Archive for the Ennui Category

Attractive Rubble

Posted in Ennui on March 7, 2009 by polarbearface

“I don’t use drugs, my dreams are frightening enough.” – M.C. Escher

 

X = Stranger

I am an X amongst many X‘s, and I guess that means that because of the fact, getting by shouldn’t at all be that difficult. In hindsight, I’d rather even say that the Me that was me back before I was the ME as I am today, could have used some pointers towards the right direction of most other Me’s (sub X) out there in the world. But before I go on, I just want to add that being me is at most times funny. I laugh a lot at the strangest things. My therapist says that this is because I’ve gained “control” over the issues that allow ME to be me.

 

Question: What are your thoughts when facing an opponent?
Bruce: There is no opponent.
Question: Why is that?
Bruce: Because the word ”l” does not exist.
A good fight should be like a small play…but played seriously. When the opponent expands, l contract. When he contracts, l expand. And when there is an opportunity… l do not hit…it hits all by itself (shows his fist).
Any technique, however worthy and desirable, becomes a disease when the mind is obsessed with it.

So in this new found need to express my Weekend Me, I have sort of tapered the drinking off, made some new songs, and waxed, polished, and shined my numchuk collection. It’s all for the betterment of the weather in my house, and in hopes of reuniting in a dark alley with my arch-enemy-Me.

 

I won’t eat anything green. ”  – Kurt Cobain


Which brings me to my next point: Why, is it that beer and me don’t get along on Friday nights, or Saturday nights for that matter [otherwise known as W(sub M)(b/F+S)].  And why do I find myself always doing the same routine at the same hour after I’ve been drinking for several hours previously? [Also known as Σ of W{W(sub M)(b/F+S)}/R]. What is it? Well, I go home, make stabs at what tomorrow will probably feel like {probability that the Σ W/R is y, and why it’s a strange thing to be anything at all}. Then I fall asleep and dream about being someone else who never Fails and because they never fail, they are in fact inherently imperfect like the rest of us; this also makes him X too.

 

 

“Some people are just dicks.”

Have a great weekend!

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Weekend Worriers

Posted in Ennui on February 1, 2009 by polarbearface

“Future me with — authentic Caucasian beard extensions.”

Going to school is pretty fun. I have to admit, getting books, talking to counselors, financial aid process (doing taxes), dorm parties, hanging out with underage drinkers (who are proficient in talking about strong philosophical approximations), and soaking in the intense intellectual ardor of Sylvia Plath through the eyes of a freshman young adult is nothing but PRECIOUS. Nonetheless, this weekend, has been good. And I didn’t lose anything important. Just my dignity.

 

“Men are like steel. When they lose their temper, they lose their worth.” (Chuck Norris)

Moreover, last night, I watched a vicious UFC fight. It was raw, intense, graceful, and at the same time, twisted. The fight was between a beloved fighter named George St. Pierre (GSP for short); and another guy named BJ Penn (largly considered a d-bag in many social circles). I like to watch these things. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve weened myself over the years of trash-tube footage (the Internet is amazing and renowned for finding PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING); or if I just have realized the need to learn how to fight like a ninja. For details, click here. Oh, and mind the Quebecois rap music — very inspirational. 

 

 

A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between he does what he wants to do. ” (Bob Dylan)

 

I should be studying now. It’s true. I have so much to study for, and yet, here I am writing a blog here. I wish I didn’t have to be doing this…but I felt the strong need to write. Perhaps this need sprung forth through my recent encounter with the idiosyncratic demeanor that first-year college students often project  like a beacon of soft burning naiveté? my love of writing songs about Quilts, Bear Bells, Bears in Boxes, and other such complicated or meaningless contraptions? or was it because I have mastered some area of my life…and want to talk about me? You know, I really should be writing my poor incarcerated cousin…

 

“All is vanity…” (Charles Allan Gilbert)


I had the opportunity to meet a new person the other day, and in this meeting (we’d been drinking, etc); I asked to her, “What part of yourself would you want to change the most, if you indeed wanted to change it?” She replied, “I’m vain. It’s true…I’m philistine…it’s sad..I wish I wasn –” I cut her off, “Yeah, Israel, jeez…I can’t express how much my heart goes out to your family…extended family..”

She thinks I’m stupid. And I think she’s right. In all actuality, this weekend’s been a good reminder to:

  1. Brush up on Israel
  2. Buy groceries
  3. Don’t keep a loaded weapon in the house
  4. Get belt buckle fixed

TIME MANAGEMENT

Posted in Ennui on August 3, 2008 by polarbearface

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real…

I have a few questions for myself: Why. Would. You. Drop/Drugs. At 4am? Why? Who does that? I don’t know. There were so many reasons why I talked myself into doing this, that I realized, I am THAT GUY. “Hey, let’s be rockstars, and fuckin’ drop some DRUGS!” Perhaps the best part of it all has to do with the fact that I don’t do drugs. Like I had something to prove? Like I have something to give!?

Life Decisions 2008

Anyhow. After about 1 homemade pancake, 2 cups of coffee, 40-minute east Texas yearbook explorations and introspective thoughts as to why I should have grown up in either east Texas or Queens, like all of the other really wonderful people in my life, and a bike ride home that I will not soon forget, I feel substantial, relieved, and totally subconscious.

September 11th.

As I write this now, I am still pretty much aware that dropping 15-year old drugs at 4am while talking about how rockstar it is to be sooooo clueless yet sooo completely approachable; filled with adult beverages and memories that confuse even me; is all some hoax to get me out of doing my daily routine and fulfilling my civil responsibilities. I am left with one 2-part question: “How can I make this day, the weirdest day of my life; and if it came in musical format (which it does), what would it sound like?”

Writing on Scrolls

Posted in Ennui on July 7, 2008 by polarbearface

Please love me again

Dull moments.

When I change the brain chemistry of my mind, and experience a fully different reality (even if it’s for a short while), I am challenged, propositioned rather, to become aware of the love that exists between myself and others. In detail, I believe the ability to compromise the feeling with the action of love and being loved is performed solely through what can only be called the lively hood of moments passed. Or sometimes, lost. Memory of mind. Glass thoughts; a single shard that portrays itself more like a ghost of the very recently deceased painter, or musician who undertook the weight of love as a distinct function of a working reality. By which the creator proper, is still the loving, and thereby still the main focus of my attention.

You can\'t stop what\'s coming.

You cannot stop what has already come.

In these blind, and weightlessly, long nights, that seem to go nowhere and everywhere (but mostly nowhere), I find myself flying towards the bottomless light, the ending that hasn’t arrived just yet. And I wonder why not, why it hasn’t come to be, through the many dangers that I’ve lived and the many more I’ve loved. Out of all the worlds that I’ve come to know, why has my principal fate not yet been sealed? Perhaps more importantly, why do these questions still pester me without forgiveness, or pity? I must admit, many ceilings have seen my open eyes…

And then it came to me

Your Dexterity

And in these connected affirmations, it would be wildly presumptuous to recall the visions that I’ve had and labeled them as being wrought through the boisterous powers of deduction; it would be incredulous of me to place the power of belief towards the endless middle vision (thoughts that cannot be controlled, attenuated, but thoughts that come to me freely without restraint, as is when my body has made love with another), that owns and betroths me to my own ideas of what a supplicated existence should truly mean. But through these creations of the creator within me, and during those brain changing moments, my instinctual qualities are somehow memorized through the patterns of a vast layer of subsystems that my brain has been using for any number of years — because there inside of this world is an answer to every question that I’ve ever had. And it all comes down to this:

Come back home

Living and Dying. A memoir of the mouth. A series of pale diagrams that explain nothing too deep that the mind can’t follow, yet full of well composed and fully rounded questions. My middle mind sees a bowl of bent swords and pierced plates of enamored armor, all of which recall the memory of when I was truly invincible and impregnable against the normalities of this embodied life. Living and Dying: a stand that the creator makes within that given lifetime to become worth more than s/he was before their fortuitous entrance into this world of wonders.

I suppose that alongside it all, this life has been a thunderstorm of ironic and semi-calculated observations, all of which have payed tribute during these last few months. And maybe it seems as though this fate, has been sealed; and the insight of a becoming, hundred-year light, can finally fill my heart without the conflict of moral decay. It can be noted that the actions that have led me to this point, have indeed made their shapes clear to me, by which the night indeed rolls on, far into the azure mist and its deep morning secrets. Alas, I await the toppings of a sleep that must be had.

Those Were The Days

Posted in Ennui on June 27, 2008 by polarbearface

Hi, uh is, Sarita there?

Who this?

Hey! It’s me. I was thinking maybe you know, we could, go get a bite to eat
maybe check out that new Rambo mov–

– Seriously. Who this?
I know you?

It’s uh…it’s me Howarde (with an e), from two nights ago.
Do you remember, me?

Oh right. Yeah. I remember you. Hey listen…about that. The other night.
I had a lot of fun. You’re a cool guy. (Sighhh) But I just ain’t ready for this shit.
You know gettin’ serious. I’m sorry… Goodbye uh…

Howarde
It’s, Howarde.

Howardde… Yeah.
..sorry, bye..

(Click)

.
I, think
it’s over…

Ahhh.. Man, don’t worry about her… You’re a good guy.

Yeah, but I was really into her. I felt, something.

Now – now wait. You just wait, you’re an awesome guy. A fun guy!
And a damn good man. A whole lotta’ people can attest to that.
Hay. You know what?

What?

It just so happens that while running my Bar, I run into a lotta’ ladies
looking for a good man — could maybe introduce you.

Hey, that’d be really great! Do you know anyone in mind?

I sure as hell do buddy — name’s Akiko Takahashi. She’d be just perfect for you!
Gotta a nice pair a’, you know — way up your alley man… yes sir —

– Well, I want serious relationships — no one-time thing.
I’m tired of the games..

Would I, your best buddy, ever in a million billion years,
screw you like that? C’mon, man – You’re my boy!

Thanks…man thanks.
For everything.

It’s That Time, Again

Posted in Ennui on June 23, 2008 by polarbearface

Who am I

You’re just a computer. You could .. never understand.

I’ve been taking in a lot of weird waves these past few days. Weird waves are good waves, but when the weird waves start to loop, it becomes a weirder wave, and then I buckle. Like, a broken show. Right down the middle. The loop, circles around like a fly buzzing, my brains. Pink melt. I wish I could be more confident when approaching the past. I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I feel like my soul’s interface has been hacked by the Gibson:

Anyhow, I’m getting through it all. Or was, until I found out about Carlin’s Death. Very sad. He actually helped me to stop doing drugs (Snare, SYMBOLS; SNARE). Seriously. I was 14, or 15. And looked like this:

Remember

And I was doing all sorts of drugs because I thought that’s how it had to be, you know, on account of my being a product of weird, parental abandonment issues. ANYHow. I was watching one of Carlin’s stand up routines, when he said something to the effect of, “Your body knows when it’s done with a particular drug…” It was at this point that I realized, ACID was done with me at this point. I blame acid for my emotional awkwardness. Notwithstanding, I moved on, unlike some people.

Simple?

No, that’s not what I meant.

Well what did you mean? Is this a game to you?

Listen guys, get a room.

“SHUT UP!”

So, you just think you can come here, and things will be alright, like nothing happened?

That’s not what I’m saying, you’re not listening.

Then what are you say–

Please, guys, trying to drink.

“Stay out of this Blinkie.”

“Yeah Blinkie, or it’ll be like that one time! Why don’t you and your quite weird friend make like a tree and leave… Jesus…”

So, is this it then?

Is what it?

This, wait. That’s weird.

What?

That guy’s taking pictures of us.

Way to change the subject.

Kill-a-Thon 2008

Posted in Ennui on May 7, 2008 by polarbearface

Killing your friends has never been this much fun!

Do you remember when things were easy, and your good friend would maybe play a trick on you and tie your shoes together? And you’d fall over, and say something like, “Oh Dennis, you silly string bean!” That was fun right?

Well good. As long as you can remember them.

These days all of our cymbal-crashing personalities have created a splendidly visually violent society of madscientistartists (like myself and anyone who reads this weird thing), and I must say most, of us have “evolved” methods of saying hello to one another. Below is an excerpt of how my friend Zach and I communicate on pretty much, a daily basis. For posterity, I titled it, because Zach would have not wanted that and I would have don’t you see that’s how our genius flows!

Until Death Do you .. Die

by Zach Muhn and Anthony Muñoz

Zach: i am looking forward to beating the shit out of you

1:02 PM me: dude, he’s coming and we’re going to kill him!
oh shit, wrong windwo
1:03 PM Zach: anthony munoz is a dead man
RIGHT window
1:04 PM me: you are on the path to pure destruction…
1:05 PM Zach: if pain was a verb, i would be verbing you with it
1:06 PM me: if pain was my fist on your neck, you would be dead man walking.
Zach: if necks could be broken, i would break yours. Oh wait, they can. Prepare for death.
1:07 PM me: Have you heard of Elliott Smith? Good. You will be meeting him tomorrow night.
Prepare for Death!
Zach: hey are you a big fan of Metalocalypse? Also, i am going to murder you.
1:08 PM me: Oh great! I love that band, you will be dead as soon as you step onto my lawn.
1:09 PM Zach: oh man, its gonna be so great hanging out with you(r dead body that i will have killed).
me: I can’t wait to see by best friend (who shall be ground into dust by my murderous habits of the dark night)
1:13 PM Zach: man, its gonna be awesome to make music (by stepping on your corpse which willmake dead sounds)
1:14 PM me: yeah, i can’t wait to bury you in the back yard (I will bury you in the backyard after I murder you).
Zach: hahaha
1:15 PM okay, seriously though, it will be great to see you stabbed.

10 o’clock, 2 o’clock, 10 o’clock, 2 o’clock

1:18 PM me: Dude, what are we doing? This is crazy, I want to see you and kill your face off.
Simple as that.
1:22 PM Zach: man, i don’t mean any of this, except the part about wanting you dead, so dead that you are unable to live, dead and buried forever.
1:23 PM me: man, that’s cool, i totally understand that you’re murderous bastard who will do anything to kill off his friends, only to again realize that he is himself insane, driven by his own desire to kill his father. which of course, means i really care about you, being dead.
1:24 PM Zach: thats a sweet thing for a friend to say, particularly to the guy thats going to kill him with a gun.
1:25 PM me: you know, a funny thing: i actually am going to come back when i’m dead, IF YOU KILL ME, and rape your life until you go insane and kill yourself with a selfmade killing robot.
so, in the end, i win. you fail.
like always..
1:26 PM Zach: well, if that were to happen, you know that it would be infact only a version of a story i was writing, so in real life i win and YOU FAIL forever and ever, die deadman die.
1:27 PM me: You see, again, we reach this arena of confusion, you’re. Already, dead, Zach Muhn, you’re a dead man walking.
Zach: whats that anthony munoz? i cant hear you because DEAD MAN TELL NO TALES. and you are the dead man in that word equation.
1:29 PM me: well done. for a dead person, zach. when are you going to wake up and realize that you’ve been dead for these last few years? dead! You died! I know, I was there, I watched you die! Yet, you continue to come back, again, and again — haunting the very man that killed you!
Mark my words, Muhn, no more! Nay, no more!
1:30 PM Zach: you know what anthony? if im dead, then that means you are very dead, because my only wish to the True God was that anything that happened to me would happen thrice as much to you. So, welcome to tripledead.
1:33 PM me: Being tripledead, meant that he was living a life full of bad memories and ancient visions…it was a thing of the past for Anthony…who since lurked in the shadows, plagued by his own thwarted schemes, his own destiny — he was rought with paranoid dreams of death, betrayal and worse, having realized that his best friend, Zach, was still at the bottom of the ocean, where his decaying body has been for over 10 years…. Anthony was in a sense, dead, but not as dead as Zach…his only friend…
1:34 PM who is in the medical and clinical sense, dead.
1:37 PM Zach: zach played the recording again, the one where anthony’s “zach is dead” fantasy came to fruition. He stopped the recording and realized that it had been over 10 years since he had killed anthony. And in those 10 years, he never doubted once that it was right to kill him.
1:42 PM me: Finally, the last page in the script. The producers at Simon and Gargenfield Inc., loved the script. Where 2 best friends committ murderous vows to each other, and where eventually, one friend dies of cancer. It was a beautiful script, and the producers loved it, wanted to make a film out of it — wanted to give me the hard cash for making their day with such incredible ideas and new directions. Only they would never know. They would never know, that Zach was in fact, dead. Buried under the steps at an old cemetary in some town I’ll never return to… I miss Zach… but it’s, better…this way…

7 minutes
1:49 PM Zach: and that’s how zach‘s blog ended, with the words”its better this way.” zach knew that noone could really believe that the story had actually ended up the opposite way, with anthony very dead and buried in a post office somewhere in Montana. But, the interent is a big place, and there are a lot of dead anthonys. Zach, however, only remembers the one anthony…the one that he killed.
1:52 PM me: ……odd…a new revision… “Clarice! Get me Anthony on the phone now! I love this new revision!”
1:53 PM Zach: Zach:”ahhh, youtube. where anything can happen, except only the one thing did – i killed anthony and filmed a fantastical twist story where it looks like I didnt sometimes! I love dead anthony.”

6 minutes
1:59 PM me: It was at this point that I realized, this could no longer go on…the Zach Muhn memories, the twists, the lies, all of it — inside my head, forever haunting me since that fateful night in Montana…did I die, did he die? Who died? What died? What was reborn? So many questions, confusion after confusion…. I fear, I may end it all… And if I did, I could kill the voice, in my head, I could kill Zach Muhn, once and for all!
2:01 PM Zach: and thus Zach Muh the God-child did smile on his flock, and regretted only one thing: killing anthony, the creator of such fantastical zach-death stories.
2:02 PM me: They say that if you kill a man, you kill his every action, all of what he can and will be… when Zach shot Anthony that night, he forgot one thing… To kill him…
2:05 PM Zach: anthony is dead. sprry everyone, my play only ends this way.

5 minutes
2:11 PM me: Ironic slow clapping… Excellent work, Zach. Excellent work indeed.