Saturday, March 19, 2005



And Their Bruce Lee T-Shirts Will Continue To Chop Away At The Elements Until They Become Rags Of Fury...



If I was given a dollar from St. Ojos everytime I rubbed my eyes, I'd be a blind billionaire.

Weezer's coming out with a new album. So is Beck. Beastie Boys should. They need to re/reinvent the wheel again/better than their last couple of attempts. It's not an age thing, it's just more of an I EXPECTED BETTER OF YOU thing. We Are Scientists rock your dog's intestines and NGUYEN 5 kicks bloody arse.

I have no idea why I started to write about music. I hate writing about music as much as I hate writing about politics, philosophy and religion.

I used to write for a couple of music magazines. I don't anymore because I'm too old to be stupid(er)(est)(ewey).

I'm not particularly tired. Not too angry. Not sad at all. And maybe that's the problem. I want monetary and ambulatory obligations non-existent. I want to float around on hover-discs and to chop off heads with a hybrid chainsaw/sword. If I can't have this tonight, I'll have this in dreams. I want nothing. I don't even know why I'm writing. This is all crap. It seemed like a lot more way back before I smoked a cigarette and brought out all the ingredients for the food that I was going to make that I know that I now won't eat.

It's late.

Boom.

What was that?

-don't know, man. what'ya talkin' bout'?

That noise. You didn't hear it?

-idiot. no. what?

Aw. Forget it. Nothing.

I'm going on a three-day cruise soon to Baja or something for my friend's marriage. I will not be coming back, I've decided. I will not be back on the boat when it sails away. I'll be like Daniel Stern from Born In East L.A. and get hired as a door guy/promoter person. No I won't. That's pretty much what I do now. Talk to people that I don't care about and try to get them interested in the things that I'm getting paid to pimp. Yeah. Forget it, Bubba.

I might have a new job soon, though. I won't care about that either. The only occupation that I care about is my breathing job. Sometimes, I don't do this well either. I am more Jaga than Panthro. You are either Wily Kit or Wily Cat. Annoying. Stay still. My thoughts require effort and intense concentration.

I can feel the wheel turning. I can hear it squeaking. I am too poor and lazy to oil it. I am afraid of its progress. I am not strong enough to slow it down. I can, at least, kick some sand in front of it. Can't I, at least, lay in front of it? Some days I might bite it. Some days, it rains hard, and the wheel gets stuck in the mud. I laugh and cackle towards the sky and THEN I find the energy to dance wildly around the wheel. I pull down the rags around my waist and piss on the wheel. Making sure that no inch is left uncovered. I become brave. The clouds will part, though. The mud will dry and become parched. Hard. Flaky. Making it easy for the wheel to resume its progress. There will be nothing else for me to do. I won't be wearing shoes, let alone cleats. My tired feet will already be rubbed raw. I'll just sit and let it roll over my legs. Nobody will expect anything out of me by then. Nobody will ask me any more questions. They'll just see me as a regrettable speed bump in the path of inevitable progress. The vultures will continously shit on me and wait for me to die. They'll wind up fighting over what isn't there. Ghosts will fight for my energy. Most of this will dissipate. My energy will dissapate like early morning shower steam.

The only thing that I ask for is to be legendary. Legendary for all of the wrong reasons, but legendary all the same. I want people to read books about me, to drink more than they normally would and to puke on their significant other's head. I want them to regret emulating the easy and lazy aspects of my being and to remember harder than I did on what it means to make the machine work when you put your mind to it. I want them to try harder to get to know me and what I could've become. This would basically be a mirror to my life. The combination of strong and weak will, the combo of greatness and utter destruction. To be Dalai Lama/peaceful. To be Hitler/self-righteous/brutal. To be oatmeal/sticky/grey/watery/hard-rock/sludge.

This is me today and every day.

Now Neil Diamond is on.

This means no spell check.

This means goodbye.

For now.







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