Im still writing my ass off, dont worry. I write at home, then transfer the floppy to the public library where I connect to the internet. The computers here now want to format my precious disc and wont read the files. Damn it. One day this will be remedied. Until then, dream on.

the oh-shit-bars - 4th dream

After eating a few more pieces of quasi-fruit and a thick slice of birthdaycake bread, Sesse finds some bottled water and we stroll towards the top of the hill. Along our walk Sesse constantly stops to chat with a shop owner or friend. It seems that she is friends with almost everyone in this town. She doesn't introduce me to anyone we encounter and it doesn't bother me. I don't really want to meet anyone else here now that I have found her. I don't mind waiting for her many interactions either. I love to watch her talk, hug and innocently flirt with men and women who can't take their eyes off of her.
"What do you do for a living Sesse?" I ask in between a friendly greeting.
"What do I do for a living?" She ponders this question. "I live!"
"No. What is your job? How do you make money?"
"Oh. That. I don't 'work'. No one here works for money because it doesn't exist here. There is a sort of credit system but no real monetary value associated with it."
"So how do the shop owners make an earning?"
"They don't earn anything but a sense of accomplishment at the end of a hard day. They work in the shops because that is what they are supposed to do. Most of them are ok with their station in life. There are a few that hate the fact they will be working in the shops for the rest of their days. It is a good thing they don't know you are the one responsible for putting them there huh?" She looks over at a young punk clothing store worker who is flipping the open sign around to close. He smiles and waves at her through the glass. Sesse smiles back and flips him the bird. The store owner only shakes his head and watches her walk up the hill.
"And you don't work at all?"
"Would you want to work if you had the choice?"
"No I wouldn’t."
"Thanks again JBee. I enjoy doing whatever I like whenever I like. Thanks to you, I don't have to work. I travel all the time, go on crazy adventures, meet amazing people and live every day to its fullest."
"That sounds like what I would love to do alright." 

I notice an alabaster building on our left and I'm instantly drawn to it. Elaborately carved dragons and flowers cover the white walls. There are places where spray paint has been covered by another white primer coat, almost obscuring the bright acrylic beneath. We walk inside of the small church-like building and it smells of magnolias and honeysuckles. The walls are a very dark lacquered wood. There is no furniture other than one squatty black table in the back of the room. On top of the table, flowers and red candles surround a large glass sculpture of a dragon. The dragon looks like the one we saw last night. On top of the dragon sits a smaller figure. I look closely and notice the carving is very detailed. It looks like a little toy me.

"What is this place?" I say while inspecting the craftsmanship of the glass.
"This is a shrine to the Seasons Dragon whose name is Booudelwan. There are many followers of Boo, but you will find many other religions here too."
"I despise religion! Why would I be involved in anything religious? This is total bullshit."
"Obviously you don't despise religion as much as you think you do. At least people aren't spilling the blood of each others babies over it. There is a difference in opinion and belief but nothing gets out of hand."
"I want to get out of here. Do you mind?" She walks towards the entrance. I find myself alone in the shrine. Sesse is already in the street talking to another friend. I rejoin her and we continue our path, finally reaching the top of the hill. The suns reflection is now setting the lake on fire behind me. 
Over the hill I see a huge circle of barren land charred by fire and mass destruction outline by a narrow road. The bottom half of a fire scarred dragon body lies curled around a tree stump. The top half is no where to be seen. It looks like a bomb was dropped here less than a few moments ago. I choke on a wind of sulphur and ash. Sesse looks at this scene without any expression at all.
"This is where the next season is decided. The four representing dragons meet here during our Celebration of the Seasons festival. The next year’s season will depend on the victor of this bloody fight. Sometimes we have three summers in a row or falling leaves for five years straight."
"I guess this was the end of another fall?" I think of the white leaves that carpeted the ground around the lake. "Who won this year? What is the new season going to be?"
"We won't know until the victor presents itself. That should happen within the week or so. Don't worry, if you are still here, you will not miss it. I promise that. I didn't bring you up here to talk about the new seasons coming however. I wanted to take you to see some one that might be able to help you get home."
"OK, take me away." I don't see where we could possibly go from here other than around this giant arena and that could take hours to walk around. I look to Sesse for answers. Her back is turned to me but I see all I need to know. Her right hand is set on her hip while her left hand is held up to her ear. I step closer so I can hear her conversation.
"No, I am not willing to take a cab." Sesse turns to me and mouths "I hate cabs!" I start to say I wouldn't mind but she redirects her attention to the person on the other end of the phone. "Bring it to me now or I am going to change shops open of business tomorrow morning. No Bullshit." Pause in conversation. She is tapping her foot and pacing back and forth in a small oval in the dusty road. "It doesn't matter that you are willing to pay for it. No. There is nothing that will change my mind. I am at the Four Seasons right now. I am waiting Forsette."
When Sesse closes the clamshell phone she is holding, the device continues to fold itself in half until it is no more than an inch squared. It looks like a jewel that fell out of an expensive necklace sitting there in the palm of her hand. She places the phone on her wrist and two silver strings pop out of both sides, reconnecting on the other side, creating a bracelet. I am impressed. I wonder if my mind has created this technology or if this is one of the few things I didn't have a hand in. I decide not to ask her right now since she seems to be pissed off at the person on the other end of that call.
A few minutes pass while Sesse continues to stalk back and forth. Two slim vehicles approach from the right side of the road. They look very much like motorcycles but have four wheels instead of two. The tires are paired side by side, two smaller in the front and two larger wheels in the back. The back wheel base is a bit higher than the seat while the front is a bit lower, giving the bike a "jacked up" look. The body itself it actually level though. When the drivers slow to stop the machine the paired wheels extend from each other to about a distance of 6 feet and the body drops down another foot. Now it resembles an ATV. Whatever this thing is, it looks sexy, fast and fun as hell. With one motion the driver swings his right leg behind the seat and is standing beside the bike holding a pair of gloves out for Sesse to take. She picks the gloves from his open hand one at a time, being very meticulous with their fitting. Once the driver is left empty handed he smiles at her and says something in a language I don't recognize or understand. He climbs onto the rear of the second bike and taps the shoulder of the driver. Soon they are swallowed by smoke and haze on the distant road. Sesse opens and closes her hands back and forth then interlaces her finger trying to get the very best fit her gloves will allow. She seems content with them after several practiced 'fitting exercises' and tells me to "Hop On."
I straddle the bike and realize that the backseat is very comfortable. It looked like it was nonexistent before I jumped on but now it is cradling my pelvis perfectly. My legs rest comfortably around the driver’s seat. Sesse watches me adjust myself on the bike and when I look satisfied she places her left foot on the front foot peg and swings her right leg over my head slowly until it rest on the opposing front peg. The whole thing reminds me of a graceful kata I had seen someone perform in a martial art class years before. She places her hands on the steering column which is the shape of an oversized doggie biscuit and the vehicle comes to life. Its engine makes purring sounds that are distinctly low and high at the same time. The overall sound coming from the bike is very quiet; you could talk at a normal level and be clearly heard. She shifts into first with her right thumb much like a 10 speed bicycle. The throttle and clutch are at her feet but I can't see brakes anywhere. Without climbing half way out of the seat I can't see past her ass or flowing hair to check out the instrument panel. I feel the bike rising as the wheels come back together with more speed. The wheels do not contact but come about a foot apart before stopping, giving the rider more stability. I am glad she is taking precautions at least. She extends her neck backwards until she is looking at my upside down face and asks me "Are you read to die?" I bite my bottom lip.
We are literally blurring down the road. I try to look at the scenery but only get the sensation that I am slowly but surely slipping off the bike. I have a feeling that if I grab her waist out of fear the ride will quickly become much scarier so instead I cling tightly to the oh-shit-bars located on both sides of my ass. I end up admiring Sesses backside for most of the white-knuckle ride. We arrive at an intersection and she downshifts while leaning the bike to the right, turning out on to a four lane highway. There are no other vehicles to be seen on the road. I look at the sky above while we are still going at a slower speed and see highways in the sky. The roads are lined with spaced apart white lights that seem to float in the air. At intersections there are red lights and what looks to be off and on ramps the lights are yellow and green. I can't see a pattern to the blue ones. There are a few flying vessels speeding across the sky but not one of them looks like an aircraft I am used to seeing. We are swiftly reaching top speeds again so I resume a close inspection of Sesses exposed panty line, defined lower back muscles and tattoos. Her tattoos are a thousand times better than I imagined mine being but still hold the same blueprint I created. I check out her other tattoos and wonder if I would have thought of them in the future. They fit her feminine shape nicely, not making her look butch or too inked up.

4/17/2007

the beginning

i am writing these stories, you are reading, mostly at night. i don't edit or look for plot holes or

inconsistancies and should be considered the roughest

draft you will get. the words flows from me as naturally as when I am dreaming. i can't explain it yet but i hope you all enjoy.

this is the beginning of something amazing for me.

Celebration of the Seasons - 3rd dream

I find myself thrust out of a dark doorway and into an even darker alley. I can see light around the corner so I follow it. The city in front of me quickly replaces my uneasiness with feelings of curiousity and mischief. Every time I go out for a night on the town I have this powerful sense of being bad, or wanting to be bad. Though I have this desire I don't end up doing anything notable most of the time I am out. I feel ready to play and pounce on any fun opportunity I find in this unfamiliar city. The streets are masterfully designed cobblestone and I think of historic St. Augustines Old Candy Shoppe. There are no neon lights to be seen but the street is lit well. Varieties of colored lanterns and phospherous fueled lamps add life to the sceneries otherwise dull hues. I can't fix a specific locale to this place I have stumbled into but I know I have seen it all before. The people that fill this quarter mile stretch of nightlife all wear masks. Some of these masks are small accessories to an elaborate ensemble while other masks are huge grotesque entities that mute everything else about the person wearing it. They are made of any number of materials, including precious stones and even human skin. The people aren't interested in chatting with a stranger such as myself. I wouldn't say they are rude so as much as preoccupied. I don't mind. I am enjoying taking it all in while I walk. Having to talk to someone would only force me to be distracted from whatever it is that I am looking for. I am looking for something, this is certain, and I have no clue as to what it could be. I keep on not minding. The shops and store windows are too dark to see into but a sliver of light or reflecting adornment tells me that there must be people inside as well as out here where I am. Is this night a celebration or just one of many other social nights? There is the always the masquerade theme to consider.

I quickly manuever around a gang of children whose whirlwind of conversation and games led them into my direct path and this is when I first notice something strange. I can't understand what the children are saying. It sounds like something I could comprehend but I cant make out a single word. I couldnt say if it was English, Spanish, Japanese or Pig Latin. I just don't know. I stop and take in my surrounding on a more suspect level, now looking for other things to not make sense. Nothing stands out. Everything looks, smells and sounds wonderful. Everything except those kids. I decide to turn back and follow the children hoping to find that I was wrong about their voices. The kids are already half way up the next block and turning into an alley. I won't chase them. I turn again and continue on my original path down the steadily downhill sloping street. I walk by a couple kissing at a table and ask for directions to the nearest ATM. The couple says nothing to me, only glancing in my direction before continuing to suck and kiss on each others faces, so I sit down at the table one down from them and look off in the opposite direction. I am hoping that I will catch a word in between kisses and coos. A few silent minutes pass and I decide to give these lovers more privacy. Looking to my right I see a large group of people making ridiculous gestures. They look friendly enough so I walk in their direction which is about a block away from this lovers patio. Arriving directly in front of the rowdy crowd I am left with a sense of dread. The voices are all mixed together sounding like a river of music formed by a thousand different languages. A short dark skinned girl trips on her own dancing feet and stumbles in to my arms. She lightly springs back and smiles, her lips releasing that flow of delicious gibberish, her eyes connecting with a primal urge to "get down with the get down". Her mask, which is a beautiful replica of her own eyes, covers her freckled cheeks and nose only. I recover from my shock and tell her I can't understand what she is saying. She laughs and points to her mask. I shrug my shoulders. I don't know what I am doing without a mask. She turns back to her friends and says something that looks like a farewell and then returns to me. She takes my hand, turns it palm up and kisses the center. This sends tingles up my arm until reaching my heart where it then dissapates slowly throughout my being. I see her hand raising and so I do the same to her. This must be some sort of greeting. When I kiss her palm my lips go numb and she seems to be embarrassed by my actions. I try my best to seem sure of myself. As soon as I think this uncomfortable situation will last forever it ends. She takes my hand again and starts walking back up the hill. I look down to see she is wearing a sheer material that I can see right through. There is meticulous metallic scrollwork sewn throughout this garment, but it does not try to hide her more delicate features. I try to block her swaying hips out of my mind. She leads me to a large gate made of a dark red wood. The double doors are open to the inside wall and are tied back with vines. We walk through the gate and enter a small open air antiroom. In the back corner there is one table and one chair. I see no doors connected to the wall behind us. She directs me to sit in the chair so I do. She effortlessly jumps onto the table and crosses her legs in one fluid movement. I can only stare into her brown eyes which are now level with my own. The girl asks me a question. I shake my head. She cocks her head to the side and stares at me intently. She then lightly grazes over my hairline, my shoulder, my chest, my arms with her hands. I continue staring into her eyes as this examination proceeds. She gestures for me to stand up so I do. She rummages through my pockets in an almost too playful way pulling out a pink seashell from my left pocket and a short piece of yellow rope from my right. She rises to look directly into my eyes again and repeats the question I didn't understand a moment ago. I shake my head no and her face wrinkles into disappointment. She jumps off the table and gestures for me to remove my shoes so I do. I untie my Adias and place them on the table. The girl picks them up and turns them over simultaneously. White sand pours out from them and on to the ground. "Can you hear me now?" She says in a voice that is deep, sexy and raw. I stand there staring at her unable to respond. At this point she begins to unbuckle my pants and remove my shirt all at the same time and with a great determination.

I yell "Hey what are you doing now?" and she the stops unbuttoning abruptly.

"Why didn't you say something when you could understand me?"

"I don't know why. I was in shock. I am sorry. My name is JBee and I don't know how I got here. I don't know why I don't have a mask or why everyone else does have a mask. I don't know why I have a rope, shell or sand in my shoes either. I need a drink and then I need to go home. Again, I am sorry."

"So, you are sorry and you need to go home. I say you are confused and have no need to apologize. Maybe I should apologize." She looks to the ground in between our feet. "This is all kinda my fault since I brought you here. It is something I will explain to you in as much detail as I can, but not right now. You have to have your signet on to be here so that is most important."

She looks at me and then looks into her hands at the shell and rope. She places the rope on the table behind her and squeezes the shell inside her closed palms. When her hands open again, there are two identical shells in both hands. The rope is traced along the shells exterior and then placed into my own hands. The shells are now connected by yellow rope. It reminds me of a makeshift mermaid bra. "I don't have to wear this like a bra do I?" "No retard" she says with a half smile. " Place the shells where they belong, you know where that is. Do it now." I take both shells and place one on both sides of my face. The rope is connected loosly underneath my chin. Without support of any kind, the "signet" stays on my face when I lower my hands. She approves. Her smile is so big that I can see she has a beautiful set of sparkling white teeth. "What is your name?" I ask her. "My friends call me Artisesse. My lovers call me repeatedly." I laugh. "You can call me Sesse." It sounds like she is saying Say Say. I put my shoes back on and tie them up. She kisses my palm again, takes my hand and leads me back out to the street. "Where are we going now?" I ask. Sesse points towards the sky beyond the bottom of the hill to a lake nestled around thousands of Magnolia trees decorated with red lanterns. The shiny leaves of the tree make the red glow look even brighter. Blooming white flowers cover the ground around the trunks of these ancient guardians. I soak all of this is in and look back at her. She copies the rest of the people lined along the road by sitting down right where we are on the cobblestone. I do the same. No one is speaking any longer. The children I ran into earlier are sitting quietly a dozen feet downhill from us, transfixed by the sky and lake beyond. I patiently watch nothing happen. I notice that fireflies are blinking above the water. There must be thousands of them too to make it glow like it does. The water starts to ripple along the edges and turn counter clockwise like it is emptying into an unseen drain below. The funnel creates a hole in the center of the lake. All of the fireflies are quickly sucked into it. Out of the swirling hole a white dragon leaps into the air, its body long, thin and irridecent. Its eyes glow a gold color that match its long flowing hair and horns. Its mouth is open roaring the same language I heard before I found my signet. The dragon figure-eights above the water and circles into a blurring frenzy. I realize I am squeezing Sesse's hand a little too hard but she doesn't seem to notice. The dragon rises higher into the sky and through the clouds. I can only hear its roar spreading across the sky. Sesse squeezes my hand so tightly that I think I might say something to her. I don't have a chance though. The clouds mirror the water below and the dragon submerges from the sky and is now as black as onyx. Its eyes, hair and horns are still golden. The dragon begins racing up the hill along the street we are sitting on. It is not more than six feet from the ground. Sesse pulls me up and places my left hand in air. She places her right hand in the air next to mine, only a bit lower due to our height differences. The dragon flies above us in a rush of heat and an overpowering smell of magnolia flowers. My hand slides along the slippery black scales that feel cool to the touch. Once the dragon passes, I turn my head to follow its path and it has reached the top, disappearing over the edge of the massive hill. The street is covered in red: the people, the buildings, the trees, everything. I look down to Sesse who is covered in what looks like blood and she says "That was your very first Celebration of the Seasons. I hope you enjoyed it. Please keep your seats in upright position and your lap belts secure until all safety lights have been turned off."

"What the fuck was that Sesse?" I ask in wild bewilderment. "Celebration of the Seasons, your first, my twenty ninth, the only one until next year this time. Will you be my date next year too handsome?" She bats her eyelashes at me dramatically. I slide my hand behind her back and lift her in the air hugging her tightly. I am as scared as I am overjoyed and I think this blood is having an effect on me too. I feel as if I am rolling on a really good ecstacy pill. Sound is tangible, touch is electric. I am full of emotion and love for this place, for this girl, for the dragon. I start to kiss her. She laughs while sliding her tongue around the corners of my own mouth, teasing all the while. I don't know what to do. I am unable to think clearly any longer. I grab her thighs and lift her to my hips. She responds with equal pressure at first then slides her legs into a crossed position atop of my stomach. She takes my chin in her left hand and places her right hand onto my chest, giving me one last hard kiss before pulling away. I stand holding her cradled in my hands. She only stares at me. "Sesse, why did you stop?" I say with much effort. Sesse reaches over to my ear and whispers to me "You are not from here silly. If I was to become pregnant by you that would be cataclysmic in both of our worlds. You won't understand right now but believe me, it just can't happen." I am pained at the fact that we wont be having sex. The emotional wave is still coming in crashing bouts every couple seconds. I want to argue but know she is telling me the truth. I can see it in her eyes. I place my hands under her armpits and she unfolds her legs to a standing position. I gently place her back onto the ground, trying to resist touching her again. She slowly turns from me and starts walking down the hill. I follow. It is hard to keep my eyes off of her. I glance at others I pass and want to touch them too. Everyone is obviously feeling the same as I am. There is kissing and groping going on everywhere I look. I think of the movie Eyes Wide Shut and laugh loudly at my ridiculousness. A pair of feather masked women snap thier heads towards me in unison and stalk up to my side with the longest legs I have ever seen. The two women are identical in every way that I can see. One kisses my palm and the other groans "Too bad" into my ear. I am left with major tingles again. Sesse is gaining speed now and almost runs down the street towards the lake. I blindly follow her, not caring where my shoes land or if I trip and fall into a broken mess. Once we reach the bottom I see the land is flat and the grass is tough. The green is almost too bright, reminding me of Astroturfs color. From around the corner of the first buildings that line the street people emerge carrying an orchestra of instruments. Some are playing them as they walk towards the grassy area in front of the lake, others are setting up the equipment as the reach their destination. Sesse courtsies to me so I bow as best as I think a bow should be done. She takes my hands and we dance for hours. Everyone from up the hill has joined us dancing and laughing, talking about how great the New Year is going to be. A world of flowers, fireflies, blood and music spin around me as we all dance. I have never felt so at home in my life yet I am the farthest from it that I have even been before.

I am awoken the next morning by sprinkles of rain falling onto my closed eyelids. The effects of the blood are lessened but still noticable. Sesse is lying half way on my chest and half way on the grass. She is waking too and looks at me with compassion and care. There are a few people lying in the grass and around the massive trees. "Why did you tell me it was your fault?" I ask her. Sesse squares her jaw and inhales deeply. "This is your parallel universe. It belongs to you and everyone has there very own. Everything you see and feel and touch in your world is represented here. Everything you want in a perfect world is found here." I open my mouth to interject, she only lays a slim finger over my lips. "That doesn't mean that you are a God or something here. You can't change the rules already set in this world and you won't understand everything you experience here either. I can't explain everything to you because I don't know everything. I am smart but I'm not a genius. This world is as complex and deep as your own and similar in many ways. There are some things that are completely different as you have already seen."

"But that doesnt answer my"

She cuts me off "I dont remember you being this impatient in my dreams. Damn it JBee. When you dream you come here. You are visiting some part of this world every time you close your eyes. I am your connection to this world by soul."

"So does that mean I am dreaming?"

"I dont know. I am almost positive you are awake. This is what bothers me"

"Are we soulmates then?"

"I wouldn't label it as that. In the literal definition of soul mates, no, we couldn't be." She removes her mask and places it in a pocket near her silky thighs. "I think that my calling you, my wishing you to be here for the Celebration of the Seasons somehow bent the rules enough to bring you here in the flesh. It takes a great amount of power to accomplish something like that. I know I was pretty down and out when I was thinking of you being here but I never expected this to happen!"

"So we could have sex in our dreams but not now, due to my being real."

"Of course you can have sex in your dreams man, don't you have sex in your dreams?" She tussles my hair around a bit.

"No, never" I respond with as serious a face as I can muster. "So I am here, possibly in the flesh, which is not a good thing, and you don't know how I go home from here."

"Exactly. I already apologized so don't be bringin old shit up."

"So because this is my world, per say, is that why you say a lot of the same phrases I do?"

"Not exactly." She stretches out on the grass revealing her slim waste and ample hips. Her hair is dark auburn with strands of gold. Thick and shiny ringlets crawl past her waste like vines in a tanned rainforest. She has all the tattoos I have ever drawn for myself and then some. I force myself to stay focused. 

"I am the equivelent of an extention of you in this world", she states, "I am the only one here that is connected to you this intimately. There are other languages and other cultures. People here are as unique as in your world. There are saints and serial killers, martyrs and muppets. It is no different in that way from your own world."

"Why haven't I dreamt of you then? If you are dreaming of me all the time shouldn't I be connected in that same way?" Sesse barely blushes. I set myself up for embarrassment again. She rolls onto her side and plays with the overly green grass blades.

"Every time you have dreamt of a woman it was me. I only appeared to look like others. We have been lovers since your first wet dream, big boy." I think back to the very first one. She speaks quiety and at a controlled pace as if seeing it all as she goes. "You were standing in tall swaying grasses. It was night outside and flash lightening covered the sky. The rain drops were fat and cold. I was the female ninja you faced, fought and later had sex with in that dream." A rush of sexual memories come to my mind all at once and I am really blushing now. She only laughs at me and brushes off the flowers and grass that cling to my shirt. "I am your parallel soul. I give you exactly what you want sexually, no matter what your desire, but I gotta tell ya..." She stands and starts to walk away "You are one filthy bastard!" I start laughing and can't stop. I laugh until my sides ache and tears roll down my cheeks. I need sanctuary. I need serendity. I think I've finally gone completely mad.

I remove my signet and tuck the shells and rope into my front jeans pocket. I breath in the smell of the flowers deeply and watch Sesse walk to a shop nearby. The building is dark green with gold trim and has a sign hanging from a post that reads "Fruits and Shit". There is smoke wafting from the chimney above and a heron is bending its long neck deep into the bellowing smoke. A few minutes pass and Sesse returns with a basket full of what looks like fruits. She also brought bread wrapped in cloth napkin. I tell her to look at the bird. She responds hesitantly. "Yeah he's a junkie for the vapors man. Don't go introspective on me but I guess I have to tell you. This is your world right? OK. That means that all of your good intentions are here as well as your bad ones. There are addicts and murderers here. Place your range of possible personas on a scale. Left side is Good, right side is Bad. You have here in this world every combination of that scale -and then some- that can be imagined. It helps not to think of it too much. It will only have you looking for the worst in every person you meet, eventually hating yourself completely. Think of them as your creative psyche versus your bastardly short-comings."

"And the sign? What kind of shop owner would use that as a name?"

"The kind that has a sense of humor like yours. The more important a thing to you, the more you find it in this world. To you, humor is very important in your life so, naturally, here you find your twisted morals splashed on every wall. Don't think I am complaining. I'm your biggest fan." Her smile reminds me my own for split second.

"I see. One more question Sesse."

"I doubt that."

"How do you know so much? I saw people that didn't know me from Adam last night. Did someone teach you all the rules and regulations of JBee land?"

Sesse take a bite of fruit that looks like a cross between a pineapple and cantaloupe. The sticker on it reads: Pinaloupe. I laugh out loud. "Just as you are hearing it come from my lips I hear it for the first time too, for the most part. I don't know how I know these things. I just accept that I do. When I don't know the answer to a question I don't get pissed off, I just accept it as is."

"So you are the patient, laid back side of me. You have no faults or misgivings?" I question with a smile to keep from sounding harsh.

"I am your every desire. I am who you want in bed. I am who you want to be spiritually, mentally, physically -no- not physically. Your desire for delicious sex is stronger than a sense of needing a set of Brad Pitts abs."

"You got that right. If I had to choose only one over the other, I would be a disgusting fatty who got laid all day."

"Who are you talking to meester? I'm the one with the kick ass body. Thanks for the junk in my trunk. This is my meeeeal ticket!" Sesse laughs while doing a quick booty dance. "Do you think I need so much hair though? This mess is a real skank to brush through in the morning."
I almost feel for her, as that is a whole lot of hair. "I will think about it but I can't promise any changes sweetheart."

"Good enough for me. Wanna go somewhere?"

"Sure. Hook me up with some of that pinaloupe and kiwiberry first. I am starving."

4/16/2007

seemless words

What is random anymore? Encounters with strangers that (truly) change your soul. A fragrance that unlocks a deeply hidden etheral childhood moment lost in time. A songs lyrics describing your exact moment in time and thought as you stare at the most inspiring person you have never met before from across the dance floor. Random is an opportunity to experience the greatest moments of your life, moments that can make others cry with joy and question their own personal beliefs.

A ceramic plate sits on the table in front of me. It is an off white color and has a depressed shallow center forming a smaller circle in the middle. There are floral patterns glazed around the edge of this inner circle. On the very edge of the plate is my chewed up gum. In the inner circle is the remains of my pineapples juices. The window in front of me casts a buttery shadow onto the plate, gum and pineapple juice. I also see a white swan resting on the edge of a sunlit snow-covered pond surrounded by flowers. She is looking away from the water, and away from me, in an absolute pose of thought and meditation. She looks sad. She looks lonely. I have created an emotion tied to this contemplating bird; I have created an emotion tied to a piece of gum on a plate.

Honeysuckles tranquilize my worried thoughts. If there are ways to transcend time and space I think honeysuckles are my vessel. I can vividly see the lush green grass I am stepping through in my one-size-too-small flip flops. The fat hawaiian bumblebee my big toe caresses doesn't like the gesture too much and, in one fluid motion, its life is over before it began. I have stolen the bees heart and poisons too so I don't feel too bad about our life changing but simple exchange. I end up not wearing flip flops for years and to this day I still don't prefer wearing them. How can a person forget a million faces but remember one anonymous bee?

What is destined? What is random? Is this all subjective or objective? Can I choose to make anything and everything that happens to me destined by fate? Is this similar to being superstitious; it only effects you if you believe in it? Is this where inspiration comes from? Where one person only finds a tree, I see a breathtaking living thing that makes me want to climb to the top of its rough arms and whiper through its leaves. I take every thing from every interaction I have with another human being. I am in love with language, in all of its many forms. I want to live in a world that constantly inspires each other kinetically through infatuation and curiousity. I am going to create this utopia one stranger, sunset, memory, song and dream at a time.

When you see me and I have that very JB, tell-tale half smile, don't expect that I am always up to no good. You are probably mistaking my random moment for something I have never even considered.

Give me a smile and I will give you the world I see and breathe. Give me your heart and I will give you the dreams my heart and soul creates. I think it is an even trade.

Old man legs

I make a bee-line to the local public libraries restroom. I have a weak hangover from last night and have already drank three glasses of water since I woke at exactly noon today. When I open the restroom door, I am immediately punched in the nose by someone's Bombing over Gagdad. Guess I won't be peeing in here after all.
A voice claims ownership to the smell coming from the back of the almost tiny restroom. "Hey, sir?"
I pause and try to blend in with the chickenskin wallpaper. "Hello?" I say. I could be just as easily be saying Why? It comes out sounding exactly the same.
"Hey Sir," I picture door to door salesmen, handshakes hardy and warm, perfect hair laid back with Pomenade, clothes faded but crisp. "I sure hope you don't hafta go in here. This is the second bowel movement I've had today. I'm tellin ya! You know, back in Korea, I used to work in this pharmacseudical plant. They had me drinking sodium p(enathol) every day for testing, bowels have been off ever since." I almost choke on muted laughter.
What's wrong with two bowel movements in one day? was my first thought. Then I get the feeling I am being punk'd so I start searching for the hidden cameras. "Oh man that's rough, I'm sorry to hear it," I tell him from behind the wall, I am still hiding behind, with a huge smile.
"Actually it's not rough at all."
I can't help but laugh out loud and wait for the next line. He is silent. Maybe he's busy with his movement. I splash cold water on my face and dry my hands off. "Good luck man," I tell him while turning to walk out of the restroom.
"Well, my name is Stanley and it was a pleasure meeting you," He says loudly with as much confidence and common courtesy as an old farmer selling his talentless daughter to a rich college boy from the city.
"Nice to... have we met yet? ...meet you too. I gotta go."
"Have a great day," Stanley says to me. I almost convinced he is actually Johnny Knoxville sitting on the toilet grasping for more audience laughter with his schoolboy charms. I dip down a few feet by the front door to see if I can get a peek. Old man legs and shoes maybe. I can't see anything.
"You too," I say and walk out of the restroom. When the door shuts my laughter explodes and the young librarian with the intent eyes thinks I am throwing my giant smile at her. She wouldn't understand if I tried to explain it, so I don't. I give her a look that says, If you only knew, and she give me a look back that says, You're damn right about that Sir.

April 14th, 2007

pooped out the other end - 2nd dream

This has to be close to the most uncomfortable time I can ever remember waking. I am hanging from a yellow rope that is tied to my right wrist. The pain hasn't actually woken me. It was the blood streaming down my arm and on to my face. I don't think I can feel my arm any longer. I don't know how long I have been dangling from this rope. An hour? A day? I have almost no concept of real time here. It is not yet dawn yet but close to it. I can see I am on the eastern shore of somewhere. The suns light is very slowly changing the black horizon to a deep purple hue. I look down below and see a sandy white beach. Above, I see that stupid rope climbing past my vision and into the fast moving clouds. The wind pushes me towards the water then back to the shore in a perfectly lazy rhythm. It is almost peaceful. The blood has made a path across my face and no matter how I twist or turn I can't keep it from splashing in my eyes, nose and mouth. I have to get down from here before high tide returns and leaves me a perfectly bloody mess for a hungry shark. I inspect the rope as best as I can from my point of view. It is a slipknot which is better than I hoped for. At least I have a chance to get out of my predicament, strength willing. I swing my left arm above the knot and pull myself up so that my face is level with the trapped wrist. Using my teeth, I pull the slack on the slip and my right arm slides out of the loop like a dead snake. Now I am hanging by my left arm a couple feet higher than I was at first and, looking down, I have lost the courage to just drop the dozen feet or so. Depending on my timing, I could be in the water or on the sand. It seems higher than it was a few minutes ago either way. My left arm is not willing to hang on too long and begins to slide down the nylon rope resulting in a painful burning in my palm. Damn this rope. I let go first. I look down second. I land half way in the sand and water but roll out towards the sea when my knees give out from under me. Very aware of my blood still seasoning the warm waters, I scramble onto the sand through broken shells and scattered seaweed. I lie on the cool sand trying to gain feeling back into my right arm. It is almost completely numb but I think it will be better with time.

The yellow rope is still hanging above me but is no longer swaying with the ocean breeze. It seems to point directly at me. The sun is breaking over the horizon casting my shadow almost as far as the sand dunes beyond. A banana tree sways in the wind, trying to lull me towards it, daring me to climb it and steal its precious fruit. I consider it but decide not to try. I am out of banana tree climbing practice by about twenty five years. I close my eyes and listen to the jungle behind wake from its own dreams as it probably has every morning for the last million years. I only hear birds chirping and an occasional simian hoot. It doesn't sound very dangerous. At least there is no roaring or screaming going on. Nothing to incite a flight (most likely) or fight (mostly unlikely) response from my tired body. I don't know what the odds would be in favor of an unarmed twenty-nine year old killing a tiger, snake, gorilla or lone chubacabra but I am betting double or nothing on the thing that isn't worried about getting wrinkles on its forehead to win the fight. My mind rests without my permission but I can't stay here for long. The tide is already starting to lap at my feet. My head turns in the direction I want my body to follow and the left arm obeys, at least, flapping in front of me like a handicapped seal. The right arm is still on strike. I push myself up on to my knees and try to brush off the wet sand that has caked into every crevice of my body. I thought after returning from my beach adventures last week that I would like sand more. I don't. Being alone at this beach has a completely different effect on me than being here with some gorgeous bikini wrapped woman. The rope thing didn't help either. Thinking of the rope, vaguely remembering that it had some kind of importance, I look up to see it still pointing straight towards me. It looks as if it is trying to live its life as a lightening bolt but it's failing to shock me, literally or figuratively. Before I can smile at my wittiness the rope falls out of the sky and coils around my knees like an olympically released turd. It looks to be about twelve feet long right now. Long enough to give it some weight and annoy me while I carry it around. Damn yellow rope. I notice that there is a tattered piece of linen tied to one end. It says "look in the hole again, fucker" in a waxy red crayola medium. I am bewildered as to what this means but I have this feeling that tells me to hang in there (rope humor, hehe) so I do.

Standing on my feet wasn't as difficult as my body lead me to believe. The surroundings are gorgeous but not helpful at all. It seems that I am in a bay of some sort. At least when looking to my left or right, the shore curves out in both directions. Maybe this is an illusion: one of those inane facts about beaches I have never heard of. I decide to walk north, or to my left. Being left or right handed can help make a lot of subconscious decisions when you least expect it. So left it is. The jungle is still moderately quiet even though the sun has now risen to at least double its own height. I walk as close to the water as possible just in case. Nothing stands out to be mentioned. Everything here could be another carpet tile on an airport floor. I walk for some time. The land in front of me doesn't change its direction or degree of curvature. I stop for a moment and listen to the wind, waves and competing wildlife. Nothing to do but continue walking north. I walk for what seems to be hours. Judging by the position of the sun it is around noon and its UV rays are a searing paste brushed over my recently tanned skin. I need shade and some water. I need a fucking banana. I keep walking. In the distance I see something moving on the beach. I can't make out what it is yet but it is definitely alive. No hurry. I will get there sooner or later. My right arm feels much better than before and I can't find any cuts to explain the blood either. It looks like the thing I saw in the distance was a crab. I can't be sure but there is a huge hole in the sand that looks freshly dug. This guy must be really big too. The hole is around the size of basketball. I push a wedge of sand into the hole with the edge of my shoe and step back to watch what happens. Sure enough, the sand is flicked out by unseen arms. Maybe it is a turtle. I have nothing else to do so I sit and rest and hope this thing comes out of its hole before I need to leave again. I plop down on to the sand and wiggle my body into a comfortable sand Lazy Boy. The clouds have covered the sun giving me a temporary break from achieving the illustrious orange Hulk Hogan tan I secretly always wanted. The rope seems to have shrunk in size. It is only about six feet long now and is much thinner in width. The linen is still exactly the same dirty, wind torn fabric tied to the end of the rope. I remembered the message. look in the hole again, fucker. So I do exactly that. I see nothing but the stark darkness contrasted against the white sand. I don't want to get too close and have my face sniped off by a claw or beak so I shade my eyes and squint, trying to get a better view from where I am crouching. No luck. There is nothing going on in the foyer. Obviously the real party is deep inside where the rude two-legged sand kickers can't reach. I throw a shell into the hole. Nothing happens. I shovel more sand into the hole. Nothing happens. I decide to snake my rope into the hole. I slide about half of it in to the darkness. There is a quick jerk followed by a very slow but constant pull. I'm fishing for what exactly? I try to pull back but there is zero give on my end. It feels as if my rope has been caught in some powerful machines conveyer belt and is destined to be pooped out the other end as something industrially different and boring. I can't lose my rope now. I still think I need it. I quickly loop the slipknot onto my left wrist and plant my feet directly on both sides of this hole trying to recall the tug-of-war winning stance. Nothing I do slows the pull. I can not win this battle. I give up fighting and wish my rope goodfuckingluck. I pull the slip away from my wrist, I try to pull the slip away from my wrist, and it doesn't budge. I can not get the knot loose! The rope slowly but surely disappears into this hole which doesn't seem big at all anymore. "Damn you yellow rope! Why did I ever take you with me?" I am starting to panic. I can't escape this. I am on my knees now still fighting the pull without success. My fingers are being swallowed by shadow. Now my hand. I lie down on my stomach and blindly grab a shell with my right hand hoping to use it as a weapon against whatever is down there. The creature might be surprised to find a sun-kissed monkey in its hole in a few minutes. I have to expect the worst. My hand is enveloped by something wet and warm. Honestly, the best way to describe the feeling is like this, it is a very Adult feeling (wink wink). In other situations, I would have welcomed something like this. My hand is inside this thing. It is losing its feeling but I wouldn't call it numbness. It is more like a drug slipping you into a deep sleep. I am losing memory of my hand and now arm. I don't fight it anymore. I hear music growing in my head. "Staring at the sun, standing in the sea, your mouth is open wide, the lover is inside, and all the tumults done, collided with the sign" I am slipping into something I can't escape from. I don't think I would want to escape if I could at this point. Tears slide down my sun burnt cheeks and, they feel like ice, they are so damned cold. The rope is still trailing beside me. The linen is now replaced with a stapled-on see-through plastic price tag. It says "Dreams are free for you and me when reality costs a serious fortune, see you on the other side, fucker" I carry this message into oblivion with my shell and damned yellow rope.

April 13th, 2007

despised writing

You wouldnt believe it but

when I was a kid

I always ended up with subaverage grades in English

or any literature class I took

not once did I complete an essay assigned to me

I mean Never

I despised writing

and I suppose now

I am making up for lost time

as I cant stop writing

figures

a childhood demon of mine - 1st dream

It's been a while since the sleepwalking has taken over so completely. I am not talking about literal sleepwalking but a kind of dazed half-conscious numbness carried on throughout the waking day. Maybe it due to the music in my ears at All Times. I can't live without it right now. I only stop listening long enough to charge the internal battery of, what I consider to be one of, the greatest inventions of the 21st century. Luckily for me, it doesn't take long to recharge, and it takes a long time for the battery to run out too. I plan this downtime around showers, sleeping, talking to people when needed. I do turn it off when reading but that is only after a few pages of the words emotions blending with the music's emotions and I am forced to concentrate on one more than the other. The book doesn't always win. I guess this is my way of coping, or not coping. I suppose a person stuck in prison or who has fallen down an inescapable well might go through the same type of experience I have. Sometimes I have to turn the music down a little so I can hear my thoughts more clearly. Other times I turn it up really loud so I don't hear any thought at all, letting the music take over my mood. It is an instant gratification. It is hard to explain to you. I think that is what I am trying to do now. Bear with me. This sleepwalking probably looks to be dull and lifeless from an outside perspective but it is actually exciting and amazing. My mind is on overdrive. I am constantly creating songs in my head, lyrics, poems, stories, characters in my stories, conversations I would like to have; sometimes with people I haven't met yet. After so much time has passed in this state I normally spew it all out onto paper, electronic or otherwise. Trying to get this out through actual conversation only leaves all parties involved confused and frustrated.

I am that guy stuck in the bottom of the well. In another story I would be glad to be patiently resting at the bottom waiting for the walls to transform into another world while fine sand grains sift through my hands. I am not that guy. I am the guy who is stuck at the bottom of a different well, a well that is in the middle of a busy, population-choked city, who no one hears cry for help. I screamed for help some time ago but no one bothered to notice. Maybe my cries didn't come across as desperate as much as amused. Sometimes when I need help more than ever all I can do is laugh. My voice is weak now and it will take a long time to recover before I can start yelling for help again. In the meantime, I collect the rain that runs down the slick walls of my pseudo-prison and save it in my hat for when I need it most. I think it is rain... I hope to God it is rain. >Insert disgusted facial expression here<>

I have been here several times before and have always found a way out eventually. Waking from a dream to find myself in this reality completely. Dreaming that I am making my way though the labyrinth (usually by cutting holes through or climbing over the hedges). My place is not always in the form of a well by the way. It can be as vague as a fog that you can't escape, or as vivid as a four walled room with no door or windows (even a bottomless cage). Every otherworld has its advantages and disadvantages. I prefer the well mostly. Some of you might connect with that choice. I find it much easier to be forced to keep moving, sleeping less and thinking more. Otherwise I might fall asleep forever and never wake again or sleep through the most important part of my experience. I know I am capable of doing it too, just ask anyone who has witnessed my 48 plus hour sleeping spells and they will agree. So I am sleeping less and thinking more but I am thinking of things found in my subconscious mostly. I find it difficult to think of everyday mundane things for very long. I still go through the motions of trying to find a job, saying I love you and fuck you to the appropriate persons, taking a shower, eating food when needed; it is all autopilot. I keep the most important things out of my life while I am in this state. I don't want to half-ass something vital.

While I sit here watching my thoughts turn to font in the air above me and float away, my hands blindly caress the smooth rock or brick or whatever this well is lined with and find a small recess closer to the bottom. Its shape, in my minds eye, is that of binoculars. I carefully place my head in front of the hole and see dim light shining through. Why didn't I see this before now? It wasn't here before. Things like this happen all the time in a place so temporal, run by loose attention spans and even looser intentions. TV On The Radio is in my fixed view. "All your dreams are over now, all your wings have fallen down" But my dreams are not over and I didn't have wings to begin with. I can't use this shit... but I can't shake the feeling that the band is here for me, leading me to something, dropping clues to my next great moment. With an audible sigh, I lean back against the wall and hope for more rocks to rest on. I can no longer see the sky above. Sometimes the well is as straight as an arrow to the top and it can also appear twisted like a kiddy slide, sometimes it is very shallow as if I could jump to the top and other times it seems infinitely long. Right now it is just dark and I can't tell where the hell it leads or how far it is to the top. I suppose the rocks won't be appearing anytime soon. I am getting tired too. What to do? I return to the hole. "Let it free, let it fly... breaking down the walls of this cage. Intoxicated, aww so amazed" That sounds more like what I am looking for! ...I continue to watch... "Robots fucking in the middle of the Jay Z video, Robots fucking in the middle of a telecast with Tom Brokaw announcing his love for puppies, Pictures of Oprah Winfrey fucking robots for sale on EBay, ten dollars, twenty dollars, thirty dollars. Sold to the highest quitter" Now I am lost again. I am going to fall asleep here in this place for the first time. I will be sucked under the sand within an hour I estimate. I don't even mind right now. I need time to breathe fresh air and rest my mind. I need, I fucking hate to say it, reality. I lie on my back and rest my feet on the walls in front of me. The sand is conforming to the shape of my shoulders, my neck, my spine. I imagine this is how those TV commercial pillows feel and it feels great. The only part I am not looking forward to is when my face goes under. Hopefully I will be asleep by then.
I look up and see the stars again. Someone is up there looking down the well! The way the person is leaning over the rim, it almost looks like a mirror image of myself. Creepy. I hope you don't fall in. I am not the well-wisher (no pun intended) you might think. I just don't want to share my space with someone else right now. It might be difficult to sleep through this if someone is watching me. Now that I have thought about it I know I won't be able to sleep with someone watching me. Beat it! Can't someone slip into an unknown alternate reality in peace? "Can't someone slip into an unknown alternate reality in peace? Unless you have a rope, get the fuck outta here" The figure shrinks away. I wiggle my way back to the top of the sand pit, adding more time to fall asleep comfortably. I hear a faint sound coming from the top of the well, which seems to be only ten to twelve feet deep right now. It is the scraping sound of nylon against the drier surface above. So the fucker actually threw a rope down. People amaze me sometimes. When you least expect it, there's your wallet returned with everything intact. Everything except the money of course. I stand and grab the rope. I tug it to see if it is anchored properly somewhere up above. Too much slack, shit, and here comes the entire thing. The end of the rope has a piece of linen tied to it. On the linen, poorly written in lipstick, I noticed, it says "look in the hole again, fucker" and so I do. "...it's true, that there are roads left in both of our shoes but if the silence takes you then I hope it takes me too. So brown eyes I hold you near, cause you're the only song I want to hear. Melodies softly soaring through my atmosphere" Where Soul Meets Body, Ok I get it.

I am not going to get out this time. I lie back down on the soft sand. I have a tight grip on the rope thinking I might need it on the other side. Just in case, I tie it to my right wrist. I tip the hat to my mouth, drinking the water I collected, and then pull it over my head. The wetness is refreshing but not keeping me from sleep. I close my eyes and I'm already half dreaming of a childhood demon of mine only he isn't scary any longer. He is pitiful and weak. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. I slip into darkness, barely aware of the sand filling in around the corners of my mouth.

April 12th, 2007

no regrets

While I was waiting over here for life to begin I found myself wondering why I was here at all. All my adventures, pains, losses, loves, dreams, encounters, abuse, neglect, and ecstacies have brought me here today. I have never in my entire life felt so completely static and stuck. There is no reason that I can find to be in this city. Why am I here? Why did I think this would be a good decision moving here? I have no regrets in life but two. Moving here is one of them. I fucking hate this city. This is my pissed off post to balance out the more interesting, less angry ones. I feel so detached from everyone and everything important to me. I feel invisible again. I hate that feeling. I hate trying to fake normality. Not that I dont want others to be happy but I am not being me when I put on that smiley faced mask. I fucking hate this city. I hate the thick waves of ignorance and close-minded religious Overtones that float through every crevice of Jacksonville.
April 05th, 2007

Fuck if I know

So I think, after verbally throwing up all over my blog page, that I am truly writing for myself. I tried to convince myself that I was doing it for someone else; being the true friend. Ha! What a fucking joke. I write these things and I do in a sense feel better or grasp the issue at hand a little more than before. When I write and no one responds I do not get bummed out by it. I know how this world works, myself included. You want a stimulus but give no response. You need interaction but do not speak your opinion. It's pure entertainment. It's not an exchange of ideas or thoughts on any uncertain electronic level. It's like watching a television show and witnessing absurd acts from the safety of your comfortable Lazy Boy. You don't have to be embarrassed. You dont have to stretch your neck out for the chopping block. We love the blood though, all sticky and disgusting. We need more blood and guts to calm the masses! More of those personal feelings splashed onto the floor! We need a mental breakdown for fucks sake!
I am going off properly eh? Just like you would expect from me. Why doth thou froth at thy mouth my son? Fuck if I know. It is Thursday. I am pissed. I hate people today. I am not satisfied in any way. Life has gotten me down. There is no entertaining notion. I am leaving for a couple weeks. Seeya bitches.

March 22nd, 2007

knock off Fendi bags

Hell Hath No Furry,
Diamond Studded Slippers.
Hell doth have knock off Fendi bags,
and they are highly flammable.

Zombies make me horny

1. Mantra for a happy life:
a) I get by with a little help from my friends.
b) I get high with a little help from my friends.
c) All my exes changed their sexes.
d) none of the above.

2. None of the above is to All of the below as:
a) Marshmallow Supremes are to Twinkies.
b) I'll call you later as to What's his face?
c) Hot Pockets is to Lean Pockets
d) Jerry Lewis is to Sally Struthers

3. June picks up a quart of milk from the general store for her bedridden kitty. She pays with a 20 dollar bill. Her change would be:
a) Enough to buy a fake gun and hold up a local Claire's Boutique.
b) $16.42
c) In the form of seashells which she would use to invent the 3 Seashell Toiletry Standard used by all futuristic metropolis'.
d) In Pesos. Making it appear to look like a much larger sum of money.

4. In sixteen hundred and fourty two...
a) Columbus smoked the ganja too.
b) No one heard of sniffing glue.
c) Peaches were poisonous and gave you the flu.
d) Chickens had lips and frogs did too.

5. If someone wants to see your "paper" they most likely referring to:
a) Your skin, since you live in a wooden people world.
b) A tool for writing on.
c) A collection of legal documents proving you are licenced to handle kimodo dragons and sparklers at the exact same time.
d) money.

6. When you hear or see the phrase "Live Nude Girls" What is the first thing that you think of?
a) Church has really changed since I was a kid.
b) Damn it! Where the hell are the dead ones?
c) If I am lucky I can get out of here without my mom hearing the stripper music in the background.
d) Zombies make me horny.

7. Put these in the correct order:
a) Scott Baio
b) Dirty Sanchez
c) Hair of the Dog
d) John Stamos

8. If K.I.T.T.'s voice from the Knight Rider television show was replaced with Dr. Phil's voice:
a) Baywatch may have been prevented.
b) Magnum PI would have replaced Higgins with Rick James, changing the name of the show to "I'm Magnum Bitch!"
c) More people would know what Airwolf was.
d) David Hasselhof would be the richest black woman in the world.

9. Time keeps on slippin...
a) into the future.
b) into the past.
c) into my pantyline.
d) into the robot.

10. The next national holiday should be named:
a) Fuck Your Couch Day
b) Gay Day
c) Croquet and Crack Sandwich Day
d) Cartoon Character Awareness Day

11. If you happened to find someone in your bed at night who would it be?
a) Travelocity Gnome
b) Big Buckin Chicken
c) Lee Jeans, Buddy Lee
d) Taco Bell Dog

super awesome girls

I write, write, write, day and night.
I resist the urge to take my life.
I somehow conclude that everything is all right.
If you need an answer then pick up a knife,
carve out your heart and turn out the light.
Never get married, make solitude you wife.
Look up to the stars all shiny and bright.
Amen.

If you hate yourself does that also mean you must love yourself equally? Are the two not connected hand in hand? Two identical twins with different upbringings? I know a pair of twins. They are both super awesome girls. One keeps straight hair (sometimes), while the other one curls. Love is so relative while hate is so definitive. Or at least it seems.

March 15th, 2007

sense of desperation

Do you know what I hate most about my neurotic nature? I actually don't even know if it can be called neurosis. It drives me to exhaustion though, that is a fact. Please leave me a comment as this post is no wall of graffitti to stare at, no not this time. I don't care what your response is as long as you have one. If you have time to read this them you have time to respond with some care. Do you feel that sense of desperation yet? Good, then we are on the same page.
Right before I wrote, Right before, I remembered something important about this very topic I am about to discuss. It is not the thing that bothers me but is another example all together. Maybe you will connect with one or both. Maybe not. God help us.

When I was a younger, teenage kid I once (and that is in the literal sense) was allowed to spend the night at my best friends house. The weekend was great - I had fun - skipping to the important part. So we are in his room at night. We are talking about what every 13 year old boy talks about at 1:30 in the morning. Girls. The days activities had taken a toll on my friend who lay on his twin bed in front of me. He was starting to doze off before me and I sat there wishing either A) That he would wake up and talk some more or B) I would fall asleep too. He then surprised me. His arm spasmed and hit him right in the eye. It looked funny to me and it woke him too so I was guilty of being happy on two counts. He asked what I was laughing at and I explained. He told me it happens to him all the time right before he falls asleep. I was concerned with this unknown yet common fact. I hadn't ever recalled this happening to me before. I don't remember seeing someone do it before this night at my best friends house. I tell him my side of it all and he thinks I am a strange one. I let him fall asleep again. He twitches at least twice that I notice. I close my eyes and enjoy the cool breeze coming in through the open window nearby. Itis a typical Florida summer night - humid as hell and filled with competing song of cricket, frog and the occasional owl. My best friends parents don't believe in running the air conditioner at night, or wearing clothes in the swimming pool for that matter, and I don't mind one bit. I am out of the prison yard finally doing what normal teenagers do on their summer breaks from school. There is nothing I won't accept or frown upon while I am here. I am lying there on a borrowed sleeping bag listening to the Florida night, my friends heavy breathing and Black Sabbath playing at that perfect lulling volume. I close my eyes and you wouldn't believe what happens. My leg spasms and knocks my knees together. Not 10 minutes since I declared ignorance to my friend! I searched my memory as far back as I could wanting to find a time that this has occured before tonight. Nothing was there. Of course now, more than double that lifetime ago, I occasionally do it while falling asleep. It is not common but it happens. No big deal.

This has to be *the longest prolouge to the shortest story ever written. I am backwards like that so get used to it. Or, as my friend would say " Fuck'em if they can't take a joke". She makes me smile. I am not sure if it is the bastard in me that loves the phrase or if it is the whole nostagia of it all. I just love it. Reconsidering that this is the *T.L.P.T.T.S.S.E.W., I felt a bit bad for you. I even considered filling inbetween the lines for you just this once. I want you to know that I never write for you. I strongly considered fluffing it out and entertaining a bit but I only write what comes out of my head so unfortunately there will be no subplot, hero, villian or dreamlike sequence flash back nude scene. I love you to death, I really do, but I can't muddy the water with commercials. You either buy it or you don't & either way you are gonna get mud on your face.

Everyone laugh. Wait for it. Okay now.

When I was a young boy, my father, took me to the city, to see a marching band. No that is not my story. When I was younger, say, 5 years ago maybe I found out that my biological father (aka: Mr. No Show, Serial Sense of Self Killer, Some Random Dude) died years before. He was a retired airforce something or another. It doesn't matter. He was walking out of a 7-11 and fell over dead in the parking lot before he could get back in his truck. I probably saw this one liner story on the news that night never knowing it was him. Do you recognize someone you have never seen before? Sometimes, I suppose. None the less it happened. This news led to other events in questioning medical history, yaddah yaddah yaddah. I was told he had high blood pressure ( which I never have had luckily) and that he had been in decent shape except for a pot belly (note to self: do more crunches!). It is funny how being a bastard son doesn't come with a severance package or gold watch but you will get a free cheery medical history report right away. All of this new info is neutral to me. That is, until I am told one last thing. "Your father has sleep apnea but it was probably due to his being overweight. Nothing for you to worry about." Ok I won't. Simple as that. But I do. I go to sleep that night thinking of it. I discuss it with my wife and she comforts me a little. She always had a way of making me feel better; seeing that silver lining. I think that was one of the qualities I loved best about her. Still, I let my own monster take over and I pretent to be at ease for my Little Mrs Sunshines sake.

In my mind I think about lying breathless as I sleep imitating the perfect movie stiff. Has this been happening all my life? Would I know since it happens while you are sleeping? Since that night, 5 odd years ago, I have thought of my breathing compulsively. I think of it when I am watching television, I think of it when I am inhaling fresh air, I think of it when I am taking a shower, I think of it when I am having sex. I always think of it. I think of my breathing and heartrate. Well, breathing monster meets heartrate monster, monsters fall in love, monsters move in together, monsters get married. Naturally. Thinking of my breathing wouldn't be an issue but I have lied to you sort of. I dont just think about it. I control it. I control my involuntary actions. Next I will be force blinking and sneezing like a perfect nutcase. Do you remember that roach-alien-guy that played in Men in Black? That will be me. Completely jerky and noncompliant. What a riot I will be.

Last month I found myself in the emergency room (minor lobotomy, no worries). I was hooked up to a breathing and heartrate monitor for several hours. The rise and fall of my diaphragm(sp) was recorded onto a little screen for my viewing pleasure. I stared at this readout for hours. I tried every combination of breaths. Breathing shallow, breathing deep, not breathing, a mixture of all three. This also affected my heartrate in more subtle ways. I was a kid lost in Toys R Us. I couldn't take the monitors home and that is definitely a good thing now that I look back on it. All fun aside though, it bothers me. I can not escape this obsessive compulsiveness of doom. Does it make me crazier or does it make me sane? I don't know how it works but I hate it. I don't want to have to think about things I don't have to think of. I recognize someone I have never seen before and I hate his fucking guts.

March 17th, 2007

subconscious brainpainting

All my life I have been drawing symbols and relics. I draw things that I don't understand or possibily have no understanding at all. I have always done this. Sometimes these images are symmetrical in design, sometimes they are organic, sometimes even completely random and abstract. Ancient runes of my childhoods imagination. I don't draw them and sit back thinking cool or this shit looks awesome. I just draw them. The only thing I can compare this with is an experience that only a select group will comprehend. You know when you take LSD or the equivilent amount of mushrooms and patterns appear in everything you see? Walls covered in an azteca meets alien hieroglyphic scrawl that grows and changes, evolves and transforms within the blink of an eyelash... a single heartbeat... the slight change in temperature. Anything can cause it. This is the only experience I can compare it to. I don't think of my scribblings as detailed works of art and the answer is simpler than that. My brain creates these patterns like a calculator dividing a number into itself infinitely. It just do what it do baby. The brain is always working out some puzzle or problem. It sifts through all that mashed potato to find that single particle of chive (at least I hope your brain is doing it, with or without your concent). These normally invisible puzzles are much like fractals in many ways, only needing the correct formula or watercolor (aka Lysergic Acid Diethylamide) to be seen. My brain somehow connects with my hand after already having a meeting with my eyes telling it to create these things while my sense of purpose, understanding and willpower are locked in a dark room filled with looping Enya songs. I draw these things. I question their value. I try to enhance them, making them more asthecially pleasing. I know this isn't going to help altering my brains unraveled yarn of thoughts but I need control over something to which I have no control over. I have zero inside knowledge to grasp a straw with. Is it meaningless? Is it a key to unlocking the universe? I will patiently wait for a clue.

Thinking about my symbol drawing opens up a tiny realization to me. My symbol drawing is very connected to my writing in a way. Different formula but the same result. Only real difference is that I understand words much better than I understand subconscious brainpainting.
March 15th, 2007

The Emerald Forest

Down, down, down beneath the ground. Won't it be so nice when we're lost and never found? No more misconstrued illegitimate sound. Look at all this peace and quiet hidden beneath the ground.
This guy thinks he has plans. Blueprints, schematics, layouts, the works. He knows what he's doing. He has had a lifetime to think it over. When, where, how or why isn't important to this guy because he just feels it. He has this natural sense of everything and knows it will fall into place - aces high, jokers wild or was the queen high and the jack low? It doesn't concern him. It is all written in the details. Details which elude his mind but not the paper. See, there are clues placed throughout ones life. Some are completely hidden from you while others are as obvious as a 50' by 100' neon billboard displaying your very own full color ass cheeks. A person wanders through life sometimes picking up on these signs and storing the information away for later analyzation. The clues are aren't so easy to notice, or discern; knowing who they are for is a mystery to most. That is where dreams come into play.
Dreams are a bitch too because they are so perfectly out of the norm. Take an actresses last name and dissect it by root word and origin. The colors of the sky at 6:42pm spread onto a backdrop that produces shadows in that very brilliantly undescribable hue, only reversed and shimmering. Mix a dog that was passed on the sidewalk of your childhood with a birdsong heard while reading a novel about parallel universes and spiritual prostitution. Replace the whiteboy in The Emerald Forest with Gary Coleman but keep the anonymous father. Now stir all this into a setting you would recognize or feel an attachment to at least and take a big cartoony shit on the baby grand. Dreams are a bitch, but they are there to help and guide you. As long as the dream is for you and not, say, the nameless actor who played the engineer father in The Emerald Forest.
These things aren't told in discouragement but in simple truth. (I have had others' dreams and nightmares. I will give you a couple that I have never forgotten and maybe you can Six-Degrees it to the proper person in due time. no rush little ant). Telling others about a dream is usually frowned upon in mass society. I have always shared my dreams with others, never really knowing or caring if that recipient was bored out their mind. Dreams are our subconscious pyschic connection as humans and should be shared with others of similiar intellect. It's a troglodyte's version of brain surgery but with practice and a few thousand centuries dreams will replace cell phones and speech, lie detectors and life goals. peanut butter and ladies... hehe It's evolution baby!
So, I almost forgot about this guy I know. He has plans. Blueprints, schematics, layouts, the works. He knows what he's doing and he has had a lifetime to think it over. This guy I know, well, he doesn't know it yet, but he is going to be just fine.

March 15th, 2007

1245 or so

1245 or so. This is the number I will start with today. For some reason I am finding counting things or distances to be higher on my list of OCDeez than others that usually have unconscious preference. I know it makes me happier to not be popping my knuckles so much as they started aching a bit these last few days. I just referenced my preference. Hehe, I think a few of you will like that one huh? After 1245 steps or so I find myself at the local library. Counting your steps really makes the trip much longer I noticed. After step number 589, I considered stopping the silly counting all together but a nearby bird convinced me otherwise, almost leading me on to victory with its uplifting song, so I continued my madness in a quite nonthreatening sort of way that I tend to exude naturally. Now I am thinking of steps again but more like 12 of them. Reminds me of a joke I once heard as a young adult... no, that was a real persons life and it wasn't funny. I will continue when the wind blows me in this direction again. Enjoy the day, it is beautiful.

March 08th, 2007

bottomless from bottom

Belief and Technique for Modern Prose, a list of thirty "essentials."

"Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for your own joy Submissive to everything, open, listening Try never get drunk outside your own house Be in love with your life Something that you feel will find its own form Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind Blow as deep as you want to blow Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind The unspeakable visions of the individual No time for poetry but exactly what is Visionary tics shivering in the chest In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition Like Proust be an old teahead of time Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye Write in recollection and amazement for yourself Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea Accept loss forever Believe in the holy contour of life Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind Don't think of words when you stop but to see picture better Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in your morning No fear or shame in the dignity of your experience, language & knowledge Write for the world to read and see your exact pictures of it Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better You're a Genius all the time Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven"

So I read this over and realized one important thing. I am already on the right track. I think I have a piece of Kerouac inside me that has been screaming to be set free since I was a child. Everything is beginning to make sense now. It wasn't Hunter S. Thompson at all. Never was, never going to be. I am too depressed to see the world in that gloom all the time. Palahniuk was even worse (in the best way possible).

You have all read someones story told a thousand different times in a thousand different fonts. A person has a defining moment where their life gains purpose beyond simple necessity, where the road is emblazoned for their own personal flight. I have finally found it and I can never look back. I will never forget this moment.

black ashes against her white skin

I find myself walking through a dense swamp. I don't know where I am or what brought me to this wet jungle. I am sweating profusely but I can not feel the heat of this place. I am wearing a short sleeved white woven shirt that is almost completely transparent because of my perspiration. My shorts are thin and baggy. They seem to, at one time, have been tan khaki pants but are now shredded up to the knees. I have no shoes or footwear of any kind on my feet; no protection at all. My skin stings where it is exposed due to numerous scratches, cuts and bites. I stop walking to take stock of my surroundings, making sure I am standing on as much dry land as possible, constantly searching for unseen dangers. 

I turn to my right and see a woman lying on the ground. She is naked and filthy. Her hair is matted and muddy. Her skin looks as if someone carefully painted ashes over her entire body with a thick brush. This contrast of the black ashes against her white skin remind me of shadows in the moonlight and I am attached to my sense of fear simultaneously. She is staring at me, her eyes wide and pleading. Her lips move but but nothing else in this woman stirs. She must be paralyzed. The ripples bouncing off the muddy banks nearby catch my attention next. I watch the water reverberate in the perfect arc. I am filled with a sense of peace that reminds me of when I was a child. I would throw a rock into the middle of the pond and follow a single ripple to the shore and then back to the center until it meshes with the waters current into obscurity.

A giant snake slowly emerges from these ripples and slides over the wet earth. I panic at the sight of this thing and turn my head to run but I can't. There is no where for me to escape but back into the black water. I stand on the edge of this tiny island, the woman barely six feet from my position, the snake tests the air with its thick and shiny purple tongue. I search frantically with my eyes for anything to use as a weapon but find nothing. The woman is now pleading to me (in some language that I am not familiar with) through her teeth. She continues to stare at me. I am here to witness here death. As I sleep comfortably in my bed thousands of miles away, this womans intense fear and extreme stress have brought me to her. She doesn't want to die alone. She believes I am a spirit or angel of some form or another here to take her into Her Heaven. I can only watch in complete terror as the snake slowly devours its prey from toe to head. I try closing my eyes but I instantly open them, gasping for air; closing my eyes places me in the body of the woman being eaten alive. I am forced to stare at this nightmare with unblinking bloodshot eyes. I can't breathe well and there is a tightness around my chest. I can't even move my body. The woman's face is now slipping into the cavernous depths of the anacondas body.

I am slipping out of this world. I feel as if I am falling asleep again and the jungle takes on a textured look that covers my entire vision. This texture expands to gradually blur out any detail I had of this jungle. I awake, covered in sweat. I can't remove myself from the sorrow I feel for the woman. I take deep breaths of air into my lungs but still can't escape the sense of still being right there watching it all. Tears form in the corner of my eyes and I wipe them away. I crawl out of bed to find my brother and a sense of reality waiting for me in the real world.

Last night I lied on the couch feeling tired enough to sleep but couldn't. I had seen something on the television that sparked a long forgotten memory. How long ago had this nightmare planted itself into my subconscious? I had no reference of time. I couldn't sleep. I still hadn't slept almost eight hours later. I am writing this nightmare down hoping that it can be released from me this way.

Feb 15th, 2007

cat like man behind the counter

While trying to decipher a secret message given to me by the cat like man behind the counter I started losing mental thought. It came quickly like the lights being turn off in the room, only in slow motion. I thought my entire life was a dream at first. Maybe it is. Maybe what I experienced was reality. I found myself lying on the floor in some mall-esque type room with lots of artificial colored lights and "pop" everywhere. It was like a living commercial. There was an asian couple there with me by my side. They were dressed well, though moderately, and in their mid twenties I am guessing. The girl was on top of me grinding away while the guy was beside me trying to get my dick out of my pants. I couldn't move but kept asking where I was and what was going on. The music in the background was "Cupids Chokehold" by Gym Class Heroes. I think the girl on top of me was the guys girlfriend. He seemed reluctant to remove my underwear, which in retrospect, made me a little less uncomfortable - I guess. Feb 07th, 2007

male adult doggie biscuit

*~Thats me in the spot light, losing my affection~*

I thought that was JB over there at the corner of the bar being sad, reading my book all alone and not wanting anyone to come over and talk to me. I thought that guy was I for sure but I guess it wasnt after all was it? This guy is happy to have gone through the games, gimmicks and false feelings thrown his way like some sort of male adult doggie biscuit. It's funny how (most) women think can know how to appease a man just enough to get whatever they would like from him. Men are not stupid, at least not all of them. I am venting, I know. I don't vent on the beauty that is our better halves often but I have had a rough month or two (years really) out there in the jungle which is Singletown. It can be a dangerous place to be lost in when you are not carrying protective armor or a tranquilizer gun with you. Damn Savages they are! I almost lost my point... Not surprised to see that happen are you? I suppose I will have to title this one under ADD as well as 89 percent of the rest. OK, my point! If I had one it is this: I hacked my way through the dense jungle for a long time. I have been bitten by poisonous animals of all sorts (do not read STDs, its just a metaphor anyways) and have fallen into several booby traps resulting in severe injuries. My heart has been chewed up by the wildest beasts out there and through narrow escapes I have pieced it back together for the most part minus the couple of monsters that I lost the battle to. I would rather they keep the heart that was ripped out of me than ever try and get it back myself. I am healing nicely. I have found a counterpoint in this world. I dont think I have to wander in the jungle any longer. ADD train stops here. I have to get off. I love you all, even the completely fucked up people I cant stand most of the time. :)

Jan 02, 2007

treat them like shit

i am one of few. i am speaking of the good guys. sure i might be a fuck up in some ways and i might be fucked up in a lot of ways, but i am still one of the good guys. i want to find women in my life i can care about and respect. i know a few guys like myself too. well, i knew a few of them. its funny how women think they want good guys in their lives and once they have them there they treat them like shit. so, good guys turn into bad guys. this is something happening every day. it still bothers me to think that this is happening to so many of us but seriously, what woman gives a fuck anyways? i havent met one yet that didnt talk a serious game backed up by complete bullshit. i am done venting for now. have a wonderful holiday season.
dec 21st, 2006

She stares into my sleepy eyes

She stares into my sleepy eyes from across my bed. I can't see the hurt from this light. There is nothing but bliss in these early hours. She is perfectly beautiful. This quiet moment could last forever but I know it won't. She won't let it. She lightly touches my arm, my chest, my heart. I am familiar with the routine by now and I know she will be leaving me soon. This might be the last time I see her here. She will leave an impression on my thoughts even sweeter than the smell of her skin. I am prepared for it. We will meet again, for the first time of course, and I will act like I don't know her. I will pretend to not care when she pushes away from me. I will act surprised when she wants to kiss me. This is the first and last time I will put myself through this. She is my perfect drug; always and never enough to get me by.

Dec 17th, 2006

little more sensitive than normal

so yeah maybe I am a little more sensitive than normal but fuck it. i had a long night on a bad roll. my brother just left for florida and i almost cried. i already miss him. you really never appreciate someone to the fullest until they are gone. funny how that doesnt work out. see you soon little bro!

Dec 7th, 2006

we're floating in space

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face

Do You Realize - we're floating in space -

Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry

Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes -

let them know You realize that life goes fast

It's hard to make the good things last

You realize the sun doesn't go down

It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize

- Oh - Oh - Oh

Do You Realize -

that everyone you knowSomeday will die -

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes -

let them know

You realize that life goes fast

It's hard to make the good things last

You realize the sun doesn't go down

It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize -

that you have the most beautiful face

Do You Realize?

all the pretty skeletons

I'm in no mood to write. I am more in the mood to talk but I am at work so I have to resort to some form of ventilation or suffocation -- whichever word best completes the picture in your mind. The same questions I always have roll in my thoughts as I turn from monitor to passing coworker. What the hell am I doing? Why are you here? Is this what you are planning on doing till you die? Why are you here? Why the fuck are you here!?

I've got nowhere to go I've got nothing to prove instead of dancing alone I should be dancing with you. Well, music can always direct my path on some subconscious level. Inspiration can't be a negative thing can it?

I have been drinking too much lately. I will call it the mourning stages. Very typical of me. I can now read myself like a book and it is a depressing understanding. I always considered myself spontaneous but I'm not. I am a perfect machine. Perfectly fucked and wired improperly. Stab him with a knife and he will most likely yell "Fuck or Shit" with some sort of half sentence following. It is almost inevitable.

"We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."

Why does that quote bother me so much? Because it is fucking true. It reminds me of why I hate commercials as much as I do. When I grow up I can be anything I want to be. Fuck that. It's a caste system behind a glittery-as-a-drag-queen sequined flag of freedom. Freedom doesn't equal ability. Inspiration doesn't equal aspiration. Fuck Money. Fuck broken promises. Fuck this desire to be loved. Why should anyone love you when you can barely stand yourself most of the time? Fuck the game. Fuck it utterly and completely. It's all fucking clown shoes.

Am I the only complete idiot in this world who would prefer a honest exchange with the opposite sex (or same sex if that's your thing)? To me, I think saying exactly what you want to someone is the easiest way to actually get what you want. Where does the desire to manipulate someone come from? I think it only keeps you from getting what you want; prolonging desired goals even if you do eventually obtain them will still cast a hazy cloud of mistrust in the end. The fog of war has lifted! Marvel at all the pretty skeletons in their bleached-bone glory! 

 It makes no logical fucking sense to me.

I see beautiful things die every day. I see birds smashed against windows of passing cards paralyzed until starvation takes hold. I see children on the news (aka Voice of Doom) slaughtered in some remote country I will never think of unless I am watching the news. I see these things every day. No big deal. I can handle it. I never expected this world to be half decent anyways. My grandmother watched the news religiously when I was a child. I remember planes being hijacked and bodies being tossed out of the open doors. I remember seeing bloody bombings and nameless serial killers faces splashed across the tube. I remember thinking I didn't belong in a world like this. I always thought that the world I was supposed to have been born into was much like mine minus the racism and greed, the murders and manipulation. I truly thought that I might go back there some day as a child. I still feel that way sometimes. I can at least capture the emotion of it. I lost my true point a long time ago.

Oh yeah... I can handle the visible losses.

 I don't think I have cried at a funeral. It doesn't seem like a tough act in my eyes. I just see it differently I suppose. I mourn most over the things I lose that I can't see. 

Innocence. Romance. Hope. Desire. Connections with other Human Beings. 

These are more valuable to me than a thousand birds, children or innocent victim all tied to the same sparked stick of dynamite. My invisible world is dying. The one that kept me going the longest is dying the fastest. I can feel it's effect on my very soul, if I even have one. I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know how I am connected to it. It is a lifelong mourning.

I think I am done for now. I guess something inside me wanted to write. I feel better in a way. Sort of numb at the ends and nothing in-between. I need an awakening. I need sanctuary. I need a counterpoint in this rotten heap of a planet.

Oct 9th, 2006

Vile leeches

Fucking fucking fucking fuck. God damn fucking fuck. Motherfucking Godman fucking Mother fucking fuck. Solar powered God man fucking Troubleshooting fuck. Curse upon you Vile leeches Fucking fucking fuck.

Oct 3rd, 2006

for the rest of my fuckin life man

This is what I wrote before/after meeting him. I was tired and still leaking crazy from the night before.

Riding on the bus considering relativity. I am watching the passing scenery change from one building to another like so many steps in a pointless stairway. This drives my thoughts as I sit on the bus for hours at a time. I rarely read on the bus anymore as it has become difficult. My scenery changes to the forehead of Quentin Tarentino so I immediately pull the stop cord and the bus drops me off about a half a block away from where he stood. I could be late for work but I would not miss this opportunity. He is standing on the same sidewalk I myself had stood in the past. He looks comfortable enough. His clothes are comfortable but dorky looking which is no surprise. He looks tired as hell and I wonder if he too went to the DJ Shadow concert last night? I only say "Hey how are you doing" to which he replied "Allll right" and I ask him if he plans to make movies for a while longer. He says "Sure, I plan on making movies for the rest of my fuckin life man" I then tell him that it was nice to meet him and I will see him in the future when we work together. He laughed pretty loudly but I didnt feel like he was mocking me in any way. He just seemed surprised at my seriousness. I wasn't and won't be surprised when I am working with him later. I went to work happy and was almost late by one minute.

Oct 22nd, 2006