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