion and follow your will pure crackling fire.

. . . and the egg shell surface shattered into an infinite universe

james alan — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 15:31:25 +0000

Abandon the god in the papers, the god in the churches, the god from our youth. . . Not the god within, not the conscious universe we so deeply sinked into. The universe was our vessel, god it self was and is within. I renounce nothing, The universal mind touched my temple as I lay twisted trying to escape my physical body. I became a divine presence. The gift, the search, the answer is us. And we are the living end.

Burn your books of knowledge, numbers don’t mean a thing. Your idols are mere imitations, limitations, abbreviations of true vibrations. The book is written through the hands of being, there is no law, we are the play, the director and the audience. .  

This fragile egg shell existence, so thin to break, below above and around us became space, eagerly – we tapped the shell..  we broke the glass and stepped through.

fragments

james alan — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 15:25:47 +0000

the angel and the stranger
shimmer in danger

________________________________________________________

baby blue’s shiny shoes
were as close as he got to singing the blues

________________________________________________________

at dawn the pawn became a man

________________________________________________________

you don’t need the sunshine
you don’t need night time
you just need no need
to make it right now

________________________________________________________

what she said to me – a fatal victory

________________________________________________________

smily wildly where ships sank and infinite rain breathed new life into us all.

________________________________________________________

fish sticks and cheap tricks tonight at 8!

________________________________________________________

the best it can be is the worst it ever is
the worst it can be is the best it ever is

________________________________________________________

freedom from all forms is absolute and necessary if i am to pass
through my next threshold of living.

you and other medleys

james alan — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 15:10:40 +0000

you owe it to yourself
to not be the person you use to be.

Look at me

james alan — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 15:15:19 +0000

Look at me,
Who am I supposed to be?
Who am I supposed to be?
Look at me,
What am I supposed to be?
What am I supposed to be?
Look at me,
Oh my love, oh my love.
Here I am,
What am I supposed to do?
What am I supposed to do?
Here I am,
What can I do for you?
What can I do for you?
Here I am,
Oh my love, oh my love.
Look at me, oh please look at me, my love,
Here I am – Oh my love.
Who am I?
Nobody knows but me,
Nobody knows but me,
Who am I?
Nobody else can see,
Just you and me,
Who are we?
Oh my love, oh my love.
Oh my love…

- John Lennon | From Plastic Ono Band Album

typewriter excerpt

james alan — Fri, 29 May 2009 17:22:51 +0000

Below is an excerpt from a project my wife and I started. Similar to Burroughs & the dadaists, we leave a piece of paper in the typewriter and from time to time add whatever thoughts or free flowing words that come to mind. The aim is simple: A continuous flow of pure thought. Just what will show itself if self steps aside? In other words, pulling back the curtain of that third mind.

“sweet silver tongue how you rage in your cage, slung slumping over
humming along the railways, gazing city horizons through glassy
eyed bottles, left behind by the number 9.“

remember the risks

james alan — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 03:47:01 +0000

I almost forgot I had this little space.
I almost forgot to breathe.
I almost forgot what a waste some things are.
I almost forgot the way the winds calms my nerves.
I almost forgot what automatic was.
I almost forgot I wasn’t alone.
I almost forgot what no one knows.
I almost forgot the point.
I almost forgot the seasons restrictions.
I almost forgot the emptiness in time.
I almost forgot the light that shines.
I almost forgot to forgive.
I almost forgot to let go.
I almost forgot that the universe smiles on me.
I almost forgot the essence of chaos.
I almost forgot the words.

forever stirring the clouds (for megan)

james alan — Thu, 15 May 2008 14:54:00 +0000

You are my center when I spin away

you are the sun that makes me rise in the morning

and the rain the keeps me warm in bed

you are the river I wish to flow in forever

you are the trees that give me shade

you are the air from which I breath

you are the storm that stirs me

you are another me and I another you

we are the alchemy of love

forever stirring the clouds.

You have my Infinite love Megan.

Happy Anniversary!

Yours,

James