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.

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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.