dan schuman

wishdan @ 2009-07-26T22:43:00

2009-07-27T06:10:48Z

my silent stoic smile
if i can bring you down
i won't be alone

my eyes the hallow bells
my shiver straightback stance
the gas-leak highway air

days pressured water flow
time coolly running down
i do not care

grand-standing stacks of dots
i do not care
i want them slipping off

of mirror older shine
or making anything
i do not mind

where anybody goes
what next utopia
i do not want to know

wishdan @ 2009-07-04T23:26:00

2009-07-05T06:27:24Z

Be with me.

wishdan @ 2009-04-10T23:13:00

2009-04-11T06:19:51Z

you are not the fuel I wanting
fouling said severed feeling.
lightning bolt coursed shimmering
down 'cross the plain of naked body

breathbrush shift of sheetskin single

color wood to walls

that glass

to widen

pinpoint holes

on giving

hue-storm lightway pouring

milky oil ceiling.

wishdan @ 2009-04-06T21:35:00

2009-04-07T04:38:44Z

how could I've known
my walking days
a fray thinless seam
unflattened peace
alongside
in rewound light
I'm seeing
my quietness

wishdan @ 2008-12-14T23:52:00

2008-12-15T08:21:13Z

The strange pang of longing for home
while in front of my piano.
While past breadth near to parents sleeping,
a desire for home;
found next to an electric heater,
holding night sleep-twitches.

wishdan @ 2008-11-24T00:49:00

2008-11-24T09:15:25Z

it's a really large system with many sprouted parts
you shadowed, surface examiner
think that the whole force not composed with motive
we speak of it squeezing, arms fencing territory, disheartening
there's no operator--the wind has no breath and sighs
and mouths

and speaks.

some wind machine whose parts were
inside nothing but chatter clamor.
motion shell mechanical eyes

s s s ss s ssss ssssss sssssss sssss s s s s

s s    s       s               s      sssss        s                 s        s
s     s    s                         s
      s s        from it          s

there's no force

there is well-meaning

and ignorant misunderstanding
that's a smile of now knowing better

wishdan @ 2008-11-19T22:50:00

2008-11-20T08:27:31Z

a flat of pieces, all strewn out, from here to white horizon. here and there a few together, pieced walk along. i'm not alone in through path of found fragment thought. to a better, more collected. for a faster, calmer. a taller useful. a color thinness.

how many more words will melt it or halve it? or can it or rush away from it like a shrinking tunnel light in rear-view dash? one and two are spits of wind, lapping off the fat endless. peeling out undone nonsense, stones from stomach, well-watching.

and then
i am painted on the wall. in deathless plane the motion of painted on the wall. subtle texture of definition the colorful flatness a simplicity motion decided display. a simple stroke doubled.

oh, i was a fearless yeller. not a stone. not a memory of a live stream of brimming moments into puddles lights a hardened gem. not a locked chest. not a twisted longing. not a tinny offbeat note or silent petal falling to rust in ice. not whizzing past. not a recognizable pattern.

captured now in framework precision, in fractal paths this way and that way, out in up down, cascading color twists of decision into all. leaving me sleeping ghostside, licking back names near dripping off my tongue. shallowly sinking on my side till half blind-breathing in blurred past-present leaves me clutching blank paper.

wishdan @ 2008-08-08T04:54:00

2008-08-08T12:08:44Z

There were colorwash eyes in inspired forward--the darks mosaic waterfall of shade, breathing depth setting a veces into smooth dimbright twilight painted in then unknown what's now forgot. You're a glowing thing you, exactly what you want, you're what you wanted. You left, and ate so many pills, and left.

Out an underpass

2008-08-06T10:33:24Z

It's a vine metro; a cracking concrete such ice-shatter hairline through a green vine tree. It across, a breeze a silent breath between silent sigh and shy note of nothing from a fading harmonic hum. A frequent line, pulsing line, flicker-line underneath iron, rolling under backwards away from onward, 'round the east bend onto 26.

True silence is theoretically impossible.

In media res

2008-08-05T10:06:44Z

Resurrecting my normal writing frequency involves a disregard for any recap of events or history leading to my current state, and that is what I'm doing.

We have to move--on the 28th we're out or signed into an uncomfortable leasing situation on top of the music space payment. Active looking without much result. Time will yield home.

There's a puddle of music.

It seems without satisfaction nor escapable, with reward of an award of more. A walk further to near a plot of nothing with a cardboard box full of a shipping label.

Scream into the mountainously-open mouth of God for a simple truth to be answered with an echo from the Godman begging for the simple truth.

I would force myself awake for another hour to lemonsqueeze out a drip of sour unripened expression but I'll still have to wake up in seven hours; without enough sleep fulltime work is unpleasant and without pleasantness contentment cakes and cracks.

wishdan @ 2008-03-24T23:39:00

2008-03-25T06:51:03Z

Like static-plucked splash do some cylinders thrust up outward around in backward and down, cycle sickening spun, spins, pivots then hums soft stillness around into nightsharp quiet.

Sadness

2007-10-24T07:08:33Z

OiNK is gone. OiNK is done.
OiNK has died. OiNK is dead.

October twenty-third, 2007 is now the most disastrous and saddening day in music history. Anyone with love for music and that had the luck of being an OiNK member surely is bereaved.

It only gets worse.

wishdan @ 2007-09-20T20:49:00

2007-09-21T00:52:01Z

there are people out there who like to find you to make you down. don't find them.

wishdan @ 2007-04-02T03:21:00

2007-04-02T06:22:26Z

Hello old world, I miss you.

wishdan @ 2006-08-31T20:20:00

2006-09-01T00:22:34Z

I have shaved my face numerous times and will continue the convention.

Does anyone enjoy GameBreaking?

wishdan @ 2005-08-11T22:55:00

2005-08-12T02:56:16Z

I am not shaving my face again.
August 11th, 2005.

wishdan @ 2005-07-29T04:08:00

2005-07-29T08:33:00Z

Science or art? Ocean and air. Where can you throw yourself, thrust yourself, lose yourself? In either, ripples may fell towers, shatter crystal, become lost the maelstrom. Fade into sinking depths. Echo back and die. Stand on shoulders and scream. Skip a stone into horizon infinite. Desperate to side between this pair, and another pair leaks it out--through the fingertips, down the arms--lukewarm and dumb. In work and stride, my throat is dry.

Wake up.

wishdan @ 2005-04-12T03:01:00

2005-04-12T07:54:43Z

an old song that fueled life echoed back in hollowed tide. so where are we taking me? shivered watered eyes just blinking spots--let's just pick one and move and not find any lines. we can spiral there, where we were with our eyes closed, painted scenes into our mind. this time will end time. to stop is only to sleep; we may walk, now sit, lie and dream. we may be close, racing reversed to wake. could I be dizzy, or simply finding the colors faster, painting the globe fluorescents in the dark, dashed and dotted in the inky night. it won't end--you can't unplug. we will lock hands, through any means. but i do not know and try to flatten, but that sound shakes me, vibrating, chilling sored past and coming tides again. it's just an empty wave. it's just a white cap splashed on a dark tarp, hung high windy last night, seen grey from the morning star. all the colors from the tools, hammers on bells, scowls and sighs and pity and cries, sand gardens and lakes, all are a dot on a map where we're headed. we can make it if we sleep at the right spots and spin around a different axis. just take the roads for what they're worth. plot the dots, don't connect a thing. when you look up at night, don't you see? it's alive, we can spin and they dizzy each other and fall onto canvases. if it will not crumble, or explode into a quick blazing nothing and then vanish, then it isn't alive. it won't be alive again. the letters just juggle themselves. we lie down to slant our thought. we end when we say end.

wishdan @ 2005-04-09T03:11:00

2005-04-09T08:03:48Z

1.23.05 x3:45 PM Focus
Calculate to a point. Now stare. Do not move a breath, pulse or waver until the point envelops you and beats to your rhythm. Motionless and free, it can float and glide through any substance.
Today I learned how to read. I can ignore you if I decide you are an invalid, noisy and disoriented. My metronome ticks at its steady BPM, swaying endlessly until my focus breaks and I drift away into a blank sea of strange nothing.
---

A subjective reality, whose locus is buried in some eccentric segment of my mind, filled a black speckled notebook with thoughts and ideas to which I can no longer relate. This glittered, boundless world faded away and left a small book of words even its creator couldn't understand.

When you eat and you hear gluttons, when you spin and the worlds spins with you, when you're in a crowd and you see ant farms, when will it stop?

Let it stop splitting and pulling apart. Congeal and repeat.

wishdan @ 2005-03-15T03:36:00

2005-03-15T08:42:42Z

It was written once that our aim was to reduce the size of mice.
I made a small, fast mouse with one eye and no tail.
When my mouse moves, you do not see it until it's back.
If I tell my mouse to move, does it know me?

It overheated.
So we poured water on it.
It then ran away because it was wet.
Do we blame Aquarius, or those who interrupt others?
Do we start with one mouse, make another, then allow population?

One
Two.
Four.
Twelve.
Twenty-Five.
Forty-One.

wishdan @ 2005-01-26T15:30:00

2005-01-26T20:31:25Z

Further notice: Prior post now open for debate, given confidential circumstances.

But I still saw the spiral in everything, and I can't come back.

wishdan @ 2005-01-05T05:08:00

2005-01-05T10:08:22Z

Joey and I are the two smartest people ever to live, until further notice.

wishdan @ 2004-12-27T04:27:00

2004-12-27T10:01:11Z

Let grace pillow your steps and sweeten your words, ghosted in chilled air.
Hands have gone pocketed. Sounds now are tinged and condensed. When the soil and the sidewalk are deep blue with the dead cold of space, walk slowly. Watch your step. Listen to the sound you desperately are trying to damper.

Be graceful and alone.

Watch the perfection, matched only by their shadows, of stone buildings.

Fall under a description--become what you will--but do not describe what you will become.

Leave shivering, shattered as you came. You are warmed, loved, protected and simple.
Be fluid, distant and sweet.

wishdan @ 2004-12-01T04:30:00

2004-12-01T10:21:43Z

Well, let's see. Usually, night, late night, hours that are early for most, hours like these, in bed staring at nothing, that which and those whom I love race in and out of my thoughts, and I become anxious and afraid. Calmly will I flow to the cool blue glow that dumbs and cures nothing. The walls are shaded dark and outlined black. The blankest of screens still shimmers off my skin like water in twilight, and, although blank, cleanses my mind of thought. Every once in a while I'll write nothing, but mostly I let the glass radiate unblinkingly and cook my eyes.

I do not want to go back to bed. I need to become so fatigued that I will not go to sleep but instead be taken by sleep without effort, relaxation or meditation. Until then, truth sought between pixels.

People gone come in dreams, then wake up sore but don't want them back. Don't want to wake up sore, or think. I was going to play piano on campus after becoming downed, but on my way bumped into a tree (not literally). A spot by the base was very inviting and I plopped there instead. Somewhat late, but pairs of people scuttled past then and again. Shy of the thinning parking lot, traffic could not be heard from there. There are street lights dotting the sidewalks that cut through the campus greens. The yellow blooming lights just dangled at different spots in the air, their depth not calculable in the dark. Sort of like constellations. Glowed bright, warm not burning, so that they could be stared at if you felt like it. Above, the tree's branch extended into black, but half yellow and manila as if stage-light from the sidewalk lamp. I got up later, and there was another tree, this one to be climbed. Ran up it. People smile when they see a man whistling from a tree. That made it better. No pianos available, but it's ok. They gotta study for finals, but not me. No, you study and I will climb trees.

If you think about life too much, it'll really do you in. Watch out and ride it out.
Whatever happens
happens.

wishdan @ 2004-11-26T19:08:00

2004-11-27T00:14:31Z

i want my piano.
the man won't give me money--twenty percent, front-loaded interest. we don't like each other.
they are throwing sticks at churning embers, boiling pit, waiting for oxygen. ready to burst.

if you see a sign on the road, and tear it down:

i will
tear out
your fucking
face.