I must have forgotten what I meant to say.

love is my stalker

2010-09-08T17:24:00.001-07:00

love is all around me. It usually is anyway. It seems to follow me through my travels. Sometimes lagging behind out of sight and other times running on ahead. In those times that it falls too far behind I can't be sure that it will come back. But so far it always has. And when I have it with me we never interact exactly the same way twice. I can run with it. Or get stuck in it. I can wrestle with it sometimes even fighting it. More often though I have to nurture it. We build it and destroy it. And we love it except for when we are hating it. But the most amazing of all is when it has wandered totally out of sight and it comes back.

ghjy

2010-05-09T23:03:00.001-07:00

humiverse.saturdayschool.bravenewerotica.

oh stoners.

2010-04-21T16:42:00.001-07:00

danger of being a stoner... doing something with purpose and not seeing a ciggarette in your hand after just lighting one.. and you havent got a clue not an idea where it could possibly be. its unclear exactly what you have been doing for th last 20 minutes a it is. visions of a smoldering fire hazard enter the reqlm of possibility
.. okay this one was in the ashtray.

this is a test from my nexus one.

2010-04-04T02:23:00.001-07:00

sunday morning. easter sunday. 4:22 am. and all is well.

i am the owner of many websites

2008-09-08T18:24:00.000-07:00

that nobody ever visits.

This blog is one of my early examples of failure.

to the girl who will never read this.

2007-06-10T03:43:00.001-07:00

im going to say words that i should not.
i will now type things that are incorrect and folly.
to be be the fool of man to act the fool and stand proud is an accomplishemnt perhaps in the fools minds eye,

wehn one creature sees another that understands it.
when one creature sees it's match and thinks to itself this creature understands me.
this is a unique thing.
this is a special moment.

such folly befalls the likes of simple minds.
yet all men are succeptible to simple minded folly.

so i speak in melody i speak in poetic cadence.
i find comfort and ease in the rhythmic melody.
such is that is the thing which drives me.
such is that which enables me.

andso i press forward into the rising twilight.
i see you.
i think of you.
i wish certain things and certain thoughts to be real.
admit that i wish to be your north star.
not the north star who dissapears into the morning's dawn.
but the guide.
the star you can follow with confidence through the night.
you are luminance.
i will luminate your path.

we are creatures seen as different.
we are creatures rarely seen by human eyes.
and in my eyes you are like me.
in my eyes you are the stars and moon.
i would follow you. i would lead you.
if only you would let me.

but instead you reject me.
if our lips cannot touch than why not our minds.
its perfect in design and flawless in execution yet we stumble.

if only love were so simple.
yet the single syllable itself is daunting and daring.
disturbing and scary - ridiculous in its simpleness - if there were such a word.

i think of you in past tense.
i desire you in the present.
but no longer place you in the future.
what a fool am i.

what i discovered about myself

2007-01-25T14:13:00.000-08:00

I am headlong and headstrong.
My mind is a vindictive son of a bitch.
Either I do things his way or he betrays me and drives my body into disaster.
It's like I am the passenger and he is the driver.
And every time I say something he doesn't like he scrapes the car along the guardrail creating a shower of sparks wiping the mettalic green paint off onto the concrete.
He is fucking crazy like that.
It reminds me of my favorite line from perry ferril where he says, "say you love me or ill kill us...but you wont say it"... Damn if that isn't bloody romantic.
If I could just remember to trust my own mind. To listen and react accordingly - then nobody has to get hurt.
But I am often forgetful and sleepy.
Sometimes I wait too long thinking maybe my mind is wrong this time - maybe he is just messing around and I should wait for a better idea....Maybe I should take somebody else's advice and ignore what my own mind told me.
Crash - badumpabump - we go plowing over the median, take out a mailbox and careen off of a schwerma stand.
Back on the road we are driving with two tires over the lane divider bumps.
ta-ta-ta-ta-ta rings in our ears while he stares at me intently just daring me to say another word. Not even looking at the road, just glaring intently at me.
Watch the road! I scream.
Deer!!!!!
Pa-bump!
We plow through it badly damaging the windshield.
Okay, okay - i learned my lesson, please just watch the road.
Eventually and on his time he straightens the wheel and we begin cruising on smooth highway again.
What a dick.

throwback poem

2007-01-23T09:59:00.000-08:00

You and I are meant to be together.
It is you and I and you and I who could be the greatest pair of lovers to ever cross paths.
Two minds fused together and united at one core.

You and I could defeat werewolves and vampires with ease.
We would liberate villages and rescue kingdoms.
Generals and lords, demons and dark forces alike would fall to their knees when we combine our presence into one brilliant entity.

Together you and I could walk into a room dressed identical.
Cloaked and shrouded in black with faces covered and identities hidden.
We appear dark twins until we throw back our capes and brandish our swords like the night brandishes its stars. With your beauty and my style we battle back to back defeating any force with grace and ease.

If it was you and I we could skip through hell hand in hand scarecely throwing a glance to either side. Confident and strong - imaculate and indestructible.
If it were. If it was. If only it were you and I.

Our love could protect us both like bubbling lead housed in a titanium shell. Together we would be warrior poets and dreaming soldiers floating upon a gossamer of truth.

If it was you to kiss my eyelids then I could see well into the future.
If it was me to kiss your lips you could speak even the most ancient languages.
Great and powerful magic exists when you put your hand into mine.

Without you I am incomplete like a broken record.
With you we are the greatest and most profound symphony ever concieved.

There is nothing more important in any universe ever than the space between us.
For us to unite is for the heavens to open to tortured earthbound souls.
And for us to unite is for the light of the sun to reach the earth.
I will love you my partner my essence my sister and brother - my lover and my heart.

Know me in the heart of all hearts.

And so it has been spoken.
And so it shall be.

still tripin

2006-06-02T17:25:00.000-07:00

For some people there are no breaks.
some people get overlooked and underappreciated every moment of every day. For these brave citizens a smile or a touch of easy conversation is momentary paradise.

Everything these souls have or will ever get must be pursued relentlessly. And when they do get a small piece of success it will surely be snatched away quickly and without explanation.

Most put their heads down and just plod along. Climing back up the mountain.
Some lose it.
Freak out.
Hate the world and everything in it.
They see everyone and everything as stupid and ridiculous.
Rather than keep trying they begin just pissing on everything.
Inevitably that's when some glorious windfall does occur.
And they piss it away - always realizing just as it becomes too late what has happened.
It's when the claws are out and the anger is rolling in waves that out of the hordes of people that ignored for you for years suddenly a kind face steps forward to try and offer you something sweet and pure.

Where was the sweet intention while you worked and suffered?
It is here now and you will surely destroy it and despise it, not understanding it. Desensitized and too sensitive all at the same time.

You will never know the intentions were pure until it so too late.
It's most excellent for the rest of us to witness.
For some reason we hate the success of others.
So to see those poor souls fail even in the face of success is like a passive victory.
Or maybe Im just a total bastard.

the 8 minute poem

2006-01-23T20:55:00.000-08:00

I have 8 minutes to dispense with.
Why not use it here.
Okay subjekt....
The dawn of time?
The end of the world?
Love leads to crushing dissapointment.
Love leads to blazing joy.
Blazing joy. That sounds good. It burns the fingers to touch and it hurts the eyes to behold..... I could go that way....nah.
How about something small and unimportant. But written in a way that is interesting and different.
There is a humming coming from the ceiling.
Mechanical servants cower just behind the walls serving their masters.
Delivering cool bursts of air and exhaling the oxygen the master could not use.
The hum is incessant.
The hum is a marathon - it endures and reinvents itself, holding that one perfect pitch without deviation, without complaint.
See?
A poem about the air-conditioning in my building.
Neat huh?
I had another idea.
I could write a fluff poem!!!
Yes. The type of work one does when he just refuses to bare any of his own soul or explore any of his own emotions.
He denies the reader access his mind and just lays words for the sake of the word-play.
Yea, I'll do that.
there.
all done.

Another day without pot.

2005-12-28T19:00:00.000-08:00

After reading this post - i realized it's shallow and gross.
I can't delete it tho for those same reasons.
if you're anyone skip down or go to another website. Its lame and blocky and harsh and not good.

Go fuck yourself you half-retarded half-shitbrain pathetic and weak fagget fucking, piece of worthless dried diarreah crust. You're asshole is stretched to the size of a pringles can cause you love ramming shit up it dont you? Someone should really just kill you. Not just anyone. It oughta be your mother. You deserve a 88th trimester abortion. I fucking hate the thought of seeing your photograph that's how much you disgust me. Seriously you deserve being choked to death with dental floss by your own mother. Then that bitch should kill herself. Blow her fucking brains out all over your corpse. It would then be my pleasure to lock a pack of animals in the room with your corpses so they shit and piss on your broken bodies eventually dying there with you. I would give the dogs a better funeral than yours. Cause i would feel badly about their passing. You and that slut cunt cock-gobbler mother of yours can fucking rot on the highway for all i care. Spitting in your face is like a back massage for me. Watching you get beaten with a rusty chain is like jacking off for me. To see two cars collide pinning you between them would literally, to me, feel like getting sucked off by victoria secrets supermodels while on ecstacy on a tower of silk and down pillows. You are a loser. You suck at everything. People ignore you and make fun of you because you are a cockroach that does not deserve life. I would rather be covered in cockroaches and electrocuted until they are all dead - than give you a glass of water when you are thirsty. I would rather have all my teeth smashed in with a monkeywrench than smile at you. I would love to drown your grandmother in a shallow bathtub. To bad your dad didn't do that to you at birth. He's a fantastic idiot to be sure. I don't know your father but I hate him. I'd set him on fire. And what i mean by that is, i would gladly tie him up, wrap him in duct tape (except his eyes - I wanna see those) douse him in diesel feul and fire flaming potatoes at him with a high pressure potato cannon. He's a loser. Everything you have ever dreamed of is stupid. Everone girl who has ever spoken to you is a slut. Your children if you have them, will be bastard chimp-people. Just go fuck off and die...please.

My thoughts were parched and cracked.

2005-12-28T12:52:00.000-08:00

It has taken me 27 years to get here.

Along the way I have exchanged names and smiles, glances and numbers with more women than there are blades of grass in my yard. Eventually though, like morning due on the grass they dissapear.

Fade from my sight and vanish from my thoughts.
Ghosts of romance lost.
Not all the names evaporate. Some names get stamped in dark bold ink - leaving a permanent imprint on my mind.
I have spent much time with one special girl lately. Or at least spent a lot of time with her figment.
Her illusion. I spend a lot of time with your memory. I fall asleep thinking about the curve of your shoulder. Then awaken with her name sitting lightly upon my lips.

We should find the way to be together.
If missing you brings me so much sincere emotion, what a ride being with you is.

I see us in seperate and empty traincars.
Each barrelling down a different track.
Evidently we are travelling the same direction though.
Because every so often, our trains emerge and fly so close together that we may simply reach out the window and take the other's hand.
What a sweet charge to have you and to be blinded by the winds rushing by.

It is so brief.
Then you roar off again.

I'm comforted by nothing but your memory.
By the rhythmic beat of the train.
By the darkness as I pass underground for long stretches.
The mountains through my window.
You are out there somewhere.

So I relax and daydream.
When this train pulls into the next station that you will be there.

A grand escape....

2005-12-06T13:38:00.000-08:00

Be determined.
Do not allow youself to be dettered or distracted.
Once the wheels are set into motion all the pieces will fall into place.
March.
Push on until March.
Make the spring of 2006 a new beginning of your life.
The flowers bloom and so can you. Just be careful and plod along. But keep your mind keen and your ideas clean. Work with both eyes open. You feel a deep desire to do something more important. Something significant. You are ready. You have been preparing for years. There is no excuse.
Everytime you set your mind to something, your whole mind - you succeed. Everytime the idea takes root deeply beyond all convictions those roots hold fast.
You are frustrated and with good reason.
It is them being unreasonable.
It is the situation which is ridiculous.
Be your idea.
March.
March on young soldier.
In March there will be something.

carzy

2005-12-02T01:05:00.000-08:00

crazy...crazy...hmm.....
Well there was that time I disguised myself as grocery store checker, and
stood at an empty register.
When people lined up at my register I began by casually and very slowly
scanning the first guys groceries. It was on a bag of cheetos when I ripped
off my checker costume only to reveal a police uniform.
Promptly leapt over the conveyor belt and
tackled a little old lady while shouting
"YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME OLD LADY!!!"
I commenced to beat her with a Hickory Farms summer sausage.
I wasnt hitting her that hard even, mainly just bravado.
Once she had learned her lesson - I pushed the crowd back shouting,
"get back - give her air"
Ripping off the cop disguise and revealing a White lab coat and stethescope
I continued,
"Get back I'm a doctor!"
What a reaction doctors get these days.
Youd think people would be more respectful but there still seeme to be alot of hostility.
I shoved this fool dressed like the manager off of me and ran in a circle that ended up with me on my side more spinning in a circle, pivoting off my shoulder and head, clockwise.
This is the part where it gets wierd.
That is something felt out of place to me.
In a daze I pulled away the lab coat and tossed off the stethescope.
Revealing an outfit like that guy from ACDC wears....Yelled, "KICKED IN THE TEETH AGAIN!!!"
At which point I filled my pockets with Skittles and Mars bars and ran out
of the store laughing maniacally.

our youngest one is an idiot.

2005-11-13T18:00:00.000-08:00

The mood today was dark.
Menace lurked somewhere. That's the thing about good menace - you never know quite where it is until it's too late.
That's what is so menacing about it I suppose.
The air in the room felt like the space between a cowboys boots and the dusty ground.
Tight and cramped.
Nobody wanted to speak.
We just shifted about uncomfortably.
No one made eye contact.
Nobody wrote an ending for their poems.

d1

2005-11-12T00:25:00.000-08:00

think not.
yes i sit here and stab at these keys.
yes the effects of drink an lonliness rest on my concious.
but i feel the same.
its without pause that I type is it not?
i would find you.
I would shelter you and desire you.
Please find the way to see that I know.
That I understand as a dillegent student of life, people, and all things around him might. I see what is invisible and i believe. There is love here.
You change me.
I make you different.
You do love. I do long for your cheek and to rest my hand on it.
And so i would put kisses upon it.
You are a beautiful way.
You make the air around you lighter.
I know and it is so - that we are air.
That love is transparent and dissapated both by time and space.
I reach across the pair of them to be near you.
I reach nonetheless.
You run off.
You be alone.
You get in love.
You be married.
You dissapear from my caress forever.
There is a part of me.
There is 2 parts of me.
And I love them both.
Take my love in spite of my words.
Find my truth in spite of your world.
There is love and then there is life.
I crush.
I folly.
You stumble.
You blush.
We think.
We remember.
You kiss me,
I kiss you back.

I mean what else does bind me so?
What else does find it's way into the now and surface with such strength.
There is barely a reason yet a glorious rhyme.
It's the memory.
It is a still image.
A still of you looking deep into my eyes.
It is still intentional?
To what end will it all conclude?
You give to me with no effort.
Please be who you are and let me love that person.
Not to sound contrite - but be my Jude.
Should there be hurt or tears - I would take the tears and adorn my eyes - but in my secret place, rejoice.
Certainly I will bore and frustrate you.
Frustration can bear sweet fruit.
My beautiful charm.
Sweet caresss.
Be with you slowly.
Lie with you in wait.
Build such anticipation.
Only to discover we are the same.
And be there with love.
Silly but ridiculous distractions we find to amuse and take time.
Serious concern and detachment we create to replace and confuse.
You bitch.
Give me the key.
Allow my love entry.
Let me wash you in it.
Let us sit quietly hand in hand - watching the stars spin round and round.

Larry Felix

2005-11-06T21:24:00.000-08:00

You can pick me out of a crowd because I will be the guy with a busted nose, swollen cheeks, and bruised eyes. I get into fights on a daily basis. Unfortunately I am a very small and weak man. So even the least likely foes usually beat me silly.
I don't remember how I got into this vicous cycle, exactly. I only know that it has become the cornerstone and the center of my life.
Every morning I will put the icepacks that I slept with back in the freezer. Check my scrapes and cuts for infection. Apply neosporin when needed.
Then out into the world to start my day.
I have lived in this house now for 8 years and had 25 different mailmen in that time. I fist-fought with every single one of them, 3 area managers, and one regional supervisor.
It's not unusual to find me scrapping with bagboys in the market parking lot. More waiters and bartenders than I could possibly even begin to guess. Every single time it's starts so innocently. Some seemingly insignificant or innocous comment. Made by me or him...
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Do you have change for a twenty?"
"I have a T-shirt just like that one."
These phrases have all served as ample catalyst to ignite a bloody dog-dirty brawl.
Some so-called friends have tried to give me counsel.
Tried to impose their high-class standards upon me.
It just doesn't take. Lord knows I try. Yet inevitably I know at some point either today or possibly tonight (possibly both) I will find myself set behind my banged up and battered fists, defending this face.

my upset stomach makes me type this way.

2005-11-06T18:29:00.000-08:00

He clawed his way through a river of filth.
Burning lungs filled his vision with tiny fireworks and fine black webs.
On occassion his head would break the slime's surface and he could inhale deeply.
Not suprisingly the air was putrid and contaminated.

Reeking of refuse and wretchedness the foul gas filled his lungs for another submerged bout with morality.
His arms make waves in the sludge not visible from above and his legs could only propel him at a dissapointing and trudging pace. Grime had built up in all his joints, packing his armpits, further impeding forward progress.

Breaks the surface again and exhales mightily, spittle and putrid slime flying off of his lips.
Gasping the warm vapor that passes for air chokes him and draws his panic to the surface. The prospect of panic terrifies him. Do not PANIC!

Now tears burn the back of his eyes while methane gasses burn the front.
The sky is dark but the river of yellow mung which serves as a tomb is still visible.
His pace slows.

All his muscles plead for uncontaminated oxygen.
But these requests will not be fulfilled.

He must not fail.
Though he may cry out.
He shall not concede.
He might vomit into the fray.
But he will not be defeated.
We shall overcome.

A message to Bush.

2005-11-02T16:15:00.000-08:00

I was asked what Bush should do.
What would make me happy?

Below is my answer...

The first thing bush should do in my opinion is go onto Iraqi television and beg forgiveness from the mother's of fallen Iraqis. Ask for understanding and express sincere pain over their loss. In particular the civilian deaths but also show compassion for the fallen soldiers. Brave men who fought for what they believed - even it was at odds with his own idealogy. Name names, give dates, remark locations which were particularly bloody. Explain why those locations with unusually high collateral damage were targets of opportunity and once again ask for forgiveness. Show human emotion and a disgust for war and loss of life. Be sure to clearly state all life is precious. Let the arab world know he prays for peace in Iraq and all countries of the world. Then actually pray. As president I am certain he could bring together known rabbis, imams, and priests to join hands and bow their heads in silence reflecting on the loss of life.
Only after observing solemn anguish should he then remark that historically there has never been a significant social/political revolution w/out equally substantial loss of life. Remind his viewers of the thousands of voices which plead for the removal of Hussien for many years. State the decision to take action made his heart grow heavy and has changed him forever. Remind Iraqis of their great history and glean hopeful for their future.
He should erect a monument with the names of fallen soldiers from all countries.
Do not divide them. Let the names flow together be they American, Iraqi, Saudi, British, Paki, or Afgan. Create a place where soldiers may visit to pay penance for their sins and where families may see the name and weep together.
Remind us all that the enemy is human and that when we kill and destroy we do so with calculated purpose.

What good would this do?
It would bring tears to the eyes of thousands.
It would show a human side to the fire and explosions.
It is the right thing to do.
It is a request for a cease fire without surrender.
It would fill me with respect for the commander in chief.

The military paradox

2005-10-31T16:28:00.000-08:00

Today I want to expound upon a very real phenomena I have seen during my time as a political observer.
The first time it dawned on me in full force was years ago while sitting in an Army recruitment office. I was discussing the Military and the responsibilities that come w/ membership with a wet behind the ears seargant who was feverishly making his case for joining the Army. Getting this jump on life only found in service to one's country.
I off-handedly remarked how ironic it is, that the armies largest priority is destroying the need for itself.
He stared back in confusion. Not understanding my statement. I tried to elaborate.
Army is an instrument of war, which by design is intent upon negating war and undermining it's own existence.
Still not registering with him.
I didn't get to explain further as he retreated to a brochure.
Showing me photographs of famous plot of grass where famous or infamous events had occurred depending on which side of the knoll you stood upon.
I doubt the recruiter remembers our conversation - but it stuck with me.
We need a strong defence.
Men with guns and tanks prepared to kill or be killed in effort of protecting our property from territorial predators.
Other men.
Others prepared to sacrafice their lives, but not before making an effort to sacrafice yours first.
The goal - finally?
Peace.
There is no peace while armies sweep through the plains or streak over the skies.
Those armies are a threat. Bullets are clearly hostile. We must take the bullets away from the hostile men and shoot their jets out of the sky.
By force when nessecary.
We simply continue taking the bullets and shooting down the planes until there are non left.
At which point only one army remains.
And then all those soldiers can finally put away the fatigues.
Go home and breate easily that the enemy is no longer encroaching upon their front yards.
What happens to a flame once all it's fuel has been consumed?
To a tool once it's purpose has been served?
To any creature once all it's food source has been picked clean?
Hopefully we can find this logical end while human life still thrives on this planet.

Militaries are militaries regardless of flag or uniform.
They demand allegiance and patriotism.
Obedience and strength.
Every soldier they shoot - they kill their own.
Destroy a brother in arms.
Until eventually there are none left.

These are words I want to use in a poem.

2005-10-30T14:33:00.000-08:00

hypallage (hie PAL uh gee)
A humorously misapplied word.

litotes (lie TOE tees)
The negative understatement

paraenesis (pah RAY nuh sis)
The Chicken Little figure. It warns of impending doom.

solecism (SOL eh sizm)
The figure of ignorance.

topothesia (toe poe THEE sia)
Description of an imaginary place.

anastrophe (ann ASS trow fee)
The poetic word-order switch.

The girl from the UK who flirts across the Internet.

2005-10-25T20:09:00.000-07:00

Mares eat oats and goats eat oats, and little lambs eat ivey.

A sweet little lass who doesn't mind her mates gass..

She noticed me staring at her and started a'starin right back.

She's a mystery and a quandry -

a little bit dirty a little bit funny,

if so desired a playboy bunny.

She's a player for sure and never a hater - drinks w/ the best and hair like darth vader...

Methinks she is sassy, bold and audacious -

an enterprising little nymph of maple and molasses.

And though I don't know her - she fogs up my glasses.

All caught up in a fervor and feeling quite frantic I built a paper boat to sail the Atlantic.

The silly thing it did sink, I ended up in the drink - can I help it I'm a hopeless romantic???

So lets raise a toast to those lovely babylons.

A cheers to her sweet little smile.

A kiss to the lips, brush of finger tips - and those hips just might save us all.

a journal entry.

2005-10-24T19:19:00.000-07:00

I am mad today.
Pissed off.
I'm working - again.
Sitting around getting fat. Feeding my anger with imaginary daydreams of expressing my problems to the management in this futile impotent group.
Reading trite and demoralizing emails and listening to redundant blather.
Being treated more and more infantile drives me to act more and more childish.
I get angry behind the ears.
And oh my imagination certainly isnt helping.
I want to ask questions like - name one thing you have done to benefit the team or the customer. Explain how you bring value to this organization?
We get crapped on and it's okay to them cause that's what they do.
Being told how to do my job by people that can't do my job. They drag moral through the mud then piss on it's face.
I daydream of just walking just going. I have skills - i could work for myself. But pause wait - get 2 months living expense in the bank - buy this buy that, wait for your bonus - wait for your vacation time. The team needs you here. Stick it out for the team. Stick it out for your bill collectors.
I seethe and fume. I wait more.
Issues blithely consume this place and everyone has their head in the sand.
SO I develop reasonable solutions - and just get shit on as a reward.
No action.
There is plenty of shit to go around - and that's about it.
There is no chance for advancement in this chickenshit - crackpot, mismanaged, farce of a tech center. I wrote a powerpoint presentation presenting some solid solutions and presented it to a trash can full of burned out light bulbs, got about the same results as presenting it to management in this shitbag, dis-conjointed, retarded excuse for a callcenter.
Misinformation is spread like smallpox and nobody can do a thing about it.
Yes it frustrates me.
Yes I am screwed.
No I am not overreacting.
Fuck the phone company.
that feels better.
*sigh

Do you believe in heaven?

2005-10-23T19:39:00.001-07:00

I don't have time to actually write this out - I just want to remember the ideas.
It's a book premise.
About different heavens.

The first is a very exclusive club full of the most obnoxious, most devout, and most rigidly righteous hard line, right wingers only.
All else - and I do mean all else including countless saints, holymen, and pious religous people suffer personal hells, and cruel torture.
Their suffering and pain ultimately entertainment for the exclusive chosen few. Dinner theatre for God, his host of angels, and the pharisaic.
Thats it. The entire planet - this life - this world - just a trick designed to imprison as many souls as possible into blood-curdling hades.
Picture Pat Robertson watching John Lennon having his eyes pecked out by crowes.
And the shepard of them all - is the most intolerant of them all.
A real downer.

Next hypothetical is dirty heaven.
A place everyone goes when they die.
A place with instant gratification. If you can think of it - you enjoy it.
Therefore a state of perpetual bliss, right?.
Not suprisingly - most people for the first 60 to 70 years or so all partake in the most depraved, hedonistic sexual activities known to mankind. Mass fetish indulgence. Bestiality and ped*phelia are explored because there are no reprecussions...It's heaven! Homosexual acts by heterosexual souls just because there is nothing better to do. Nothing more than sexual indulgence arching and exploring the very limits of human imagination. This heaven is a perpetual triple X rated escipade. I am thinking a heaven so filthy, so raunchy it would make porn shop proprietors raise an eyebrow.
Every girl you have ever desired on earth awaits (or at least the figment of) beyond death. There is magical creatures such as vagina rex...A dinosaur sized creature made of moist velvet-like vaginas. For the ladies, cockasaurus. Like a stegasaurus - except instead of spikes lining it's back there are various sized cocks...Of course cockosaurus would also have a rippling chest and an angelic face.

Finally the next plane.
An astral plane that everyone ends up in.
And without fail - every single newly dead soul is shocked to learn - if they don't work, they starve. Only in this next plane there is no democratic process or social responsiblity. Upon death all are reduced to serfdom and all serve the King of heaven. Who is a pompous uncaring ruler - a fool with no answers. Intelligence and science are non-existant. And if you should starve or get shot, or be beaten to death the dead simply vanish. It is still a complete mystery if the souls of the dead's dead go anywhere. The meaning and creation of life is still a mystery. There are no answers - just more toil.

Next is corpse prison.
Fairly easy to explain.
Once you die you are trapped in your corpse until the last bit of bone disinegrates.
Until then you stay concious. No vision. No senses. But fully aware of your predicament. It's not unlike a comatose prison.
Kinda makes the next plane theory sound pretty good.

Also this idea was inspired by Tupac song - "Wonder if heaven got a ghetto".
For the sake of fiction let's say, yes.

As I come up with more that are innapropriate and or unique I will certainly record the idea here for later use......

Run over by the gravy train.

2005-10-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

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To save the Goldfish or not......

2005-10-23T12:17:00.000-07:00

What you gotta ask yourself is, what is the goldfish???

What does he represent???

I began my search (my quest) for such elusive answers with Wiki...

The goldfish (Carassius auratus auratus) was one of the earliest fish to be domesticated, and is still one of the most commonly-kept aquarium fish. Goldfish natively live in rivers, lakes, and other slow or still moving bodies of water in depths up to 20 m. Part of its popularity is due to the goldfish's hardiness. Their supposed reputation in some areas for dying quickly is often due to poor care amongst uninformed buyers, especially children, looking for a "cheap" pet. Although edible, the fish is rarely eaten.

A hardy but domesticated fish.... A "cheap" pet.... How tragic....

Next I looked for the answers within.

Even as I type this, I sit in a slow moving cubicle. Not unlike the classic fishbowl home and prison to many goldfishes... With bulging-eyes I too stare through the glass longing for a world I am not to be a part of. Abuse and negligence are frequent - but my hardiness carries me on valiantly. Not being a rich man myself, I too must wait for my daily bread to be doled out like so many rations. I could miss a day - or even two, but after three I too enter a state of crisis. Maniacally poking through the rocks for something to eat.

In the end aren't we all the goldfish???

But then I paused. Looked at my hands. This is stupid, I am no goldfish.....Retarded tendency to wax poetic!

Change the perspective....I remember once - as a child. We had a suicidal goldfish. Hellbent on his own destruction this mad flapper would leap from the bowl, determined to find a carpety grave. It was delirium and pandemonium...The gold fish is out of the bowl - the fish has jumped the bowl!!!!!!

We were naive - fooling ourselves into thinking the little fishy just didn't know better. He would be gladified that we had saved his life - or that he couldn't tell such things, only that for a moment he could not breathe and now he can.

What could all this evidence finally mean?

Follow such concepts through to their philisophical conclusion and you find merely more questions...?

To save the goldfish or not......It is a cosmic quandry to be sure - one fit for minds much more agile and capable than mine. Am I the goldfish? Is the goldfish my dreams? Maybe the goldfish is the future and we are all slowly doomed.

Then again maybe the goldfish is just a goldfish. In which case take him, 6 of his friends, and some veggies - skewer those suckers and toss em' to the grill...

Barometically unfit for service.

2005-10-20T18:42:00.000-07:00

Okay this is it.
A real blog entry.
No more farting around. No more empty calories for the mind.
Gonna lay it down one time.

But not tonight.
Tomorrow maybe.

good night.

A whirling skirvish of inept distraction

2005-10-20T18:30:00.000-07:00

Break the fucking mold.
I hate the tone that these words always dribble out.
Be different. Change it. Destroy it. Fiddle with it. Bleed it. Re-arrange it. Disrupt my thoughts. Deem it as significant after all. Breath out. Hold your breath. Soak your hair in gasoline. Smoke two ciggarettes. Eat more ice cream. Freeze it in time. Encase it in plastic. Wrap the emotion in foil. Foil my dreams. Dream of truth. Lie about your age. Grow old and die. Live a life of leisure. Work for it. Find buried treasure. Write three poems and burn the best two. Breathe in. Watch the superbowl. Fall asleep with your hand in a cup of lukewarm water. Masturbate to the tune of bonanza. Sleep around. Send anonymous love letters. Bake cookies for the homeless. Fuck the homeless. Fuck your couch. Read backwards while walking on your hands. Learn nothing. Observe everything. Forget about me. I will forget about you. Let's go. Let it go. Just let go.

pretty girl pretty words.

2005-10-19T14:23:00.000-07:00

I hung up too soon.
It was unfair to begin with.
There was no way to expect her to tag on a "Love you" to the end of our goodbyes.
The phone was all ready away from my ear w/ my thumb over the release button.
I stared at the phone for a minute.
Should I call back?
She all ready knows I love her right?
She better. I wear my heart on my sleeve as it is.
But the words clung to me.
I fell asleep with the thought making me smile and the words making the thought.
Woke up the next morning fresh and feeling loved.
I would follow this girl.
I would lead this girl.
Change her life forever and commit to keeping her happy.
She could be my Venus.
And I could be her Boticelli.
What a life it could be spent kissing her eyelids.
Reminding this girl she is beautiful and smart.
Clever and unique.
When two flames are drawn together there is a new heat which forms between them.
A heat that was not present before.
She could change my life - where once I looked and saw the lonely night, now I see her lovely form.
Beautiful raven hair cling to my chest.
Soft supple flesh yield to my touch.
Drink in my spirit and bathe me in serenity.
Will there be peace and love forever?
This moment can last forever - this moment is all that matters.
It is always this moment, this moment and this moment.
Be my Venus.

A great flood

2005-10-14T21:55:00.000-07:00

The gods shook like beaten dogs, hiding in the far corners of heaven,
Ishtar screamed and wailed:
"The days of old have turned to stone:
We have decided evil things in our Assembly!
Why did we decide those evil things in our Assembly?
Why did we decide to destroy our people?
We have only just now created our beloved humans;
We now destroy them in the sea!"
All the gods wept and wailed along with her,
All the gods sat trembling, and wept.

-from the legend of Gilgamesh

Enkidu in Hell

2005-10-14T21:46:00.000-07:00

The house where the dead dwell in total darkness,
Where they drink dirt and eat stone,
Where they wear feathers like birds,
Where no light ever invades their everlasting darkness,
Where the door and the lock of Hell is coated with thick dust.
When I entered the House of Dust,
On every side the crowns of kings were heaped,
On every side the voices of the kings who wore those crowns,
Who now only served food to the gods Anu and Enlil,
Candy, meat, and water poured from skins.
I saw sitting in this House of Dust a priest and a servant,
I also saw a priest of purification and a priest of ecstasy,
I saw all the priests of the great gods.
There sat Etana and Sumukan,
There sat Ereshkigal, the queen of Hell,
Beletseri, the scribe of Hell, sitting before her.
Beletseri held a tablet and read it to Ereshkigal.
She slowly raised her head when she noticed me
She pointed at me:

"Who has sent this man?"

-from the legend of Gilgamesh

change is good for an old dog like me.

2005-10-06T19:51:00.000-07:00

The first real cold front of the season blew in today.
There's an electricity in the air.
Maybe it's just static electricity but maybe it's the changing of the season.
This cold air reminds me of stomping through the snow.
Of outdoor parties full of shivering and laughter. So many good memories connected with the cold.
But the real kicker, the idea that fills my mouth with smiles is nature's reminder everything gets better.
Life is not stasis.
It moves whether you know it or not.
It's linear and cyclic at the same time.
How does that work?
So I get the double bonus.
Anything you missed the first time around - any regrets over decisions made before or chances blown, dreams diminished - they all come back in good time.
Everything I have forgotten I will eventually remember.
It's coming back.
And I am headed directly there.
The seasons change and so do I...thank goodness for that.

Bombastic

2005-10-02T23:45:00.000-07:00

adj : ostentatiously lofty in style; "a man given to large talk"; "tumid political prose" [syn: declamatory, large, orotund, tumid, turgid]

n : Grandiloquent, pompous speech or writing.

Homage to Chinaski part III

2005-09-20T11:45:00.000-07:00

Frosty breath.
That is what Victoria called it when the weather was cold like this and the steam would come billowing out in huge puffs.
There was a fair amount of steam rolling off the head of Louis.
He turned back to give me this, are you coming look, and looked unusually menacing in the dim parking lot with his smoldering head.
Trash was overtaking the curb and crawling onto the sidewalks. The litter surrounded his feet adding to the post-apocalyptic vibe I was getting from him in waves.
I think my face gave something away.
"What is it?"
He asked - face breaking wide into that familiar chucklehead grin.
"Nothing. I was just thinking."
We climbed into his maroon Cadillac Seville.
"you sure you don't want me to drive?"
That comment was answered with a snort, and a chortle - a snortle.
On a sidenote every Cadillac almost without exception smells the same on the inside.
It's the leather - the upholstry sure, but there is this other more conservative odor that must be artificially generated by some type of secret caddy device under the seats.
I really hate that smell.
Louis pulled down on the massive caddy shifter and we propelled out of the parking lot.
Silence bugs me.
What should I say.
Say something.....Nothing is coming.
"I'm kinda drunk."
"There's some Wild Turkey under the seat."
"There's a wild turkey under my seat?"
no answer.
Sure enough a fifth of top shelf whiskey was wedged under the passengers seat.
Twist off the cap - and inhale deeply....Ah whiskey I love you...I thought.
"I love Whiskey."
No answer.
I took another whiff and got a momentary release from that old man caddy smell.
Slugged back a stiff hit.
KRAKOW! That whiskey goes straight to the brain!
That was more than just a sip. That was a chug.
Making my lips tremble.
The trembling subsided a bit.
I really wanted to say something smart. Something cool that could initiate an interesting conversation. My eyes strolled around the car looking for the right subject. Then out the window. The car sped by a string of stores each locked up tight with accordion-like criss-crossed steel cages. We sped by a southern style chicken shack, which I thought about pointing out but couldnt see much point in it.
Gun shops, pawn shops, a tejano nightclub. We sped past the exit to the city zoo and my imagination drifted to the last time I was in this part of town. It was me, a buddy and a smashed-up el camino making phone calls from the payphone - trying to score a few bumps of white stuff. That was years and years ago.
The whiskey was at my lips again being drank. I liked the feel of the glass rim.
SO I let it sit there with whiskey half in half out of my mouth. Like a bored toddler casually suckling his bottle.

my prescription for success

2005-09-11T18:46:00.000-07:00

What time is it?
9:00 at night?
Feels like I just woke up.
I think I finally nodded off last night at around 6:00 am.
It was not a sound sleep.
5 hours later I am up and at it again.
My brain has stepped out for lunch and it may be another long lunch.
I don't mind.
Was today important?
Maybe there was some great task I should have performed today.
If so I doubt I did it.
Another day lost another sunrise and sunset flippantly dismissed.
Two stones make a spark - two sparks make a fire - my fire burns but I don't know where.

Dank yellow vomit filled my sinuses

2005-09-08T21:36:00.000-07:00

If only I was a better writer it would be easy to express myself.
I could draw words like davinci drew hands.
Rather than spending my days getting slapped by unemployed hand models.
Simple and plain - direct and astute, my point would always be waiting at the end of each paragraph; just patiently waiting there like an unexpected guest of honor at a lovely suprise birthday party. He would be showered and shaved.
Smelling of old spice and clove ciggarettes.
And when you the reader walks into that backroom oh what a joy what a suprise.
You and my point would raise a toast to my cleverness and inventiveness.
To good health and easy wealth!
Then maybe my point would put it's hand on your shoulder comforting you.
Setting your mind at ease...
The two of you just may continue drinking and talking as the point's gaze begins to envelop your senses and you take on tunnell vision.
Obsessed that lingering feeling of, what if.
Your dirty mind just keeps wondering and wandering back to the possibility.
Ah my point is delicate but so confident simutaneously.
With gentle persuasion the point would get you into it's bed taking one last shot of courage before burying your last reservation in my points secret place.
Dirty and seductive point you're intentions where there in the open the whole time.
I was such a fool that I didn't notice sooner.
And finally in the end................Is the point?

punkatilly lane.

2005-09-08T19:38:00.000-07:00

She bashed her bottle on the bar......
Shards of glass went flying dangerously as the patrons closest ducked and covered their eyes.
We saw the bottle shatter and her lips open in a shriek, but you couldn't hear anything over the raging music, shouting and laughter that filled every inch of the building and spilled into the narrow streets outside.
Drunk bufoons grabbed at her sweet little ass, which was scarcely covered by a skirt not much bigger than a thin hand towel.
She slashed at the first idiot with an expression full of menace and anger.
I watched all this with little interest from my solitary table in the corner.
Sipping Earl Grey and attempting to finish a chapter of my book The Master and Margarita. Written during the Soviet crackdown of the 1930s, when Mikhail Bulgakov's works were effectively banned, it wraps its anti-Stalinist message in a complex allegory of good and evil. Or would that be the other way around? The book's chief character is Satan, who appears in the guise of a foreigner and self-proclaimed black magician named Woland. Accompanied by a talking black tomcat and a "translator" wearing a jockey's cap and cracked pince-nez, Woland wreaks havoc throughout literary Moscow.
But I digress.
I hadn't noticed before but some sort of fight broke out at the table to my left and bouncers excorted several drunk hayseeds out the door likely to their running tractor waiting outside.
Where did my teaspoon go?
The angry girl now sat in the embrace of the very guy who moments ago made a play for her cheeks. He was slyly fondling her breast while it appeared she howled with laughter in a gross overly dramatic way.
Her legs splayed shamelessly flaunting the red silk panties that protected her female secret from the world - or perhaps the other way around.
Everyone was laughing full of spirit and the promise of sex and intoxication with no reprecussions. They drank deeply from the barrell of gluttony while I sipped meekly from my tea cup.
Only 4.2 hours left until dawn.

...#$m5#()

2005-09-08T13:07:00.000-07:00

people are strange and people are strained.
It's nodody's fault is what I explained.
The mob stands in line, all so well trained.
You can daydream - just don't complain.
Busted and bruised dirty cracked ruse.
My head it grows heavy i cannot lose.
Because nothing is real or nearly as true
my love is neverending and i give it to you.

put me in a vice and turn the crank.

2005-09-04T18:33:00.000-07:00

Too familiar is the
comforts of nothing. A cool balm that
negates matter so devoid of
substance that which it is not, can be. But
respite is just out of my reach as I wrestle
with these dillapidated senses in an
implausile melodrama.
But wait, I nearly
forgot that I am brilliant! I'm the
analyzer who understands better than he
should.
How important are my observations as
I trancend and translate the events around
me.
So that when I must die,
I'll have
something to discuss with the God.
Spending my days regaling him with stories
about when
I was alive.
Just watching
the earth
like two old friends gazing at a t.v.
Hanging out on the couch with God.

Not too different from how I spend my time anyway.

1 line please.

2005-08-28T13:14:00.000-07:00

There must be another way to write this down.
Damn if every post isn't becomming stale, obvious and even a bit contrite.
Is that the correct word - is contrived better?
This post isn't about a story.
No emotions, no time for it.

close the gap between who you are and who you want to be.

Thermos of dissapointment (part 1)

2005-08-22T13:31:00.000-07:00

It is hot.
Even though it's nighttime it is still so hot. And this muggy dead air doesn't help.
Someone said ladies don't sweat - they glisten.
As I jump into my car a pungent body odor stings my nose a little bit.
No I am definetly sweating.
This makes me smile a half smile.
Ah well, I can take a cool shower when I get to his place.
Pull the car out - turn the radio up - flip the channel 5 or 6 times before finding something decent.
And I'm on the road. Thinking about the talk with my sister.
She is having her first baby. Her only baby. And she is my first and only sister.
I get to be an Aunt I remember.
I smile again.
Pricks who can't drive interupts my happy thoughts.
Middle finger out the window just for a second then punch the radio again.
Is there ever anything good to listen to in this town?
I pull into his apartment parking lot glad to be off the road away from those psychos and idiots.
Park and hop out.
Whew it's still hot out here.
Opening the front door and stepping into the cool air conditioned apartment was a relief.
The fan is cool against my damp skin. The living room is empty.
hmm.
I wonder if that knucklehead is asleep.
Television is off, bedroom door is closed.
There is something wierd in the air tonight. Though I'm not sure what it is.
I am just glad I get to see my boy. The cutest of all the boys. And so sweet.
He is the genuine type. I remember this stupid impression he was doing last weekend that cracked me up. All the while with that sparkle in his eye.
Walk into the bedroom...
I don't understand what I am seeing.
There is a girl in bed with my boyfriend. They panic. I am calm.
"Oh shit."
I can't respond - I'm stuck trying to figure it out - like there will be some new piece of information any second now that will make this scene make more sense. But my confusion is quickly being overtaken by the growing emotion of seething anger.
"Listen I know it sounds stupid, but it's not what..."
He couldn't even finish.
They are in bed together.
They are keeping themselves covered with the blanket hiding something.
He is hiding his nakedness from me.
This thought causes to gasp a bit. I am dizzy and a bit naueated. My love locks eyes with me.
They are pleading with me...Begging me. They are clear and they pull me back to solid ground.
Finally I can speak.
"Fuck you". And turn sharply taking long steps that bite into the ground. I think he must be behind me saying something, saying nothing.
Out the door I slam it as hard as possible, shaking the front wall. The thought of him getting his dick caught in the door just then makes me huff a bit but it isn't funny enough to touch my anger my hurt.
Finally back in my car and driving off it's as if my whole body exhales.
The tears are comming. Fuck him. How is that loser going to make me cry. But they are here.
I can feel my lips trembling and my eyes burning. That asshole is going to make me wreck cause I can't see. Wipe the eyes with the back of the hand but it doesn't help. I know I'm driving too fast I don't care. Fuck him. What the hell!?
Everything was great. I met his Mom just 2 days ago, and he made a big deal out of it.
I blare my horn at a jackass who doesn't see the light turned green, "Go you loser!!!"
He is lying to me?! He's a liar!? He just screws and lies!!
I remember how my lips persed up tight, I was gritting my teeth.
I cannot believe this is happening.
The cellphone rings. It's him.
I want to chunk it out the window but just hit mute and fling it into the backseat.
Finally back at my own apartment I just sit there.
My breathing is normalizing but I can't shake this deep stonelike frown.
It's making my nostrils flare its so deep.
The phrase, "what an asshole," keeps swirling around my head over and over.
It's just not fair.
It isn't fair.

this wednesday reminds me of last wednesday.

2005-08-17T20:16:00.000-07:00

I'm tired babe real tired.
the eyes are red and the hands are heavy.
Everything I eat has a sting to it....
It's got this mettallic taste as if been saturated in tin or aluminum.
I speak too softly for anyone to hear these days and I have lost the energy to care.
Everyone has to have their fool.
Their comparison that makes it okay to fail.
That jester who loses at all the games and who falls behind in all the races.
I am glad to serve in whatever way I can.
I cannot win at anything. Not even the first loser.
Just when I think that im the first stupidest person on earth someone comes along and says or acts in a way that belittles and dwarfes my own idiocy.

Mediocrity is hard work.

Saps the strength and leaves dusty fingerprints on the soul.
You can kick me if you want.
I'm all ready down.
Looking for a place to put those cantelope rhines and coffee grinds?
Just throw them in my lap. I will keep your garbage safe for you.
Flaunt your woman, flaunt your joy - I smoked 200 ciggarettes last week.
Busted hump. Dry rub - dirty frown.
There is no happy ending.
There's no end. Just one long uninterupted dissapointment.

It could be worse.
Oh lord how I wish it was worse.
At least with a little conflict there's a chance for success.
I took all the events and all the joy of my life, wrote them down in big block letters and was scarcely able to fill one square of toilet paper.

Now I stare jealously at that square.
At any given moment there is a million people shitting who could use that square.
That is a million people more than I have who need me. I wiped my ass with my own accomplishments.

Luckily (if there is such thing) I am easily distracted and amused by simple things.
A bird perched on a branch.
2 cracks in the wall that I had never noticed before.
The sun's reflection off of my watch.
These things thrill me.
These things are the cool breeze which slips inside a dried and decaying husk.
Then again I suppose the desert sun is just a giant cruel fireball that beats on and beats down on all of.

metallyrics

2005-08-07T19:52:00.000-07:00

The smell of wild dogs is thick in the air.
The fur. The raw panting breath. The animal insticts over human reason.
I twitch my nose and snarl. Bare my teeth and flex muscles.
We are all animals.
But only a select few are beasts.
Let the creature have your flesh.
Run with the pack.
Take what you want and consume it.
Drink in the moon.
The moon is your master.
And I am your servant.

My Bonnie..

2005-07-20T15:09:00.000-07:00

Has it been so long all ready?
Here I sit and reminisce.
Has it been a year all ready?
No - 18 months? My god I forgot what you look like.
I remember that I love you.
Oh and I remember that I can't stand you.
I remember a certain half-smile that lit up your face and made me feel good.
I remember tears over abstract and invisible things that made me confused and defensive. I can't precisely remember your smell - but I remember how it soothed me.
How it gave me peace. I remember thinking how ugly you are - and I could do so much better.
I remember also beaming at your incredible beauty like a sheepish boy not worthy to be given access to this treasure.
There was the time you got drunk on New Years and embarrassed the taxi driver while exilarhating me.
The other time I belittled you in front of my friends when all you wanted was your sleep. There were the nights I stared into your eyes wondering what words could properly express the great love which swelled inside of me.
When I finally did speak - while kind perhaps, never perfect.
I remember so well sitting by the lake waters. Your wet hair against my chest.
Skin pressed to skin as we sat in bathing suits.
The sun dipped down into the horizon as I conceded to capture.
I wanted to be yours.
I knew for years that we were connected.
I knew for years that you loved me.
You may not have known it, but your eyes revealed the truth.
Those luminous beautiful eyes.
I knew full well that you were perfect for me.
And I felt like Jude - who was made just for you.
I am forgetful and a fool. I am nervous and anxious. I neglect my responsibilities and don't say the right thing at the right time. You worked for hours on a suprise birthday party for me.
I never did anything that nice for anyone.
But there was other moments.
There was spots of grey and conversations that bore into my head like drills and picks or spinning picks even. Things you said amazed me at times. In one breath so clever and smart - in the very next so naive and selfish.
I did love your cat - being the grumpy antagonist was merely a role.
Together you and I found love - and explored it.
Once it was threatened and we cried and kissed with a fervor and a passion that is not cheap. Passion like that takes sacrifice. It requires both people give up something dear to them. And we did. And I am grateful. Without you I would be less of a man. Less of a human. In this regard you saved my life. In this regard you gave me life.
And for that I love you, I just can't stand you.

broken brains part 2

2005-07-14T20:17:00.000-07:00

I hit the boardwalk running.
Of course i was actually walking - but i had purpose. A strut to my saunter. A bit of chop to my stride and kool to my kick. My head was on a slight bob as surveyed the area. Sup ladies. Flick to my bick and a double dip in my hips. This is my state. As in geographically and of mind....I got the moves and the OUCH I GOT SAND IN MY EYE.
I doubled over clutching my eye. OW! OH God it's like a hot needle in there...Ahhh owweee.
It's making my eyes water and my nose swell up! I am having trouble breathing. Oh man...People are looking at me.
What's up ladies? Sniffle...ouch....oh man.

Finally I found a freaking fountain and splashed water into my scratched cornia. It's cool.
I'm all right. No big deal.

Back on the prowl.
Oh Jim Dandy look at those little honeys, Man I wish those girls were going wild right now.
But they are just kinda sitting around. On their towels. Massive jugs glowing under the Pacific sun. I should walk over - find out where they're from. See what they are up to this evening. They probably got nothing going on. My apartment is right by the beach and I get them over there, maybe nothing happens but I still make some hot friends who likely have hot friends. Then again maybe tops come off and dreams get fulfilled.
Ah too late, I all ready walked by them.
Keep cruising.
Check out all those girls playing volleyball without a boyfriend in sight.
It's uneven teams too - man I could just go say something like, "hey you guys need a fourth?"
I could feign being bad at volleyball if needed - and then make a couple miracle saves, after all I'm pretty good. I can play. Heck I like to play. Seven ladies - at least one of them would probably want to go get a cold drink after the game is over. The ball bounced funny and sprang right towards me rolling directly into my path. I bent down to pick it up. What a golden oppurtunity. This ultra-sweetheart who could have easily been a princess, she was a pearl and a treasure. Long black hair clung to her back and a bit of sand stuck to her shapely thigh. She gave me a darling lop-sided grin. I tossed the ball to her - and after catching it, we both paused for just a moment.
"Thanks!" she said. Then turned and jogged back to the game.
I was able to blink a couple of times.
Back on the prowl.
I'm just hitting the beach - searching for a lucky lady.

under the auspices of autonomy.

2005-07-11T20:04:00.000-07:00

A number of mind numbing numerologists notate the nuances of noteriety and normalcy. 5
Be mindful meticulous and merciful when mending matriarchal monetary maniacs. 2
See loquacious liasons of lords and ladies lustfully leading losers like lemmings. 2
Dephiled kings keyhole and kick the kidneys of kaliedescope colored krishna. 4
Easy january jailed me like a jaded jaguar while joyous june was a journey of justice. 7
If irregular intimacy is my insipid ideal it's one I would like to interrupt. 4
Geometric hectagons hover hafhazardly above hellish yet holistic holograms. 2

A gossamer floating on air

2005-07-07T12:52:00.000-07:00

Tracy and Dina weren't really a couple.
They didn't stay together because of any sort of deep love for each other or grand connection.
Nor was it loyalty or shared experiences.
It was a matter of survival. These two had been ill-equipped by their parents to negotiate the uneven waters of adulthood. Each had their own unique problems dealing with others in social settings. Niether was particularly skilled at anything. Both had spent years wasting time, shunning education and burning bridges. So they ended up floating down a narrow channel of failure, coincidentally thrown together and bound by fear. Seperately they were lonely miserable losers. Together at least they were not lonely. Occassionaly one would fend for the other and that was something. There was no kindness and no compassion between them. Yet, there was no blame and no ridicule between them either. That was a novel concept to both and novelty can feel like love to a hamster brain.

Texas Wrasslin!!!

2005-07-05T17:53:00.000-07:00

He was the biggest guy at the party.
Actually he was perhaps the biggest guy I had seen in years.
I think the first thing I said to him was along the lines of, damn - ripped any phone books in half lately?
I was instantly attracted to the idea of fighting with him.
He outweighed me by about a hundred pounds and could probably lift 3 times as much as me with any muscle in his body. That's what was so enticing about the prospect of fighting him.
Of course we were all friends.
I couldn't very well just punch him without alienating myself socially and going that route may have gotten my arms ripped off at the sockets.
No I showed patience.
I waited until the party had wound to a close.
It was just me and him and a few other die hard drinkers.
I felt I had bonded with him. Like we shared a new found friendship.
We should wrestle I exclaimed finally and at long last. He thought I was kidding. I accentuated my challenge with some sort of braggart statement that inferred he was a bitch.
I didn't really believe that at all. Had I believed that I never would have made the challenge.
He finally bit. Whoa this guy was an ogre - I took him down quick though and hooked his head. Tried like hell to rock him into the cradle but those mammoth arms were tough to handle. He picked me up and twirled me around like a doll.
Im not sure how much more redneck you can get than drunk wrasslin in the yard with dogs jumping around barking at you occassionally diving into the fray to bite a leg or something.
Finally big boy caught me around the neck and i had to tap out.
The owner of the house must of gotten his blood up watching the battle.
Cause he challenged me.
What he didn't realize was i took tapping out personally and was more than happy to have a smaller less well trained opponent to vent my frustrations on.
I cut into him quick and applied a mercilless choke hold.
Sapped his strength - then pinned him until i saw stars and my lips filled with blood.
I did have to throw up a bit. Then promptly passed out.
The next morning I was covered in scrapes - bruises and carpet burns.
Now I ask you, does that make me a bad person?

wordplayie

2005-07-01T22:54:00.000-07:00

"i am a writer!"

The drunkard shouted at us.

"Do you know what that means?!!?!"
"That means I am better than your best!!!!! I piss on your aspirations because you are beneiath me and i can't help it. I am a doctor and you are a patient. I write the songs that you become. There is piss and shit in all of you while i have blood and guts. Fuck you and your cats! fuck your country and your god! fuck the whole fuckking,,,,......"

By now this lunatic had the entire restraunt's attention.
The staff was standing quietly held in awe or shock or both.
The drunk bufoon managed to slur the word, fuuuck...
Before his hand slipped off of the table holding him up and he fell face first into a prone position on the carpet. His arm sprung up with one finger raised, like a man making a point....then....nothing.

Silence lingered for about 4 seconds until everyone broke into seperate conversations with scattered laughs and hesitant mock applause. I turned to my date and just shook my head. Smiled and kept chewing my salad.
Part of me wanted to believe him,
but most of me was just glad he had finally shut the fuck up.

stale popcorn and watered down sodas.

2005-06-22T13:17:00.000-07:00

Yet to discuss Iraq.
Yet to blog my opinion ..... Rest assured though, I have got one.
You are all suckers and lackeys.
Even the supposed liberal thinkers (Bill Maher, Joh Stuart) miss so many obvious key points.
They are both mouthpieces still for the dangerous nationalists that run this world.
Iraq is not Bush's war.
The international war machine has had it's eye on Iraq for 30 years at least.
This nation has been moving troops, establishing underground intelligence, and orchestrating civil warfare strategies while undermining Iraqi soveriegnty for 10 years easy. Iraq was an easy target because we had been softening it up for more than a decade.
Bush's father (evil genius) built and kicked on the war machine - little bush just had to sit behind the controls for a while. But the machine is on auto-pilot.
Intelligence of Iraq holding nuclear arms?
What nation on this planet could not kick up some intelligence of nuclear research or nuclear apsirations? If we dug deeply enough we could delve up whispers and hearsay about a weapons program in Nepal!
Where is the financial rewards for this war though?
It appears, the profiteering in this case comes at the cost of the American taxpayer's dollars and the Iraqi taxpayer's blood.
But on the other hand when has this country not been at war?
Name a year that troops were not being deployed into a hostile nation.
There are many reasons.
At times because of emergency nessecity for certain.
But other times for ego. There are men who find war glorious and honorable. Who feel somehow that war is tied into their destinies. A destiny to manifest.
I am lucky I guess - I was raised to believe war is a despicable shameful act full of deciet and murder. That soldiers at the end of the day are all the same - at best mere pawns, at worst homicidal maniacs, no matter what color flag they carry around with them.
Furthermore I was raised to believe that once you get past all the geo-political blustering, every war is initiated by egocentric men acting like children.
Core, God, Country - empty desperate platitudes preserved by a dying religion.
A religion of agression disguised as defense.
But I digress.
Many Iraqi people now have a personal reason for revenge against the West, specifically America. Because we killed, maimed, or imprisoned their - father, brother, husband, etc...
Those people will organize the same place they always organize.
At church.
We will interpret this normal response as Islamic fundamentalism and fire laser guided missiles at the "terrorists" trying to kill some "insurgents" but kill more innocent people.
Will this country eventually reap what it sows?
What is the cost for innocent blood? How and when will it be repaid. Innocent blood has been spilled. That statement is what it is. Resentment or rationalization to it perpetuates illusions.
I wonder, policy wise, what is the best case scenario for Iraq? Another South Korea perhaps?
Is another Pakistan our ultimate goal? Nobody knows.
Regroup my point for a moment initiating the though from a different starting place.
Was sep11 an act of WAR?
No.
And to call it such is muddling.
Regarding two distinct articles of thought as if they were one based on a theatrical or superficial perspecitve is muddling. Sep11 was more akin to vandalism than WAR. But let's hypothetically allow this instance of muddling, although I will come back later and rebutt it, and just say okay it was. On what grounds specifically did Iraq qualify as the culprit? The nation we can address this unique non-military act of WAR upon. This author believes it was the convenient choice. Simple and plain. This was the country our WAR machine was all ready aimed at. As a result of the 92 gulf operations. In a knee jerk reaction, in a show of bravado and brawn, our current administration pulled the trigger on the closest gun they could find realizing their destinies as great militaristic heroes in the anals of earth history.
The twin towers was a message. In all my studying and listening I still do not know presisely what that message was supposed to be. I just do not believe R. Perle's interpretation that it was part of an attempt to claim ruling power of western civilization by indermining our national confidence, or some such muckity-muck. Nor do I believe that it was a plan 5 years in the making which claimed 100's of millions of dollars. It was a suicide mission planned and executed by men who likely considered themselves freedom fighters. That I believe. Why do so many Arab fighters believe our troops are an imperialistic force threatening their fragile soveriegnty? Who has a more accurate point of view, those citizens living in the country or even continent the fighting occurs on, or these citizens here ten thousand miles away with me? Our nation's foreign policy has been reduced to either sending checks - or dropping bombs as our only two international responces. And that simply will not cut it.

admit the cruelty of your habits and bathe in champagne

2005-06-19T21:05:00.000-07:00

Today while driving in the car I thought to myself what is perfection?

Is it an all encompassing entity such as, to be?
A master container that wraps all action and energy...?
Proving existance is finally the justification of itself, and all in that which is - is therefore, must be perfect??
That's fine and good in the long run but in the meantime what philosophy drives me?
Make no excuses - have no regrets.
Be thoughtful and deliberate but analytic and calculating.
Expect excellence but assume mediocrity.
A compliment deserved but not given is a great honor.
There is solace in silence but life is worth much more than tranquil comfort.
Pain and fear are strokes of the paintbrush just as surely.
I am the captain of my life - and this vessel is strong.
Surely we will succeed or at worst find success in failure.
Encouragement in dissapointment.
And endurance in the pain.

Then I thought, I wonder where I can get some hash browns.

Standing still at the speed of thought.

2005-06-16T14:23:00.000-07:00

A thought occurs as a path.

At the rate at which thoughts change within your mind, following a path is not likely standing in one place amidst a moving picture of chaos.

Only through meditation can you slow the quickly changing landscape that pervades our internal sight.

Slow down the rate at which the pictures change and you can focus on a singular frame of mind.

But what value does this frame hold?

It just so happens you landed on that one in the process of slowing down the thoughts.

It is not a special frame it is only one of millions.

It is special, however, because of the very moment that you have taken to actually stop the gravitational pull of your will and to still your focus on that one image.

One thought.

There within lies the value.

Thoughts themselves hold no value.

It is the action within the will.

Concentrate.

My sweet darlin.

2005-06-16T14:16:00.000-07:00

You know, looking back I think the worst part, that is the point where my spirits sank the lowest, was when I had to admit the truth once and for all. What was once rumor had become fact. There was just too much talk. I’d heard it from everyone, reliable sources, unreliable sources, the shit-eating smirk on that damn mailman bastard’s face, I hate that guy so much. I was in the car driving home when I really made the breakthrough- when I said it out loud. My girlfriend is a nymphomaniac. Over the last few months evidence would suggest, she had banged half this town’s male populace. A grueling ride it was. Finally I got home and opened the door. There she was sitting on the sofa- cheeks flushed, eyes wide and gleaming. She didn’t say a word, just advanced on me like a bird of prey.

“I’m quitting you baby! I’m gone!”

That surprised her. “Why would you do that?” she asked, while her hands playfully tugged at my belt.

“Because you’re a nymphomaniac! You wear me out every day and every night, but youre still banging half this town. That’s more than a man should have to bear.”

She flopped down on the sofa and sighed before responding.

“I’m not a nymphomaniac, I am a mysoginist.”

“A What?”

“A mysoginist- someone who hates women. I am now and I have always been. So all my relationships have always been with men only. Somewhere along the way I started thinking like a man- I got the pathology.”

I flopped down on the sofa too, but as far away from her as possible. There was something tainted about this logic but I couldn’t quite figure it out yet. She wasn’t finished.

“Ill admit, I like getting head as much as anyone ya know! I don’t know who you been talking to but Ill bet half of them were lying about me fucking them. Hell I just let them give me blowjobs- that’s it!.” At that point she opened her purse and started pulling out the strangest things. A can of tomato paste, a package of rubber bands, a mechanical label maker, and three identical stress balls, before finding her ciggs and lighting up.

“Where did you get all that stuff?” I asked

No response

“Did you steal it??” She just shot me a menacing look but didn’t respond. When I started thinking about it every place we went shed shoplift something. When we went out to eat she would steal the dirty silverware, if she went into a convenience store in addition to one or three small items, she would steal the pennies out of the tray. I’d caught her once trying to leave with my toothbrush and toothpaste. We had just laughed it off and made love. There was a word for that- cleptomania?!? Something like that. I eyed her dubiously, my suspicions growing rapidly. She knew what I was thinking about as usual and her face tightly contorted, her lips curled back creating the resemblance of a angry old man- quite unsettling.

“You’re not leaving me because of the men. Its because my medical condition scares the hell out of you!” she screeched.

“You mean the bulimia?”

“No not the bulimia, the cancer in my breast! You cant handle that!”

“For the hundred thousandth time- you do not have breast cancer! Jesus its always something with you, sometimes you act like a hypochondriac.”

I didn’t notice it before, but her hand was coiled like a cobra, and when I said the word “hypochondriac” it lashed out and slapped me across the face.

“Oh my god.” She said. “Oh my god, I cant believe I just did that.” She cupped her hands over her mouth- the tears began welling up. “Oh my god I am so sorry! I just, you know all about my mood swings, I just sometimes – you probably don’t think the bipolar thing is real either do you? No –that’s not right, god, I just- baby I’m sorry.” Her tears flowed unchecked. The gnarled old man was gone and she was beautiful again. I couldn’t help but note the irony of her using the lords name so many times just then. After all she’s a devout atheist. Then just as quick as a hat hitting the floor her sobs halted and she got “that look” again. Shit…..

Not “that look.”

Not the old man look, but this way of jutting out her lower lip, and cocking her head to one side, always the right side. It’s gradual but it sneaks up on you quick. She kinda looked down her nose at me and began rubbing her thumb and forefinger in this quick circular motion. Just like the last time. The first time she did this I thought it was a game- like she was goofing, but it was for real- really weirdly real.

“Baby?” I squeaked.

“Are you speaking to me sir?? I am not your baby, I am a married woman I’ll have you know.”

Oh fuck. This is it. This is the worst thing that could have happened and it was definetly happening again. That shrill nasal voice. To this day I don’t understand what the hell its all about- it seems like a joke but it’s not. It has something to do with a bitchy older woman named Margerie. And my girl talks like her sometimes. I nodded slightly, not taking my eyes off her and said, “Oh, I apologize, would you excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

I stepped out the front door, closing it very gently. Margerie didn’t stand for bad manners or smoking and cussing totally pissed her off. I lit a smoke and just stood on my porch pondering my next move. It wasn’t Margerie fucking every mechanic down at the Oil & Lube garage. So I couldn’t very well talk to her about it. I couldn’t just get in the car and leave- this was my house, I lived there. No if anyone left It would have to be my girl. An icy chill lodged in my guts. My girl leave? I’d never get to see her again. What if she became someone else’s girl? No way- . I looked around my neighborhood for the answer. No help. It’s not like we’re married. Maybe if we stayed together I could probably sleep with other girls and that might be ok. I hadn’t really thought about that before. There’s some other girls I’d like to sleep with. About 6 months ago my girl and me and gotten completely wasted together, and she said that if I had sex with another woman she would kill us both. At the time it seemed romantic or something. Of course, that was before all this happened. She is a mistoginist and that can’t be easy. What should I do?? What could I do?? I can’t lose my baby. But I just cant- I can’t, I couldn’t figure out what to do. By then my cigg had burnt itself out so I let it fall.

The house was empty. I knew it the second I walked in. She had left by the back door. The crazy bitch had taken my sofa cushions and the television remote.
Fragnabbit.

Disturbing tales of an oncologist.

2005-06-13T20:04:00.000-07:00

I couldn't sleep last night.
The same reason as always.

That grotesque blob of inhuman fleshlike, with it's scaly legs and eye sockets running with blood, kept crawling out from underneath my bed and trying to get under the sheets with me.
And as usual I got angry and tried to beat it into submission.

When it would open it's mouth to moan from the beating I could nearly see down into the creature's diaphram.
Broken and odd-shaped teeth made rows down the thing's huge neck.
There was a moment during the melee when my fist slipped into it's mouth hole and slid down past the elbow.
It's insides were sticky, like a cave wall that's been splattered with oil maybe.
The smelly blob choked on my arm and gagged up black slime into my armpit.

It didn't really have arms. Tenatacles is more accurate. Equipped with squidlike suction cups.
Everytime I had gained some ground and started to drift back to sleep one of those cups would slyly begin suckling part of my body erotically.
And the clamor would begin all over again.

At the height of our grappling and battle I became tangled and twisted inexorably with the beast. I found fins in strange places - where it's sex organs should have been were just more broken teeth. Somehow I thought to jam a lamp down it's throat and then turn the lamp on.
That seemed to pacify it.
At least enough so that I could kick it's abused body back under the bed
and finally get a little rest.

overcompensating.

2005-06-12T21:19:00.000-07:00

This house in particular I saw a lot of different roomates.
Work was to arrive soon the next morning and I was just pulling the pillows under me and flirting with unconciousness. Floating like a feather - creeping towards a restful sleep.
Fuck you ASSHOLE!!!
SCREW you BITCH!!!
I am awake. What the hell is going on out there. It's troy and his old new girlfriend. They had been together on and off for years. He would do something - say something any little thing so she would freak.
He was just waiting for that freak out.
So that he could feel justified acting crazy. They enabled each other. Made a nightly spectacle of anger, rage, and bullshit. Troy and Lorrie. Both of them had tried the 12 steps. Recovering something or another. Don't mention cocaine around Troy. Don't offer Lorrie liquor. These were the rules this couple loved to break.
FUUUUuuuUUCK YOU!
Lorrie's voice rattled the walls. She held the u in fuck for what sounded like an impossibly long time.
I could tell the fight had spilled out of Troy's room and into the living room. I couldn't decipher what the cause of this tumult was. In retrospect it was almost certainly the same thing that always set them off. They both used drugs and just kept it a secret from each other. And when inevitably one would find evidence of the other's activities, they would trot out their rage and hatred at living for all to witness. An experience I think is best described as loud and jarring. A knock on my door and the door opens slightly.
It's Amy. Our other roomate. Cute redhead - very little self confidence but sweet enough girl.
Nick?
The shouting had shaken her up a little and she wanted to talk about it. She sat on my bed and we talked about the scene in hushed tones. We were suddenly bonded like brother and sister in a domestically unstable home. I invited her to lay down which she did. I wasn't really uncomfortable before but having her in bed brought me comfort that I didn't even realize I was missing.
I'm going to fucking kill myself!!!
Cut through our comfort and snapped us back.
Lemme go see what I can do.
I slipped out of my bedroom in a pair of long underwear and stomped into the living room. I decided to wear my stone face with a touch of contempt.
There they were.
Troy was frozen in the center of the room, a deer in the headlights look on his face. He seemed rational but unsure what to do next - her eyes however were spinning like a couple of pinwheels, she was on something.
I am going to cut my wrists!!!
Sure enough the girl sat on my couch with a steak knife in one hand.
Eyes ablaze with yellow fire which threatened to jump out and engulf Troy.
I got one of those act now or you will be sorry feelings in my stomach.
There will be no killing going on here tonight!!!
I barked at them both in a chiseled no-nonsence voice. It was a command really. They both jumped. I wasn't mad but I think i may have looked angry.
This is fucking ridiculous - gimme that!
I took the knife from her.
They both looked at me with embarrassed eyes.
Guilty, childish. I put the knife away and walked back into the room with them. I have to be at work by 6:00am, please could y'all handle this with less dramatics and screaming? I implored them with my statement but I demanded of them with my tone. It was in check though neutral. The type of voice that could defuse and stabilize. Apologies came next, sheepish grins. Some head nodding and looking at the ground.
All right. Good night, I said.
Went back to my room even more ready for bed.
Amy was still there.
She must have been hot because she had removed her shirt.
Maybe I don't need to get right off to sleep after all.

A friend of the devil is a friend of mine.

2005-06-10T10:44:00.000-07:00

Does anyone here think the devil ever crosses his fingers and toes when he really, really wants something?

That's irrelevant - what is important is the billions of human lives spent believing that god - angels - the devil and all, all resemble man.

That their minds are like our minds.

In the days recorded God had a shopping list of things which he loathes and another for that which pleases him. With all these human characteristics is it not possible, that is to say - is it within the devil's capacity to learn?

Why subject him always to the same medevil mythalogical standard.

Maybe, after all these years and games he has wised up a bit.

For that matter maybe so has god.

Perhaps these two ruffnecks have set aside their differences and finally rekindled a once grand old friendship. That seems like the christian thing to do.

Satan and God sitting out back on the Lord's porch.

Watching a sunset together and just laughing about that whole battle for souls thing.

don't stand in the rain.

2005-06-05T21:52:00.000-07:00

bus stations.
A 3 time loser's - club med.
Meet new people - hear new stories.
You can sleep on the ground and rarely get messed with.
Eat what doesn't get eaten.
These are the bums that are going places.
When you skid into a new city this is where you can meet those in the know.
Funny since they are such stinkholes.
A million crackpot schemes and hustles have been dreamed up right there at the station.
Somebody is always telling you what time it is.
Sometimes you meet a talker waiting for their red-eye to vegas.
Mostly though it's the quiet type. Just wanna brush through on their business.
There is not much difference in night and day.
24 hours of moving and shaking.
Good for a guy like me.
Every 15 minutes a new batch arrives and the old batch leaves.
Eveyone is a little bit grimy and a little bit sleep deprived out here.
Everybody acts a little insane - and they're all too poor to buy a plane ticket.
It is my kind of world.

the sprinter

2005-06-01T20:13:00.000-07:00

keep you head on a zip line.
elbows in sync with knees - pop the arms -pop it.
listen to the rhythm of feet hitting the pavement...hear the rhythm...make the tempo faster...faster.....faster...just run harder.
I feel pain - turn it into energy.
focus on the speed - will youself to make the extra effort.
spread your stride...im gliding...front foot grips the ground and flings me forward.
throw the hips...keep it together...keep it tight.
inhale exhale - right left.
now lean forward 5 degrees. Take that momentum and use it.
increase the stride again.
hit - hit - hit.
increase the tempo again.
my eyes are welling up with tears.
breath in hard and blast your sinuses with fresh air.
make adjustments - tighten it up.
now go!
propel - drive - launch - push - thrust - force - rush - dart - glide - push - run - just run.

Homage to Chinaski part 2

2005-05-30T19:02:00.000-07:00

"There is always risk. Without risk there's no reward."
I swear his eyes glimmered a bit.
I found myself trying to gulp down a lump in my throat but couldn't quite find the will.
Shake it off Jean, I thought to myself.
I'm letting this stiff, this 9 to 5 pack mule, spook me out - it's all this talk of death maybe.
He continued.
"You like Chicago?"
I didn't know if I liked it or not...
"I don't know if I like it or not." I responded.
I had never been there before.
"I've never been there before," I stated.
Louis was staring intently at me now. He was definetly thinking hard on something.
I was confused.
My thoughts weren't flowing correctly and I could only repeat the first thing that came to mind.
"I'm confused," I admitted.
"A million and half dollars. We could make a million and a half dollars for one weeks work."
Was his answer.
I knew it - finally the bait. Not bad not bad at all.
My wits returned a little bit. I'd been scammed, slammed and ass-rammed (metaphorically) before so finally some part of this conversation made sense. The bait was something I could identify with. The bait was an object I could wrap my head around.
How long till i get the switch out of him. Was there really a million dollars involved?
"A million and a half." Louis repeated.
We sat back in unison letting that number linger in the air.
Our beers were empty and the jukebox was between songs. Silence.
I looked at Louis.
His gaze rested on the empty bottles.
The bottles just sweat onto the bar not looking at anyone.
And we had come full circle. He wanted me to draw more information out of him.
But I wasn't going to do it.
If this guy wanted to unload on me I wasn't about to back the truck up for him.
The front door opened and closed. Finally a song began to play overhead. Louis switched us to whiskey and cokes which arrived promptly.
That big number still hung in the air. Of course it was like a lottery prize. It felt nice to think about it, but it was empty - inconsequential to me. Anybody can say the words million and half it doesn't mean diddly. Not until the bills are in your hands or in your bank. Until then the money is about as valuable as a fart in a tornado.
I told Louis as much.
He gave me a thoughtful eye. Chomping on the end of his straw ruthlessly. Threw back his whiskey and ordered two more.
Our bill was around 70 bucks I guesstimated.
Not yet drunk, or even buzzed for that matter - I was no longer sober either.
I was getting right.
"Jean, i'm going to level with you. I don't have any friends. I got married and never looked back. My wife is great but she has the kids. When I die - what can I leave them? How are they going to remember their dad? Muddled memories - old photographs. But money, they will remember the money. And I have no problem with that. This cash, this plan, well I need help. And you are the closest thing I have to a real friend. Plus I mean you need this almost as much as me. I know how we could make a lot of money really fast."
He took a pause and gulped at his drink like a man dying of thirst.
I considered this new information. What had he really told me?
"Baby I like money. But fast money always has a catch. I wanna know the catch."
"No catch" he responded back too quickly.
"Let's go somewhere else and talk about it. C'mon I need a change of scenery."
He paid the bill and in the meantime Glenn the shit-eating bartender avoided making eye contact with either of us. Pathetic schlub I thought. I was going to give him the finger but just didn't have the energy to do it. A million and half I could buy and sell you I thought instead.
That made me grin. People buying people like objects, girls putting themselves and their fruits up on the block. Every deviant desire was available for a price. There were wines and liquors too fine for me to have ever tasted. I could drink those wines - I could eat those fruits.
"You coming?"
Louis inquired from the front door.
I spun around in my barstool - flicked off Glenn afterall and followed out the door.

Spurned on by the promise of something different.

2005-05-28T17:04:00.000-07:00

My mouth doesn't need my brain anymore I have decided.
If I could I would send my mouth to work while my brain sleeps in.
My body and brain could lounge around the apartment, silently watching television, pushing food down my throat tube. I wouldn't be able to use the phone but I could still send emails.
Meanwhile my mouth could be here at work - talking to customers. Saying the same things over and over. Seriously. Every rise in emotion, change in tone or inflection has been rehearsed and repeated hundereds of monotonous times. My mouth has got the pattern down cold. It really no longer needs my brain.
This extends beyond work come to think of it.
My social interactions are scripted and typical as well.

The following list basically sums up my conversational arsenal:
This is a list of places I have lived.
This is a list of things I did within the last week.
I like this - I don't like that.
Sprinkle with sarcastic remarks.
If male company throw occasional in derogatory insult.
If female throw in occasional compliment.

My body and brain could have time to write plays and paint telephones.
Every morning I would mail my mouth where it needs to go.
I would send it out with 50 cents (in case it needed to call me) and a self-addressed stamped envelope.

Yea, that would be sweet.

Vaulted ceilings empty apartment

2005-05-27T21:22:00.000-07:00

I am sitting here drinking and smoking alone.
Drink and smoke in that order. Turn on the radio - turn it off again.

Look out the windows look at the walls.
I sit and I drink.
And then I smoke.
Wishing someone sat across from me to chat with, to talk to.
Someone funny to make me laugh. But instead its just this digital typer; cold, impartial and non-byist. No input on the conversation at all from you. Just recording my keystrokes.
If the stroke of the pen is mightier than that of the sword, is the stroke of a key mightier than a gun?
A new song just began on the cdplayer. I will record it now for posterity.
"I don't mind you hanging out, and talking in your sleep, it doesn't matter anyway, as long as it’s with me. (yeah) I guess you're just what I needed."

That doesn't make me laugh, but it does make me happy.
"Cause when you're standing oh so near, I kinda lose my mind."

Should I call Kimberely? She makes me laugh. She makes me think. Se even makes me blush sometimes. I'm just so stuck on that phyical appearance thing. I am a slave to it.
It's silly and naive no doubt, but I can not help it. Should I call Misty? Maybe Bonnie? Or Loren? Lets not forget Sara, and Jennifer Chou with her long flowing hair that she would wrap around me like a fine spideweb. Falling down around her shoulders and spilling onto my chest. There ain't no sunshine when she's gone. And she's always gone too long, every time she goes away.

Then in the not too far recesses of my mind is a Kara and even further back a Marie, a Cathy and Raquel. I loved you all. But I never got the chance to tell you. I even loved the Stacys and the Amys. Kristen knew exactly what I like.

But it isn't passion that I want tonight.
It's just good conversation and beautiful spirit.
If that beautiful spirit is housed in the lovely soft flesh of woman, than all the better.

Lest I forget, Brittany I will always love you too. And to any girl who's name has been washed away this evening by strong drink I apologize, and I owe you my life.
Come back to me now, and sit in the chair across this table. I'll tell you stories and sing you songs. You were all so beautiful to me when I was forgetful and a fool.
Kimberly I love you too baby.

Sometime before 6:30am

2005-05-23T16:46:00.000-07:00

"What about my show?"
She asked yet again...

But many hours before that I was rolling down the river.
My problems were river floatin problems.
Keeping the lighter dry- that was a big one.
Not tipping over, preffered but not required.
And that's about it.
The river does most of the work. You just sit back and enjoy it.
Lovely scenery was all around me.
Lovely scenery had an intertube attached to my own - smiling and laughing.

Once the ride was over - the ride was just beginning.
We ate. We drank. We were merry.
Thankfully on my sofa her supple legs were in my capable hands.
A voyeur? I want to see a show! In the end we showed off for each other.
And fell asleep sharing an embrace. A pair of drunken tuckered out river rats.
It was my kind of weekend.

scorpions falling from the ceiling.

2005-05-18T20:16:00.000-07:00

I was chatting with the checkout guy.
One of those strained conversations where I am replying just to be polite.
I could have pretended to be a deaf mute quite happily if only I knew sign language.
He's yammerin and jawin away at me when suddenly his eyes widened, his pitch jumped up and he exclaims "Dude brush off your shoulder right now!"
I causually brush my right shoulder and look to my side only to find myself eye to stinger with a yellow full grown scorpion. I take a quick swipe at him. And he hauls stinger down my back and out of eyesight. Clever little operator.
For a moment the whole thing was quite a scene.
Everyone wanted to help knock the scorpion off my back.
But the creepy little trooper had 8 clever feet and he knew how to use them.
Somehow he was able to outsmart and outmanuever anyone who tried to slap him off.
There I am helpless - back turned - sure that the little guy would either start trying to sting through the fabric or - negotiate his way into my shirt somehow, for a final jihad-like suicide stinging mission.
Finally somebody got him. But he was still running full speed. Scurrying really would be a better description. The long-tailed fella scurried across the serving area as the cashier kept trying to smash him with a bottle of sauce. Amazingly thanks to the dimple on the bottle's base every time he lifted the bottle up - scurry, scurry, scurry...
It was a good run. Until he made the fatal mistake of jumping to the floor.
And I smashed him down.
Grinding my shoe into his mashed and liquified body for good measure.
That tenacious little arachnid was reduced to a gooey streak.

I will say that he had moves.
And he didn't sting me - so quite possibly he was a friendly scorpion.
He could have been a vegetarian scorpion just trying to make it home and read the New Yorker.

4 quickies

2005-05-15T21:24:00.000-07:00

Catherine examines her reflection.
She has lined her eyes with blue.
She has camoflauged her skin with the color of her skin. How extraordinary.
Every part of her body had been cleaned, trimmed, adjusted and primped.
The soft raven colored hair had been carefully groomed and arranged with a sculptors grace. Every flaw, every line or inconsistency of skin flowed into a beautiful radiance.
It was intoxicating - she was intoxicating.
She was doing it right tonight.
This wasn't a level she took it to often. But the girl could play the whole spectrum.
It showed in her eyes.
What a panther.

Be good to your brothers and be prepared to enjoy it when they want to be good to you.
He's trying his best. And so are you. Try not to look at yourself as much in the mirror in a single day. Its always good to stop take a minute for yourslef, and stretch those hamstrings. Your shoulders too if you can spare the time. Your body will thank you, so will I. Which to drink? The soda or the mead.

A woman found me once. At just the right moment. She kneeled down besides me and shook my shoulders, rousing me from a deep slumber. She laughed and held my hands as I blinked away the sleep. What a dream it is to awake and find yourself with an angel. Don't let me get too poetic or romantic here. She was perhaps mad, but who am I to judge another in that department? A week followed, maybe a month, may have been a few. But finally I was able to stand up straight and flex my muscles again. After so much silence my voice rang out strong and certain.
And with a wink she dusted off her hands, blew me a kiss and was gone.

Lucky chair. All you do is sit there and dream. Lets see some idendification. Who is your boss? Who do you like for the big game this Sunday? Get a freakin job. I’m just kidding, I wouldn’t wish all that on anybody. Lucky bastard.

In the crosshairs

2005-05-11T13:56:00.000-07:00

Hero begs and pleads.
We can only tell from his face as the music warms up.
His sweetheart shyly turns her head up into a coy smile.
He is grief stricken. He stands emphatically waving his hands - then gripping the back of his chair.
She shakes her head no.
We see the hero's knuckles are ghost white.
She's hearing him but she is not listening. A mammoth bear of a man sidles up behind our doe eyed love interest's chair. The bear-man puts a paw on her shoulder grinning ridiculously.
She's is flattered and even embraces his hand-paw.
That tips the scales for our hero, who slams the chair hard grabbing everyone's attention.
The bear-man grins dangerously this time and leans down on the table eye to eye with the hero.
Now these two men are both leaning across the table opposite each other. The table occassionaly jumps and jerks from the pressure the men are exerting on each side.
He sneers.
His lip curls.
She places her hand on her mouth in concern.
The bug-eyed bartender claps his hands and giggles in anticipation.
Patrons all turn to the brewing storm.
The music rises higher and higher and our hero is swept up by it flying at the bear-man with a calculated flurry of punches into his guts. He lets his fist fly in a wild swinging arch nearly throwing out his shoulder. But his fist connects with the bear's jaw - spinning him around once before he drops like a sack of potatoes.
The girl is amazed - the bartender's jaw goes slack - the onlookers are astounded - even the hero is a suprised. The man-bear is down! The man-bear is down!
But his 4 big brothers who were sitting nearby saw the whole thing and they are pissed.
All four rise in sync. Too bad for hero the big brothers were hanging out with some Marine friends also. Now there is 8 hulking monsters grinning and rubbing their hands. Two hulks grab the hero while a third suggestively smiles at the lovely girl still seated. She returns his smile with eye batting. This infuriates our hero further who jerks away throwing a knee to the groin and an elbow to the face, too late he sees a marine at his back who throws a viscous kick into the hero's kidney. The hero is down. A hulk pins him while a Marine smashes him in the face. The girl is flirting shamelessly - admiring another hulk's bulging muscles.
Our hero is yanked to his feet and using his momentum breaks free, grabs a glass of beer and flings it into the flirting hulk's face drenching him. Now all eyes are on the hero who is panting, wild eyed with trickles of blood coming out both nostrils. He is bum-rushed. 10 different fists all find their way to the hero's midsection savagely pounding his stomach like a drum.
Hero staggers back a few paces - amazingly still standing.
A strange calm momentarily lapses across the melee as blood pools at the heros crotch creating a red river down his white pantleg. Everyone is grossed out. He just pissed blood. A lot of it. His girl gasps - the bartender cackles - the bystanders grimace - and the hulks point it out to the Marines. The hero's face goes white as a sheet as he swoons. But he will not lose face!
Fists clenched and teeth gnashing he charges back at his enemies. Charges with wild abandon into a presision uppercut that stops him cold - yanking his head back like a yo-yo.
The whole bar is up in arms shouting and cheering. Six pairs of arms grab the hero and this time lift him up over everyone's heads. His sweet little girl doesn't notice as she is enamored by a Marine's chest tattoo. The hero is being escorted out of the bar on air express at top speed. They use his head to open the door and fling his beaten - bruised and broken body onto the ashpalt waiting outside in the cool night. Somehow the asphalt is comforting. Somehow it understands his pain. Somehow he will get his girl to be faithful.

*music ends - fade to black*

believe me - oh please believe me!

2005-05-09T19:24:00.000-07:00

herein lies a pack of lies.
we are all finally liars.
even and mostly to ourselves.
you lie about the truth because there is nothing true - so you're lost from the start.
We all love to pretend this or that is true. Love is true - peace is true - peace is love.
Empty rederick. It's a lie and so is this announcement.
I am a liar.
Maybe not on the surface but deep down in my soul's guts, in the heart of my soul, in my soul's colon is a lie.
The word lie is in itself an ambigous hypocritical ruse.
Is to lie, merely absence of the truth?
Or is to lie - to state the polar opposite of the truth?
This is ridiculous by my own estimation since "the truth" is a fanciful work of fiction.
"It's the truth" is a colorful description painted on any dusty idea or ideal.
A true liar can no less quit lying than a painter may quit painting.
And all painters are certainly liars.
A true liar...... Maybe some semblance of truth lies within this paradox.
He truly will lie to you. And in his lies he exresses the truth of that statement - but that statement was a lie - which means it's true, and that finally is a declaration of his lies. and so on and so forthe. Everything you hold true and dear is false.
It is a sham. A song and dance dreamed up by a liar to make rent money. You're a sucker and the propigator of lies.
But no one is a bigger liar than me.

broken brains part 1.

2005-05-08T14:10:00.000-07:00

flip
flip flip.
Darren Imbruglia laid on his back staring at the ceiling.
I really need to paint that ceiling.
Water damage had left rust colored rings just above his head.
His ceiling looked like a floor might in the locker rooms of a public swimming pool.
Darren considered this. Then smiled as he considered hiding in the girls locker room of the the same public pool.
Flip
Flip flip.
There was no place to go and nobody to see. The day was going to be a wash.
So Darren just laid in bed staring at those rust rings absent mindedly swinging an old butterfly knife open and closed.
Flip
Flip flip.
Is this right? Is there really nothing for me to do?
Darren had no money.
He had no car and no concept of a bus route.
He had forgetten all of his friends names even if they didnt forget his.
I could get drunk - but on who's dime and to what purpose?
I could watch pron but that idea just sounded silly and gross.
Flip Flip
Flip.
23 years old and every minute brings me closer to 24 I thought.
I could microwave something and stare at the television.
Too much trouble.
Flip on the radio I guess - that doesn't require getting up.
Tune into a soft jazz beat.
The kind with a piano and flute.
Now my boredom has a soundtrack I guess.
What is today's date I wonder.
There is a calendar on the wall - but looking at it would require craning my neck up some.
The date doesn't really matter.
Flip
flip flip.
The song reminds me of a 1950's movie where the women wear ballroom gowns and the men are dressed to impress in soft tuxedos.
I see myself in a tux. Working the room of debutantes.
All the virgins smile shyly while the non-virgins wink and grin suggestively.
I sip champagne cooly.
Lock eyes with a dark haired ravashing beauty.
Fling my champagne glass into the fireplace and clap twice.
She is intrigued. We lock eyes and glide into one another's arms.
Of course her heaving bosom presses against my chest.
flip flip
flip.
I should maybe find a job.
It is all ready one o'clock.
Nobody gets hired this late.
Stare at the ceiling some more.
I could go to the boardwalk and flirt with the tourist girlies.
Of course in my ten years of puberty that has never produced anything good.
Today might be different of course.
Flip
Flip flip.
It worked for Jim morrison didn't it?

Some guys take it harder than others.

2005-05-05T18:56:00.000-07:00

My company has been on a tear lately.
One minute late back from lunch?
You're fired.
45 seconds late to work?
You're fired.
The last two days we have lost two employees.
Our most recent loss was one Jay K.
I'm just working away when SLAM - "I wasn't late!!!"
On the other side of the aisle is a weepy borderline hysterical man.
Cursing his job, cursing his manager, i guess cursing his bad luck.
Funny thing is today is his birthday.
He was tying to get out early today so that he could go celebrate.
Enjoy your party Jay.

We on this team have very innefectual management.
They create nothing.
They contribute nothing.
They encourage no-one.
Did I mention they create nothing?
I have seen these guys sit and stare at a blank desktop for hours!

But they are regular gumshoe joe's about that schedule adherence.
They sure can read a login report.
That is my manager's core competency.
I guess you do what you know.

I just needed to vent that.
Thanks for listening.

i found this poem written by my bedstand.

2005-05-04T18:09:00.000-07:00

----------------------------------
im awake.

something is different. shadows circled around the room too quickly - unnatural.

the air was thick and salty it made my eyes water.

When I opened the front door all the clouds from all the earth had crashed together in a crimson red sky looming above me daunting my insignificance.
Lightning swirled and circled overhead making familiar patterns that flashed too quickly to mean anything but a faint impression.

Yet other lightning bolts crept across the the sky too slowly, burning a sizzling visage into my retinas. I could clearly see it's subtle purple hues. To lower my gaze was blasphemous.
What is this earth?

Why does this place's scent burn my nose hairs and sting my eyes?
The oxygen is nearly tangible.

With a unsettling ferocity my perspective leapt from my body and I saw myself standing there in a vast desert, the perspective then rose very quickly, higher and higher, as my body becomes smaller and smaller and the desert grows larger and larger.

Now I am just a tiny receding figure being swallowed by this unforgiving ocean of sand.
The scene changes again and I see a perfect crystal bead of sweat fall into the palm of my hand.

Wait, that isn't my sweat.

Stare blankly into my palm.
And then there you were right with me..so beautiful.

Those eyes haunt my dreams but at that moment they soothed reality.

You are real in this surreal world.
I long to touch your face, and it is cool - solid.

That smile is contagious and familiar.

-What is this place?”

You just laughed knowingly, and take my hand squeezing it hard.

“What happened to the earth?”

Your expression seems to say, stop being silly, and by the hand you will lead me forward.

Time, space, the elements and metaphysical had all clashed with force into this new twisted environment - but as long as we have each other I had nothing to fear. Success is a forgone conclusion.

I look to my right and smile at this treasure.

Then the rain begins to fall down upon us, cleansing the mind and revitalizing the senses. Tilting my head back I opened my mouth to drink it in. I love the sensations like an elixer rippling through my core, radiating within my chest and filling me to the eyeballs. I remember how the raindrops streaked down your cheeks like tears but you just grinned, complete.

And then with a snap and a rush I’m awake again.
I’m in my bed. Despair is my only companion.
Everything is normal but you’re not there, I am alone- again.

Filler on Tuesday.

2005-05-03T17:31:00.000-07:00

Today's entry will be bad.
It will suck.

I mean for one thing - i'm bloody dog hungry.
See what i mean?
What a terrible use of adjectives.
That sentence seems to indicate that I have an appetite for a bloody dog?
That's ridiculous.
What I mean was hungry in the sense that one could be dog tired.
And bloody as a briton may declare bloody this bloody that.
Like bloody wanker.
That's sickening too. Bloody wanker.

I shouldnt even be here.
I have pressing work to do.
I should be writing an m/p on enhanced DSL customers right now.
I just don't have it in me.
come to think of it I should erase this blog post and come back try again later.
Maybe after I eat.
Definetly should not click on "Publish Post."

I never listen to my own advice.

Homage to Chinaski part I

2005-05-02T19:02:00.000-07:00

The sun had found me.

Again.

Slunk through the cracks in my mini-blinds like the leper that it is. I belched something trumpeting- releasing gasses that had been begging for freedom for hours now. What the hell is this? There’s a females body in my bed. Oh god its her again. How does this one keep finding me. I should get up- no check that. My lips feel swollen with blood- heavy. My color cant be good. With no small amount of effort I’m able to read the digital clock on my bedstand. 10:30?!?!? You shyster bastard son of a bitch I think, menacingly shaking my fist at the sun. How dare you wake me up this early.

I’m asleep again in 30 seconds flat. Then there was this dream. I’m in a compound so big that no one alive could possibly have explored the whole building. I am many floors subterranean. We’re talking thousands of flights underground. Down in this area that nobody bothers too much with keeping the place sanitary or clean. Should I even be here? The walls are a dark grimy aqua-blue tile, like some hellish hospital’s hallways. In my dream I laugh- hospitals in hell, Christ that must suck. But this is no hospital. There’s wretchedness wearing yellow filth in the cracks between tiles and littering the floor. At times the walls take on the most peculiar angles, the ceiling will radically drop forcing me to walk with my elbows to me knees- like a full grown man imitating a midget. Then suddenly with seemingly no transition the ceilings will be so tall that the actual ceiling gets lost in the shadows way up there. I randomly enter one of the many doors to my left. It’s a narrow, switchback-style, grey concrete stairwell. The handrailing was grayish-blue- or maybe it’s grayish-green, who gives a shit. What I do know is I start walking down the stairs. Cripes, is somebody following me?!?! Could they have found me way down here??? I thought I lost them…Better walk faster. Fuck. I’m awake again. Hmmn, its dark outside. My gaze flips to a nearby clock. 8:08. Damn. I must have partied hard last night. I’m feeling pretty good. Alert. Hungry, but alert. Wait just a minute… today is---Friday. Well, I used to be a security guard for the Stace-Clanovich warehouse. A security guard who works Monday through Friday. 9 to five. The place probably got robbed blind because I wasn’t there. Oh well, fuckit. Today is payday, which means I get another check in two weeks. It could be worse, I decide while rummaging through the ice-box. Grab a healthy choice pasta box, throw it in the microwave and give that pasta’s atoms a wake call. During that space of time before the microwave’s I’m finished beep, I manage to piss and chug 4 glasses of water. I am a recycling plant on legs. I have scarfed down my breakfast. Pop a tall boy and light a cigarette. Ok I’m ready to try and figure out what happened last night. Images of me, taking shots- ok that’s a given. Think think what happened after that. Crap- shit. Dammit, I vomited in my car. Hmmn, somebody was in the car with me. Did I drive last night? I hope I didn’t hit anything. But who was in the car with me? Kissing- a soft supple thigh- that laugh, Victoria. Victoria was here. A sudden image emerges from the darkness of last night’s ruined memory. The image is me, snapping out of unconsciousness only to see her hands on my chest riding me with a contorted look on her face. Eargghhh. My hand springs for the cigarette in the ashtray, no wait I want the beer- no the cigarette- I cant decide which vice is more appropriate. I go for the beer. Before I can even set it down again the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“hello.”

(speak of the devil)

“”hi it’s me.”

“Uh, hey what’s up Vicky?”

There’s a long awkward pause before she responds with, “Lets pretend last night never happened.”

“What do you mean Vic?”

Another long pause- before I say, “Listen, I just woke up, do you know how I got home last night?” and then like a gift from the gods the call-waiting beeped. “Oh vic, I got another call- lemme call you back.” No response. I push on. “OK I will call you back sweetie.” *Flash* God-damn I’m good.

“Yellow!”

“Jean-Paul!!! Where the fuck have you been??!?!”

that’s a comforting thing to hear when answering the phone, makes a man feel needed.

“Louis my brother! Whats the word?”

“Dude you missed work today.”

“This I know.”

“Well, Ive been trying to call you all day.”

I responded to this with a jerk of the eyebrows rather than verbal comment.”

“Well, you got fired.”

“Good, I’ve got time now to pursue more noble pursuits.”

“Well, whatever - look meet me at Sully’s in 20 minutes.”

“Better make it two hours.”

“Have you been asleep all day?”

Another non verbal response.

“Allright be there by 11:00”

“11 o’ clock, ok bro see you there."

“bye.”

“peace.”

Sully’s. good old Sully’s. I have been cut off there more times than I could possibly even try to guess. Kicked out at least 5 times being told not to come back. And yet they kept taking me back. The eternally forgiving lover. I think maybe having a drunk of such stature- no that’s not the right word, of such notoriety increased the bars overall validation as being in fact a bar.
A bar is only as good as its drunks and I have earned the coveted title of Alpha drunk. Without me there to be ever pushing the limits of decency they would surely fall into a state of stagnation, and ultimately decay. I bring their game to a new level.

And in one hours time I stepped out the door bathed, combed and sheen, ready for some action. Starting my vehicle requires a very delicate system of pumping the gas while jiggling the clutch. It’s really something of a theft deterant system. Some pigeon brained non-believers may ask, “why not just get your starter replaced?” Theres just no talking to people like that. 5^th times the charm and im on the road. Janis Joplin cooed on about her roller skates as I walked through Sully’s door. That’s a very good sign. Carefully tip-toe around the wet-floor sign and find my way to a bar stool.

“What’ll it be JP”

Glenn. My least favorite bartender. This fuckin guy truly believes that because he holds down 2 jobs, working himself into a paper coffin, that he has some kind of importance in the world. Because he votes, because he pays taxes, because he keeps his lawn mowed. Meanwhile his daughter is addicted to smoking cock, while his son is addicted to smoking crack. Twisted world- Glenn probably had them both on the pacifier as babies.

“bottle of beer my brotha.” Without moving a muscle he says,

“two bucks.”

I look at him sideways- we both know what I’m about to say and what he will respond.

“I think im going to go ahead and start a tab.”

“two dollars. Before.” Cock-gobbling fascist, I think to myself. Produce his precious two shams. And finally he goes into action. Sets down the bottle and starts to walk away.

“no glass thank you.”

Im not sure if he heard me or not- as he hurries off to perform some other subservient little duty.

Finally louis arrives. A broad chucklehead grin briefly breaks on his face. Louis is good people. Pudgy belly, face like a perfect oval, not a cheekbone to be detected. The curvuture of his jawline gives the impression that he was perpetually smiling. Usually anyway, tonight he seemed troubled.

“Whats up?” I asked in a plainly concerned voice.

“nothing” - a lie.

Ok then, louis has come to play. That’s fine with me.

“So did the warehouse get robbed today?”

At this louis laughed a little too quickly and with a gross exaggeration- the laugh kinda trailed off with a big smile and enthusiastic head nodding.

“no not today.”

That was kind of a let down. Louis just looked up at the bartender and pointed to the bar followed by the peace sign. With no confrontation at all two beers were produced in front of us. That too is more than a man should have to bear, but I just choked it down and smiled graciously at my new benefactor. We sat there drinking for a few minutes. It was clear he had something to say. I did not intend to make it any easier on him.

He sputtered for a moment then fell silent. Ten minutes passed and Louis ordered more beer for us. Was he trying to get his courage up or lower my resolve? Still not a word passed between us.

"Well what the guck man?"

"This is hard for me to say."

"Fuck that just say it."

"im fucking dyiing man."

"what the fuck?"

"yeah im dying."

"When?"

"im just dying, i found out about it today."

"What the fuck why are you telling me????"

"yeah i got some results back from this like blood and piss test, it had all this stuff plus a note to call the doc."

"Did you call him?"

"Yeah that jerk, he couldnt tell me face to face. he had me call him. then he reffered me to this other doctor, a guy named Gamett. Says gammett it the best- he peeled me off onto some other doctor. He just doesnt want to see my dead ass anymore. he doesnt want me comming around reminding him how all his patients end up dying."

"What are you dying from???"

"Forget about that man im just dying. i may as well be dead. ya know look where i work and how i spend my time. man im a dead darn dead man."

"wait, stop talking stop it. hold up. tell me something here. either what are you dying from? Or why are you telling me this shit? what are you telling me instead of like your family or something. go home and talk with your wife about this shit. im sorry but you see what i mean right? why the fuck you telling me? what the fuck do i got? i mean fuck. how long are you gonna live?"

"Not long, man- im gonna die. i might as well be dead now."

Some time passed. He looked at his beer mostly. I waved over the barkeep. Ordered us both shots of cuervo plus some imported beers. I was gonna raise the shot to a toast for something good but Louis jist hammered his down so i followed suit.

"Well what do you want to do?"

Louis grinned like a wolf that had just eaten a smaller wolf.
He wanted trouble and I was to be involved.
I caught a glimpse of the future.
Was I to be an acomplice?
A patsy maybe?

The wolf Louis cleared his throatand and began to speak...

Fiscal Transparency fucking rules!!!

2005-05-01T18:45:00.000-07:00

Hey general public when you are talking to customer service people - they dont care even a little what the weather is like where ever you are at.....

This weekend I saw the cutest little girl having her one year birthday.
She mauled the cake.
She appeared to enjoy squishing the chocolate between her fingers more than the actual taste.
Of course what do kids know about taste?
Everything tastes good to a kid - the dog tastes good. The mouth isn't so much for tasting as it is for measuring the relative size of said object to said mouth.

We watched her waddle around in the grass and inspect her gifts with a seemingly knowing eye.
It was cute and it was cool - and heck even a little heartwarming.

Now on to the cynicism!!!
I also watched another person have their cake and eat it too.
Except this was our president.

When Bush is speaking he really has no idea how much he gives away.
This guy comes out and rehashes the same pitch over and over. It's like aquarina springs when they trot out that old half-mad pig and push it into the water tank. You know Ralph the flying pig? You know in the pit of your stomach there's something that just aint right about the spectacle. It's trite and insulting to your intelligence, but you watch anyway.
And when the show is over - what then? You leave no better than you started.
You take nothing with you because there was no substance to take.

What the heck does congress and senate do all day?
How can people so incredibly "busy" never complete anything?
The expectations are so low we expect it to take 6 months for 30 people to write a 30 page document?!
A 20 dollar an hour tech writer is expected to bang out that sort of content in 4 hours?!
And every subject is just a little bit tainted.
Every single answer to every single reporters question misses the purpose of the question in the first place!

Question from reporter:
"Could you comment on the recent trend of representatives using religoun as to support a superior moral ground in today's political climate?"

president:
"I don't believe religous beliefs should have any place in the government. Now then I'm religous and I take great strength from that. Next question."

He's so subtle.
Maybe he's just giving 'em what they want.
Maybe studies have shown that Americans expect their politicians to phrase everything in such an obtuse fashion that at the end of the day it's just a handful of soundbytes. No depth or substance.
Call me crazy but I want charts.
I badly want a president armed with charts and candlestick graphs, transparent layovers that illustrate trends based on variable control situations.
I want candor about where is my money.
Political authors have commented the public does not need such information. That it would be dangerous and fool hardy to try and run a government based on the whims of a fickle populace.
Whatever - I just want to know where is my money going!!!
One day a week my wages disappear and it goes where???

Just one president with so much intelligence he stupifies the American public, that'd be sweeeet.

Social Security of course was a speech topic.
Bush states how when social security was founded there was approximately 10 workers for every retiree. And how that ratio has gradually been shrinking.
If the social security program is solvent with a 3 to1 ratio - where is the surplus from the years of 10 to 1??? What's the ratio of funds collected during 40 years of work to the funds returned during 10 to 15 years of retirement?
Logically the math just doesn't work. How will I live long enough to reclaim my investment when social security is doled out as such a stipend.
People who rely on social security live in a chanty and eat oatmeal twice a day.
Has the country forgotten that?
Why isn't the worth of my current social security investment at least available to me?
I just want to know how much it is.
And yes, I want a gaurantee ALL of the funds will be accessible at 65.
Social security is my money.
We have another fund for social spending. It's called income tax.
Those are the dollars to feed the poor - and care for the infirm.
Property taxes for local schools.
Sales taxes and tariffs go to new construction or get recycled in the form of block grants.
Block grants further encourage construction and higher education.

I fully accept I am not the most accomplished student of govermental spending - but to my primitive mind I recognize a disturbing 50 billion dollar question mark (minimum) in federal accounting.
And why?
The altruistic answer is to shelter the other primitives like myself.
The cynical answer is pork barrell politics.

Fiscal transparency.
Fiscal transparency.
Fiscal transparency.
Yes I do believe fiscal transparency is the panacea.
Perhaps not instantly.
But uncle sam set the bar - set the example.
Your SEC censures are worthless because it's the vulture admonishing the buzzard.
200 million dollar political campaigns.

This rant ties into the Bush speech because I am trying to illustrate that statements (even true ones) aren't honest if their built on a lie or a blatant omission. So yes I just trim down to what I view the core issue. Where is the money?

Bush I can see your pride when you skirt a touchy question and come out plugging your soundbytes instead of hitting the core. But guess what, it is not a game.
You did not one-up that chowderhead reporter trying to to nail you with so-and-so question...You commander and chief!? No, no, no - it's nothing like that. Your supporters gaze doe-eyed, oh how clever he is twisting that question. He won't let chowderhead one-up him with such an unfair question. He won't even answer the question god-bless.
Yes he certainly is a professor of phraseology an artisan of articulation and a master of vernacular veracity. Here here!

I try hard to convince myself that it's not a sham.
That the presentation of our representing body is such to appeal to the masses.
Hence my distaste for the whole affair.
And that's all fine and good but i repeat..........Where is the money?

Flight of the commuter.

2005-04-28T13:04:00.000-07:00

Im late. Again. Ive been late three times in a row this week and 2 of those times were on lunch breaks. At least it’s a sunny winter day I muse while, speeding down the main avenue.

Whats this? I see brake lights, and that’s not usual for this time of day. NOOOoooo! Why are you all stopping??? Perhaps its because of the lunatic perched out his window leaning too far forward in a very precarious position. Out of his 5th story apartment window. Well I guess that is interesting after all. But im going to be late!! Traffic moves up a bit.
There’s another one!
Just one building down is a middle aged woman with with whisps of grey hair and her threadbare nightgown being thrown about by the wind. Her eyes closed she swooned impossibly far out the window.

I look to my right. There too are people leaning dangerously out into space.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up on end. A sharp tremor goes through my wrist and into my fingers. This is definitely peculiar. I get out of the car and stand on my hood. Sure enough every floor, third through fifth or so, has a potential jumper arching out an open window, flirting with certain disaster.

Why are there no cops here I wonder- this is absolute madness. There must be 50 people ready to plunge into the concrete at the slightest advert breeze. Check my watch, it clearly says 10 seconds to noon. I don’t know why but I’m holding my breath.
The street is so deathly quiet that I can hear a phone ringing from inside a groundfloor apartment.

That’s when it happened.
My god they jumped. Every last one of them at the exact same instant. Leapt out- far out.
A strangled shriek and anguished gasp collided in my throat choking me a bit.
It was like slow-motion but real as so many bodies floated through space, limbs flailing, grasping for something that wasn’t there.
These jumper's descent hung for an agonizing nanosecond, which was stretched out by my imagination when something else happened. Something I can't explain that caused their bodies to be propelled in every direction but down.

These people were flying.
A gloriously exquisite spectacle of grace and beauty commenced all around me.
I felt the sensation of viewing a water ballad from the underneath perspective. The way the sun glinted off their bodies made tears well up in my eyes and sting the back of my throat.
Was this real? Where was I suddenly? These normal looking people jumped out to meet certain death and now they are flying. The scene above me was an arial playground and the sunshine saturated the actors in rich colors.

Tentively I flapped my arms a bit.
No response.
So I pause to concentrate.
I think about all the energy in all the earth.
Shooting and firing around the core creating a tumultuous raging fireball – letting all the energy turn red and then white hot, and then invisible its so much awesome power. Visualize it bending towards my latitude and firing up into me. Welling through every last fiber and organic material which is me. Finding it’s common ancestry in my cellular makeup and rejoicing in an explosion of multiplied power.

At the second this oneness reached critical mass, I threw one last glance above for inspiration before leaping from the hood in wild abandon.
Asphalt rushed towards me – I barely caught myself and avoided breaking a couple of teeth. Did skin my knee a little bit though. I notice some teenage boys standing by a payphone across the street snickering and pointing at me as if I was crazy.

By now the traffic had cleared and I was still late to work after all. This has gotta be dream I think to myself as I sped away on that sunny winter day...

KILLTACULAR!!!

2005-04-27T13:08:00.000-07:00

Finally an activity that encourages my more homicidal tendencies.
A place I can go to stick grenades to a soldier's crotch or unload a shotgun in his face.
It is a place with dragon-men and spaceships, energy swords and sniper rifles.
I think anybody who is in the computer know, recognizes exactly what I am eluding to.
The game is Halo.
The version is two.
Master chief vs the Covenant.
It all happens on the XBOX live.
Microsoft really did this one right.
PS2 may have shipped more units but MS owns the online console gaming market with that one title.
None of the tech/financial analysts have realized the dramatic weight of such an accomplishment. Or if they have ther aren't discussing it in public. This is huge. XBOX live is the guide (gotta also mention MS mediacenter real quick). It is the foundation for the next big seige by Microsoft. The first was in the early 90's as they charged into offices and cubicles around the world. Now that data services, broadband and compression techniques have grown exponentially they are moving shop to the living room.
It is an exciting time to be a tech.
It's not totally unlike being a painter during the renaissance.
Without all the gay wigs and lepers - of course.

How to write more good.

2005-04-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

writing should be just like breathing.

In and out.

You can either pay attention to it or not. The trick is staying focused on nothing but the sound of your own inhaling and exhaling but we get distracted. Dont you wanna hear your calm serene breath? There is probably something new to be found there. What do you want to express? Inhale - catch it! But the mind gets ahead of itself and forgets what it was talking about just moments ago. And you have to start all over. You have to take pause, and just hear the pure sound of your breath. Like the wind rushing into your ears. And then let it roll back out like the ocean. Crashing over itself a million times over flexing and breaking. Pause now. Hear the inhale to the exhale. Again. Block what needs to be blocked and do it again. Just pull it in - you got it - now put it to the paper. Use that pen. Sometimes it's just sentence by sentence. Other times maybe 3 sentences at a time. Maybe the lucky ones get volumes in a single breath. And yes when I say lucky i mean lucky for being brilliant. What more is writing though? Hemingway claimed that all writers were lonely creatures sending postcards from their own solidarity with written words. Buk stated, and I quote. "take the typer away from a writer, and all you have left is the sickness that made him start typing in the first place." Yeah whatever, as the spirit wanes the art forms, and all that other rubbish.

The proof is in the pudding I suppose with those jokers. So don't hold your breath.

Monday morning - or something like it.

2005-04-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

I'm back baby.
No I wasn't typing into another blog. You're the only one for me...!
Heck no you jealous fool I gave up the pen and paper I swear. Cmon don't be like that.
Let me type in you, just for a minute. I know I was gone for 3 days but I'm here now - isn't that whats important?!?

I just rolled off a 3 day weekend.
Called in sick on Sunday. I was sick but not nessecarily ill. In all 3 of those days not much really happened. So I will trim the excess and just share what I found amusing.

Saturday night at the Draught House in honor of cute little Kris' big adventure to El Paso.
I sit down at the head of the table and take stock in her friends. There's Brian and Ryan, I swear these two would be paternal twins if it wasnt for the fact they aren't relate and look nothing alike.
To the right of them is Tom. He was Kris' long term boyfriend and I recognize him from a photo she had way back when. There's 4 or 5 other guys. Steve just back from Iraq. Looks the same - all appendages still attached luckily. He is missing his wedding ring - but then I hadn't seen him in approx 2 years. We discuss that only lightly - I don't want to dig on what may be a sore subject. Whats the point? He just as lightly inquires about the girl I lived with when he shipped out. Jeremy is there. What a strange superficial relationship I have with that guy. I like him but why? I don't know him except that I could pick him out of lineup. whatever.

So I'm swilling beers, laughing and smiling while my chair scoots closer and closer to the lovely brunette young gal to my left. The fact that 4 people at the table in a bar in Austin all graduated from the same high school some 270 miles North comes up. That's odd.
Then he lays into me.

"Are you a fighter?"

"In what regard?"

"Are you trained to fight?"

It's an interesting question. There's no malice behind it but what does he mean and what is he driving at?

"Actually yea I have trained."

He grins like he's just bet it all and came up good on double Jeopardy.

"What type of fighting."

"Most recently grappling"

This was technically true. 3 years ago I had taken a grappling class for around 6 months give or take a few weeks.

"Oh I knew it. I could tell by the way you sat down. You sit with your back straight shoulders square. "

From there I could not shake the guy. And believe you me I wanted to. He was very flattering and all saying stuff like,

"You got the eye of the tiger."
or
"You'd be the last person I want to fight in this room."

But I didn't want to talk to a drunk Tom. I wanted to rub the leg of a drunk Kristine.
Still he kept on relentlessly. Giving me combat scenarios and asking, "what would you do!?"
It was ridiculous.
Everyone around me I think recognized my polite attempts to disentagle myself from my new number one fan. Four beers later the bar is closing and just in the knick of time.
10 minutes more and your author may have found himself hosting a royal rumble.
Regardless, all in all it was a fun night.
Even if I went home without a vagina to play with (again).

my ciggarette

2005-04-21T14:49:00.001-07:00

The time: 4:32.
I looked around with a touch of contempt.
My smoking buddies were no where to be found.
In a meeting or away from their desks for some reason or another.
This would be a solo mission. Just the way I like it. This sad sack of a body probably didn't need another ciggarette. Another couple grams of tar for the lungs, eh what's the difference. One more is negligable. I probably have a tumor in my chest one in my head and two or three in my colon.
I'm hoping to smoke those suckers out eventually.
Two taps on my phone and I'm logged out.
My feet are now under me and I'm in motion. Put my name to the "Break board".
Just protecting my interests.
Theres a pair of heavenly pillows under the shirt moving towards me as I walk to the door.
She smiles - I smile we go our seperate ways. The owner of that shirt goes by Elisse. Shes a minor muckity muck in the company and we rarely speak. Not since the night we took shots of tequila together by the lake caressing one another w/ our eyes and flirtatious words. Both of us looking over each other's shoulder for her husband who loomed nearby. He took her home that night not me.
Find my way to the elevator - and startle somebody coming out as I entered.
Why do I have that effect on people?
The doors close and - I have no lighter - press the button for 3 but the doors are all ready closed and I'm on the way down. Okay then press P for the underground parking lot.
We make a stop at 2 and the new rider is confused how the 3 button is all ready lit.
Whatever.
I get out on 1 and go to my car.
Gotta get some heat for this tobacco product.
Te tendrils of carbon monoxide tickle my throat and tease my organs with agony to come.
Smoking is an investment in my future. The dividends are paid in the form of coughing and phlegm. Just no blood please. I take my smoke back to the building and sit next to a swanky fountain by the front door. This glass building shows me my own reflection from every angle.
I should have been a model I think.
Still could be. Probably need to buff up the arms some if I am going to be taken seriously.
But I got the eyebrows of a star. Their thick as eyebrows can be w/out becomming creepy or comedic. They can express so much w/ such ease. This makes me grin. okay I'm hot after all.
Break is over.
Back to elevator.
My desk is still here waiting for me.
And now I'm back bloggging again......Did I actually go anywhere?

twoofer

2005-04-21T14:05:00.000-07:00

That's right two post in one day suckas!!!
I was just reading some of the other blogs on this site.
Gee whiz I wonder which sounds sadder, me slagging on about nothing.
Like literally nothing. Abstract ramblings on the mortal dilemma from a life unfulfilled.
Or these other jokers who have at least some activity to speak of but it is so dry and mundane also.
Truthfully.
And then we got in the car.
And then we drove to the concert.
And then i drank a beer.
And then we went backstage.

Holy hell and drunken demoral!!!
So boring!!!

Seriously I will have action to type about one of these days.
And you can bet your life I will squeeze every possible drop of style and intrigue out of my story possible. I'll recognize the irony and present it in an ironic way.
Okaay then time for a smoke break.
When I come back I'll chronicle every step in minute detail so that I can read it later and just laugh and laugh...

My laundy isn't just going to do itself.

2005-04-21T13:17:00.000-07:00

Even though I can....
It has been long months since I have enjoyed a female touch.
Female kisses or female touch.
I know those females of the world are still there...
Still kissing - still fucking sucking and every darling act in between.
So why then aren't I getting in between with them?
Well I am not trying.
I haven't put myself near girls of chance. I see the same people (usually men) and I watch the same television alone too often.
On the rare chance a girl is near I don't give her the chance. That is I don't open the door for such things to happen.
The last girl I invited to kiss me took the chance. We soon ended up stripping each other naked and taking to the floor w/ fevered urgency.
There is this girl who I knew a couple of years ago.
We see each other from time to time since.
She's hot. Large in chest - soft and shapely in ass - modern haircut frames a lovely and sweet face. She laughs with ease and always energises me w/ her presence. A sweet heart, you know the type. Anyway she is moving home in two weeks. Home is another city than this one some 200 miles away. I will see her in 2 nights from now. Wish me luck reader from the future. I plan to clean myself off - cut my hair and fingernails. Press a shirt and brush my teeth.

There is madness disguised as everday life all around me.
The trite prattle of this guy who sits a cube away.
He talks about lats and squats and beers being drank by whores and his neon lights.
Nice enough guy but doesn't he see I am chit-chat deficient???
The baron sits across the way from here.
I wonder if anyone has told the baron how unsettling that laugh of his is?
42 minutes of my life have passed w/out incident good or bad.
Sooo is that bad?

I will wait another hour or so and think on it.

A new post for a new blog.

2005-04-20T19:33:00.000-07:00

Finally and at long last my days of writing my thoughts on the tablecloths and the stitching of my gloves are over. No longer a slave to mumbling my poignant political observations in secrecy.
These wisely worthless words may be forever chronicled and recorded in the electronci records of blogger.com and their affiliates. Warning. Nothing of substance shall pass from this keyboard for likely the first month or two. And even then only in passing relevance. So slight and subtle only the author or one of liek mind may detect their shades of literary accompli.

Furthermore this blogger has no hesitation at all to make a word up or reconstuct an existing word for his own usage. I much enjoy taking an english word and applying a hitherto foreign spelling to it, when modifying the tense or case to meet my needs. Literarius Nefarius.
I shall plow on w/ typing until not only is my point proven but worn out and abused, defiled and degraded like a burned out hooker slowly dying with broken teeth and long forgotten friends. So little is my regard for my own words. And then and at last - if no point is dicovered - than I say welcome to my perspective of all things around me.

Today marks the beginning of what I intend to be my own auto-biography. Or will it be a biography of the world? Definetly I will interpret events occuring around me and inside of me. Differentiating between the two can be such a chore and to what end? Look not at the goal but the course in front of you. Have faith there is a finish line and that this is the way to Malibu beach. Because finally and ultimately and so on and so forth.

To recap.
No mere madness or social disorder can hold me down.
I'm too big in spirit. Seriously. You may get better trim or buy bigger swimming pools - and yes those things are quite important to me. Their importance blinds these eyes of mine. However, my spirit could kick your spirits ass.
You likely only know of your spirit based on hearsay and conjecture.
I wield my spirit like a sword.
Er sumthin.
on a good day.
All this is assuming alot of course...