christopher christopher levesque There once was a poor boy who lived with open ears Sometimes he would wish to be deaf On his walks to school He would certainly hear every sight He would laugh and understand every sound But he never lost control Floating along the subway The people scan with their eyes down the way He must have come across a million people everyday It was strange to understand how frail this was People would talk about other people People would make comments based on their own frustrations and fears He would listen and box off the comments At the end of the day he could very easily recite his regular chats Passive birds and harmony monks climbing around curiously Not alot of grass not alot of green green grass It sounded like a good idea to him at the time It still is I guess I'll talk with myself if I want. No consequence to give the air sequencial events, one plays another word after word... If I read what I did of my own over again, and I have, believe me I've known it again, I'll be fine to tell another story. It's not the idea of anything i'm laughing at, if I do peep through the curtains occasinally, but it's the complaints so drastic and crude. Out to scare and stab, and to make like you've got a position a placement above anyone, especially me. That's not true, you know better. As rude as I've ever been, It's sleep that cures. I don't dwell on a single thing, i'm so uppity and cured. Pick-pocket, don't stop it -- making sense I mean. Tired? Don't read. Interested? Don't complain. And if you're not, shut up anyway. Little cry babies always crying in my ear with the reverse of what I should be like, to them, so easily disected...disconnected like spare parts. Have you a heart? Have you a glimpse into my brain with your advanced little peepers? Is there something about writing or words that I don't know? I didn't know people were psychic after reading a line or two...line dancing I mean. So hows the weather? Nice outside? I've been worrying about the end of the world again...but I slept it off, it's cool outside now. Boy, summer went by so fast...could've sworn I just blinked...get it? like open summers here, close summers gone...It was the saddest time of my life when I cried about the things I couldn't control. Feelings, nothing but those feelings. Got a smoke? You shouldn't...I smoke when I drink when I smoke. And...it's unhealthy. Cancer is the enemy these days... Maybe we need more doctors. I wake up sometimes with that awful cigarette taste in my mouth...I can feel it rotting me away from the insides. Poisoned my lungs...but anyway. Time to change for the normal, once again I lied. No holder is what I wrote on a post card and mailed it to you via air mail...NO HOLDER with an arrow painted in black right below the words NO HOLDER. The arrow is pointing at the holder of the card...While above the arrow pointing at the holder the words NO HOLDER mysteriously present themselves. It's unfortunate because on the top of the post card, above the words NO HOLDER, I wrote the words THIS SIDE UP. So that way the holder would never misdirect the fact that he/she is NOT the NO HOLDER. I want the holder to realize that they cannot shift the blame of the card, but they cannot HOLD the card. NO HOLDER. They are not allowed, but not allowed to point it somewhere else. It is the property of the HOLDER because I sent it as a gift to that particular HOLDER whom is entitled to allow another HOLDER (Who would still remain a NO HOLDER) to HOLD this particular postcard. On another postcard, I cut out the middle of it with a straight razor blade and it wasn't any particular shape...just a messy hole. And I had instructions on how to use the hole in the postcard. Not in a sexual way, of course. But to place your index finger through the hole (after you've taped the card on the wall) and leave it there for 20 seconds only. No more/less. After that you will reflect on what you just did, and smile at the card and walk away. It's an instructional postcard, so it gives you instructions on how to work it...for best results of course. Quite simply, the next few post cards were an insult to the idea of representational postcard building...I mean, if I'd like a postcard to represent my being, I would've asked for one. Anyway, I'd need more than a postcard...But I did it anyway, but anyway...I traced my hands in magic marker on 2 separate postcards...left hand on one, and right hand on the other...you understand completely why a being could only be represented by the tracing of a left and right hand, rather than just one or the other...? I'm sure you do, you're psychic. Anyway, the next post card carried every letter in the english alphabet, and then every number from zero to 9...10 digits...but not one of them is the number 10...that's so uncomfortable, I find. I don't care how you find it, actually, yes I do, I want to know how everybody finds it or if they don't find it at all...That's fine. On 3 other postcards I scanned and enlarged every important piece of my identification. My drivers liscence, my Social Insurance Number, my Health Card, and my Birth Certificate. I'm paranoid, so I blanked out the important digits...and claimed my Social Insurance Number was 64 Billion...isn't that a laugh? I thought it was, but I still didn't laugh...Anyway, I'm an artist, i'm so artistic I'm better than anyone I know, I'm the best artist and I like to talk about the arts, specifically visual art and art history because I'm a fraud. (that was just kidding, just had to kid around...I didn't mean what I just said...and did you notice when I said kid around...maybe that's how radiohead thought of the title for kid a...they were just kidding around...so...kid a-round.) Anyway...Gotta get some sleep, chow, ta-ta, bye-bye...goodnight. P.S. The last postcard was going to simply say: "Wishing you were here...in my brain." Isn't that funny? LOL LOL LOL HA HA HA :) :D I'm almost crying I'm laughing so hard...Oh dear. hostile error era (not me anyway) www.parachutingtrees.com I'll tell you something that's been bothering me for quite some time and it's not as simple as anyone would love to believe it is although you're not responsible for believing in anything i've done so just take this rant in stride if you can understand it without punctuation just like it ever was I can't stand the people who live for so many things and they change at the drop of a hat the personality is altered like some blank peace of paper in front of a three year old child with crayons and finger paints they can cut away at the egos of others and remain confident until they break in half when a lucky boy tells them their deal inside of people is where an idiot shouldn't prod about with knives and pointers you are funny you are funny someone simply sent me a message on the internet and because it's someone I don't particularily like I do take offense to this message from the dark as I did nothing for them to send such a message and then I stare for a minute and decide that I should attack them for what they've said but I didn't bother because being funny isn't a bad thing in fact it's a good thing I'd rather have everyone laugh at me and point at me than nothing at all especially if i'm someone who ok i'll give up again and i'll jump the ship again swap coins for bills and give away cheap thrills for me it's nothing but sirens and ghosts serious as fragmented pieces of my thoughts drip around the sink in my cockroach infested kitchen I'll stomp the life out of all of them within a second of time flies by with the greatest of ease i'm juggling all of my life in just two hands and to see a small boy younger than 5 years paralyzed and in a wheel chair was upsetting to me and it seemed to be upsetting to all who were around the area the boy was just getting off the bus to great his mother and that's all he wanted to do meanwhile I would prance about with my long brittle legs in a hurry like some business freak who works for higher ups in hopes of being one one day I'd rather be at home in the safe confines of my home bedroom where the walls won't seem the same and depression lurks underneath and always behind my back and whenever I blink and stare or whatever I do with my head and circuits I would achieve this empty feeling of past circumstances and remember when I was comfortable and safe store bought and held from my hands rather than me feet if these are supposed to be the best times of my life than I'm terribly ashamed to admit they're not even close to what they should be and it could be it should be it is my fault for everything I do I am in control of for the most part I can prevent and make things happen all around me but once again I forget what I want and when interest seems like it shines a little light through my skull I drown it out with a goodnights rest or behave like some neurotic paranoid shaking freak who takes his drugs to behave and follow the rules to a certain point the sad part is that the highest peak of my hobby held interest turned educational into my job and work and play balanced incorrectly and ruining my inspiration to be motivated ever again I can remember that father paid for me to become something I can become and not fuck around I need to kick this shit and hold the hands of little people who I spit on everyday take a phone call leave a message creating art for money money is what the goal is you get job for work no job no money school job work play enjoy live life drink get drunk stoned take drugs listen to music god i've been through enough but more refined it gets everyday sometimes I listen to the same music and get frustrated at the same fucking points throughout the day whether its waiting for the elevator and having all of these fucking little people stare at me for being a minority I get stared at I've not done a single thing but maybe some other white person has and these fucking people will now fit under a thousand generalizations and hold up high the right to be judged and stereotyped within this lovely pool of multiculturalism no racism aloud but I hear it everyday and see it everyday I don't take part in it but this world is the way it is and a war is going to happen for whatever reason and reality check where am I what am I talking about why I am doing this can someone please tell me to do my homework I have a report an essay and tonnes of homework due tomorrow but will I do it NO I will not because I don't want to do it and I hate it because it's stupid and it's not what paid education should provide but for all other reasons paid education provides shit in most places from what I understand the professors say the lovely jiffs allowing thoughts to stir about in my brain bowl they preach their philosophys their errors our errors and what is right with contradictions always in the background hiding like the spies of the world I learn but not at this cost to hear from a group of mentally unstable people who I just complained about someone saying that I was funny in the beginning of this message and now look at what i've become nearing the end of the message it's like a little treat for you to watch and unfold before your very eyes I need a break one week off and one week on and just money from the machines I need to do what I want to do already and I need guides to help me out with what i'm doing already it's difficult to have a number of ideas and be given a colorwheel to paint instead I can't take the fakes in the palm of my hand these little girls and boys these patronizing people who I am the person I speak of occasionally hurting the rest to be the best whatever it allows is something I guess I should never have written about in the first place because It's impossible to explain an idea or theory under any bright light or dark light doesn't matter what lovely value you give it the space will be the same and the space is the same all of the time for me color it in fill it up with shitty dirty garbage in this awful city and the stink that floats about I wash my hands approximately four thousand times a day for fear of being struck with the dirty filthy cheap infectuous germs that rip my health apart