hey, we're going tubing later.
and melanie was out there nursing the baby and a car full of men (oh the surprise) screamed 'hey way to go kid' to the baby. man. it's a car full of yinzermen following me.
wait, i had something really wild to say before.
oh, well i'll just start proofreading. when the sun goes down, we'll tube away. and i'll write my column all night. i just feel bad and they are going to be moving and i'd just like to be able to help more and feel like a dick writing instead of working. but eating healthy sure is alot of work. i don't have the time. i mean i just don't care i guess.
downtown let's go downtown.
there's a place called downtown
where the hippies all go
cause they want to be seen
like a room full of pictures
like a psychadelic dream.
see, i sure do like to stay in. and i just decided that i'm writing adam in to all of my bus columns. tunes are too central. i feel like so tied to him. is it the same nonreality that brings me to these people's doors? i mean do we draw conclusions about people based on nothing of substance?
he just feels so much a part of this for some reason. i just think a lot of people found me on the crows' group. i just wish i could somehow, well i hope he does read me and worry about me and get mad at me but at times i hope my words take the edge off, even if i am an illusion.
or hey baby, more accurately, yes... the central question is if this in here, pure language and words, all thought, is the reality? and that all we see through the senses are illusion? isn't that buddhism.
but i love the five senses, though. they feed my words. so. yes. nonexistance is an illusion. i just think we are bound to our body to learn to enjoy it, not fight it. but balance is a tricky business...
but i'd never have pictured the people i've met to be like they were. so i'm wigged.
but this thing with adam. well i feel like he wishes he could be with me. i do. funny.
WOW HOLY SHIT. i was just thinking about consequences about talking about so much shit and meeting people and thought about all the stuff i say about adam and i could be so god-awful wrong.
and la la la, i don't give a fuck. i love adam. la la la la la. and you can't stop me. and neither can he. let's go downtown. oh, adam moved to L.A. on purpose. don't you think that's a bad sign of something? so is what's happening to me being out here.
it's just that so much pressure is on me to be this jo. and i'm telling you, *this* jo is only possible when i'm alone in my room with my head full of dreams and my arms full of scars i don't care never stop dreaming. i am the jocean. giant underjo. ( reround the tape).
but so much, well yes, this is the ideal jo, i could only be like this all the time with someone i felt really comfortable with. but i am generally always the same and just try and be nice so leave me alone. i am not so different. and i don't treat adam like a diety.
i mean. well, okay what i think is that music is the only thing he hasn't run from that threatened to consume him. but he is being consumed. i just have a bad feeling. i mean he's funny and he'll always survive but he. i don't know. so many people who write to me say the same thing, it's like he lost something and can't find it, or doesn't even know where to begin to look.
but he admits it kinda, i mean well his big problem is that he finds what he wants and there are conditions of maintaining those relationships that he resents. i mean i paraphrased from his own words. he wants he wants. but nothing is ever enough. and he fights it. i mean we're all like this or entropy would engulf us. the trick is directing those wants. having like a soul goal.
and you learn what you want by finding what you don't want anymore, that's all. find out what you are by trying to be something else. that's all.
i wonder how many famous people drop in here to see me squirm and to convince themselves that it was all worth it?
i can never sell out because i am trash. only trash desires me. it's just that there are more of the bumbled and the botched than the beautiful people. and really, the beautiful people are only pictures. they are fully aware of their faults the more beautiful they become. funny. and we all dispise perfection anyway. cause no one deserves it. we worship what we wish we were and can never be so it is all a strange web between love and hate and what you have being constantly haunted by why you think you want,
want want
the only thing that gets you from a to b and back again
only much faster
man this jo types so fast up here stoned in woodstock without a worry except for tomorrow and feeling so tired. man, you people. oh, the next house i go to i have to smoke pot on the roof. this man is going to have to smoke pot just to mellow down to my level.
but see, i thought i was, well i was so different even when i got the first guy's house. no wigdom at all. by the end of the first night, my stomach was killing me and i was fully wigged. man. and it got worse until we drank and i just say the shit that needs to be said but i tend to wait to see if the source goes away and like a toothache, it only worsens, you know?
but no more, i will be sargent jo setting definate limits on stupid shit. i just have to be able to know i can. i don't even know what i'm talking about. i just have to be totally honest and it is really hard with the kindest strangers you could ever feel unworthy of meeting. man, is this how i make adam feel?
it better not be. i think he should be on my wavelength in a big way. all that he sings about, i am in the middle of up to my elbows. and yet this isn't shit compared to like what a cop sees everyday.
and neil just sang
"and sometimes i feel that we're just the same"
after singing
sometimes i feel like a piece of paper sometimes feel like my own king
then some stuff you can't here, you know, getting real quiet like he's getting into scarier and scarier stuff and the most scary line is
sometimes i feel like we're all the same.
bullseye. i mean that is the scary shit. that we're all the same. that we're all capable of the things we despise most.
and men, well in general, i don' think you have a right to just touch us dames. if it isn't the right man, it has a really horrible feeling to it. to me, it's just a matter of respect.
again, you men have to let the dame make the first move. if she doesn't do it, she doesn't really want you. if she really did, no matter how scared she was, she would be all over your unworthiness. no, i think men can be cool. paul is very cool. they have there little wigdoms. mel's a lot like me. real smart. very thorough and energetic and high strung. but everyone seems to be forgetful. that's right. even non-pot smokers tend to zone a lot.
oh, and it is so nice being alone here with the best that i am, me on this damn computer. in many ways, i confine myself to what i preach. writing forces me to walk my talk. that is what i'm doing.
but like watching the baby trying to crawl, she ends up going backwards or mostly just rocking back and forth letting momentum move her, sometimes going face first. ouch baby.
a rush none the same. and wow, the whole world moves just a little. imagine how adults would cry and scream being locked into a car seat. kids have a rough world. no control. man.
see, that's how i feel. but i will just be real honest and up front, regardless of how uncomfortable.
oh, and you men. you touch us certain ways, totally sexual, and we say 'please don't touch me' and you guys say 'i didn't do anything.
and we're supposed to sit there like assholes feeling crazy even though we know what happened. and then he touches you again only even a little more intensly. and you can't say anything cause he said it was totally harmless. man.
and snuggling. man. it doesn't happen. i can't tell you how many men, well every single one. that's right. everyone who ever said that always had to try it. we'll just kiss. and then Oh Henry starts stiffening and you're pushing him away but it's like you all just can't help it and feel the warmth rising off my tum tum
oh shut up. it's just that you men are like slobbering puppies so much more than i remembered. funny. i don't feel desperate at all now. like i feel like i have a damn good world in my corner of jo-town. my yard and house is so excellent.
but man, me eyes are on fire out here. i've been wanting to get out of dodge and just drift around. i mean i want to see it all. i'm not kidding. i ache to keep moving around.
honestly, if it weren't so hot, i love the feeling of being lost and at the mercy of fate. of feeling so alone yet so dependent on strangers. groovey.
and no, i don't want a car. the safer the trip, the less of a chance karma has to reach you.
it's wild, not having that instant mobility. being so dependent on literally, the kindness of strangers.
wow. and i am so lucky. i had never imagined how much kindness there was out there. and how much sadness. and how much silly shit. i mean it all is funny. the unspoken details of our lives.
the details are the only thing that change. and writing about others, i can't really get into the details. so you'll just have to trust my observations without the corporeal symbols.
see, college jo on the bus. man. i feel like i've been writing forever. time to go back to the beginning. there are so many things i want to say.
oh, mirrors. they are not natural. in the same way i think the internet isn't real. no, well i haven't figured it out yet. but it just seems like mirrors aren't natural. like why should you care what you look like if you can't see yourself? and how would you relate to the image in the mirror? i mean it cant' be you in there cause you aren't in there.
same way with cyberspace. oh, this was my genius observation. well it was at the time. no, it's significant. somehow.
i am not the jo anyone imagines cause i can't possibly describe everything detectable by the five senses. as a matter of fact, oh wow, this is devoid of any sensuality at all.
yes, this is the future. cyberspace and sex and love and on the street we can't even look at each other.
even blake knew that the only door to the soul was through the five senses. music is so important. so is sight.
but maybe this is a higher thing. not being bound by the body, being totally able to engage in language that are instant conversations. no, the mind is nothing without the body. nothing. and visa versa. no shit.
anyway, so anyway, even in a mirror you see what you need to. this world teaches us to see imperfections. but our imperfections seem to be signs. symbols of our unworthiness. but what's funny, is that in many cases, the mirror is irrelevant. feeling is everything. i mean i feel much hugher than other people think i am. but my body is so spent. and even as i said that, mel cruised by like so naked. man, i would love to be able to cruise like that. but i don't know. i love the feel of clothes. fabric is just soft.
so throw your hatred down.
but no matter what, if i have to seal myself from the world in able to write about things honestly, then i will. but that seems dishonest. it's just that the negative is so seductive especially since this world clones it as family values and shit.
man, tunes are so important and i want to write lyrics for everyone and i really won't need that much money and how famous will they ever let me be, you know? i am too wrong. or who knows, maybe my destiny is a straight line to the big time, to being able to bend the ear of the world a little. and i think i have a good message. that is needed so bad. the entire history of the planet is in our hands.
then again, a supernova could hit at anytime and we'd all be whacked. and that would be great cause we'd all blow up at the same time and the soul power would start a whole new big bang and it'd be like, okay, back to being trilobites you idiots.
brave new world.
man.
no closure.