I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas.
My fingers are Santa's little helpers.
My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments.
I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn.
Sisyphus, sweating uphill.
in rooming houses.
A river always flowing.
I am the nightmare of stagnancy
And the goD/Dog of stagnation/Imagination.
Thank you. I love you. Really. Meow.
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
It takes a little bit of effort
to sometimes make it
a long way
you were all crazy
your bright eyes
became baby ghosts
dying, shrinking and
vanishing in seconds
but it seemed to me
my time with you tonight
so damn long
I feel sorry for all of you
the lost flock tonight
when I see you again
when you see us again
I hope that our nights are much brighter
I bought a ceramic goat head, I got my eyes checked. I don't have Fat Free Milk 2002 eyes anymore - but I'm good. I'm good. Kind of. I'm listening to Peaches right now. She doesn't like window panes. I'm watching a movie that I first watched in 1986. Doc Background is performing experiments in the Brown - I bought toys for my friend's kids today, I had a crappy Ceaser salad tonight but an excellent meat and cheese plate. I can't stop my right leg from moving right now and pretty much all of the time. I have too much energy. I was ADD and ADHD before you were in your C and the RI and the B. I'm realizing that I should've been George McFly for Halloween this year instead of BatDad. I'm listening to Concrete Blonde. Now, I'm listening to a song from Sinatra and Dinah Shore.
I've been home for thirty minutes. I've changed out of my work clothes, I've made myself a drink, I've eaten a small amount of food-stuff, Morgan Freeman is on the television talking about Lemurs, my face is now washed, I smoked a cigarette (Stop Smoking), and I just killed an ant (Sorry, ant).
I just found an electric bill underneath my keyboard = $69.05. Due 06/03.
If I can write this now - I paid it.
I kid. Money gets sucked out of my bank account for various things:
Tyler Durden just said that. I asked Tyler what he was doing in my living room and he punched me in the face and told me to stop asking sissy questions. I spit out a tooth and said that I wished that he'd blow up all of the credit card company buildings in real life like he did in Fight Club, I could benefit from a little Project Mayhem to eradicate my credit history. Then he kicked me in the eye with his boot heel and said,Kevynn, you have a class of young strong men and women, and they want to give their lives to something. Advertising has these people chasing cars and clothes they don't need. Generations have been working in jobs they hate, just so they can buy what they don't really need. We don't have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. We have a great revolution against the culture. The great depression is our lives. We have a spiritual depression. We have to show these men and women freedom by enslaving them, and show them courage by frightening them.I told him that he was scaring me, and then he grabbed me by the balls and dragged me into a corner of the room.
Right about that time - Charles Bukowski came into the room. He just walked on in, downed a can of Schlitz, crumpled it, and threw it towards the corner that Tyler and I were in. It bounced off of Tyler's shaven head, and I thought that Tyler was going to beat him up, but Tyler just smiled, swatted Buk on the back as he walked on by, told him that he was a big fan, and that he loved Post Office, and then left.
I could hear noise coming from the fridge, and groaningly got up. Buk was already polishing off one of my beers. He stripped down to his boxers and asked me where all the goddamn real booze was. I told him that was all I had, and that did he really believe in a god? He grabbed another one of my beers, kicked off his shoes, and said, I have more faith in my plumber than I do the eternal being. Plumbers do a good job. They keep the shit flowing…and then he disappeared into my bathroom.
I shuffled over to the phone and was about to call 911, when there was a knock at the door. I didn't want to answer it, so I peeped through the peephole. It was Frank Sinatra. Shit, it was Frank - so I opened the door. He looked great.Sharp. His pinky rings twinkled in the moonlight. I invited him in. He grabbed a seat by my fireplace and asked me how my bird was. I told him that I didn't have any pets, except for a bunch of cats. He rolled his eyes and said, no, man - how's your bird and pointed to my crotch. That confused the hell out of me. Why was Frank Sinatra asking about my dick? So, I just told him that my bird was flying around. That seemed to please him immensely. I relaxed a little. Frank was pleased. I was pleased. Maybe Frank could swing me a room in Vegas? Bukowski came out and stank up the whole place. He grabbed another one of my beers and then sat down at my computer. All of my cats instantly congregated around his feet and purred. He asked if I had any decent classical music in the place. I looked at Frank. He nodded slightly, and I tuned the radio to a station that Buk seemed to not mind. Frank asked me how everything else was goin'. I said that I guess that everything else was okay, nothing that exciting. He said that it wasgood to not be one of those complicated, mixed-up cats looking for the secret to life… just to go on from day to day, and to take what comes…
That seemed to make sense to me. I politely excused myself and told Frank that I thought that I needed to spit out a couple more teeth; did he want me to pick him up some stuff for martinis, or get him some whisky? He told me that he was okay for now, he was waiting for Ava. I got the feeling that he'd be there for a long time, and I left out through the front door to wiggle my loose teeth around. Tyler was in the parking lot of the park across the street, fighting somebody. I didn't want to attract his attention because I was afraid he'd tell me to duke it out with a Puerto Rican busboy. But I ended up walking over to him. Something was bugging me. I needed to tell him something.
He just got finished, and was wiping blood out of his eyes with the heel of his palms.
What do you want, Malone? You want me to take you shopping or something? Do you want me to politely ask the world to get off your back? Are you finally sick of your life? Are you ready to sacrifice everything to become the type of person that you're supposed to be?
No, not really, Tyler. I just wanted to answer your question.
What fucking question, Malone?
"If you were to die right now, how would you feel about your life?"
Describe the 40 year old's house from the 30 years old's perspective. Like he's a legit interviewer. Describe the set up for the interview. And the room and the house that the interview is taking place in. Describe some of the 40 year old's mannerisms, etc.
30 - Before we start - I've got to say...I'm a HUGE fan.
40 - What? Seriously? That's kind of dumb. You...WE used to interview bands a little bit back in the day. That's what you say as an introduction? I - WE hate that shit! What's wrong with you? You okay, dude? And I'm looking at you too, dude You look fucking skinny, man. You look like I would if I did drugs. But you don't, I know. You need health insurance too and dental insurance. Seriously. Get that shit.
30 - You look...well. Ummm. Wait. What? Seriously. I mean - I am. I'm doing it, you know - I've just gotta -
40 - Nah. No, you're not.
30 - So. Uhmmm. So......you're not married, huh? And no kids? Dude. what happened?
40 - Nothing.
30 - I know, but - you know, I just kinda thought by now that -
40 - Nope. You and D broke up when you were 32. Sorry, buddy. Then came C and then came M and then came L and then came R and then came another M. Some were tiny dating relationships and don't really count. You have this to look forward to in the next ten years, dude. But it's good. It wasn't bad. Obviously there were some pretty heart-heavy and emotionally, fucking, heavy months and years but - it's okay. You will learn a shitload of stuff, my friend.
30 - Holy crap.
40 - Yeah...
30 - But what happened?
40 - Nothing, really. It's just people, man. Like I said - you'll learn a lot.
30 - Who was your - our favorite? Like, who did you -
40 - Dude. Seriously. Ask me something else.
30 - Okay. Sure. Ummm...Soooooo....I don't know what to say now.
40 - DUMB.
30 - Dude, that's not cool.
40 - Sorry. I'm not trying to be a dick. I love you. DUH. I really do. I'm just super tired and I get bored easily. ADHD, madness, compassion and I'm trying to bail out water in this tiny, yet tough boat that I'm in. I've got enough shit on my plate, man. Like, I'm sitting here -SUPER FUCKING TIRED. Like, I feel like I'm dying. Like I'm fucking dead. I'm dead when I'm awake. I'm a kid. I'm a zombie. I'm stupid. I'm wicked smaht, though. WICKED SMAHT.
30 - That sounds dumb.
40 - Yeah, dude. I'm sorry. Seriously. You've got a lot ahead of you.
30 - No. That sounds dumb what you said.
40 - What?
30 - I don't think that you've grown up that much, man - this is just what I'm saying. you like to talk. WE -I like to talk, yeah - for sure, but - DUDE. You sound just like me right now but just filled with more bullshit. you're not giving me that much hope. I mean, you're totally -
40 - Seriously? Awww...fuck yourself then. Go write some poetry, go...GO FUC
I'm a hungryWampawithouta
Tantaun Chewbaccawithout aBowcaster Greedowith good aim Salacious Crumb without the cackle ASarlaacwithout
apitt Bobawithout the jet pack Echo Station without a shield generator A Snow Speeder without a tow cable I amDantooinewithout
the millions of voices suddenly crying out in terror that were suddenly
silenced I am a Land Speeder without thevaselinesmeared glob beneath my wheels R2-D2 incessantly chirping I do not know how big I've grown eating food of
this kind I am the crying Rancor Keeper I am Yak and Prune Face I amSySnootleswithout
The Max Rebo Band I am aGundarkwithout
ears I am Darth Vader without asthma and an Emperor
without finger-tipped lightning bolts Jabbawithout delectable frogs and BibFortunawithout the head tentacles Wattowithout wings John without the Williams Leia sans slave outfit I amDagobahwithout
swamp A Banthawithoutpoodoo and I'm a dud of a Thermal Detonator I have convinced my new master to take off my
restraining bolt I am Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen without Tupperware
glasses I can't make the Kessel Run in less than twelveparsecs I am the ninth moon of Endor I am Jimmy Smits as Bail Organa I am Kit Fisto, Plo Kloon and that other Jedi
guy dying like bitches I am the fat, dancing Twilek in Jabba's Palace I am the bone in your Rancor's teeth I am Jek Porkins dying in a shower of sparks I am Industrial Light and Reality Luke screaming, Yes!
That's true! Yes, it is possible! A tank leaking Bacta An AT-AT without armor plating Ewoks without a village and Han Solo without a bounty over his head 4-LOM without Zuckuss I am a canceled Boonta Eve race and a quadrapelegic Wookie wanting to rip off your
arms I am the Star Wars Holiday Christmas Special and a swarm of sucking Mynocks I have a bad feeling about this
It's nice and refreshing. It feels like fancy sparkling water with lime. Like puppy smell. Like babies when they aren't pooping or screaming. When you stick your adult nose right on top of their wispy baby head and smell deep and fully and I don't know why it's made of so much content magic but we all write about it soitmustbetrue. Like inflating a balloon. Like a car wash, a fragrance-free body wash or like refresh drops on my contacts. A glimpse of fireflies. Like remembering to do something nice for somebody and actually doing it. High fives and friends that you've known for more than 20 years.
The Hindenberg, Roanoke, The Titanic band's water-logged mix tape CD, free health care, DK2 by Frank Miller. A good eggs benedict. Inevitable drought and an impending, catastrophic earthquake in my favorite contiguous united state. Episode 1 and 2.
I would doubt that it was the best
sentence that you've read today.
I don't know. I don't know anythjing
about your day. I don't know what was good and what was bad, what
worked and what didn't maybe just possiblt that what little that I
did maybe helpe a little bit even if it was nothing
because...remeber...I havent really written anything yet.
I havent gotten aropund to telling you
about glacier-like progression of my depresseion and the regression
of I dont even know what to say
I know that its hard to get out of bed
but that its hard to keep my heart inside of my body because it needs
more blodd pumping through it. My heart needs more hearts too. Ive
proven that its a loving thing but it also wants to eat your hearts
you, know – I can talk about work and
how it's killing me slowly and that maybe my work is like cancer but
then when I start typing that I feel like a horrible human being when
I have opeople that I know that have dided of cance and a friend even
now going through chemo. So im a dick. A worthless, uncaring,
selfidsh dick. So. I don't know what to write about. I know that my
body is slowly failing me and that I drink too much and smoke too
much and that I was very proud of myself for quitting both of thoase
things recently. But then, I got treated to dinner at a fancy
restaurant and really didnt give a fuck. Anf thats my problem. I care
too much but dont gve a fuck. But im getting old now. I give a fuck.
I really do.
I dfont know whats going to happen to
me and I dont know where im going to end up but im scared about being
here, doing the same things. Making the same relationship mistakes
and just being here birng here bieng here. It hasnt worked before and
its not going to continue to not work It's just going to stop. STOP.
Anf that'll be it. I've almost died
before. TWICE. That sucked. And I was supposed to be stronger after
it. I wqas and then I got stupid again. My body and my will is
failing. Dwindling, I should say.
What do I want? What do I want to
become. Not this. Not sl;owly dying on the vine while drinking it's
wine. I'm 40 years old now. I've been writing my whole life. I like
it sometimes and sometimes I reqally hate it. What I want is to live
the last half of my life and to feel allright about it.
It's time to wake up. Or just slowly
die. That's how cut and dried it is. TRUST ME. THRUST ME.
I'm weak, but hopeful. And, now music
is playing that was super emo for me back when I was 20. This fucking
song...I was so heartbroken, so in love...really....
I hope you're well.
I apologize for ranting, but thank you
for reading the rant that you just read.
I'm not like them But I can pretend The sun is gone But I have a light The day is done But I'm having fun
I think I'm dumb Or maybe just happy Think I'm just happy My heart is broke But I have some glue Help me inhale And mend it with you We'll float around And hang out on clouds Then we'll come down And have a hangover, have a hangover
Skin the sun Fall asleep Wish away The soul is cheap Lesson learned Wish me luck Soothe the burn Wake me up
I'm not like them But I can pretend The sun is gone But I have a light The day is done But I'm having fun
I think that I'm insane.
I've barely slept.
I came home at 3 in the morning.
Talked to my Father.
Went to breakfast at 8 in the morning. Ordered food but had them put it in a to go box. Had two mimosas.
Decided against sleep and was going to take a shower instead but ended up waking up hours later in my room.
I was too tired.
this is boring.
Keep it short.
Pee during commercial breaks.
There's going to be a twenty minute wait.
I'm sorry, we're all booked up.
Reserve not met.
Limited space for ACME YOGA.
We're sorry, due to low attendance - ACME YOGA's session has been cancelled.
Gas is cheap.
Food is expensive.
I have cancer.
Fireball shots for everyone!
Please spay and neuter your pets.
Please be kind, rewind.
I don't live in the past.
What do I have to look forward to, said the donkey?
A carrot, said the master.
Bees are dying.
Honey will be expensive.
People are dying.
Honey will be expensive.