Dear Philly: I have no idea what happened to me. After a long dark patch where I thought for sure I would die, I found myself traveling around the world, making a living as a fashion model again. Not only that, I was writing again, I was even climbing again (5.12c/d, baby!). I filled up a fresh passport, France, Germany, England, Scotland, Venezuela, the Caribbean etc,... magazines, commercials, catalogs. I never thought I'd see it again. I got married to a beautiful woman and we had the most spectacular baby boy the world has ever seen. We moved out of the city, up north to a small town that sits along the Hudson. I was shooting great jobs but I still played it safe and kept my friday nights at Rodeo Bar. You see, I had learned my lesson with shit, I knew the score. Trust nothing. Anyway, things went on like this for some time, but then something happened. I had a dream one night, a dream that changed things forever, that remains with me today. It was as if all my memories were someone else's and when I awoke that first morning, it was cold, the dead of winter, and I found myself in some altered state where anything could happen and probably would. I laid in bed while the radiator hissed, imagining myself being eaten alive by some sort of beast, a bear or something. I could really feel it, I could hear the sounds of my skull being crushed, being crunched like a nut in its jaws. The pain was absurd and yet I remained alive, watching my flesh being torn away all wet and stringy in its glistening teeth. It was so precise, this imagining, that it needn't ever happen to me because I knew exactly what it would feel like and be like. After that, I imagined myself a soldier storming some beach when a shell exploded and I felt the thud like being kicked by a horse and I watched my arm land up ahead upon the oily sand, my hand clutched like a dead spider belly up toward the sky. I felt my knees hit the ground and I looked down at my guts which had spilled out of my belly. They were just hanging there, steaming blue in the cold grayness. I imagined all sorts of terrible things but then soon I had to get up and go about my day. I talked to people as I normally would, but there was clearly something different about it. It was as if I wasn't really there, that no one was really there. ghosts in a flickering world. I began thinking of things in equations, in amounts, volumes, potencies, ratios of energy. I knew luck was not real, hope was not real, everything negated by fact. There were no true lies, there was no true truth. Percentages. We were beings that had been sentenced to the consequences of whatever body we happened to be in, in whatever time we happened to be in, in whatever world we wound up in for whatever reason. The human conception of time was a flat brick, a bumper sticker thought, a corn cob pipe and a button nose and yes, two eyes made out of coal. I'm saying it doesn't work, it doesn't compute. Frosty The fuckin' Snowman, the devil went down to Georgia. Was he really looking for a soul to steal? Maybe he just wanted some goddamn peaches? All reasons were now unreasonable. To be murdered is to be snared in a trap set at the end of a path trodden by your own steps. People were not people to me anymore as any of us could've just as easily been anyone else, anything else, anywhere else. Democrats, Republicans, hipsters, rednecks. A tiny glitch, a simple nudge here or there, and we're well on our way in a direction that could lead us to anything. Perhaps Hitler was simply the wrong word at the wrong time in a silly argument a hundred years before? What sets things in motion we will never know. So what do you want for dinner? What the hell does it matter? We must trust only in the confusion, confusion and love. Bright blood spills out of the head of a 6 year old boy in Syria. It seeps through his father's fingers in the middle of a street. Is this more of a tragedy than a gossip magazine? Frat boys high fiving. Tires squeal out of a parking lot. A girl buys a prom dress. Clues appear all around me, clues I never noticed before. A cat yowling through the night. A dog looking up from a porch. The flowers bow their heads as an old man blinks at the sun. It's an old world and perhaps even our souls are not ours? Did 911 really happen? Maybe we got it all wrong? What if Osama Bin Laden was really Santa Claus? Did Einstein matter? Did Gandhi really love? Who knows? Who knows anything at this point? Look, man, what I'm saying is that something has happened to me. Something has forced a change and this change is not easy and it's certainly not nice. Things will never be the same. I know that. I'm okay with it. I guess what I'm asking you is, well, is there something I need to know, you know, something I'm missing? Come on, Philly, there must be something! There must be something you can tell me! I'm telling you man, I am BEYOND THE BEYONDS!
DEAR BEYOND THE BEYONDS: Welcome to my world, motherfucker!
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Skeet Giddens On Republicans.
"I don't have time for any of that shit. They're not even worth considering. It's the most humanless form the human can take. Lifeless blobs caught up in some romantic memory of a world that never was. It's a mistake to think they're evil though, they're simply not much of anything really. They consume nothing that can't be easily digested. Garbage shoots for minds, souls like rotten livers. There is not a single artist among them. Think about that. What does that tell you? I defy you to name me one artist of any real power that has ever lived that saw the world the way they do. Name one, just one! They don't exist."
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
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