Allen Ginsberg Was A Werewolf...

I can't wait to type on my new typewriter.

I don't know what I'm going to write about. Nothing unusual there. Do I write only poetry? Only write on one LONG story? Only write short stories? Continue to rewrite my old, short stories? Do I take it to the laundry porch and annoy the neighbor, or to the backyard by the garden, underneath the lemon tree, in Deprak Chopper Phil's Garage while waiting for microwavvvvv burritos? (never)

I should bring my old-timey record player and only write for the length of the 78.

I wrote a long-ass rewriting of a short story the other night. The short story became longer. I don't know if I like it.

I, I, I,

barely write and when I do I write about not writing

The always thorn in my side, side, side

the eternal and creative frustration on my life, life, life

needle in my...(you get it)

Land of da Lost...

I'm looking at the palm tree fronds in my backyard

It's late, I know

Thinking of things
of you
people noise is coming from the alley
they're up to no good
i don't care
im tired
not supposed to be up now
i know
i dont care
we're all tired
i think more than you all do in your lifetimes
im not special
i just care

it's late, I know

Palm tree fronds looking at me in their backyard

fsssssshhhhhhhh

It's okay to not smoke
I'll get there
I'm ferocious
Done with smoldering

I encourage you, kindling

Just don't extinguish my fire

Fat Free Milk

“What a wee little part of a person's life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself”

Satie, Gnossienne No. 1 (piano solo)

It's just wrong.

Compose.

Write.

If you dont.

Then you'll decompose?

Right?

I do not fear death I will pass away sooner than most people who read this, but that doesn't shake my sense of wonder and joy BY ROGER EBERT

I know it is coming, and I do not fear it, because I believe there is nothing on the other side of death to fear. I hope to be spared as much pain as possible on the approach path. I was perfectly content before I was born, and I think of death as the same state. I am grateful for the gifts of intelligence, love, wonder and laughter. You can’t say it wasn’t interesting. My lifetime’s memories are what I have brought home from the trip. I will require them for eternity no more than that little souvenir of the Eiffel Tower I brought home from Paris.

I don’t expect to die anytime soon. But it could happen this moment, while I am writing. I was talking the other day with Jim Toback, a friend of 35 years, and the conversation turned to our deaths, as it always does. “Ask someone how they feel about death,” he said, “and they’ll tell you everyone’s gonna die. Ask them, In the next 30 seconds? No, no, no, that’s not gonna happen. How about this afternoon? No. What you’re really asking them to admit is, Oh my God, I don’t really exist. I might be gone at any given second.”

Me too, but I hope not. I have plans. Still, illness led me resolutely toward the contemplation of death. That led me to the subject of evolution, that most consoling of all the sciences, and I became engulfed on my blog in unforeseen discussions about God, the afterlife, religion, theory of evolution, intelligent design, reincarnation, the nature of reality, what came before the big bang, what waits after the end, the nature of intelligence, the reality of the self, death, death, death.

Many readers have informed me that it is a tragic and dreary business to go into death without faith. I don’t feel that way. “Faith” is neutral. All depends on what is believed in. I have no desire to live forever. The concept frightens me. I am 69, have had cancer, will die sooner than most of those reading this. That is in the nature of things. In my plans for life after death, I say, again with Whitman:

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

And with Will, the brother in Saul Bellow’s “Herzog,” I say, “Look for me in the weather reports.”

Raised as a Roman Catholic, I internalized the social values of that faith and still hold most of them, even though its theology no longer persuades me. I have no quarrel with what anyone else subscribes to; everyone deals with these things in his own way, and I have no truths to impart. All I require of a religion is that it be tolerant of those who do not agree with it. I know a priest whose eyes twinkle when he says, “You go about God’s work in your way, and I’ll go about it in His.”

What I expect to happen is that my body will fail, my mind will cease to function and that will be that. My genes will not live on, because I have had no children. I am comforted by Richard Dawkins’ theory of memes. Those are mental units: thoughts, ideas, gestures, notions, songs, beliefs, rhymes, ideals, teachings, sayings, phrases, clichés that move from mind to mind as genes move from body to body. After a lifetime of writing, teaching, broadcasting and telling too many jokes, I will leave behind more memes than many. They will all also eventually die, but so it goes.

O’Rourke’s had a photograph of Brendan Behan on the wall, and under it this quotation, which I memorized:

I respect kindness in human beings first of all, and kindness to animals. I don’t respect the law; I have a total irreverence for anything connected with society except that which makes the roads safer, the beer stronger, the food cheaper and the old men and old women warmer in the winter and happier in the summer.

That does a pretty good job of summing it up. “Kindness” covers all of my political beliefs. No need to spell them out. I believe that if, at the end, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn’t always know this and am happy I lived long enough to find it out.

One of these days I will encounter what Henry James called on his deathbed “the distinguished thing.” I will not be conscious of the moment of passing. In this life I have already been declared dead. It wasn’t so bad. After the first ruptured artery, the doctors thought I was finished. My wife, Chaz, said she sensed that I was still alive and was communicating to her that I wasn’t finished yet. She said our hearts were beating in unison, although my heartbeat couldn’t be discovered. She told the doctors I was alive, they did what doctors do, and here I am, alive.

Do I believe her? Absolutely. I believe her literally — not symbolically, figuratively or spiritually. I believe she was actually aware of my call and that she sensed my heartbeat. I believe she did it in the real, physical world I have described, the one that I share with my wristwatch. I see no reason why such communication could not take place. I’m not talking about telepathy, psychic phenomenon or a miracle. The only miracle is that she was there when it happened, as she was for many long days and nights. I’m talking about her standing there and knowing something. Haven’t many of us experienced that? Come on, haven’t you? What goes on happens at a level not accessible to scientists, theologians, mystics, physicists, philosophers or psychiatrists. It’s a human kind of a thing.

Someday I will no longer call out, and there will be no heartbeat. I will be dead. What happens then? From my point of view, nothing. Absolutely nothing. All the same, as I wrote to Monica Eng, whom I have known since she was six, “You’d better cry at my memorial service.” I correspond with a dear friend, the wise and gentle Australian director Paul Cox. Our subject sometimes turns to death. In 2010 he came very close to dying before receiving a liver transplant. In 1988 he made a documentary named “Vincent: The Life and Death of Vincent van Gogh.” Paul wrote me that in his Arles days, van Gogh called himself “a simple worshiper of the external Buddha.” Paul told me that in those days, Vincent wrote:

Looking at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots representing towns and villages on a map.

Why, I ask myself, shouldn’t the shining dots of the sky be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France?

Just as we take a train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star. We cannot get to a star while we are alive any more than we can take the train when we are dead. So to me it seems possible that cholera, tuberculosis and cancer are the celestial means of locomotion. Just as steamboats, buses and railways are the terrestrial means.

To die quietly of old age would be to go there on foot.

That is a lovely thing to read, and a relief to find I will probably take the celestial locomotive. Or, as his little dog, Milou, says whenever Tintin proposes a journey, “Not by foot, I hope!”

FAT FREE MILK

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit, sed diam nonummy nibh euismod tincidunt ut laoreet dolore magna aliquam erat volutpat.Archive

NOV
8TH

WED

It does not matter how slow you go so long as you do not stop.

— Wisdom of Confucius

06251975/4513 = 3154\57915260

I wake up often and don't know where I am.

I don't know what time it is.

What day is it?

What job do I have to get to?

What/whose/which house is this?

I sometimes rub the sleep out of my eyes, blink at the ceiling and listen to the house and neighborhood sounds and try to remember what year it even is.

Everyday I do this -

The WHO

       WHAT

       WHERE

       WHEN

Everyday I do this - 

And I know...
     
       WHY.

Stream of obnoxiousness to be turned into new bodies of work...

A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval. - Mark Twain 

So that is why you will always suck, Self.

I can't fall asleep yet
but I don't think that I'm giving myself time to do so
It ticks louder when it's quiet
It's muted when you all are SO LOUD

SO SELFISH
SO STUPID

Mollusks
and shellfish

You are Krill
and I'm a Baleen Whale

I haven't been drinking
I've just been thinking too much
about thinking about how
I don't think enough
or do things enough
about the really important stuff

I used a lot or repetitive and aquatic words on Porpoise.

Sorry, I couldn't kelp myself.

STUPID.

Okay, now I'm going to shut this drown.

"Time will prove my love to you and cement my place in your heart forever. For time will give me the credibility and the believability that I need to convince you to want to spend the rest of your life with me. That I am worthy of such a commitment from you."

Time tells
that love spent
makes marks on our bones

The rocket's set now
do we set the dial to 1 or 10?

retract/unwind
life starts again

breathe
relax
calm down

Time told
you back then
that you were a speck

like a dust mote
galactic dust
a Big Bang of Love

The rocket's thrusting now
do we set the dial to 11?

Time will tell
if my love spent
will make me more

Than this...

It is true that a fellow cannot ignore women - but he can think of them as he ought - as sisters, not as sparring partners. Jim Elliot

FAT FREE LOVE

DEAR Kevin,

This is CNN. 

 I mean, this is Mandie. I wanted to express again my appreciation and gratitude for you. I am sure I will express these feelings again and again, for days and weeks and months to come and months turn into years, so let's see where this goes.  It's already been a little more than 30 days since you laid that kiss on me in the kitchen. I often replay the memory of that first night. I do. I really do.

 I have loved before, but this is different with you. It feels new every time I see you. There is a sort of electricity I get from you that grows from my heart space and wiggles with yours. That's the best way I can describe it and THAT is the new thing.  New love is always exciting, but this is different. You've done something to me that I've never experienced before.

 I don't have a doubt in my mind about this new relationship…. In the past, I found myself asking questions like, "How many times are we going to make this trip?"  Knowing that the drive to visit whomever it was would someday become a burden.  It always did. You realize how far away someone is when you fall out of love with them.  Conveniently and luckily, you live in a place that I already consider another home. I know this city and I love it. I'd like to move back one day. I'd like to love you more every day. I daydream about sharing a place with you, cooking you food, reading comic books, creating things, laughing a lot, leaving notes for you, kissing you, touching your butt as you walk by me, dancing, singing, playing records, shopping for old records… All of these things. It's true. I don't only think, but simply know a life with you would be a lot of fun.  And I'm a strong believer in having a fun, easy life. I also know that I can make you a happy man in more ways than one. I'll help keep you healthy, and young, and happy. If you're having a bad day, I have a magical ability to pull you out of it.  You are so-far fulfilling everything I would want from a partner. As if I were to write a list of all the components of my ideal mate. You're like me in so many ways and so not like me in complimentary ways.  I would watch Star Wars for you. Do you understand the importance of this decision? 

Oh Kevin. Oh baby. Oh sweet thing. You are wonderful. You are so good to me. So thoughtful, caring, expressive, and loving. Thoughtful. Sexy, beautiful, funny, intelligent. I am so glad you happened to me. I never quite understood why I was so sensitive to you before, but I suppose it makes sense now, yes?

I love you. 

A-Bzz-bzz,

Mandie Bee

Freelance Writer Afraid of Fire...

Martian Manhunter is obsessed with television programming. Martian Manhunter is obsessed with getting paid for comic book, tech, magazine, fiction, non-fiction, wedding vows and any other type of writing. Martian Manhunter is obsessed with Martian Manhunter obsessing about Martian Manhunter obsessing about television programming.

Make Money With AdSense...

Make nothing with nonsense
accomplish nothing with pretense
sixpence
penny farthings
for smatterings and heart smartings
and the absence of beats hearting
an awareness of obtusence
and a putrid semblence of
the one through five sense
says,

"There's no making money with AdSense."

As long as I'm writing @fatfreemilk

:)

A perfect day. A perfect night. It's nice. We deserve it. Right?

ZooooooooooozzzzzzzzzzzzZ

And the reason that you don't write as much as before is because
you wrote so much before
you see paper and want to write on it
you have ideas and clever thoughts and movie things and poems
business things

but you don't
not as much
and you're cool with it
sometimes

And the reason that you don't write as much as before is because
there's
no rush
it's frustrating, I KNOW
but
I'm older now
LIFE got older
more important

We're getting older

I want to write about this TOGETHER.

Tongue Tied - GROUPLOVE [official video]

Neon Trees - Everybody Talks

Chairlift - Bruises

Beethoven -- Moonlight Sonata

mbee3

mbee2

mbee

Burial & Four Tet Feat. Thom Yorke - Ego HQ

A Wedding Speech...

The Edge...

SEARCH THIS.

Wikipedia will never replace an Encyclopedia.

The Dog Stars...

I love reading the first page of a book and knowing that I'm going to blow through it in a week.
Even at this hour, a late start is a good start to my small comforts.

And the fucking author writes like me.

Fucked up-like. Fragmented and shit.

"I keep the beast running."

i didnt do it on purpose

i told you that I shouldnt have this shit around here

TRUST...

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.” 
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

Fat Free Milk

Way back in 2002, I was fiddling around here. RIGHT HERE. There was a company called Pyra Labs that provided Fat Free Milk (me) access to default templates, back-end-system-fiddling-around-ease-of-use and instant publishing gratification for a measly $8.95 a month, or something like that. This seemed pretty expensive back in the day but I came from the era of "Web Pages". One page. Like

Dude - I'll finish this later...

Today...

I did everything.

"All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade."

George Died...

"Fuck all of this shit, I never wanted everybody to have a big fucking thing."

12 years of conversations with George.

I've never had such a great buddy.

I will always miss you, you hard-ass-bastard-with AN AMAZING HEART.

Everybody that you knew after your wife died - you knew through me.

You fought in Korea. Wined, dined and died with your ladies.

You were a tough fucker but had a heart of gold.

You were always on my side.

I gave you water, transported you to various beds and held your hand.

You hated this and a lot of shit since I met you.

I'm glad that I was here for you, buddy and you were, so HERE for ME in all of those years.

I'm so glad that you're gone.

You told me and thanked me repeatedly for being with you through all of these years and especially through all of the recent bullshit and I thank you for being my best friend. Just fucking ANYWAY.

And now what, George?

The Ghost George isa comin', methinks...

Hell help us both.

SHE SAID from: War All the Time by Charles Bukowski

what are you doing with all those paper
napkins in your car?
we dont have napkins like
that
how come your car radio is
always turned to some
rock and roll station?do you drive around with
some
young thing?
you're
dripping tangerine
juice on the floor.
whenever you go into
the kitchen
this towel gets
wet and dirty,
why is that?
when you let my
bathwater run
you never
clean the
tub first.
why don't you
put your toothbrush
back
in the rack?

you should always
dry your razor
sometimes
I think
you hate
my cat.
Martha says
you were
downstairs
sitting with her
and you
had your
pants off.
you shouldn't wear
those
$100 shoes in
the garden

and you don't keep
track
of what you
plant out there

that's
dumb
you must always
set the cat's bowl back
in
the same place.
don't
bake fish
in a frying
pan...

I never saw
anybody
harder on the
brakes of their
car
than you.

let's go
to a
movie.

listen what's
wrong with you?
you act
depressed.

George...

“I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing.” 
― Neil Gaiman

R.I.P.

I will miss you.

Punch

you are Judy
i want to

Found this...

June 4, 2012

Hi Pooper!

I just thought I would leave a little note.  I want to tell you how much I loooooove you and that I recently saw/read what you posted on your blog, and couldn’t help but wonder if some of it was about us… Or rather me in particular. The post entitled ‘You’?  I really liked it, and whether is was a comment on our love or connection, I want you to know that I have never lost my love for you or us. It may not show as strongly as it did when we first met, but it is as deep and vast as the universe and it continues to grow every second. You are a beautiful man, a loving friend, and a sensitive lover. I am forever grateful for our first dance and couldn’t imagine you not in my life.

Thank you for making me feel special, and for always treating me with love and respect. Now, don’t stay up too late- You need rest!

Xoxoxo

Rachel

------------------

"You were sick, but now you are well again. And there's work to be done." 

It’s a Vonnegut quote. He had a fictional character named Kilgore Trout that is prevalent in a lot of his books. He travels through time a lot. Even though that I have not read as many books of Vonnegut’s as I would like – I appreciate his talent, lack of conformity and his abundant imagination. The picture is my nod to Kilgore Trout. The quote above grabbed my attention and was very relative to an absorption of my own past, present and future.

 “I am The Great Yellow Hope.”

Random thought in my head.

“YOU

can always find it again

anybody can

but what matters most

is what you do with it

now that you have it

again”

I was talking to myself but also talking to anybody and everybody. It wasn’t directed towards you. Kind of a loose, Buddhist Mantra. Like me writing in a journal. Like me telling something to a kid or like me telling something to a friend. Part of it is a reminder to myself and anybody who has to be reminded to recognize beauty and opportunity when in presents itself. To tap into the learn(ed) self and not and to convert regrets into positivity. To be better with love. To recognize how unappreciated it was and cognizant of how important it is?

“I don't really think

that you know what I'm doing
my fear is that
before that you know how much better that I've made things
that you'll be gone before you see it”

I’m a work-in-progress. Yet, worth it. This was also written about world history, human nature and my want to see humans to continue to explore this world and others. Meow.

“men

make beats in the background
we, (wo)men
filled with woe
woo and whoa and wring and waste
our will, wants and wishes
until we're beat”

To make it quick – it was my version of an old-school type of “Beat Poem” about women complaining about men. I write things like this shit above, or at least in this style because I’m lazy/lazier at a certain hour. I like book-ending things or having them come in a dumb full-circle. This just happened to really make me smile though. The women are talking about….aww fuck it. You get it. I didn’t write it like this on purpose. It just came out. I revised it. Sometimes even the tiniest things can take time for me. Sometimes. It sucks and I know it sucks and I either put it away on paper, save it to draft or erase the shite. Anyway…I like it.

Hmmm…I loved seeing something that you wrote to me, all prepped up on the computer for when I got home. I fucking love it. You doomed me though, Love! How can I NOT respond to you? I love you reading anything that I’ve written, I love sharing everything with you. I do. I want to share even more with you! Ask me questions! Write stories with me! Paint with me! Sculpt with me! Do dumb shit with me! You’ve kept me up and I will probably be up when your alarm goes off. I’ve been in the backyard for a long time, kind of cold. It drizzled a bit. The moon is still out even though it’s 4:48 in the A.M. It’s noisy. The Fullerton trains are making a ruckus. Terry Barr invited me to his bachelor party weekend but it’s when your Mom and Caden are going to be down. Why haven’t I called my Dad? I think that I just more Malone history for our kids in the last month. I’m not going to beat myself up over this anymore. They were never a part of my life. I appreciate them and want them to be around for as long as possible. They probably will. Sometimes it’s better. Life is not defined by your past but by the quality of your life today. The battery just ran out on this computer. Your alarm will go off in 14 minutes. I love you with all of my heart, Rachel and I will always be here for you. I promise this. I will be the man that you love and will diligently and constantly strive to be the man that you and I…deserve.

Taos Hum

I will always protect you.

Dead Molecules

Fuck. I was aiming towards something. Really. Totally in a zone and then I woke up my girlfriend. It died. Cigarette smoke was the culprit. The piece is totally stupid, creating a mini poem within a poem, highlighted in red, blah, blah, blah. I had something in my head and it was working well. This was the now-destroyed work in progress.

I had a moment. A movement. Potentially monumental. I'm a malformed malcreant. Not distracted now. Logged in. New formats. Nocturnal Davids to my Goliath daze.
[Me]

Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light. And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the cave. 
[Socrates] 

Personally, I would be delighted if there were a life after death, especially if it permitted me to continue to learn about this world and others, if it gave me a chance to discover how history turns out.

[Carl Sagan]

Wake up! Don't suck. I suck. You stink. Don't sleep. Write something. From beginning to end. Forget who's sleeping. Wear headphones in your backyard. You can't sleep anyway. You brought a notebook to work today and even though that you know that it's impossible to write when you're working at this job...this is what you wrote, "I can't write anymore".

hiodsvlvdlkdvklndvslkdsv I HAD IT

Controlling Fear: Part One

Bueller.

Please Recycle...

If these are the end of times then this is the beginning of them because I'm talking about it right now.
So, if I continue to talk about the end of times and you continue to read what I'm writing about THE END, then an END will never happen as long as you keep on reading what I write, right?

Sooooo......

I Miss My Girlfriend...

I do - but I just got done gardening.
I was helping out our cucumbers.
There are still ants crawling on me as I type this.
I just killed three right now.
I have cleaned my hands and wiped the dirt from my legs.
It is early in the morning.
I just got home from work two hours ago.
I shaved off the fletching from all of my arrows to use as stakes for the garden.
They were old arrows.

I miss my girlfriend.

It's hard to write The Great American Novel when you have a corn dog in the toaster oven.

it makes me feel guilty that I can take George to lunch
and not my own Father.

did

Did I just totally screw everything up by trying to update all of the new darn-fangled options on Blogger?

Welsh: You haven’t changed at all, have you Witt? You haven’t learned a thing … you’ll never be a real soldier.

Witt: I can take anything you dish out. I’m twice the man you are.

Welsh: In this world, a man, himself, is nothin’. And there ain’t no world but this one … we’re livin’ in a world that’s blown itself to hell as fast as everybody can arrange it.

"You were sick, but now you are well again. And there's work to be done." 

I am The Great Yellow Hope.

YOU

can always find it again
anybody can
but what matters most
is what you do with it
now that you have it

again

JANE...

R.I.P.

You big, fat cat.

Thank you for being nice to me.

I don't really think

that you know what I'm doing
my fear is that
before that you know how much better that I've made things
that you'll be gone before you see it

Dude.

A duck just flew over my head at 4:27 in the morning.

What's The Opposite Of A Snowflake?

A dirt clod?

remember to write that thing that starts off with roaches and ends up with zombie cannibals

no

really

men

make beats in the background
we, (wo)men
filled with woe
woo and whoa and wring and waste
our will, wants and wishes
until we're beat

There is...

Something on my left hand.
A spot, a glimmering thing that can be spit, Spit or maybe...SPIT.
A male voice just yelled at somebody from down the street.
My right hand hurts.
Old wound.
Reference "Stupid journal #18, circa 1995.
I just spent the last 10 seconds trying to shake 18 years out of my 2 broken knuckles.

A string of excited, fugitive, miscellaneous pleasures is not happiness; happiness resides in imaginative reflection and judgment, when the picture of one's life, or of human life, as it truly has been or is, satisfies the will, and is gladly accepted - - - George Santayana

Today was not a bad day at all.

I wanted to put down some of the things that passed through my brain/crayons/canyons/today...

exhaustion
confusion
gluttony
joy
violence
LUST
regret
inebriation
nostalgia
fame
pugnacity
anger
pride
age
clairvoyance
sexiness
wastefulness
reflectiveness
recognition
poetry

I'M SPOILED.

Because I get to feel these things.

And many don't.

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/pages/guidelines-for-web-submissions

I couldn't go to sleep
she did
I watched three movies
2 episodes of 30 Rock
@ 3:15, I thought that I should try to go to sleep
I read for two hours......

I woke at 9:15
I wanted to go back to sleep
I'm a feral child
Vampiric/Nocturnal/Hopeless/Etc.

Breakfast at 10:45
No more sleep for me.

Every night and every day is different for me.

People ask me when I'm going to get married
When I'm going to have babies.

Every night and every day is different for me.

It's Been Too Long Since You've Written Something...

I hung out with my my Mothra - I mean, my mother.
This relationship gets Strongstra - I mean stronger.
I can hear drunks outside my door.
I want to punch them in the face.
My hands look like E.T.'s
I got carded tonight for beer.
I am getting OLD, old folks...

Leave me alone.
I am fine.
I want to finish my book tonight.
Can I?

Please, don't leave me alone.

I am not Strongsa as I can Bestra.

I Needsya.

It's Been Too Long Since You've Said Anything...

Scat.

I'm trying to hard to write something.

Free Fat Milk

LOVE.

How can I write when...

I'm scared of waking you up?

That's supposed to come after.

I need a garage.

Or Roald Dahl's Man Cave.

Look it up.

Bees Dying Collapsing Disorder Worry Colony Honey, Please?

Watch Silence of the Bees on PBS. See more from Nature.

You Should Have Paid More Attention...

"Do not open if quality seal is broken."

Relaaaaaaaaaaxxxxxx....

SELF.

Now I know my ABC's, won't you come and play with me?

A list of friends from the past and present...
Baxter = Socrates/Sisyphus
Chris learned everything that he knows through movies.
Dawne. Thank you. SO MUCH.
Ender. I won.
Fran was very serious about transcribing my notebook writing.
George is my oldest friend. Tell me to have lunch with him more before it's too late.
Henry Higgins. Just you wait. Henry Higgins.

Ijaz defies logic and pees/used to pee in public.

Jesse is prolific.

Kevynn/Kevin was/is...

Landon is very cool. Why are we not better friends?
Mom?
Natty Bee and I are related.
O, The Places You'll Go!
Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.

You’ll look up and down the streets. Look ’em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

On and on you will hike.
And you know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

Pat.

work in progress

lookupintheskyit'sabirdit'saplaneit's...

my toes are freezing
my Bizarro muscles are sore
I don't know what I'm doing tonight

grounded

BORING.

BORING.
BORING.
YES.
YOU.
fucking BORING.
with a CAPITAL
FUC KING
BORING.

Tonight we make soap operas...

“Worker bees can leave.
Even drones can fly away.
The Queen is their slave.”

Samurai Sabers...

I started on scratch paper. I did notebooks for years. I bought an old Smith Corona, powder blue, pounding machine. Then procured an old electric typewriter for kicks. I wrote on an old word processor briefly. I bought my first computer from a store that offered you two years of Hotmail access and the PC computer tower for 250 dollars. It was a great deal but barely affordable for me at the time. Years later I bought another computer that lasted longer then it should've. I worked for a startup company and was given my work computer to work from home when they started to fizzle. I left that computer with an ex-girlfriend and then bought my first laptop. It lasted for three years. I bought a brand new Netbook from a friend. It sucked from the start. Poop machine. I bought a used MacBook Pro from a friend. I still use it. I just typed this boring diatribe on my girlfriend's Ipad2 thingy. Kind of cool. Easy. I like big keys. I'm old now. I like this. It's fucking easy to type on this machine.....but90pagenotebooksthatflipupandnottothesideandblueinkpensandoldtypewritersthatyouwritepoetryonandhavetopoundthekeys?....

Nostalgiapad.

Evening! Mourning...

I have late hours. I would write more but sometimes I have an itch to check the news about trainwrecks, tsunamis, murders, Wal-Mart, China, Colony Collapse Disorder, Bieber, Bono, Wolf Blitzer, Jamie Madrox, Paula Abdul, Afghanistan, Kobe, Monsanto, High Fructose Corn Syurp and Flu Pandemics. It goes on and on...

Then it gets later. I've visited Hotmail, Gmail, Google+, Spotify, You Tube, Break.com, The Hub, Wikipedia, Marvelpedia, Pbs.org, Esurance, Hulu, Toplessrobot, Io9, Kongregate, Ebay, etc.

Not really. I've been home for an hour. I got home, parked my car in the back of the house, turned on the heater, peed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, took my mace, keys, wallet, cigarettes and Zippo out of my pockets, changed my clothes, put leftovers in the fridge, made a drink and then turned on this computer.

Now I'm watching the clock.

What to do?

Write?

I just found this. wrtite? Hahaha!!! hagrid colliders?

You just prevented me from writing about all of the amazing things that I was going to write about
i was going to wrtite about hagrid colliders hig boson elmo centrist fight club hitler vs lincoln logs versus haliburton oompa loompa lamas panchen and the dalai

Enter Presentation Mode...

Urgh. This laptop burns my kneetops. Just saying.

I need some Bengay
for my knees-ay
just to do writing-ay today-ay.

IMSO

here for you and I hope that you will continue to ghost me with your presents
things get better and they get deeper than the levels of
a Salton Sea
a Sea of
shells and skulls
I see The Shore

neverthought I'd get there before

Zombies are the new hoboes...

I don't know how I'll get rid of all of this stuff.

Not the writing, but all of the crap that I have in this place before I move soon. And when I'm in my new place...I'll be writing about not knowing to do with the stuff that I have there.

Fear Retardant

wear your galoshes
your condoms
invest in bullets
and the great hope
roll up your sleeves
hope for the best

there's work to be done

Hello. How are you? I am fine. Thank you.

Texts with Terry
Tonight about
Trying
To drop him off at
The airport next
Tuesday
The sister that I miss in
Texas
Tears on the inside, I miss her
Terribly
The
Theological discussion(s)
Tonight and
The
Time spent with
The girlfriend
The patience
The learning
The regrets
The stupid
The smart
This is it.
This is
all it i
s, ma
n.Th
is m
orta
l co
il

I can't sleep. I don't care. Don't judge me. I just can't go to bed right now. I hate the keyboard on this computer even though it's the best computer that I've ever had. I'm better than I've ever been but right now I'm hitting everything HARD. The Setupsconflictsandresolutions. They're killing me, Larry.

:)

I may not be cut out for this life...

I think that I may have latent talents that would emerge in a Zombie Infestation, an alien Invasion or in a post-apocalyptic future. I also think that my real-life skill-set would not be helpful at all because...

Zombies eat failed writers.
Aliens wouldn't want to meld with my brain.
And in a post apocalyptic future, going through old forgotten drafts on The Good Old Fat Free Milk Blog created in the year 2002 doesn't help hunger.

Even to the lactose-intolerant.

I want to meet...

Jane Goodall
Stephen king
The Dalai Lama
The REAL Panchen Lama
JJ Abrahms
Stephen King
Steve Niles
Ian MacKaye
Koko
The Rancor Keeper
Warren Ellis
Micheal Allred
Archie McPhee
Alan Moore
Terrence Malick
George Lucas and Jar Jar Binks
Dave Eggers
Harper Lee
Sigur Ros
The three remaining Doors
Ron Moore
Guillermo Del Toro
The Great Cthulhu
Deana Martin
My Grandfather(s)
John Lasseter
My Mother
Kevynn
Kevin
My C.H.U.D ASAP
Fat Free Milk in 2002 - NOW in 2022

Fat Free Hemingway...

Cần Thơ gạo trắng nước trong, Ai đi đến đó lòng không muốn về.

She describes being attracted to my father, whom she had met through acquaintances, because when she first saw him he was walking down the street, looking at the sky.

I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about not typing...

What little writing that I do now is for other people. In the last couple of years, I've written DJ bios, Blargh content, worked on other people's plays, student films, funeral rites, parking-ticket legalese, Vietnamese Pho Menus and Dr. Who action figure catalogues, etc.

I am a shitty writer. Really. A hack. But it sucks because I do the I-Am-A-Shitty-Writer-Really-A Hack-But-It-Sucks-Because-I-Do-The-I-Am-A-Shitty-Writer-Really-A-Hack-But-It-Sucks-Because-I-Do-The-I-Am-A-Shitty-Writer-Really-But-It-Sucks-Stuff.

Because...Shit, It's been a bit strange, Strangers.

I'm in my backyard right now. Typing on the laptop in the dark. Afraid of Avacados falling on my head. My head is tick-tocking back and forth like a Metronome. I want to get drunk and to put down every single, fucking, goddamn thing before it's too late.

It's not about the amount of hours passing and pissing away anymore
but
It's all about the amount of time not creating and writing about
What's here
and not anymore.

The bulk of my writing that I do now will be only for me.

A shark jumped the shark a long time time ago...

ratings are low
but this show will never be canceled
never

Chess. Smoke. Poem. Soda Pop. Jeanette Walls. Smoke. Hulu/Nova.com = Sleestak-hissing sleep.

Fat Free Milk

Meet Me (1996 Notebook)

There's a sad song on
no one to read this
and only one person to write it

as long as I live
I will never give up
I'll still laugh
and even
in poverty and poetry
I'll still know more
and be
more aware of things
than all of you

I'm just waiting
and am tired
       of fighting
       the invisibles
that only I
       can see

Samuel Twain And Stephen Bachman...

Exiting Wormholes at the same time =

I wrote a lot when I was more stupider.

-

Every day
Waging war
With Peace

I sailed a wild, wild sea
Climbed up a tall, tall mountain
I met a old, old man
Beneath a weeping willow tree
He said now if you got some questions
Go and lay them at my feet
But my time here is brief
So you'll have to pick just three

And I said
What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart
And how can a man like me remain in the light
And if life is really as short as they say
Then why is the night so long
And then the sun went down
And he sang for me this song

See I once was a young fool like you
Afraid to do the things
That I knew I had to do
So I played an escapade just like you
I played an escapade just like you
I sailed a wild, wild sea
Climbed up a tall, tall mountain
I met an old, old man
He sat beneath a sapling tree
He said now if you got some questions
Go and lay them at my feet
But my time here is brief
So you'll have to pick just three

And I said
What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart
And how can a man like me remain in the light
And if life is really as short as they say
Then why is the night so long
And then the sun went down
And he played for me this song