Justin Hall's personal site growing & breaking down since 1994

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dec 15

on the last eve of twenty one, I type this slowly
I save my wrists from what will come to scourge my generation

affliction borne of symbol manipulation
which a again-grown-cute wise old girlfriend noted might beat my retreat or in her case advancement into alternative means of communication
(I thot of painting)

there are things I did not do this year
I did not salute my father. I never addressed him a letter personally, nor did I take up meditation towards conversation with his departed spirit. that I intended to do

and that I can carry over into another year
I did not make a productive impact on electric minds. my niche was personality perhaps - there were ideas hatched and even borne some, but still I remained too fickle and elsewhere-focused to carry out grand schemes
this I take alternately as proof of my less dependent destiny or unfailing flakiness

I found someone who has it in her to care about me, and that means the world
that this recent relationship has fibre taste of sanity and kindness

I am more solid and perhaps less detached
or I know better how to find my match in that case

I learned to read again, histories of publishers started me out, and spiritual texts as ever

I gained some small measure of independence, mostly flirting -
since my last birthday I've recieved over 1500$ donations and $1000 in advertising
as well I afforded myself across the country on the kindness of relative strangers who might have connected with me for ideas and generosity
to expect this of folks from online, or even the world at large was beyond me tangibly before

I feel all at once a certain restlessness and peacecalm
a sense that I can still attack russia in the fall, win where others have lost
but realize I am the battlefield, in the best new age cliche
if I read my bible, and listen to the lower haight prophets, I might stay above ego which threatens my position

it's sort of astonishing to be 21 today. to have the world so aware of itself in so many ways,
filmed and written about and recorded and photographed and revealed and repeated and repurposed
resulting callousness is to be expected, I'm sure
I take some refuge in that, the absurdity of this life is to be expected and if anything laughed at and perhaps humoured
in this clime of growing awareness of everything

a boy can think of so many things
here I think of worlds to come
of words
I think about words too long and there's nothing to say
so I find myself
at times ready to mutter profundities, or measures by their sparing statement profound, or perhaps by performance

if you have big type at your disposal, you can get people to read stuff

at the same time silently acknowledging a creeping acknowledgement for old masters I haven't quite read but skimmed
enough to realize that there is little to be faught for that you might win
that you could consciencely resolve the outcome
even some of my dramatic victories or political statements seem now to be tripe

I cry then for beauty, that celebration of love and passion and that which arouses and enthuses us might lead us by acknowledgement and sharing into a better world

but there are many layers to beauty
and inherent suffering

so I think to perhaps shut up
to read and study
that would never stop

I have at this point, my 21 years resolved to a daily mutter of observance, those things great and small which transpire
little of use can be extracted from it over time
I mean serialization, repurposing, publishing enterprisial things
rather it stands as the extended ramblings of a one-sided conversation
or as art

that aforementioned old friend said that what saddened her about my poem was not the publishing, but what it said about our relationship.
tonight I read about william randolph hearst that "he lacked the essence of friendship, the ability to unbend, to confide, to reveal himself."
by withholding those essential fears and spites from on hand friends or first person situations, and relegating them to the media vortex of my web site, I have created a detached version of myself
I work out my understanding of myself in a new medium and so am subject to extra/technological forces that work unforseeable on my soul and psyche

but here I lament a playful spirit, one with a propensity to publish. I am on some deep level bound to this lifestyle
this drive that is damn near physically disabling me at 21 will lead god knows where in years to come

one thing I did this year was decide to live to be an old man.
I want to have children.

I learned some new things this year,
I worked for another company,
I understand better san francisco, the making of money, the nature of publishing, the direction of technology,
not that I can ascribe to any of these any structure or even foresight, but rather have chaos-related vignettes to paint a pretty picture for comely coeds
I feel like I might have better friends,
because I am a better friend
I'd like to think

but I think I'm just today and yesterday and this week learning those things
that I define myself to myself and you, here
to be a friend is to stand firm in person
in deed and word stating plainly what is on my mind instead of detaching or sublimating
sublimating makes for great media, it seems

what is spiritual?
to see or to believe?

this media culture in which I have inserted myself places high premium on observance
you can resell it, fabulous newsletters by blind seers

but I want to be invested i leave a string of good impressions
and so find myself extended not regrettably

I'm trying to track down my needs and compulsions those things that command me beyond myself or so drive me that I miss all that I work for or exist within

that which has nailed one jaw to the other and wears down my food processors to the point of demanding dire repair

I'm also trying to decide how important I am
whether I'm worth retreating from my job/school to do my thing
whether I'm worth finishing appropriately things I start and paying some explicit homage to external tasks

wednesday I received a gold-embossed travel king james bible with my name on it.
can I promise to have read it by my next birthday?
I'll be old by then.

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