Tag Archives: words


[dispatch] 20170424.1449 sidewalk terror

April 24, 2017 at 02:49PM
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[dispatch] 20170422.2330 celery salt

April 22, 2017 at 11:30PM
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[dispatch] 20170422.1138

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Write On The Exhale

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analog truth, typos make

Communication is a form of respiration.

“You want to know what I think…?” is the same as asking, “You want to know how I breathe…?”

Resonant, meaningful discourse flows as a meditation, where we think on inhale and communicate on exhale. Thinking, writing, and speaking — these mirror different stages of breathing, and together form a respiratory cycle.

We draw our breath to prepare, to gird, and in doing so, leave ourselves vulnerable to enter the unknown. Will we take in enough air? Will we make the train? Is there anybody out there?

Conspicuous breathing in — the audible struggle for air — gasping — happens under threat of drowning, choking, or asphyxiation. Apprehension and uncertainty underwrite every inhale.

Confidence and awareness, by contrast, infuse every exhale. Breathing out means we have another breath to take, or that we will rest in peace and/or resignation, knowing the one just released will be our last. Everything renews every time our respiration cycle refreshes. You change the world every time you exhale.

Writing and speaking are subsets of exhaling.

Speaking comprises shorter inhales and exhales — faster thinking, quicker tongue. Writing involves longer breaths and slower output, more thinking, more holding your tongue.

Holding your tongue is not the same as holding your breath.

“Held my tongue,” lasted at minimum a full cycle and a half of respiration, in which you thought twice, and didn’t speak. You inhaled, then exhaled, then inhaled again. Then spoke.

Holding the breath is a frozen inhale. Frozen thinking.

It’s easy to tell if someone’s holding their breath while speaking. At some point, they have to stop to exhale, or talk through their exhale. Either way creates unnatural pauses and rhythms, most likely in places the speaker never intended. Losing the rhythm of breathing is the precursor, not the symptom, of losing a train of thought, of stage fright and stress.

Writing allows the same effect. So much commentary now is written on the inhale, or while writers hold their breath, where hitting the send button becomes the de-facto exhale. These dispatches (and, often, the subsequent exchanges around them) become games of “Watch me while I make myself turn blue.”

The “media” in social media is short for mediation, not engagement. Mediation confers a sporting event, or a judicial proceeding, that defines winners and losers. “First post, best post” almost never holds true, but “first post, most read post” is almost always the case.

There’s no judgment here. The problem is upstream color: Interactive platforms, for all their ingenuity and democratized broadcast participation, are designed around thinking out loud, not reflective writing — safe harbor for polemics, but rough places for slow exhales.

Perhaps that’s what makes Medium feel like a respite. You can breathe here. Or, at least, as a writer, exhale.

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Exercise time:

Inhale and make yourself angry.

Most likely your teeth are gritted, your eyes opened wider and your whole body tensed.

Now try to get angry during a soft, long exhale.

Much more difficult, yes? Your mouth is open or closed, but either way, it’s soft. Maybe your eyes somewhat narrowed, but you’re not making a fist, and you’re more in a state of awareness and reflection, than anger.

All this to say, the next time you write, experiment by writing every sentence on an exhale. It will make all the difference.

——————————————————-

This song, Infinite Destination, off my 2010 record Hola, Sayulita!, flowed from brain to paper to guitar in under two hours — far and away the fastest a track ever materialized for me. The process and result are close as I’ve ever come to capturing a pure exhale in my music, so enjoy its springboard as you move on from here.

Desert sunrise six twenty one
Rising just like fate
Baby you know this is never the end
If you trust the world

All I can do is smile
As you soften your eyes
And draw curves with your questions
‘Til there’s nothing left to say but someday

Infinite destination
You’re every dream I ever had
We’re just pilgrims dancing unstuck in time
Infinite destination
Any life you can have
Dancing forever free from time

The future has its enemies, too
They don’t like people like me; they don’t like people like you
In other words, you got a beautiful attitude

I never take it for granted
How your eyes reverse time
Soft as day breaks and fades the night away

Infinite destination
You’re every dream I ever had
We’re just pilgrims dancing unstuck in time
Infinite destination
Every life you ever had
Dancing forever free from time

Infinite destination
(You’re) every dream I ever have
Just a pilgrim dancing unstuck in time


[dispatch] 20170419.1503 banana lessons

April 19, 2017 at 03:03PM
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[dispatch] 20170417.0937 the faster you scroll

April 17, 2017 at 09:37AM
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[dispatch] 20170415.2043 underground alert

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[dispatch] 20170413.1410 writing / exhaling

April 13, 2017 at 02:10PM
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[dispatch] 20170412.1452 never change, nyc

April 12, 2017 at 02:52PM
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[dispatch] 20170412.0807 recurring

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[words] Mall Kiosk Dreams 20170118.1700

​2 Quid Squid

  • British accented (Sheffield preferred) servers hawk deep fried squid served in mid-90s News Of The World replica newspaper cones

The Fry Friar

  • Belgian Trappist monk uniformed workers serve frites in take out clamshell bowls shaped like giant mussels
  • NO ketchup – only mayo + mustard

The Tweet Suite

  • Buy a 100% guaranteed tweet from an expert writer
  • Kiosk shaped like a church confessional
  • Customer and writer interact through a latticed privacy panel

[dispatch] trigger / anger

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[dispatch] Rage Restaurant

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[poetry] winter streams

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Yes, New York City. This time of years.

I can’t stay in my room that passes for rent.
Somehow I’m nothing without the trouble of garbage and the falling of heroes and the yelling of subways.
High lines and low times and fractured dreams and hated schemes.

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Ravens in flight point the way to survive
filters for a global consciousness.
End of days is always starting.
Youth is neverending tiger manifestos –
quotations further than the green line of manic depressions and headless
obsessions and the one thing that left
impressions on the digressions of assiduous treaties.
Like an Alamo or a dollar bill.

dog. gone. snow.

Vulgarity and virginity
humility and hucksterism.
Gladiators and endless war.
Grateful and
led thankless
by The Dead.

“Friction and crunch!” go the cytoplastic rainmaker rewards
for “Follow me I’ll follow you.”
Float in space. You’re riding with us.

"the signs of paradox" coffee table book

We’ll hit the end of town and turn around and hit the end of town and turn around and hit the end of town and turn around
until you take heed of our dragon wings
and that we are never bored,
or all that detatched / no matter how much
we complain New York City needs
street signs to ‘Caution: Nature.’

for gregory corso

05 jan 2011 12:38a; 02 march 2011 11:21p


[dispatch] Nabucco 010717.1436

January 07, 2017 at 04:36PM
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[poll] most useless garnish

January 05, 2017 at 05:46PM
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[year’s end tradition read] the light walkers

December 30, 2016 at 05:17PM
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[real life] Sterling At The Gates

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A dog’s will to live is its raison d’être. Dogs do not suffer Albert Camus’s “one truly serious philosophical problem” of suicidal ideation. The canine affirmation is automatic and compulsory — a dog will never choose to end his or her life. It simply can’t. Dogs live, and only live.

A dog, by extension, affirms all lives it touches. Life’s entirety, of course, comprises a spectrum of emotions and ricocheting perspectives on reality — from nihilism to optimism, frustration to contentment, abandonment to love. A dog brought home becomes a nexus and repository for all that home’s experiences, memories and outlook.

Projecting a dog’s POV through ours, there’s beauty in their affirming life while (perhaps) never knowing that life is an opt in/out choice. The phrase “dogged determination” is doggone true. We don’t know what a dog knows, but we sense — and communicate through — some kind of mutual sentience. The true paradox of our cross-species communication surfaces as our dogs act with intention: we know they think — but only because we can’t tell what they’re thinking. 

(The know-can’t-tell paradox will also be true in determining whether an artificial intelligence achieves true sentience, but this story here’s about organic lifeforms. Ignore the robots around us, for now.)

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[real life] real fake truth

“fake” is the opposite of “real,” not of “truth”

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We don’t live different lives in one reality. We all live the same life, but in different, discrete realities.

“Conspiracy theories” are battles among competing realities, not between truth and lies. Truth also requires conspiracy to be accepted en masse.

Gravity is a conspiracy theory.

No perception is fake. There’s only what’s “not real to me.” All realities are true.

What’s true, however, is separate from the truth.

“The sky is blue” is true.

“The sky is blue” is not the truth.

Blue is how our eyes perceive a scattered refraction of light passing through particles.

Therefore, belief in blue skies (and their corollary “clear skies”) is a conspiracy theory.

Every blue sky is “fake news.”

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[dispatch] 120616.1551

December 06, 2016 at 03:51PM
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