26 June 2004

Coin Laundry Adjunct

I can hear the birds,
Singing to me outside.
Talk to cats, for a while.
Try so hard to turn her life inside out.
Everyone knows when to smile.
But I don't see too much these days
'Cause i don't want to.
"Let me go" she said
And I'll find it.

The brilliance of the seldom heard but oft misunderstood Mogwai lyrics. Go-go, shoo-shoo, find them, go now, listen, yall be better people afterwards. Mmmmmmmmm-MOGWAI
\m/ (><) \m/

And now for something completely different:

my new scotsman on a horse fetus, no you can't pet him
he's very sensitive about his tartan and tam

In other news The Punisher is badass and second only in badassness to Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, but sadly you suck. Unfortunately, Skippy, my scottish fetus, and I must go amuse ourselves in other ways, mainly sexy parties.

24 June 2004

Frooble Is So a Word

Through the storm we reach the shore
You give it all but I want more

So I was paddling in a paddleboat, and then it occurred to me, it's called a paddleboat cos you have to paddle. I was totally and inconceivably stunned. But then I wasn't even prepared for the next revelation, mainly being that paddling is stupid, especially in the middle of Lake Erie. So, I had to wait until the current took me back to shore.
Yes, I realize that was lame, but I think I drained all the funny out of myself, not to mention all the social intelligibility (although minute as it was), and all the sarcasm (which is quite a feat considering the massive amount of smart ass genetics I have encoded somewhere in my euchromatin, yes I said euchromatin) that I had in the last few days. I only have one more shocking revelation to reveal. No, not that hot dogs are often not hot and not made of dogs, though that did get the best of me at one point, rather the selection of audio/video as well as fiction in the local library circulation is extremely subpar for the size of the city not to mention the amount of people living in the city. Apparently this is due to the facts of financial trouble in the municipal government, lack of county support, and lack of private donations. I mean, Toledo, hole of all cities, has a vastly better selection of all materials, and thats sayin a lot for Toledo.
At any rate being as bummed as I am, I shall end here and go find some sort of distraction while waiting for people I don't even know to stop waging their little private wars against me, because apparently I've been plotting their demise since I met them. Who knew? It could be my big chance to ruin a good portion of yet another person's life and maybe get hired as a mercenary to infiltrate governments and destroy them from within using my given skills and kinship with the devil. So, I'm off to delight in their life sucking, because apparently that's what I do, or so everyone seems to think.
Oh, P.S. I got my yellow notepad back, this means little to most people, but I mean, yellow notepads are the coolest thing since buttered orange wedges.

23 June 2004

Midnight Chickie Nuggies

You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by

I could be all negative-like because I can safely say that although Lost in Translation is a fantastic follow up to the 100 greatest movie songs, it is in no way scintillating with comedic inspiration, lemme tell ya. At any rate, I have no inspiration other than the realization that I'm in many ways similar to a small elf. No I don;t have disadvantaged appendages, but I come by night and do entertaining things online: NANANANANANANANANA BLOG ELF! (I have no idea where that came from.)
So the story is I could've been spending all day brewing up an elaborate blog entry to tickle whatever of yer parts may be in need of tickling. If they're below the waste and you're female, then I'm that much more happier to tickle you in that way that makes most people go "ooo". But I didn't do that. I was too busy napping and thinking of all the things I should be doing while watching Pimp My Ride and other random daytime programming brought to you by the boob toob. So for this I apologize, and will immediately commit hari kari. Whilst doing so, I will endeavor to right the wrongs of the world via my sardonic and ironic, not to mention completely filthy, mind.
But to keep some sort of organization I'll continue on with a previous idea, that is that I should be ruler of the world. Now this may seem completely self-centered, biased, self-serving, and selfish, but I assure you it is only for the good of me. Forgive me if I pause for an extended length of time, with my bowels on the floor it is awfully hard to keep moving. At any rate, I can safely say that the length of this entry is not at a permittable level to end and go to bed, even though there at least 2 women still waiting there for me. Oh, I've begun to hallucinate, that's a good sign right?
I did watch Open Range last night, which I must say is the best Western since Unforgiven, though not better, not to mention the best Kevin Costner flick since umm, well, whew, Waterworld? wait no umm, The Postman? wait no, has he had a good one? Oh, duh, Field of Dreams because James Earl Jones is the man. But seriously, it takes a good flick to run up against Eastwood directing and acting, not to mention a good cast. I feel woozy, ha, woozy, that's not a word... silly english language. Ooo, there are smiley faces and snowmen on the wrapping paper... wheeeeeeeeeee. Uh oh, my hands are red, perhaps I should be using gloces whiles typinhg on thekeybpat. Ohewe;;l.
I knwpi I had a higher poit to afresd todayt, cantremefwl. Hmml. mn bn m. Whoa, passed out there for a second. Damn hari kari. By the way, bellinnis are awesome, tell everyone to get a bellini machine, they're great, or so I'm told by Scott Woods who found one in his garage.

21 June 2004

Wish I Was Travelin' on a Freeway

I wanted the ocean to cover over me
I want to sink slowly without getting wet
Maybe someday I won't be so lonely
And I'll walk on water every chance I get!

Gonna set fire to this city and down in the desert we're gonna ride, time and time again. So sue me, I got stupid lyrics stuck in my head. It's better than that song from back then Butterfly Kisses or whatever it was, oi, I wanted to spew nut out my nose on that one. My best advice, go listen to Apocalypse Please and reeducate yourself on Muse.
But this isn't the point believe it or not, because have I ever really begun any of these mostrocities with the point. No, of course not, I could put someone's eye out, dur! Pay attention, over hear, there ya go, now focus, goooooooooood. I'm quite sure that by now you are veritably sure that I have some sort of ADD or ADHD or ASHDTV or just schizophrenia. I might, but that's not the point either. "What is the point?" you may ask, and for that I have one answer. You know those itches you get right in that spot on your back that you cant possibly reach because it's just not anywhere you can possibly contortion yourself into reaching? Yeah, those suck a lot. But no, that's not my answer at all, what were you thinking? Why ever would I be frank when my name isn't anything resembling Frank's. I'd rather get some exercise and run around the entire point, and maybe by the end of the summer I'll look like Fabio minus the ugly nose and face, and well the giant nipples. No, seriously, I will, you watch, and marvel, it'll be sweet like cherry pie. Mmm, cherry pie with a side of your mom... This is just further proof that my sleep schedule is all sorts of cracked out and whacked off or up or some direction not proper or kosher (because everyone knows that Jewish people sleep better?). Considering I stay up til 3 or 4 most nights and get up at noon or maybe a lil' earlier if I'm lucky, this would seem quite obvious. But what else am I to do with my day besides work and sit around. I'm running out of ideas. I mean if I had money I totally would be one of those guys who spends an entire day at a strip club just because they're lonely 70 year olds with no life. I could live that way, I find no down sides. I could even be the bum in the alley passed out from too much malt liquor, but I'd like to think that I have a little too much class and dignity for that. Well, ok, maybe not dignity, but I really don't like sitting in my own filth, all these years of showering once every 12 to 24 hours has kinda spoiled me I guess.
And now that I've made my point, and possibly even made you laugh in the process or at least roll your eyes in that way that's like 'oh god he didn't' when indeed I did, I will go and vegematate in front of the television for a while and brew up another spectacular entry to both sicken you and make you narf and zoit more than any human should. Because I know, it is inordinantly taxing to be such a boob as me, or is it I? Only the Scarlett Pimpernel knows.

There's Nothing to Fear But Pudding

And Gertrude Stein said that's enough
(I know that that's not enough now)
Gertrude Stein said that's enough
(I know that that's not enough now)

I don't like to brag, okay that's not true, I love to brag, I just don't have much to brag about per se, or at least nothing that is appropriate to brag about in public (wink wink nudge nudge). I must say, however, that I am an obscure-movie-finding genius!!! Well, really I'm just damn lucky I suppose because I finally found Im Juli on DVD here in the Americas. Stupid Europe always tryin' to keep the pseudo-brown man down, bastages! At any rate, it soon will be in my possession and then you'll all pay!!!
And now for something completely undiabolical. I've decided that being productive is stupid, so from now on I vow to produce nothing, including children by asexual means. This will include all ideas and/or thoughts and any other intellectual activity resulting in some sort of "product". I am hoping to accomplish nothing and thusly accomplish everything, though, I realize that this may seem counterintuitive to lesser minded peoples, but alas, I cannot help all you see my gloriously sized things, like my genius, so just imagine it. No, seriously, take a few minutes and just imagine the gloriously sized things I possess. NO, seriously, take a bit longer, it's impossible to comprehend the tremendousness in such a small amount of time. SERIOUSLY, would you stop short changing me. God hates you, I just know it. In addition to accomplishing everything, I hope to prevent myself from losing pleasure in pornography as a result of watching it in HDTV. Hopefully I will reach such levels of unproductivity that I will not notice the massive imperfections in giant penii and vaginae. Thus I will save the world, or something like that, because I love everyone (no I do, fuck you heathen, I'm grandiose and have many large things in my possession with which to flog you into submission).

18 June 2004

Dress Me Up in Pink and White

So I said I'm a snowball running
Running down into the spring that's coming all this love
Melting under blue skies
Belting out sunlight
Shimmering love

Soooooo I had this all typed out three separate times believe it or not, all ripping into prissy little people and stuff, cos I was all like sure this is great because it's awesome, and then my browser went all wonky (yes engineers, that is a technical term, look it up assholes), and then blogger gave me this whole error thing the second time around when I went to publish and I was all like, bastages! So it brings me to tears since I have no idea what I typed the first two times. Alas, I'll start over the same at least. (P.S. check the new comments on the previous entry)
So yeah, it's a bit mooshy or whatever, but more importantly it signals the lyrical god Adam Duritz's return from ho hum world. Not to say that he always blew hardcore or anything, or even has recently for that matter, in fact I'll be the first to say that I drastically underestimated his newest album as too mellow, which it may be to some. And at the time the alt rock world was puttin out some heavy artillary like The Vines, who I must admit are pretty damn sweet, but I took it as a disappointment when added to DMB's great demise of sucktasticness known as Everyday (thanks Glenn Ballard for fucking up Aerosmith, too). But this guy spent most of his adult life in a haze of drugs and alcohol and more importantly depression, not necessarily related to the other two, and still he came out smellin like roses half the time and usually with some sweet, tight-ass lookin' eye candy on his arm (cough, cough Courtney Cox). Oh, but he had to go and get himself cleaned up while his best guitarist/mandolin player went to some Buddhist convent or some shite out in California (wtf! who does that?). So once he was all off the sauce and ditched his meds and got his head cleared, he went over to Europe and mainly Amsterdam to write a new album (wtf! off the sauce in Amstredam, seriously, who does that?). On second listen though, the album has to be one of the more clear cut and concise, yet heartfelt ones he's put together. Extremely genuine, albeit there are still a few strands of depression in there, but the whole thing lacks in the anger that used to permeate it. It's just honest. And then this summer blockbuster hit and got rave online reviews and dl's, the only thing that could make me a bit more content... the end of pop culture as we know it. I'm not trying to say that all mainstream bands are inferior or can't rock hard, just look at the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Vines, The Strokes, Matchbox 20, Coldplay. I happen to think (and as we all know my thoughts are infallible and therefore you should all jump on my bandwagon) that its better to have one hard core rocker who thinks he sucks struggle to make music and find it appreciated, pouring out his life into that music, than have same rich little punk-ass dick-lick who's all prettied up to make up for the fact that he has no talent and who the moment his fans no longer like his music is willing to change genres to stay on top of the charts (cough Justin/Britney). Where's the passion in that. So I will leave this entry with a bit more of the divinity it started with (though I am god so these are all pretty much sparkly and holy and shite, oh believe it! I am filled with Christ's love!).

"I can write good songs. I can sing 'em, and I mean it, I mean it deeply, and I pour everything into that. Other than that, I suck." --Adam Duritz

16 June 2004

I Got the Box Blues

bum-bum bum bummmm
bum-bum bum bum bum bum bummm
bum-bum bum bummmm
bum-bum bum bum bum bum bummm

Grr, my music box has yet to arrive, which makes me sad and is the reason for this entire post. I mean how cool is it to have a music box that when held in your hand plays a single note but the moment it hits a resonant surface (yes engineers, I said resonant surface) it plays Tracy. And you're all saying so what, who gives a flying fooble about this Tracy chick. To those people I say schnart, schnart on you and your lies. Tracy is hot. I've never seen her, but I will vouch for her cos goddammit if her song ain't cooler than you. Which reminds me, anyone that guess the song that inspired today's lyrical quote will receive a million points and a chance to play What's That Smell?! which happens to be one of my favorite pastimes. I could give you a hint, but seeing as most of you don't own the CD, the fact that it's titled Come on Die Young will not help you.
Moreover, (wait, moreover what, where the hell did that come from, who the hell is typing these transitions, Australia is gonna be all like wtf?) my tshirt I ordered with my order of box (no not the kids box thank you, I'm allergic to pine nuts) is still not here either. And everyone knows that what anyone needs more than a lobotomy is a sweet sweet young team tshirt (or hoody, pronounced HOE-oo-dy so that Liz or Kristen can put the HOE back into it at some point). I mean, where couldn't I go in Scotland once I rock the HOEoody or tshirt, I'll be all hotter than Justin Timberlake and shite. Okay, maybe not that cool, but I'll definitely be cooler than Boris Yeltsin (WHAT???? Who ARE you?!).

15 June 2004

Wouldn't You Like to Know

Got no place to go
But there's a girl waitin' for me down in Mexico
She's got a bottle of tequila
A bottle of gin
And if I bring a little music I could fit right in

Due to the so-called "negativity" of posts the previous blog, or at least the majority of it has been moved to another site (just try and find the site, you commie, pinko, fascist bastaads!). I didn't mean to pop anyone's positivity bubble per se, but dammit if I'm just not optimistic and tend to be way too grounded in reality.
In other news, I have a new ream of printer paper, but nothing to print. Such issues may be resolved soon if I decide to join that whole restaurant fax menu thingy people do. Then again, I don't eat out much (except your mom, booyah!) so it really would just be a waste of useful and pretty paper. Well, I've got better things to do than sit here, like sitting in the living room and watching tv.

11 June 2004

Yes and No Questions

But with head to chest I hear the roar
Of indigo overlapping, my skin tasting me instead
All salt drenched lively life headed to the sky
It's this dream that I soar for just a moment
Teetering, oh so swaying I can just fall to fly
Just fall to fly

I am reminded unfortunately of things that if I were to be asked, I would indeed have to say yes and no. Which in itself this is an odd feeling because I have known my mind to be separated for some time now, into how many persons is still up in the air but its around 2 or 3 that I am aware of where the 2 could be considered one at some points and thus a third exists, but at any rate, its sufficed to say that it is indeed queer. It's hard to digest and balance the feeling knowing that a resolution is only possible if one thing is sacrificed because both cannot occur. There's always a rub apparently, part of the pattern of things because there is no purpose in life lest one is given such. Life just is. It waxes and wanes, builds and decays, rises and ebbs, possibly why I get so nauseous from day to day. It is most apparent of late, however, that soon I will have to make a decision out of one of these yes and no questions and it will be one of sacrifice. Things happen. We may love, but we may not be loved, just given "reminiscent sounds" in response. But I'll take the high road, and the rest of you can find you own way along. I will still get to fucking Scotland before you.
I'm not so sure that counts as a gem of wisdom for ya. I think it is safe to say that we all come across these sort of clashes within our own psyche at which point we have to ask that is it really what we want that matters or what someone else may want. Of course me being an ass, I would be obliged to say fuck altruism I want instant gratification now, dammit! Truth is we all know what the choice is that must be made in those tricky little situations because what good is it for us to be happy when we're really not making others such.
From time to time, we have been able to sense at least the dysplasia in reality – the wearing and sloppy, irregular movement of things. How poorly our worlds are jointed, loosely intertwined with the dreams of each individual in them. We live in over estimation of stability, in assurance that conflicts, collisions, will rarely occur; yet, it shakes so violently waking us nearly every night to an excisive feeling shuttling us from our beds and into the streets ushering us under the moonlight to a singular disillusionment. We have been born with no guarantee of happiness, of life, but it has been nonetheless placed in us that we are entitled to and deserving of these things. We have been told, raised and conditioned, to live this imaginary way; we have been forced to live a pipe dream, a one-in-a-million chance, but must we live in this gutter, this dark den of social rules that bind us in our own filth. Moreover, perhaps it goes that you will say that it is all worth it for love because love can overcome anything, collapse the system upon itself allowing us to rebuild and rise. But love doesn’t exist, not as you have thought, not as a force of social affect and creation, as a power that can undo the harm we have wrought upon ourselves. So it becomes a pointless existence then, in that state of mind, to love and be loved since it is that love exists in nothing more than our neurotic interpretations of a random consequence of millions of years of even more chaotic rearrangement of DNA. This rearrangement 67% of the time fails to yield a viable product. Should however it succeed it merely produces as additive affect with similar outcome overall triggering the expression of undetectable subconscious olfactory cues that when taken in as identifiers by others around you stimulates the release of neurotransmitters. These occur in certain areas of the brain where reproductive instincts and the chemical formula for love reside all in an effort for our species to mate, procreate, and allow for a chance for further heterozygote recombination resulting in crossover of chromosomes that will then undergo further recombinations and mutations and on and on ad infinitum. Thus, we ensure ourselves of survival of our species. We have no legacy… nothing tangible, nothing concrete… no legacy that lay any further than our molecular structure that another deems most likely to best complement their own in order to yield a stronger, viable immunological response allowing for stronger and stronger generations. A hopelessness descends once we hear how simple things are, how trivial our drives are at heart. There may be nothing to live for in our world except for the experience itself, the pure thrill of novelty and risk, the humour, the pain. We cannot believe in anything, we cannot trust, not without giving into everyone else’s perceptions of reality, giving up our control of what is. So it is that I can only live, we can only live waiting for whatever is to come, not hoping, not expecting, not fearing, merely admiring of ourselves and those within our lives, the evolution, the pulse.
--me, An Introduction to Life in a Bottle

Quiet Nights

Only feeling the drafty bit of a quiet cup of tea
Sitting in the dark blue of a television absorbing me
We already had our words all bent on the weather
You said so greenly
It was a yellow city kind of day just drenched

Empty cardboard boxes always seem to annoy me, as if they're asking to be broken down and done away with, for me to settle in and say this is home, or to pack them and tape them and load them away for the next leg of the journey. They're just solid though, unmoving in their quiet corner of the small closet just staring at me staring back at them. I hate to tear this place apart, admit that the entire adventure was a mistake and should be undone if possible, though it is much too late for that now, 3 years ago maybe, but now is simply pointless. Not only that but this was somewhat of a comfortable place, quiet and solitary, where I had my own little haven in my own little sector away from the noise of all the blathering airheads that now adorn the former campus of mine. As you can see it's not so much the physical part of moving that bothers me, but the mental preparations of such, making sure that I can create a new territory wherever I end up, making sure that despite wanting to hold on I do indeed let go of whatever I leave behind. Though I am quite accomplished at burning bridges, a pseudo side effect of many things in the past. I really hate cardboard boxes, though. They give the worst paper cuts in the worst possible places on your hand. Not only that, but also they dry your hands out after working with them for awhile to the point where your knuckles start cracking open and then the real pain sets in, not to mention it's a bitch to heal areas like that.
But the glassware had to go. The entire collection of glasses I've gotten from such fine drinking establishments as the Winking Lizard all packed away finally with my pilsner glasses and pitcher and shot glasses. I have to devise a way to get them to my gigantic inflatable Corona bottle and remaining pint and shot glass. Seeing as I will no longer need any of the drinking paraphernalia, I figure that it should all go to the person who will most likely use it and/or never realize that they have it. Stupid boxes.
I find it odd in fact that some people despite their insistence will always be the first to forget what I myself have done as well as what I've done for them, not that I always want people to remember, but it would be quite nice to know that I made some sort of impact on someone such that they remember me for years to come and tell stories and such. Alas, most stories people tell are of the legends. I won't name names, but one such has initials that begin with "W" and end in "ackenbrack". I'd like to think that one of my finest moments happened to be on a Sunday in the emergency room. I never had to be there, in fact with all things taken into account I doubt most people would've gone in those circumstances; nonetheless, I was there. Meh It's all the same I suppose, remembered or forgotten when we change the world in the smallest of ways we still know that we've done it, not exactly laudable, but who ever said I did things for the reward. You might not have even seen most of my work only because I do it for those that need it done. Balance.

8 June 2004

What the?

Normalize the tempo and you're bangin' on freon
Paleolithic eon

Albeit late in the evening, I'd like to think I'm still lucid enough, at least on this occasion to be able to digest a movie. But maybe I lost something, or have been missing something. I'll say that Buffalo '66 is in the least interesting and unique in its use of odd montage and collage sequences and a stunning set of camera shots posed at multiple angles and directions, but did I miss the reason for the fairy-tale ending, or even the chase after some fat ass football player who supposedly took a bribe to miss a field goal in the super bowl. It wasn't his fault he went to jail for five years for a crime he never committed, it was the loan shark's who he failed to pay off the 10 grand debt to, duh! And then to actually have him rethink shooting the guy and killing himself for a woman, albeit hotty Christina Ricci. Who didn't see that coming. The movie explored an unrealistic eventuality leaving the total theme and mission of this man unended. The whole point was he was supposed to gain his parents respect, wait, he didn't do that, and then he was supposed to shoot the fucker and kill himself like in his whole imagined sequence with his parents sitting at his grave yelling at the radio about the current Bills game. Now that was an ending, but oh no, lets go ahead and let the schmuck be happy. Oi. The movie would have been far more profound as a testament to the general human condition had the director/lead role pulled his head out his crack and taken a few breaths of B.O. instead of the usual shit he was mucking through in the movie. At least Troop Beverly Hills is on now, that oughtta unpiss me off a bit.

Quote of the Day:
"There was a time when I liked a good riot. Put on some heavy old street clothes that could stand a bit of sidewalk-scraping, infect myself with something good and contagious, then go out and stamp on some cops. It was great, being nine years old."
--Spider, Transmetropolitan

7 June 2004

The Green/Brown Tabby Report

I got my head checked
By a jumbo jet
It wasn’t easy
But nothing is, no

Oooo a string, gotta go.

Your Breath Smells Like Feet-uses

See me crumble and fall on my face
And I know the mistakes that I've made
See it all disappear without a trace
And they call as they beckon you on
They say start as you mean to go on
Start as you mean to go on

I assume (read: making ass of you and me) by now that the majority of people who read this (yeah the whole 2 if 2 is even a viable number) are thinking that I have waaaaaaay too many posts for such a young blog. But there are so many things about me that are oversized and unseen that I don't feel this a fair comparison at all. Mostly the massive number of posts now ranging around at 6 I believe not oncluding the drafts that you can't see, are a result not of some childish excitement and eagerness to explain the world as seen by me or through me or from my intestinal track, rather it's just a plain fact that at any point in time there is far too much mental activity floundering around up in here and with the recent 22 year trend of ladies not being all up ons, I have no better way to quiet the little voices and keep my idle hands from troubling activities. This probably all seems very silly, though, jsut downright crazy, but then again I only slept for 2 hours last night so who knows where I get this schizophrenia from. Did I say schizotypia, no.. good. At any rate I hope you the two readers are at least confused or slightly entertained by this point, otherwise I've failed in life. I will say this. I ahor the internet for its depersonalization. IM took the place of phone calls, then forums took the place of IM, and now this very medium takes the place of real emotional content in communication with those we care about. Instead we would rather lay out nearly every personal detail unto the open market for anyone to read, sometimes never once alliwing our closest friends to know the very same details. This seems to make no sense in a world that causes families to drift farther apart physically and emotionally because a secure and loving environmant is never created instead of creating media that brings us together we only enable ourselves to grow farther and further apart. But who am I to talk. The last of my kind as it were, yet I am the most distant from all that I was raised upon: no values, morals, beliefs, religion, kinship. It's funny I suppose in just that off sense of peculiar that I for a long time feared most the people that held all those things so dear, they had something to fight for, something to protect. If i only I lived in Gross Pointe, I would make a hell of a mercenar for the CIA, but only because it'd be an adventure. Well, that and I could definitely take out Barney "accidentally". Stupid purple dinosaurs, I mean seriously have you ever seen a purple reptile, remebering salamanders and newts aren't reptiles.
Anyway, there's some good stuff to come, a few posts on reserve for when I feel like I need to feel creative again, not that that ever ends. One can stem the tide I spose. The one on yes and no questions was sort of a fluke as well as the reactonary posts and movie vomit. You'll have that in boredom and isolation. But I have much to do, like thank you notes and packing. One way or the other I'm out of this hell hole before the end of summer.... cus I'm the wanderer/Yes, I'm the wanderer/I go around and around and around and around.
Ha, oh I hurt myself I laugh so much, oh my sides... get me a doctor, no seriously my diabetes just slid across the floor and won't go back in, stupid pancreaseseseseses, or is it pancreai. Maybe I should go to bed now...

6 June 2004

A Gray Tabby Interview

All of us, we are overexposed to the idea that
Happiness is for the good

...when its only for cats.
I really have no inspiration for such a post as this. Life moves slowly and uneventfully when there's little to do but wake up and fall asleep to wake up and fall asleep and maybe for once dream. I've been watching people carefully for some time now, waiting for who knows what, but something is definitely captivating about them. Sometimes it seems it's just the way they move, lumbering or sliding or dancing, all hippy or swagger-like, sometimes the duck-footed are the most entertaining. Grace I think has lost it's true nature in most people's eyes as they wait for some innate extraordinary beauty to just exude from the everyday normal, but we can't all be cats in this way. As I said, no real inspiration. I sat by the window for somewhere near an hour the other day just to see the traffic and smell the freshcut grass. The birds seemed to enjoy my prescence tucked behind a screen hunched over and looking down while they could merely flit away. The people never seemed to pleased always waiting for a flash of color change from the monochrome world they stare straight ahead and obey. Never questioning a damn thing. It's tiring to watch such simple creatures, which of course led to me making the drastic decision to unlazy myself and move to the couch and curl up with the afghan. Of course when you have no job there's never anything interesting on television so I spent hours on end absorbing repeats of trading spaces and movies seen at least twice previously. If my brain weren't already so small I'd say that I caused significant damage to it, but how would I know as it is.
I did have a brief thought at one point the other day, it even seemed significant but then I lost it somewhere between the kitchen stove and the water bottle not to mention the stupid plastic brown mousey looking thing that I stepped on in the hall. So easily distracted am I. I sat with the cds out watching as they flipped past shiney and circular like a little feestival of lights, but I couldn't settle on one or two or three. Again a side effect of utter boredom is just this sense of indecision, that and the laziness sets in. Alas, If only their were more faucets constantly running...
Who knows, when I woke up I decided against any movement from bed til at least mid afternoon, of course food ruined that. But perhaps I'll make up for it soon with a nap, just hop into the hammock and pass out for awhile with the tv on and the window open, I'll be all set. Maybe today the window will have something more to show than normal, or maybe I'll just venture outside. That is, if I can make it out the door and not get caught this time.


Paradoxes Schmaradoxes

Laid out on the summer lawn we were intangible
Just us on a tuesday
Sun stroke just chasin' away the midnight game
Casting a little too much shame across the smile
Lazed and confused and passed out on the grass
I'm ready for the quieter years of my life

I find it funny how many people feel they need someone, or that someone doesn't truly need them, and by someone i refer to myself because of course this is my own personal playground for the time being anyway. The truth is that I am neither needed nor in need per se, not at least in the sense that anyone or myself can live without myself or anyone. But I will say this. I have numerous friends and acquaintances, I know more about more people than you would know, its another one of my hobbies. Not in the sense that I'm nosy and prod into everyone's life but that should information or stories come my way I will not dismiss it because one never knows when it may be needed (for a good joke about your mom of course). This is not to say that I merely hang out with a number of people to appease myself or them because I'm not what could be referred to as a belonger. In fact the great majority of those with whom I associate are in different social cirlces and I myself merely stand somewhere in there intersection (ven diagram that beeotch). But I have no desire to be unboredified (yes its a word just the OED hasnt accepted it yet, so get off my case) by those that tend to annoy me, even in times where the whole world is seemingly devoid of friends or aquaintances due to their own schedules; rather I would in fact not bother such indivduals and merely find a few good cinematic pieces and a shitload of snacks and pull a few all nighters until I could no longer think. I will stop here for a moment before I make a statement that would be construed as outright offensive and attempt to find a better route of explanation later.
In a like fashion I am neither needed by such people. I've been told to keep my health at mind because I am needed around, or that I should keep in touch in the future because I am needed or something. Some people I feel just don't understand the weight of certain words, and in these aforementioned situations I know for a fact that need is not the proper choice of terms. So for that matter I will talk to those I wish to because I find them enjoyable and enlightening since this is a learning experience for the moment, as I try to find some understanding of the general drive of people; furthermore, even if I do end up in a wheelchair with the nickname "Speedy" it will be on my own terms and with guilt, yes, but not regret. I will never live my life in hope of seeing generation after generation born and all the glory of the future blah, blah, blah. I stopped living for the hope of good days because it is by far the most disappointing of motivations, I live for the small adventures in everyday life that eventually will give way to bigger ones. So don't lecture me on the costs of my habits, my smoking and drinking, my diet and mismanagement of certain things thinking I will change in light of someone's need for me.
And yes I believe I shall skip around a bit and allude to paragraph 1, section 23.47, line 5. Good luck with that one. Anyway, several times it has been brought to my attention in a short time span that females often are confused by teasing. And in some cases this even occurs after they've been informed that it is a form of affection or regard of the highest sort. I think that most women tend to forget that when they have any sort of relationship with a male that rules are put into place by them, but not spoken or written, just the understood type that apparently all men understand and have no problems accepting for the most part. This is all fine and well, because limits are good (accept when diet pepsi is involved). At any rate these rules are somewhat of a guide for the actions and approaches anyone can take, such that for some females signs of affection of any sort are understood to be somewhat of a put off, ie you just dont do it per se because most women cannot discern between friendly signs of affection and other. The other being absolutely not wanted of course. Males are able to adapt to such things then, either you have the Carl's of this world that make unwanted advances, or you have those that merely tend to tease in a more tender approach than they would with male cohorts or those they would rather kick in the junk. This is indeed paradoxical, hence my fancy schmancy title up there looking all spiffy. *ch-ka* Now to your left you'll see our other riverboat pilot, the Cheat, say hello to the Cheat. It's easy to understand the opposite sex, they're both simple-minded, sexually driven creatures. The problem is they just have their individual quirks.
Personally I like the freaks, the quirky non-run-of-the-mill people that are more generous to each other and more compassionate to one another than they can afford. Those are my people, if I could be fortunate enough to have a people because apparently the Amazons don't want me. And if I blather on til 4 o'clock in the morning, it's usually not because a person is there listening, (more often it's because I'm hearing voices) it's probably because it's a really interesting discussion with a totally awesome individual or set of individuals. I could be wrong, though.
I suppose this was somewhat of an ADD sort of entry at best and is also completely reactionary, which is a pet peeve of mine (hey I'm breakin down the barriers y'all), but I hate when people doubt me. As I've mentioned I'm not religious, nor do I plan on becoming such, nor am I very spiritual, but I do feel faith is important, faith in oneself. And if you cannot accomplish that than have faith in someone that knows you well enough to see past all the faults to all the good. But whatever, I'll do what I want. Who said my blog wasn't totally random and witty?
(in the future Im really gonna try and steer clear from explaining myself, it only hurts my brain more)

A tad bit of wisdom: "People here make a point of keeping track of their objects, but anything really important stays with you." -Cyril

Legal Pad Movie Vomit

Outside the corner store just beyond
That little cracked piece of sidewalk
A glass case of people oblivious to the world
We would take that path for miles
Up and back with glittering rain-drenched words
Forgetting all the cares until you changed
But maybe it's just me in this poster-hung world

These branches swayed seemingly endlessly raking across the hand, tittilating with every prick of bur and rough edge curving just so to lay across, just whitening an ever burgeoning path in the now lax oozing of granulated sunlight that only just began to slip summer-like between the convalecently inching castles spilling the still fresh springs from their pluming aquifers. They were chalked and charcoal emaciating in the lucid flow of inspired purples, magentas, fuschias, ever fraternizing with the subtler tones of lavender, pink, melon-orange abutting the passionate reds lusting for sable seasons. An entire world abloaze in a non-consuming creation that splayed out from end to end across all vision until it was enveloped by the darker shadows off in the horizon. These moments pass one after the other while great monuments are sculpted into abstract design of ebony and alabaster all windward slanted and more fragile than crystalline geodes yet brimming with fruitful explosive taste, burgundy and leggy but with never far to walk. And soon the streaky blood line crimson folding outward across olive skin saturated with the sultry thoughts of evening chases back the frightened flash of ash as fingers curl to sensate every last pin while leaves twitter and fly and ruffle to caress some reminiscence. Just sandboxes and playgrounds carefully buried in childhood glee, those silent still frame monochromes left etched in stagnant summer twilights' cicadias' cries. The graceful swallowing gales beaming through jade-emerald and aqua-maroon meadows just weaving slither-like through shaded vale to perch in mountain side aeries in arcing cold light left draping by the dusky orange harvest moon.

3 June 2004

Black Lace and Hellfire Tamed

The deeper you stick it in your vein
The deeper the thoughts there's no more pain
I'm in heaven I'm a god
I'm everywhere I feel so hot

Everyone has an addiction point, a moment when something becomes so transfixing that it's an obsession to keep it up or repeat the action/feeling/event/whatever term you'd enjoy using most in that sentence. I've done my fair share of things, had my infatuations, but I'm not religious or spiritual mostly just odd and eccentric which leads into my own very expensive addiction: crack. Now if you at all took that seriously then I suggest you refrain from getting lead into things since you're probably far more gullible than you realize because while crack may be extremely expensive there are numerous other things that are just as or more so. Ink is one of these. More and more I have found my self entranced by writing and the black nk overtaking the purity of a page, or screen in this matter. It's creation at a base form, a corruption of values of modern life in exchange for an older form of power and prestige, etc, etc, etc. It is power, to create breeds form from chaos, order is control, have you seen the pattern yet. But it is not ink on paper that I desire or that sends me into threadbare status, it is the lackluster and oft frowned upon action of tatooing that I adore. I don't refer to the act of being some pubescent clod who goes downt the block to his local tatoo studio to get some overused and meaningless symbol embossed across the bicep or on a shoulder. Nor do I refer to the teenybopper freshmen girls at colleges around the world that rebel when first given the chance and attain a new slutty design on their lower backs so as to have reason to show off their thongs and love handles. (tangent: did I miss when it became "cool" to show off ones underwear, last I checked most people thought it was embarassing) Tatooing has become the closest thing to a religious experience that I may ever have. You take your time, and pick your designs as little as possible off the walls of wherever you may choose to be inked. Some are inevitably going to be there on the dingy smoke filled palisades, but the inspiration for those is not necessarily from the same source. Today will mark the 8th of 12 tatoos, the last 4 of which will be a single design scheme in tribal fashion (tribal indicating it is generally all black consisting of mostly scroll work, etc). All eight could have been done in one year, but I've accrued them slowly over the last almost 4 now, enjoying the entire transformation, because that indeed is what it is.
For far too many people their self-conceptions usually include some sort of popularity in which they are beloved by all (must discuss use of word love at later time) and have a multitude of friends, and while this is all well and good and as I have learned over recent years often very much fun I find it in many ways a bit excessive; for I've had few friends and fewer still that I can trust, but I am nonetheless more well-adjusted and in touch with reality than what seems to be an ever increasing population of pop-culture drones. My self concept has become simple as so many things do with age. I see myself as one thing, completely undefinable but with certain characteristics that outline every bit of my nature, and in this the tatoos have become hallmarks of sorts (fuck ambassador) marking or marring certain things that have occured or certain parts of my psyche that once were. The number of tatoos is no mistake either because while I do not believe in anything, I find patterns everywhere and numerology seems to embrace that in some ways as does astrology, though neither are very predictive they both are less random than institutionalized religion. The number three seems to be prevalent in things I do though usually not at first glance, but upon retrospect I see a lot of triples, sextets, and novets, which 9 in that sense is a perfect number: 3x3. So too is 12 according to old myth, and so I by chance ended up with that final number.
All in all I have thus far 7, another good number next to 5, consisting of 2 unique and never to be seen again designs both with meaning of their own and placed in certain positions to indicate their affect, 1 celtic design of druid origin, and 4 kanji, japanese characters, the fifth to be done this evening. And I must say, for some reason this is the thing I excite most over. Never am I so giddy with road trips, or flying to the UK, or meeting people or a mate, but to get inked, to have the needle wreak havoc across my skin and leave a mark that I ahve seen in my mind for since I was a child, that is absolutely wonderful, absolutely crucial to my self design. Imagine it as a fallen branch that everytime you pass you take a knife to it and embellish upon it, not to say that the branch as is with the human form is not perfect in ever way not matter how conceptually poor it is, but as the days or years wear on your hand lends a new perfection to it, a new ornate curve that catches the light differently changing perspective that others will have on that branch just as on yourself. Perhaps I am speaking to the wrong generation, too young or too old, or possibly too theologic or fundamentalistic. But change is inevitable, beauty is always present in a menagerie of form and shape and angular dimension and since I had no hand in designing this small pale form, then it will be in this way that I lend my own creative power for the world to see and marvel or jeer at.
Ink is a form of corruption of purity, just as the pen blackens pages preventing the brilliance from being seen, but then the purity itself serves the ostentatious words of authors who no more than have to whisper for the world to hear them. What then is purity without the shadows.

For those who've yet to see the 500 or so dollars worth of ink to be done.


Gentleman caller in the blue suede shoes
He don't know what to do
He just wants to look good for you

It's been a long week to say the least and yet its not even the end of Wednesday. I have nothing really to do with this entry except to apologize ahead of time for not making this more of your run of the mill journal. But I don't believe there to be anything wrong with this. I've read some of the random entries others post about their boredom between classes or avoiding work, etc, etc, and it never ceases to make me wonder how few people really have hobbies or some such thing. Creation is hobby, isn't it. Probably more of a past time than anything else since it is beginning to fall by the wayside and become and older tradition of those who actually preferred to experience life rather than merely read of others experiences or worse yet watching tv to gain some sort of insight into experiences. I'm supposedly not old, nor am I truly young, but I can already see that some things are never going to last as long as I would like them. And as most people say of these things, I will probably forget about it at some point in the near future. Until The New Yorker emails me back, I really have nothing better to keep my mind spry and out of the gutter.