A change of heart is just a change of scenery

Everyone outside this hotel room looks like an extra for Eight Mile. There is pineapple rum, and nary a sorority girl to be found. I dont know what it is going to take, but every time I come home, I feel this way. The only thing I can say about this place is the hilarious tragedy of a beach resort covered in ice. Only one of the stores per city block is open, while the rest wait for "season". I feel that way about my life most of the time. The only thing you can do is just accept that your desire to get away leads you to questionable destinations. Some patience and discretion will serve you well. We can work on the crippling self destruction and pervasive apathy later.

My sister told me that she wants to be around when she is in stressful situations. I don't feel the same way. It is hard for me to tell when she is being a bigger cunt than usual. This attitude she has when I say I want to leave is not really different than her regualar attitude, just a touch bitchier. She can sit around and wallow while her husband jumps through hoops and her children set fire to the hotel, but somehow, no one understands what she is going through. I think this year, this time, I am going to spend some money and do something I want. Like leave this place and go to a ridiculous concert. It wont be the same as riding a train, but the price difference is negligible and cuts the time by 2/3.

There's something happening somewhere

There is something about a ritual, a self-made tradition that makes the everyday transactions seem meaningful in our short tenure here. Again, a year later, I find myself alone in a strange city. The cold fog casting an alcholic tint with the christmas lights distorting with every ocean breeze. This is the perfect weather for me. I am drawn to the same chain restaurant I went to last year in Times Square, for the sheer fact it is uncomplicated. There is no expectation on either end, a fast, soulless transaction that would draw eyerolls from Karl Marx no doubt. All I wanted to do was find a liquor store. That didnt happen so I am booking a plane ticket. I want to do something I want to do. And right now it is get the hell out of here.

	Billy Bragg - A New England .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Bass Line, It Ends

The penetration of a deep and mysterious conversation. Things take root, populate of their own volition. The air is thinner on the moral high ground. Instead of oxygen, I outfit myself with noxious fumes comprised of one way lines sharper than a razor's edge. I follow the bloodstains into the next room. The mess rarely bothers me. These are pillars I cling to when surrounded by idiocy and opulence measured in pension plans and one night stands. The winter genocide of hope and vegetation taking form in a pill. Culture isnt a destation, although the tour guides of second hand thought and drive by brilliance would lead you to believe otherwise. Those who can't make shit up, fake shit up. Love is the reason they nailed him to a cross, to make a point in his hand and a line in the sand.

It's been said every time you rub one out, a kitten gets put down.
If that is true, meet me in Chinatown.
Getting off by falling down
Staying up to fuck around.
A dick like his car payment, always owing.
Insecurity like a shirt stain, forever showing
Debt like Pinocchio's nose, keeps growing
A mouth like a noise violation of the Geneva convention.
Love like a pillory, exposed, public damage
Stuck in the silence, no sound as it drowns.

I saw your ghost lingering in the fog of the cigarette smoke. Drag queens and crooked stumble down memory lane. It is better to forget. I'm my father's child in the sense I want to leave my mother. I have seen the depths of self destruction that leave no scars. The years of uncried tears and a residence in bars. Optimism and pervasive ignorance form a noose so tight you dont even know you've jumped until you see the tips of your shoes slowly swinging back and forth. You are stuck, you made your gallows. Hang in there baby, indeed.

	The xx - Crystalised .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Proof

"oh. their. God."

So I went to Waffle House today to pick up my checks and turn in my uniforms. It was terrible. They have decorated it for the holidays, making the waitresses seem somehow more pathetic than usual. Christmas cheer does not agree with the desperate and the tragically uneducated. After 45 minutes of waiting, apparently I don't merit their time anymore, I was informed my checks were sent back. I had to make several stupid phone calls to get them to mail them to me, sometime NEXT year. Why Waffle House can't be dragged by the nipple clamps into the 21st century (direct deposit) is a mystery, though I suspect it has something to do with felons and idiots not knowing how or being able to have a bank account. Another win for mediocrity. I preceded to have a very unprofessional conversation with the payroll lady, who was trying to make small talk with me, like "Do you have another job", no, "Well as long as you have money for food and cigarettes and booze, I guess things are okay, right" Actually, I quit smoking a year ago yesterday. "Congratulations!" Thanks, I could never give up the drinking, personally. "Well honey, I woke up too many places I didnt know WHERE I was" Oh, ..... what were you drinking? "Goldshlagger". (Me silently thinking, ew bitch, are you drinking with frat guys who beat up your son or what?"

That was awkward. And, to make things better, this blonde, young, pretty girl comes in. Which is weird, considering this a Waffle House off the interstate in a town/city/area filled with unattractive people. She is holding this book, bright red with "alt"font. I was still kind of on the phone, so I asked her, "What are you reading"? She pulls down her sunglasses and asks me if it is illegal to read the Bible. I honestly cannot tell if she is kidding. So I say, I don't see why it would be, yet. She sits down near where I am sitting and proceeds to order. While she is waiting for her food, she asks me to sit next to her. As we are the only two people in the place, I reluctantly agree. It turns out to be a GREAT decision, because she is schizophernic, literally. She keeps alluding to "a medical problem" a man on her answering machine claiming to be her father telling her to go back on her meds, being responsbile for the Gators losing the championship because she broke Tim Tebow's heart, and starting/stopping sentences, talking to her self and sounding like she was about to cry after asking me seemingly mundane things. She was drinking a lot of water (which was good because she was either CRAZY or coming down from LSD - same thing really) and she said she was drinking like a whale, at the exact moment I said camel. And she was like, yeah camel, I dont know why I said whale, Freudian slip. She then started talking about names from the Bible, Dinoland, asked me to explain "What was going on with Isreal and Afghanistan" and would alternate between putting her head down and staring at me intently. Then she asked me for a hug, my phone number and a prayer. I only gave her one of those things.

Lastly, the new girl, this dumb white trash bitch talking about her dark chocolate man, his jealousy issues and her almost losing her child to the state of Florida ... mentioned the name of her child, which is Dantavious, a mix between Jaquarius and Dante. I was horrified and took that as my cue to leave.

Then I had dinner with a friend from out of town who found out girlfriend may or may not be cheating on him, after they these plane tickets for months. He has to spend his holiday with someone he is breaking up with because he didnt want to cancel his flights. It was so terrible, for everyone.

HIGHLIGHT: 82 year old woman was having her birthday today (his is tomorrow, so we got him a piece of pie). She wished him happy birthday, gave him a kiss on the cheek and they started dancing. Total class act, flirting with a woman that is almost four times older than us. She was amazing and funny and I hope I can still think, much less drink and dance in 60 years.

It'll get easier, or you won't care as much.

I'm in my finest sleep wear, eating peanut butter cups early in the morning in an increasingly cold house. I didnt sleep much, or well for that matter. I am going home today. I am excited about this. I enjoy long car rides.

Last night a few irregular and interesting things happened. I am always happy to hear that the people who seem to have it all together are scared shitless, as they should be. As most people are. He said he didn't want to be an adult, no house, no car, no paperwork. It was the most endearing thing he has admitted to me in years. But still, it is important to remember that when you become an adult, you can sleep on the floor and eat cereal in your underwear. Which he does, until his parents come home.

I myself will continue to eat candy pilfered from the main lobby, go to bed whenever I feel like, and continue to harbor the faith that a jury of my peers has the potential to inspire me to greatness, or at least a tangible sort of achievement.

If she does have a penis, then I get the attraction

My two mommys love their wigs and cigs more than me. I feel like it is harder for a real tranny to become a popstar than people with less ambiguous genitals and just as many wigs to become one. Taking the outside culture and making people shake their ass to it. That I can get behind, pun intended.

Yesterday was a Man day, filled with sports, unhealthy food and porn (with commentary). I title it, Spermaids and The Quest for Dignity: Or I watched two girls give a BJ underwater and a woman who looked to be fucked up on Xanax fist her self on a rooftop. I felt like I was 15 again watching Skinemax with my friend Stephen and his drooges.

INTJ - "Mastermind". Introverted intellectual with a preference for finding certainty. A builder of systems and the applier of theoretical models. 2.1% of total population.

Take Free Jung Personality Test
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I want to feel something, even if it the last thing

It's been a year since I have had a cigarette. Celebrated by going to the gym, which I am loathing less and less. Strange evening on the home front. Meaningful dialogue about the state of groceries (none), trying to please someone who thinks no one should but inevitably does, discussion on souls and particle vs wave physics. Why can't every day be like this? Just to remind me what I want or should have or I used to have or something like that.

Unremembered, but relevant

Finding magic in the chaos, meaning in the madness. Millions of words, billions of combinations to express a singular thought. It's like looking at the sky and picturing everyone else who has ever done the same thing. It's a nice feeling.

In the past 20 years people have moved towards wanting to be something, to wanting to be famous for something

Thoughts on pop music

Since when has the dance floor been a forum for a dialogue? Is there a reason to discuss misogyny and gentrification when you are grinding genitals with strangers?
those that would rather die on a dance floor,
than as currency in a pointless war
peace love microchips,
straight from the mouth down to the hips
the end of days are already here
nothing left but to count the years
every generation wants to boast the ultimate destruction
always turns out to be a pitiable disruption

the roman emperors, the celebrities without the soundtracks would find this nothing but amusing

What is history, but a fable agreed upon

Handwriting, slowly becoming obsolete as human technology is going digital. I see homemade CDs, when a compilation still carried meaning, in between yearbooks and love letters. I long for the day I can set fire to these objects, and hope the memory follows. All there, among the Polaroids and to-do lists.

What a wasted life, sliding down a duller knife.

No one ever accused me of being a Romantic

I found these Twin Peaks collector cards while looking for my most prized possession, which some of you may have seen(a Polaroid of a stranger with a Gonzo tat getting fucked) and it got me thinking. I have been reading so much lately in an attempt to distract myself. From what, I am not really sure. I havent been doing much. But I appreciate those that are making me want to be productive and get out of this terrible isolation I have made for myself.

In the twilight zone, my advice has no merit. The meaning is assigned by the seeker of the answer, not those that ask the question. In which case, submission accomplished. "but change is sometimes a double-bladed bitch, ... I know this has been a deciding factor whenever I wanted to make a change, but was afraid to rock my own boat....or boil my own heroin (to update the metaphor)" says the Anthonynaut.

I was going to write a treatise on the joy of being a dick, but I decided against it. It is never easy to forgive or be kind, so the doing things the hard way in this sense would be several steps in the right direction.

I am excited for the holidays, and the travel I am going to experience. Both the journey and the destination will be welcome after this year I have had.

Nyquil Booklearnin'

Cue Foo Fighters' "My Hero".
What do you call a muscle relaxant, Nyquil, cheese fries and a book? The next alt murder defense, or a quality evening in.

I can't get over Neutral Milk Hotel's cover of "I Love How You Love Me" by Phil Spector. I used to think Regina Spektor was his daughter, when I heard someone talking about her and I was wary. Glad I was wrong.

Personality tampons and sympathy colostomy bags. Dresden and a V2 rocket, playing in the rubble.

David Bowie out Ladys Gaga.

Editorilizing the Obvious

I'm like the cheese fries of music, the taco pizza of taste. As in: it hurts so good and few people want to be around you, unless they are drunk, or in a bowling alley, or both.

Meeting strangers, hearing stories of LSD, fighting and the kids, in a sticky Southern drawl. Entertaining crackers, spreads, (not a football joke, or a white person joke), Murder She Wrote. The passing of time, the passing of mile markers. Rain.

It doesnt matter what you say, it's how I feel. Which is never good. All the things that turned your bedroom into a cemetery. Bodies, ghosts, the dates of half remembered prayers.

What a week(end). Mayor McCheese, toasts, period dramas, trashy and classy sharing an evening. Superfluous adaptations, unsatisfied by sustainable waste. So empty, in the ongoing quest for authenticity in the libraries, record stores and distraction of other people, similarly affected. Expensive time killers and timekeepers. Stagnant advancement and the sweet satisfying middle, no resolution required.

Things that blow (in a good way)
Lady Gaga's "Paparazzi". I can't get over her Jewy nose and analysis of fame. The glitter and the gold that have been used by gays for years as a cheap tacky time machine.
Web Bot Internet Conspiracies, an Apocalypse Grainery 400 miles north of Norway, Terence McKenna's I Ching on the History Channel while at the Gym.
John Waters' "A Filthy World"
Vice Guide to Travel, including a jingle where children sing of their blood perfuming the soil. Patriotism, the teen years. The lonely alienated everyman.

The Job Search

That is something I was working on with Jimmy. I think it looks great. It is in reference to my idea that when it comes to holiday travel ... you can read the rest.

Applied for a job in NY and several in VA. Hopefully the new year will be the kick start I need.

They are all dead

As if finality improved authenticity. I suppose as far as argument enders go, death is for winners. The darkness of space is no match for my mood these days. The dead stars light the way to colder, further, places.

I had a dream last night about slightly used Lolitas and sparing someone's feelings. A few other weird things not appropriate for the internet.

The main office of my apartment complex looks like it just mainlined the holidays and bloodily puked Christmas.

I am going to make it through this year, if it kills me.

any proposition written on a cocktail napkin all water stains and olive juice; a means to service the best laid themes of evaporated youth

Write a Caption

"I'm losing the hyphen and keeping the ring"

The past few days have been consumed by something Stephen calls Culture Lung(ing). I assume he means a metaphorical respiration and consumption of all forms of culture; literature, music, film and the greatest of them all, television. In the glorious lens of hindsight, I could have used the unprecedented loneliness, silence and weather to get some work done, mainly writing. It would be oxymoronic to say professionally unemployed, but something akin to fanciful imaginings of being a writer, which in my case would be scribbling nonsensical and somewhat offensive things (which you can read below) on a piece of napkin before I stagger into sleep. I just can't do it lately. I finally have an idea for a vehicle to put my characters into, and some kind of action to careen them flaming over a cliff.

Songs are memories of people we never met or people we no longer recognize.
I'm in the same sinking boat, it's good we both know how to swim. God I hope there is a porno called the FountainHead, although some people think Ayn Rand couldn't be any sexier. Is there is a support group for objectivists? The quest for justice leaves a pile of bodies. Is that democracy, or television. Psh, justice is never televised. Surprise attack always. It is as though kitsch made itself a mayo sandwich before pulling down its pants& blowing out its brains. Quality like that, on white bread. "Motherfucker cannot dress like he's Mardi Gras" my sister talking about a guy wearing a top hat and tails selling newspapers on the street corner. I'm digging you like a fresh grave. You are an honors credit to your race.
Here's some new music. Enjoy

http://www.mediafire.com/?yzhy3zdj5mq

http://www.mediafire.com/?in2vnmtzym0

So, Tell me about yourself

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

A miner in the landfills of a cultural wasteland. Yep, that's a Faustian Beanie Babie.

Lying in bed last night I started composing a chapter, that escaped me the second I woke up. It's a strange feeling, like jumping into a swimming pool but feeling dry.

Advice

A conversation with my sister:

Her: (Things I need to do with my life that I am already aware of)
5 minutes later ...
Me : Or I could get married and have him do it for me.
Her : You could. Norfolk is a Navy town.
Me : Well tell your husband if he sees any skeezy guys, let me fill that void while they are filling that void.
Her : Skeezy guys means skeezy girls. (Pause)
Her : They have nerds in the Navy.

Silence.

Her : I just wanted to make sure all bases are covered, because I'm still not sure what you are into.
Me : I'm hanging up now.

More than C'est La Vie

The Norwegians used to have a concept called svoermere, which meant something sweetly futile or deliciously unprofitable.

Small Miracle: A guy with a small gift gets one of his own on Christmas. A Santaic RomCom, or Porno, whichever.

He's a mystery unto a fabrication. So a liar. Yes, mystery is a sexy word for liar. But people say Im a mystery. Well, when applied to girls its like every bad teenage movie, or at least every teenage boy singing about why x bitch wont fuck his four eyed ass.

You were so full of cock you had no time for questions.

Jewish Nachos

Jewish Nachos - Bagel chips with goat cheese put in microwave. This is how I slum it. Because I kind of wish I had some Spaghettio's right now.

I watched the entire Firefly series this weekend. It made me think of a project I want to do with some people about modern day myths, RE: Persephone being the metaphor for the involvement in the Middle East, shit like that. This is me, slumming it.

Books I've Read Lately:
Confederates in the Attic, Biff the Story of Christ, Bonk - Science Looks at Sex, Vice as Told by NPR. If anybody is interested in reading these, post your address. I need something new to read and my roommate has taken my new Anthony Bourdain book and it may be in his bathroom. I'll take it as a loss.

Here's some insight into why people call me tasteless.

"Like the Craigslist killer taught us, cant we just use the Internet to get laid
and cash,and incarcerated."

Why travel for holidays, guilt trips are free.

The only dream I had about Alec Baldwin was sexual.

Flavored cigarettes, because your taste buds are dead and you are next.

A conversation with my sister, the reason for all round trip guilt trips:

Me: cheer me up, make Bella sing into my answering machine
serrabella2: shes in the tub
me: fucking bath tub loving bitch
serrabella2: how is she my kid?
me: She's not
serrabella2: i always thought my baby was switched
i wouldn't give Bella back though
me: Mother of the year
serrabella2: i wouldn't
me: That's good
I would miss her lyin ass too much anyways.
serrabella2: me too

Anthony: it's always toothless, overweight, no-bra wearing white women who I wouldn't fuck with a stranger's dick, hanging out with the shaddiest-looking dirty motherfuckers on this one corner down the street from our house
me: People who need people.
Anthony: people who need a bullet to the head
me: The story of urban gentrification, told by the GOP

Aim Above Morality

I really wonder how the mail works sometimes.

"You are all the closet space I'll ever need"


The queen is dead, she wont be the first
as the poet jumps from verse to verse
anything to refute the priest
g-d loves the enlightened beast

Work

So I was thinking of a comedy bit that involved over-sexualizing commercials for fast food. Because sex sells, but hardcore sex makes people NOT want to buy hot dogs and colas. I mean Hardee's using Paris Hilton to sell huge sloppy burgers.

Last night this older lady who looked like Meryl Streep name dropped her neighborhood in Austin. Older hipster score! She was hilarious.

I feel like I have tripped into a wormhole and am back at an earlier part of my life. This has made me feel somewhat optimistic and more introspective than usual. There is nothing quite like feeling alone in the world walking home in the gloaming with the stars and cool air beside you. That and killing soldiers behind the dumpster with a co-worker who is on probation and something about a DUI. I hope I'm not enabling.

Every time I feel like giving work the middle finger, someone interesting comes in and makes me feel like if I look at this like performance art, it will be fine.

Presidential glamor went on indefinite hiatus when they put Kennedy in the ground.
Putting a nice touch on a shit stain is like putting a party hat on a cadaver.

Vice Contest

Clunge

This past week has been somewhat overwhelming. Sometimes in the infinite conversational miasma we find ourselves taking notice to the most insignificant. Or creating significance out of a void that was expanding faster than we care to acknowledge. It all started when a co-worker, resembling this man asked me what I had fucked up in my former life to end up here, at the Waffle House. I was amused, admittedly. The days following have been tiring, involving public transportation, Whole Foods (cheese tasting and chocolate truffles), public drunkeness at the bus station/emotional tourism.

Excited this finally came out:

I enjoy talking with you, even if it feels more like a seance.
If yr idea of fun is waiting in a holding cell for someone to give you the reacharound or you wouldnt know fun if slapped a restraining order on you.

Current Excitables

Giada De Laurentiis has this recipe for a brie, pear and honey sandwich. I wonder if I can pitch that to Waffle House. Excited about job interviews and selling my self (short). It is weird how bad at that I can be when I seem to communicate fine with people in a non-please give me a job capacity.

New Mountain Goats album. Making CDs and compiling a birthday box for someone far away. It seems that I was mistaken about the legality of mailing cigarettes, not illegal!

Cant wait for VICE Film issue, which is on it's way here.

I wanted to share this quote, I feel it is relevant.
"pleasure can be fully experienced, but must be allowed it's impermanent nature." - Stephen Cope

Raveonettes - Black White
Alberta Cross - Low Man
Kaisercartel - Favorite Song (self fulfilling prophecy)
Young Marble Giants - Credit in the Straight World
Tori Amos- I'm On Fire (Bruce Springsteen Cover)
The Most Serene Republic - The Men Who Live Upstairs

Pushing Daisies Season 2 is out.

The Inward Cringe

He becomes politcally active when he is single and sexually active when he is political. Is that a porno plot line left unexplored? I thought they would be fine after they got laid, but it's like they are hungrier than ever for attention induced satisfaction.

In a culture lung upswing, new music and a busy schedule. Trying to figure out what is a real thigh-opener.

I cannot believe how badly I did on a phone interview. When did I start stuttering and making really bad jokes. Some highlights include: "Would you say you are a down to earth person?" "Well I am an Earth sign, so I would say yes" and something about my email address.

My favorite person at work got fired for getting a fist fight with another employee. I get more hours. Sometimes I cannot believe my own reality.

As the Waffle Burns or Talking to a New York Lifer

Ground Control to Starship Capt. Zoot -
I have been kicking around a mash-up of Love Story and Closer, called Love Closer. It has already been described as the Disney Channel producing a porno, Extremely disturbing, yet somewhat erotic. Talking about if the mid-west didn't have family values, would it become the Eastern Seaboard?

i just want to move to Tokyo and become a famous model!!!!!
that's in the past, you did it
i have a modeling job there on Saturday... but Ive convinced myself they are just going to behead me
I really wanna do it, but i seriously dont wanna get raped/killed
we'll see...
maybe ill just get drunk and go looking like a TRAINWRECK
livin la vida ricky martin
and still book that shit
ya... its already "booked"
Ive gotta meet the guy and go to his "studio" aka...get killed
i don't fucking know... I'm always to anxious and tired anyways... to do ANYTHING.

well take em as you can get em. his motto and surely his epitaph.
"Frank's deepest fear was being "gay-bashed" in an area with no cell service, rendering him unable to take pictures and post to myspace about it and that Lady Gaga wouldnt write a song about it. Is it too soon to make reference to the We Are The World Parody Matthew Shepard's 9-11 (remember to smile remix)?
"she was a nasty snob who shit on her own life
but at the same time she was Madonna before Madonna
she was pretty awesome"
Why loving New York is like trying to get the approval/love of an emotionally distant parent and said I love New York She just doesn't love me back and in the end
I need to be loved and I was like that's sappy and a line from a romantic comedy but it's true, New York will never love you back. that is exactly why i am fascinated by the migration to new york by ADHD fags and hags who seem to have histrionic personality disorder, like baby Liza Minellis. it is so sad really
like yelling into the grand canyon
dear bad parents, don't dump your incompetent offspring into big cities with only their dreams and your checking account number, sucking the vapor of a culture past.

Base Jumping to Conclusions

Last night Jeff and I were watching 30 Rock and eating truly terrible pizza. I remarked how much fun I was having and he thought I was kidding so he responded in typical Jeff candor - "I'm enjoying 30 Rock, not your company". Which made me laugh. The weather is so nice right now. I forgot how accomplished you can feel if you just do things earlier in the day. Can't wait to find a real job, but I will settle for this one for now. Below is something I mostly dreamed, but some solid stuff, I promise.

Cherry Blossoms and Bullet Trains:

So apparently that wasn’t a story. Well, what was it then? Other than an exercise in failure, per usual? It is what Ernest Hemingway would call a bathtub piece, apparently. I am sure I’ve mentioned that I hate Ernest Hemingway, but in another of the rapidly multiplying adulthood lessons, you can’t apply ad hominum arguments to reason. Another reason I love to be alive, a chance to focus on the artist rather than their art, thus illustrating my perennial immaturity. I just want to write something that will yield sweet soda ad fame. Reality has never been your strong suit has it? (The truth as a non-partisan, used as a child of divorce. Objectivity is for philosophy majors and other unemployable assholes.) You can hurt someone just as easily with the truth as you can with a lie. Karma is a not a contract killer. Just because they aren’t on television anymore doesn’t mean they are dead. They could be leading rich, interesting lives in any number of ways. Alternately, they could be mourning their careers, as they watched it hemorrhage on the table; all they could do is watch. Imagine the creepiest thing ever and be amazed how it barely fazes anyone because we all conceal our less marketable quirks, like a black eye on a wedding day. I imagined a lady somewhere in the Midwest that makes Dolly Parton look like a dowdy housewife who has funerals for T.V. characters and arranges marriages for her cats. There is glitter, track lighting, and a craft room that should have been a nursery. But that’s life. Seems the transformation of the “American Dream” into the suburban dystopia playground cannot scratch the surface of real loss and I’m not talking about property values. Whoever lobbied to transform the notion of bastard into a love child for the sake of polite company; that is the guy I want to make out with while listening to Depeche Mode in a nearly empty club while a guy in a fish net tank top is blowing himself kisses in the wall to wall mirror. I suppose I do the same thing when I tell someone in all sincerity that the song “Sex on Fire” was written about Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun’s sex tape.

[the good times are easiest to forget – two dates and a name remembered]

Social contract killer – photo of Hobbes
Family Circus Circus – if Sunday cartoons were designed by Hunter S. Thompson.
Analogy of post-modernism as a room made of screen doors and complaining when you get wet …

Works in Progress - Chapter One

"Like getting a voice mail from Sid at a family member's funeral". Never taking it seriously, just the names and the inventory. If fear is your currency, you will be richer than God. I thought we were dealing with atheists. Just like imaginary numbers. Losing jobs, braincells, the will to live, that's when it kicks in. When you don't become a teenage statistic, you run the risk of being a twenty-something failure or a thirty-something waiter. I don't care cries the teenager eternal. I like to watch cries the history of the world. It was inevitable, but we got our passive aggressive "fuck yous" in there. All these notebooks, different colored pens, are a testament to my bloated alter ego and failure junkie creator. I'm full of shit and ideas - which makes going the bathroom a confusing place. Advertising, because no one likes big picture people. I'm no Dan Brown, you can thank me later. Now Christianity, that's brand recognition. Let's chase the success dragon and smoke a bag of possibilities. Can you dino-size that? Remember when you wanted to do that comic book with the guy who did meth and call it Ice Queen? He had the powers of denial and a lesbian side kick who fixed things and had an SUV and a dog? People don't care about the words, they ask if the voice is pretty. An epitaph of what if or a career hack? Artistic, more like Awe-tistic. In your case fantistic. No, that is when Dolly Parton two point Oh yeah shows up. He lives in his discoball of hourly companionship.

The Tender Violence of Adulthood

"Everything will be okay". I read this on a bumper sticker inside a van at this local legend pizza place. It has an icon of an old computer and makes me think of Radiohead. I want it tattooed on my arm as reassurance, or hope to get into a car accident and have my left arm leave my body like a Woody Allen divorce. This other tattoo idea has come to me more recently. An ourosboros encasing a lightning bolt. "You must come full circle to find the truth", the X-Files taught me. Plus lightning bolts make me think of Harry Potter, Amy Winehouse and Tennessee Williams. You have to rep your culture icons these days.

These are my thought as I stare into the bonfire. For whatever reason, bonfires are big in this town even though the weather eradicates any notion of practicality. But a fire is a nice place for thought and a myriad of potential accidents with drunken youths. I think about the personality economy; how the truth isn't a part of that stock exchange. You need a translator but the dialect is region specific, changing hourly in some cases.

He has been cradling his Jameson all night, a grotesque but appropriate teddy bear. It's going to be a long night. But now that he has a job, Nathan is eager to pay off his friendship taxes one drink or dollar menu item at a time. I come up on him talking to a girl from his high school. I am older than him and this girl is younger still. "Is that water in your bottle?" I ask her, hoping to find a mixer that isn't insecurity at this point in the evening. My earlier venture lead me to find the "hostess" and her foot soldiers doing blow in the guest bathroom. I am not impressed. "Vodka" she replies with the aplomb of a mid-nineties Janeane Garafolo. "Would you like some?" Is this fucking child challenging me to drink, nay, mix vodka she probably stole from her naive and terrible parents? "No thank you. Vodka is not a mixer and I'm drinking whiskey (out a plastic solo cup I might add)". She proceeds to rattle off her past sexual partners and their various shortcomings while flirting with our friend Jake. Jake has social anxiety and a car. He says, somewhat bashfully, he will take what he can get, even it is an under age carrier of disease and desperation in equal parts, served chilled. Nathan manages to have some fun with her, as she is a blast in the face from his illustrious past. He asks her if she would like some Jameson, to which she enthusiastically and unsurprisingly responds with a "fuck yeah". He asks her if she knows what Jameson is during this exchange. She does not.

It is in this evening I find cynicism exhausting and end up in the ever growing line to get McDonald's and pilot a spaceship, as the least drunk person in this group gets to be crowned D.D. I drive Jake's silver Asian podmobile because he is now indisposed and the drive-thru is the last call for tonight. Nathan's drunken conversation goes back to that girl, inappropriately named Lily, for she was not anything one would associate with a flower, Venus Flytrap notwithstanding, much to the chagrin of his girlfriend. "She's fucked to the moon and back" he asserts with comic seriousness as we assemble into this line while My Bloody Valentine plays in the background. "Are you concerned her number of partners is irresponsible or she wont find what she is looking for?" I ask him in mock concern. Justification is the post-9/11 yearbook entry and I cant wait for Nathan's Jameson induced logic to spring forth. It turns out he doesn't care about the number, he cares about her method, which feeds her teenage insecurity and entitlement with five inches of fury and vodka soaked sheets.

After Nathan screams "bullshit" at the closed McDonald's window for failing to sell ice cream after 2am and blames the recession on why he is being charged a quarter for Sweet N' Sour sauce, I decide that sleep is the cure for the disease known as Friday night life. I take him back home and walk the block to my own house. I am filled with whiskey, Sweet N' Sour soaked fries and the thoughts that maybe everything will be okay, just probably not today.

Happy Stuff List

As you may know, I'm still unemployed. How this affects this blog, well I found some good TV.

TV: Party Down, Bored to Death, Glee, 30 Rock, The Wire, Mad Men.
Music: Sufjan Stevens - The BQE, New Moon Soundtrack, Thom Yorke leaks, Rufus Wainwright - Milwaukee at Last!!!
Peter Pan Honey Roast crunchy, Berry Crunch yogurt, Oh's and Italian Wedding Soup

A change of heart is just a change of scenery

The worst thing about finding older writings is witnessing the evolution. I guess hoping greatness is a gift and not a skill is what separates the unemployed from the moderately known. The back and forth, the third and fourth. Seeing four years of writing, of lists, of similar joys and disappointments, we never change. Or we have a stopping point that causes us to do a 180. Not just figuring it out, but making it work. These things, we things. The number of times I have written "work out" on to do lists, good thing I rarely read the damn things after I labor over writing them.

Some books:
A Child's Book of True Crime - Chloe Hooper Reread
Poisonwood Bible reading currently, really good
Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff (Christ's Childhood Pal) by Christopher Moore recommended
Save the Waltz, Tender is the Night recommended
The Idiot - Dostoevsky recommended
The Prophet - Kihail Gabrain recommended
Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins research
infinite jest - david foster wallace research
the saint in new york - leslie chaplis research

A like mind in a dark room

Not even matrimony can help you understand someone else's bullshit, but it's a start. With these trying economic times, anal sex is not just for birthdays and coming out parties. I feel like if Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf had been written now, that might have been included. I must be lit.

I got a compliment on this prose from a stranger. I guess Anthony was right, the internet is like a calming eternal womb, back to the operating systems from whence we came. I finally fixed my glasses, and I would like to think I am seeing more clearly. I saw an old friend and a pregnant Denny's waitress last night, not the same person. I was thinking about visible choices, or mistakes, and the cloaking we all engage in. And then I knocked a few back in the parking lot and discussed the government conspiracies and vastness of the universe. It is the most productive I have felt in years. Using the zodiac as a clan system and the mark of our makers. The first marketing system, still going strong.

Holy shit, the kids were so funny today. I love them so much. And thanks to them, I got to experience the simple and probably once in a lifetime pleasure, of a bubble bath with WALL-E shapeable foam and toys jabbing my flesh. It was as relaxing as children can provide. I smell like berries

Finally, as I was cracking a High Life in the movie theatre today, someone else down the aisle was too. Nearly 24 years into this, and people can still surprise me in a finding a buck in a pair of pants sort of way.

I Dont Change/ Medical Problems and Tales of Abuse

Good evening. It's Friday night! Mean Girls is on cable and I'm listening to new music after traversing the internet. Kind of giving scraps of attention to all senses in hopes that something will stick. My monthly schadenfreude addiction was fed by someone's Facebook update from a hospital room. I have been trying to change that about my self, but it always comes back. Did you ever watch the Muppet Babies? They had a nanny that was only visible by her socks? I had the strangest de ja vu with that in mind. When I was in daycare, I was convinced I could tell my mom's keys apart like mothers and their child's horrific screams. I am not sure if that was true, but it made me feel small again. I suppose this birthday on the horizon is amplifing that efffect, but I have felt like a teenager all week. My sister is my mom and I am listening to music, reading comic books and trying to stay out of the way. Good Morning Burger and Golden Girls re-runs. Nothing new and the ever expanding void. Man, if I had any kind of musical skill these would make great song titles. Or at least bloggable. I keep having the darkest nap time dreams. I need a drink, some kind of conversation with someone who isnt being potty trained. Tomorrow is a social day. Can't wait to lurk a military event. I will bring my own buzz, that's just good sense. I hope if you are reading this, you are doing well. Yep. I made this air mattress, and I toss on it.

Check out Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, The Seven Inches, and Alcoholic Faith Mission. If I can ever figure out how to post mp3s, I will to save you the trouble of searching. But if you have a few minutes, good stuff.

Back, but maybe forward.

Patience and exercise. Even the most embittered of youths penning anti-pop ironic odes would have a chuckle at this. The biggest birthday, rite of passage, marred by the divorce mediation of your parents. They say there is never a good time for bad news. The more complicated the emotions, the better the reunion, right? So attorneys and ugliness re-capped with TGIFriday's never-ending unhappy hours. I think Noah Baumbach is writing that screenplay. I'll see it sans hip soundtrack and see if I feel quirky or melancholy.
We all want to feel differently, if at all. The arrival, the journey, will all go on whether or not we are present. We can make it, without having it, our clothes as dark as our moods. It was summer. It was raining. Paparazzi beats assassination to the hunch. There is no finality for the future, just a lot of no return or new management.

Not much left of mediocre, as close to interesting. In vino veritas amid the porches and Spanish moss, sunshine and whiskey changing temperatures.

Which years do you consider the ratings grabber? You know, the inevitable tumble that reaffirms the obvious..

Put on a Show

Breaking news.
We never knew,
The media circus had become a study in taxonomy.
The talking heads burn down the house and then insouciantly remark about the weather.
Watch the flames.
Those who allow perception of their being to immolate themselves for an inattentive coliseum end up only so much cigarette ash banality, decorative soap.
The wheel goes round.
News at eleven.
A tombstone headline succinct.

Chronicle of a Life Lacking Momentum

The tender violence of adulthood, intersecting with the carefree destruction of youth. Hearing you talk up the virtue of the prolonged interaction as opposed to the fleeting distraction. The faith to keep looking or the enjoyment of delayed or impossible gratification, brings me back to svoermere and the pleasure principle. I hope you get it someday, and knowing you, you will. All the things you know but don't teach, the things you see but can't reach. Being clever never got you anywhere you wanted to be. Gated communities and beach side imprisonments. The waking revolution of the change of address, change of time. I used to think blood and ink were interchangeable, but permanence is determined by the medium you defile. The blurring landscape of concentrated memories. Fate in the form of bullets in a gun.

Update

I know I write abstract things here, some people don't like it so I will try to give you updates of the everyday life. In addition to the shit that you hate.
Movies:
Darjeeling Limited : I like the baggage theme. Made me want to smoke again.
Like Water for Chocolate : I love this movie and magical realism.
Holding Trevor : Low budget gay Garden State, emote please.
Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, Last Crusade : Great, ToD very racist.
Mysterious Skin(Why does Gregg Araki insist on a rape scene in all his movies?)
Crazy Love: Interesting documentary on a man who blinded his wife. With acid.
Persepolis: Beautiful animation.
Hancock : Had potential.
TV:
Dexter 1-3 : Cant decide if I hate this show or not. Dexter is great, supporting cast makes the suspension of disbelief increasingly difficult.
X-Files 1-2 : Greatest show of all time.
Music:
Jay Brannan, Sleep all summer cover by the National and St.Vincent, Lover's Spit Redux by Feist have been consistent summer jams.

Not So Ancient

You disliked me instantly,
I didnt care for you much either.
But you taught me more than honors history.
The difference between want and need,
And more importantly,
What makes you hurt and makes you bleed.
Rocking back and forth in front of the podium
I would idly think about blowing him.

You used to have the Cure

I haven't thought of you in years and yet last night there you were, wearing my sweatshirt and a smirk that I would come to associate with impending doom, drinking a large glass of wine. You were the cautionary tale, in between those I regarded with reticence and regret. In the end, you were beyond the pale, a train stop of the well worn intersection of reform or habit. I am not sure if I made the right decision. The impetus or the catalyst for reckless fleeting joy was always your call.

By the Numbers

If we are two sides of the same coin, call it in the air. See who is still talking, give it a year. If the climax is only the beginning, where does it start? The judgment and the die have been cast. Better men than I have been consumed by the madness of duality. The world forgets to scare you, you forgot to fear it. Pull the trigger, visit the grave, getting lost in the stupid adjectives of decadent music.

Hearing Eminem's Superman in a strip club, the irony is underwhelming. Seeking clarity in neon lights, imagining bar fights, the smoky room sets the scene. Thinking about love as a body count for those who are willing to lay down. Importance placed on the exchange of lives and ideas, the blood and the bodies as markers of an event. All this and wanting to expire in a liquor store, could you really ask for more? Of course, the light being preferable to the dark, but the convenience coming fast, make those 15 minutes last. I would gladly settle for something to live for rather than something to die for. If all you can give is your body to an everlasting cause, well such is your chosen epitaph. Immortality is just an advertisement for the variable choice. I would rather the time go unmarked in mediocre enjoyment, rather than a solider for the inevitable.

And such is the mind set. I have been unable to articulate this swirl of things, like the tides of constant flux. Half remembered and exaggerated meaning, based on an okay idea. Trying to make that fortune cookie chorus a narrative, and so on and so forth.

The Norwegians used to have a concept called svoermere, which meant something sweetly futile or deliciously unprofitable. I think the emphasis determines the outcome.

New Love, Same Crazy

I went to bed relatively early after a large party in a hot city. No A.A. today was the theme recurrent for the demographic. This morning required coffee. So much to my enjoyment, I was told a story while drinking coffee.

Where I left the evening was after a down to the wire beer purchase to re-amp party mode. An acquaintance and her two week trial boyfriend, bonding over gangsta rap and a mutual love of acrimonious conversation, recounted a moment I am sure will be the greatest how mommy and daddy met story since The Marshall Mathers LP. A couple who both like a jealous streak in a partner, switchblades and provoking the bros.

She was making fun, he was her audience. The clowns were not amused and became hostile, provoking a lame car chase. Boyfriend got punched, girlfriend defended her man, slapped the shotgun rider of the clown car. Boyfriend pulled out switchblade which had been a mere prop and comedic device earlier in the evening. The way this story was told, with such murderous affection, was so entertaining for a Sunday morning.

All this over Alkaline Trio and nascent love. Sometimes, things have a way of working out. I hope it does for them, and I fear for that city with endless vigilantes and no heroes.

So some epic music to emphasize:The new Muse single - United States of Eurasia.
"http://mog.com/blog_posts/1400047/mogbar"
May have to do it manually, html isnt working for me right now.

He is represented in the media, I can't stop thinking about him

I tell you what, if you are looking for the answers to the questions you ask, dont look any further than the answer you want. It seems to make it easier. I know he watches this show too, we talk about it. It seems to be the only thing these days. And there, a very obvious theme he neglected to mention that must have seemed so familiar. Or maybe I am being obsessive.
So I am back for the weekend, in
Gainesville: Burger spot, Bob's River Place, rain, hicks, shower, sweet shower, Netflix, familiar faces, Chocolat, Bfast Pizza, and parties.

We all have a moment when we realize our value systems are different than our parents
Suicide's a joke until you are at the funeral. The landscape is a breath taken away from an empty chest. Traveling south until the ash fills my mouth.

"I just want to make one person happy" Jeff Holway, using Ockam's Razorblade Suitcase to dispense life advice and dieting tips. Still unsure about this.

You can have whatever I have, I don't have alot. Truly the same as me, a worthy adversary I would like to believe.

If Im going to transfer you from nighttime to daytime, (horizontal to vertical you mean), you have to talk about something other than yourself. Someone seems to be adding another dimension, or deciding that shallow insouciance is the most obvious defense mechanism, and some like to keep it simple.

Broad Stroke Off

He doesn't believe in depression. When he comes home from work and the lights are all off, he thinks it is an affectation to synthetically darken my mood. But I suppose in extremes therein lies the greatest of friendships, or bloodiest of victories. There is this face he makes when he is figuring something out, his glasses slip down and he stares at something like he has never seen it before. He is unintentionally funny, much to his own bemusement.
Last night he announced he was a love pauper, whereas his mother was a love millionaire. Ever the savvy investor, he hesitates to make a mistake in something that has never ceased to complicate him, smoothing edges and softening tongues.

Sexodus: Movement of the Money

Basically variations on that joke. That and the repetitive, narrative of 80s cock rock. Would you consider the musician writing himself into his two chord regressions metaphysical?

Somebody something about people who live too far away from water suffer from madness as they are not afforded the ocean breeze of sanity. Does this explain the mid west? Religious movements, poop joke. The intangible currency in a strip club, attention, affection, affluence, ego, the self, the other, a job. A truly interesting place. I heard a guy, roughly 40ish discussing the nature of credit to a stripper. It was like a naked bank. It was the funniest thing I had heard in a while.

Exit music, for a story: I played Hole's Celebrity Skin and Elton John's Tiny Dancer exiting. It just felt right.

Special thanks to the girl who asked if she could put my face in her boobs, and I said no and she said she normally didnt ask, but the glasses thing. I said I guess you dont get a lot of nerds here. She laughed and said something about something. The gorgeous Robin, who told us of her college major of Chorus and how we couldn't touch her cookie.

half remembered nightmare quote

someone recently told me that selfishness in the quest for improved esteem was okay. well i have a hard time with that. so here goes. i feel that wanting to know everybody's weird terrible idiosyncrasies is unrealistic, because the whole idea is that once people already like you, any bomb you drop will be safe. the mutually assured distraction, or discussion. i have no problem with the lasting relationships i have with people. jeffrey eugendies said it is a bad idea to sleep with your fantasy. i agree. i am weird. i like seeing books i gave people, or nicknames that have stuck or this shared experience communication exchange. i dont have ambition, i just want a drinking buddy wherever i am. not in the sense of drinking per se, but in the sense of someone who finds me funny, where the conversation is never as heavy as the food and the jokes are inappropriate. this will change one day and i fear i will be more lost than i have ever been. i dont know if i will ever get back. i am learning to be okay with this. i wish i could tell people i love them before it is too late. i wish i didnt react in a way that attempted to cut people out, because sometimes people take those cues and beat me to the punch. i would like to be a glorious mess or just a mediocre failure but the way people see me will never be the way i see myself.

what a long week. i dont know what the hell is going on anymore. i dont know what the point is of anything anymore and finding things to fill the void just makes the hole deeper. i cant put things into words anymore. ayyyyyyyyyyyy, like a chonga losing an earring as she is going to see the padre of her babinos. an earring hector gave her.

home

be it a bread line or a punch line, i'll cross it with you.

as the beer grows warm and the friends grow older

continental drift applied to personality. or just social networks. nobody likes to confronted with mortality, least of all their own. we all escape into ourselves and sometimes because of ourselves. the expanse is vast and the words so shallow. if ever a time to forge a binary, the one of experience vs. material rages silently. one could argue the experience is material, but to deny experience, well you my acquaintance are mistaken. people love to hurt from experience, whether it be good or bad hurt. to feel anything, in large and seeping quantity, that is the crux of adverts and life itself. commerce of ideas, commerce of stuff all comes from this place of craving permanence, as if a fruitfly wanted a tattoo. we feel it, but cant hold it, just have to think it and hope it follows us, transmuting as our moods and bodies grow weary and large, before we blink out. reverse the verse and kick it to the hearse, i stand corrected with the beat perfected. i dont have much but a varying vocabulary and the love of a good story. my trinkets and thoughts are just as easily traded as produce before metal, gods before computers. but i am here, myself, this breathing meme factory and here to interact and advance those seeking same.

I have seen this movie several times, missed this part completely.

You don't appreciate the chaos and absurdity of life on this planet. You don't understand irony, or ethnicity, or eccentricity, or poetry, or the simple joy of being a regular at the diner on your block. I love that. You don't drink coffee or alcohol. You don't over eat. You don't cry when you're alone. You don't understand sarcasm. You plod through life in a neat, colorless, caffeine free, dairy free, conflict free way. I'm bold and angry and tortured and tremendous and I notice when someone has changed their hair part, or when someone is wearing two very distinctly different shades of black or when someone changes the natural temperment of their voice on the phone. I don't give out empty praise. I'm not complacent or well-adjusted. I can't spend fifteen minutes breathing and stretching and getting in touch with myself. I can't spend three minutes finishing an article. I check my answering machine nine times every day and I can't sleep at night because I feel that there is so much to do and fix and change in the world, and I wonder every day if I am making a difference and if I will ever express the greatness within me, or if I will remain forever paralyzed by muddled madness inside my head. I've wept on every birthday I've ever had because life is huge and fleeting and I hate certain people and certain shoes and I feel that life is terribly unfair and sometimes beautiful and wonderful and extraordinary but also numbing and horrifying and insurmountable and I hate myself a lot of the time. The rest of the time I adore myself and I adore my life in this city and in this world we live in. This huge and wondrous, bewildering, brilliant, horrible world.

mixtape

thao nguyen - swimming pools
beatles - here there and everywhere
candylion - candylion
patsy cline - walking after midnight
rufus wainwright - grey gardens
modest mouse - 3rd planet
cat power - he war
belle and sebastian - get me away from here, im dying
phoenix - if i ever feel better
feist - brandy alexander
beck - girl
radiohead - talkshow host
rilo kiley - rise up with fists!!
elliott smith - son of sam
otis redding - sitting on a dock on a bay
bjork - all is full of love
sufjan stevens - jacksonville
rufus wainwright - sanssouci

sorry about last night, i just needed to talk to someone. not that you are someone, but i know that you were tired. a painkiller and sad films are not good for an ever darkening tunnelvision mindset.

thanks for being a friend, like you are.

aim above morality

i wish i could do this on the daily. a(muse) accidental about the ebb and flow, the variations on the same theme that is in and out, in and out. waves, heartbeats, stylized shots of travel in a movie, fast and slow, talking and action. so today we have garlic basil tater tots with a Rotel glaze and chocolate butterscotch pancakes. a good way to lose a Saturday and some inches on your wastedline, for sure. Steel Magnolias and Southern Fried Beverages for the PM, as the dusk becomes what could have been, and the thought of tomorrow comes too soon. We sit and look up at the moon, object of intense contemplation and hours of non speak. Thanks for the memories, ocean filled and dark. Glowing orb giving off more than a spark. These are the days that make rust in the mind, indicative of hours of a good time.

your friend,

Errant One, Bullshit walks and money talks Tuzuner

Thank you

"People who soar are those who refuse to sit back, sigh and wish things
would change. They neither complain of their lot nor passively dream of
some distant ship coming in. Rather, they visualize in their minds that
they are not quitters; they will not allow life's circumstances to push
them down and hold them under."

-Charles R. Swindoll

fire sail away

I want to forget about words
simple things like bears and birds
watching the scenes and herds
advice, like responsibility is free
take some of that instead of sympathy
the daily ritual
the offender habitual
bars and swings
bars and swings
ideas and things
excuses and flings
no way to find it
if you don't know what you are looking for
the open window and the barricaded door
everything looks good facedown on the floor
make the most of the most of the time
the isolation of vast communication
making it up as you go along

i thought this was funny a while ago.

E-Harmony ads like "has bacne and a fear of commitment" or "filed bankruptcy, into BDSM" there is more than just the brightside.

Piss a stream of consciousness
I need a Pontius Pilate to my Messiah Complex
Face down in a biological mess
There is no such thing as a passionate coward,
Emotional cripple armed with the last word
The hero dead before the story ended
Everything but the shadows offended
The apologetic martyr, the suicidal Sisyphus
The imagined greatness can no longer contain us
Diminutive giants, belligerent and sterile
Expectations and epitaphs
Invested in pretense
Awareness intense
The silent resignation of a life reaction
The performance of thunder
The world on fire
The commonplace brutality
The wonder forgotten
It's not over yet.

here is stand up from my sit down job

LOL-ocaust. I can has a diary. The SS are coming, ROFL-Copter. When
people talk about the internet. Did you see this website ... Well no,
but while we are interacting, face to face, please tell me about this
website or this Youtube video. That way we still dont have to talk
about ourselves, or our boring 3D lives. There is no abortion for
reality, though alcohol helps take the edge off hour by hour.

Why is it always feminists who are the first to drop their ideologies
with their pants? Objectification is in the eye of the degree holder,
I suppose. I think they hate whores so much because they lack
subtlety in the validation aspect. If I had a penis, I would call
those ladies, "boner graveyards". And if I was more into The Cure and
Tim Burton, that would be a turn on for me.

People who hate public speaking, it is a common fear for most people.
I dont think it is the speaking, I think it is the the fear of
rejection, in front of a large group of people. Like being on a group
date with your family. Not only do you have rejection, but a "helpful
commentary" the whole time, on how and why you are such a failure,
which could never in any way be construed as constructive criticism.
Which is why sex Olympics will never take off in this country. The
ironic nature of technology and isolation. Being unreachable, but
always available. Here is where I would interject a hearty
conspiritorial chuckle with an analogy to an ex, but then I would hate
myself.

The worst thing about talking to yourself is when you inevitably get
into an argument. The best way to end the argument is to say, "Well,
that's easy for you to say". That way both of you are confused and it
effectively ends the argument.

The best part of college is finding people who use the DSM-IV as a sex
manual. It seems that daddy issues were only the tip of the iceberg,
and you know what they say about icebergs. Wait, what do they say
about icebergs ?!! When did I start liking scat dressed as a dead
dictator? Oh, that's still an unrealized fantasy. Good, I thought I
was a little forward on that E-Harmony profile.

Activities and events for children and the elderly. Birthday parties,
bingo, suicide counseling. Waiting for life to be interesting, when
not inconveniencing all around you.

The thing I hate about my job, if we could narrow it down to one
specific infliction, would be calling people when they are at work. I
feel like saying, although thank god for my untreated alcoholism and
shred of impulse control, that i dont respond to people by shouting :
"I'm at work too!" Nobody wants to do this, you are bothering me by
the virtue I have to call you to bother you. This is not good. One
of us just needs to use the language barrier as a step ladder and hang
ourselves.

my spank bank is not in a recession

So as I have been saying/thinking lately, awareness and action are divided by a Grand Canyon of self doubt and selfishness. The leap doesnt seem worth the certain death sometimes. As an aside, I feel like people often tell me that they dont know what the hell I am talking about. Well, I will work on the linear but not the Linnaeus. That stays. It is on the fucking internet, google something if you feel like my nonsense might have a bibliography.

I dont know when or why, but I like being on the side. I dont want to be a hero. I dont mind being the supporting cast, even in my own life. I feel like this detachment may cause problems in the future but when ever I feel things are getting to intense, in whatever sense, it is easier to disengage. Well, maybe I dont like it, but it is something that I have adapted to myself.

I keep having the strangest dreams and erratic sleep schedule. It is only in the guest bedroom though.

"He will never get the girl".
"The girl is dead".

I have been in such a weird mood lately. I have read several books and I am writing different genres of things. This might prove to be a good thing.

too much for the micro-blog

so i woke up thinking in terms of aphorisms and dubious song lyrics. "victim of another violence, in search of the mid day miracle". you own a part of me that the flesh forgot. i cant get over how i imagine you, like interaction is a template for ideological circumstance. the part of you that belongs to everyone is sometimes the only one.

its too easy sometimes, sundays.

So I was thinking I dont know how to fucking get there. I dont know where I am half the time, as you tell me as frequently as I am called to give directions, which you call instructions. Those differences between us seem to widen with the times.

Last night the rain made it feel like a production, intense, loud music, subtext beneath the subtext. I hate the word epic, and every time you use it, it makes me think of failed bohemian revolutionaries, Barnes and Noble parking lots and the misnomer rebellion.

I suppose intense is the best word. There wasnt a time to express it last night, but I am constantly surprised by our interactions. I thought complicated was the best possible word, and I meant it with the best of intentions. Someone called me fascinating once, with the condition that they would stray away from the oft-mentioned "unique". They were right on with that one. They should have said, contrary, moody, above all RUDE. But these were better times and the memory is more forgiving than the characters we have killed off.

I had no idea I meant so much to you, or you feel that you can share so much of yourself. I feel like I hardly know you at all. And that dichotomy in a relationship seems so indicative of my future. I miss so much most of the time. I suppose it is all those walls I am constructing. You would think with all the time I spend inside myself I could make myself a better person. But now I think I am the best possible version of myself. Whatever that means, I will continue to be this person regardless of the changes I feel are necessary.

half remembered and probably unimportant

thinking about how we met by chance, with some shared interests and a love of dance. how far we've come. how far i've gone. but back to destroy my disposable brilliance and my primitive internet left on scraps that you saved for me. i love that you never threw away what other would rightly call trash. expectation and integrity making their way in the distorted pathways of an early morning drunk brain chemistry. we mentioned the take-offs and landings and the blessed in-between that comprise our decisions and our smiles for miles. now stuck in a moment i am torn between all kinds of adjectives and the urge to wallow. you remind my so much of mother sometimes my affection for you seems ironic. but i love you more than i ever loved her it seems although that probably isn't accurate. this day will get me through the years. and that is good enough.

too much has happened in too short a time. i worry about the arrangement of the lines, instead of the theme sometimes. but c'est la vie and on and on.

the path of discovery is littered with cigarette butts and beer bottles

the minerals in your body
that comprise your jewelry
an interesting propostion
when i brought you home
i think you felt alone
when you took me to your house
i didnt know
what to do with my hands
or that taste in my mouth
bodies-under the covers
under the bed
the words-out of my mouth
leaving my head
plan on disappointment, mark it on your calendar
coffee and beer
waking up
passing out
next to you
dinner and cable television, an empty bottle of wine
passes for a good time

i dont think this is codependency but victims never do
the chemicals...
in your body
that comprise your personality


why dont you find out for yourself- i dont understand human relationships. the bridge between hemispheres, the bering strait of the brain as it were(corpus collosum) has sutured this innate sense of self, the I, causing all kinds of reactionary thought processes based on the stimulus and interest of others beings, similarly plagued. those who "read" these blogs often why the vocabulary or obscure quasi scientific metaphors. i am this boring, even more so but right now i dont feel like journal entry year of 1992 with incomplete sentences sometimes lacking in verbs or subjects. i cant just say names, dates yield experience. last night i learned alot my life and lives of those who want to be in my life, and it was awe inspiring. perhaps exercise, lack of sleep and complete honesty in myself has yielded this radical shift in my perception of what i want and more/most importantly, how to get it. i figured out that any place i dont use my cellphone because everyone and everything i require is already present is a good indicator. i dont know about happiness, but i am beginning to understand satisfaction. it isnt sex drugs or MTV but rock n roll is integral part of it.

just sitting thinking, about what people are like at work when they are at a restaurant having a good time, what the staff will do when they get off, what the loud mouthed red necks really think and believe rather than bottom shelf tequila and sugar coming out of their pores. trusting the (in)sincerity of the things people tell me, what full disclosure is and mainly what a nice night it was to sit, distance observe life rather than be just another player with bad dialouge and a worse wardrobe.

a rhinestone bible belt

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enough

some people seem to have situational depression and dont do anything to remedy it. i feel that if they just knew that if they stopped looking for things that uspet them, maybe happiness would replace that. bad things will also find you, but why should anyone make it easier. oh well, it seems that no matter how much you love people, or the frequency in which you do so, destruction is so much easier. and we all love easy.

i dont expect anyone to change with me. the experiences that have led me here many would overlook or repress. i dont want to lose the people in my life that have helped me but i dont want to be stagnant because they are them and i have not myself anymore.

The world doesn't change itself. What did great expectations ever do but bore us. Good intentions and academic degrees didn't ever change our world.
The Rapture is for procrastinators. Im going up now!!

sometimes in the journey to the center or perceived center of your mind, you start to lose the baggage that often informs people "just how long you are staying, and where you have been". who am i to presume a non-linear collection of experience and imagination? it is possible for the collective unconscious to have multiple passengers arrive at different destinations. things as paradoxically fleeting and permanent as notes both musical and post it dictate the cold sobriety that we all fall into. when you have found someone who can tell the difference between a 45 and all the implications therein for violence and records, cross overs, overlaps and covers. the constant narrative of the day to day to year to nostalgia and back again in one extended saturday afternoon. the illusion of accomplishment and its whoring girlfriend, failure, shows up like bills and stds. oh if one could only be prepared for their own life and thus every body else's. until then, the lyrics and half forgotten poems of our academic endeavors serve as the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there is something more in everything and everybody is capable of learning the chorus, if not bullshiting the symbolism.