This blog is now officially once again active, now that I have lost each and every last one of my readers. I only ever had three, so I'm not that concerned. This just means I can spend more time with myself. And, by the way, for anyone who doesn't know (because Scott fucking knows), I am back in Maryland. I will be here until the middle of January, unless I can find some way out of here. This state does nothing to fill the hole. Instead, it rips it open and makes it a bit more gaping every hour.

The night I got home, my father said to my brother and me, as he was going to bed, "No walks." I imagine everyone who reads this (all three of you, god bless you) knows what this means. I'll elaborate for my own benefit anyway. It means, "don't escape from my evil grimy clutches; I've had you for twenty-one years and I'll be fucked if I'm letting you out now. You are not permitted to leave my cloying, soul-killing house, because when you do so, the only thing you do is smoke, which makes you morally disgraceful as well as offensive to me personally. I cannot legally kill you physically, so I will do so mentally. Wallow in the psychological pit of boiling blood which I have created for you. Good night." That 'good night' I just threw in there to remind you that this is, after all, my father, and that's what a normal father may reasonably be expected to say. That's what my father presumably considered, only to replace it with "no walks."

Oh, and Eric is home too, and today we both took a bus to Manhattan. I found out that we had this ability just the day before, when my mother called and asked if we wanted to go with her coworkers to Manhattan because someone had given up two tickets. I haven't slept for about thirty eight hours, and I have seen altogether too much to even remember, but here are some poems I wrote in the Klee room at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

On "Portrait of a Yellow Man":

Although you might think
Dignity is expensive
You ain't seen nothing

My lips are bovine
My features are painted on
I am still a man

On "Small Portrait of Girl in Yellow":

Do you like my smile?
I am not looking at you.
Like it if you must.

I spent centuries
Sitting with my gaze just so
Can I get up now?

On "Collection of Figurines"

left
Fear is perverse in the face of so much indifference. Keep half an Eye on everything and cook it in your glowing blue third eye opening inward and outward, rising like an ecstatic cold sun. Eating fire only leads to a frozen stomach. Material is interconnected, but spirit spills all over the place. Nothing stays still.
opposite
Jumping blind leads to unmitigated joy. You might as well laugh at danger because nothing bad is possible or even conceivable. What would "bad" mean when the world is you? Play with yourself. It's fun. Whee! (splash)
center
The senses are limiting and unnecessarily stern. Experience everything that exists with a single simultaneous sense organ at the center of your being. Knowledge is neither subjective or objective; truth is meaningless, if beautiful, but sensation is an endless shot of whiskey burning everything with sheer all-encompassing intoxication of knowledge, like a circular angle. Which do you choose?

On "The man under the pear tree"

Fruit hangs like boobs practically forcing you to pick it, so you do. Glaring vulgar sexuality of desirable juices which proves you are not innocent, because if you were you wouldn't understand. A single inch of earth produces a mile of flowing plant energy. Man sees spot for self in universe, takes it. Even if the fruit never falls, he's satisfied. Tree thrusts growing limbs to eagerly dispelof its masterpieces, so readily it must have a slave mentality.

Some other one-liners:
"My bellybutton is the only proff that I, too, was once human."
"I gaze at the constant spectacle of nothing going on."
"My head is a melting former ice sculpture."
"My tadpole body slithers down the chair of myself while you politely suppress peals of laughter."
"The sun falls beneath my knees to fully illuminate my sordid, unhappy genitals."
"Slothfully, we will devour your oozing, suculent enthusiasm with fishlike gracelessness."

Klee is awesome.