Tuesday, September 27, 2005
I Don't Know If This Was Written For Fat Free Milk - But I Found It In An Old File...
Waking up can be a mistake. Some days, I feel like I’ve made a bad choice. People who die in their sleep may be geniuses. Maybe they found out something in dreams that I never will. Maybe they had a divine moment of REM clarity and said holyshitfucknowigetitwhatthehellwasithinking? Then they’re done. Pop goes the cork. Bright burns the light. Sink the ship. Fries are done. Game Over, Ms. Pac Man. Fireworks. Smoke in the air. The crowd leaves. Holiday over. Laughing all the way to Narnia, Hogwarts, Orange County, Krynn, Hoth, Middle Earth, Oz, Hollywood, and to that place where The Brothers Lionheart went.
I’m quiet now. Maybe I cashed in all my emotional stocks way back in the 80’s and 90’s. I’ve made some bad investments. Now, I just seem to float around, all gossamer-like. Kind of like the one, thin spider web that seems to stick to your face no matter how much you claw at it when you go out in the back to water your lawn late at night. I won’t go away – but I’m not as big as I could’ve been. Just a bit annoying. Making my presence known. Not doing any real damage. Somebody once compared Jimi Hendrix to the thin wire filament of a burning light bulb. The light that burns twice as bright, burns half as long. That’s how I feel. Like the slow parts of a good movie. Radioactive waste. I know I’m still young, but you really should’ve known me before. I was crazier. I fucking either wanted to be left alone to scribble away in the darkness, to think, to break things,or wanted to question and tear the world apart. Now, I wish that everything was quiet. Silencio, por favor. I don’t think. And when I do. It passes through my brain like caffeine. All energy dissipates as soon as it’s fleetingly conjured. I smile a little, but always look like I’d be happier somewhere else. I wish I knew where that place was. It’s definitely not in front of a computer screen anymore. It’s definitely not outside. Definitely not inside my head, or out of it. What makes me feel happy now? I’m not depressed or anything. I’m just talking. I know that a lot of my biggest changes have happened in small amounts of time and sometimes the smallest change can happen in a long time. I know that if love and life played by our rules, that we’d all have that pretty, little picture in our head be a reality.
Slow, progressive, Earth-shaking change was cool back in the day. Spending a couple years here or there, doing the same ass things - but making adventures in the meantime...was cool – but, we were a lot younger then. What happens when the amount of time starts stacking? What happens when the amount of decay overpowers the fresh growth?
You get the fuck out of town. Okay. Where, and for how long? Guess you have to find out along the way, eh? Change yourself? Duh. Whatever. Instant change is like ramen noodles. Unsatisfying and shitty.
This might not make sense – but like I care. Keep your snide, little comments to yourself, or go visit a clever BLOG. Say what you want. Just don’t be funny because I’m doing all of the fake, unreal cleverness here.
You know why I liked Bukowski so much? Because he was honest. He was ugly. He was fake. He was the poetic John Merrick. He was sad. Depressed. Brilliant. A pig. He wanted to be left alone, but needed love on his own terms. He went postal before postal was postal – but he went postal on paper. That last sentence makes sense if you slow the fuck down.
Jumanji’s in my heart, but the Hellraiser Cube’s in my pocket. I don’t know what to do.
I really do wish that I could meet Han Solo and have a drink with him. He’d understand and just say a coupla gruff sentences that WOULD MAKE SENSE AND SUM UP THE WHOLE DEAL. Then we’d have more blue drinks served in Tupperware glasses.
After work today, I was at a stoplight and saw the mayor of my city walking across the crosswalk. I said hello to him and he said, Hi Kevynn! That’s nice, even if he is a politician.
I like my cats, my friends, toys, comic books. I also like porn, threatening mean people with violence, and fucked up music. I’m writing about absolutely nothing.
I need to live on a ranch and just make all of this stuff go away. Trust me – I’m not trying to be all complicated and deep. I’m far from that and I don’t want your sympathy. Your condolences are like cheap crack. It strings you out in the end. No caloric value to it. Ample amounts of empathy does not make a healthy diet. I need direction. Something other then TAKE A LEFT AFTER THE STOP SIGN or GET A NEW JOB. I need something…I need it like Dracula does. I’ll know it when I taste it. I used to watch my mother suck the marrow out of chicken bones when I was young. I tried it a couple of times. I remember her chasing around a couple of geese that I thought were pets. I remember her chopping their heads off with a cleaver, Wally. Feathers floating in the air and headless bodies flapping.
People talk too much. They need to just stop for a bit. Most of my days are just one, sticky, continuous conversation ball thrown at my head. Too tired to dodge em’. I just let it roll down my face. Nodnodnod yesyesyes. Bump on the head. Everybody just calm down, shut up, and leave everybody else alone. Walk around, play with your kids, walk the dogs – but, still…shut up. You’re about as original as…ME. Which isn’t much. I’m an ungrateful bastard. I’m the ugliest beautiful person you’ve ever met – but we all deserve to be hunted down like Frankenstein.
He’ll tell you…
Waking up can be a mistake.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Friday, September 23, 2005
He'd Kick Rita's Ass...
The father lives kind of close to the path of The United States' latest hurricane. It's kind of funny when the only reason for people to start to talk about THE PLANET is when THE PLANET decides to grab us by the nuts and then head-butt us in them.
A head-butt in the nuts is harsh. This is a very powerful thing, to be head-butted in the nuts by THE PLANET. Imagine the OUCH that follows after something like that.
Anyway...I wrote for an hour or two tonight already on other stuff, so this is what you get - the dregs. I've already had to re-spell everything in this and I think that there are things that I've missed.
I don't even know what I'm talking about. You don't either - so we're square.
Is it fair that you don't get quality love-making tonight?
Because I've already spread my seed in other places?
Yes, bitch. Yes.
Now fix me a turkey pot pie.
P.S. Kick Rita's ass, Pops.
Monday, September 19, 2005
was getting very Thom Yorke and Jack Handy
mentally treading water
my head bending
and my heart squeezing
tonight, I forgot to notice the world turning
looked out of the window
and saw how red the sky was
I got up out of my seat
and noticed a rainbow
a half circle of clear colors against anger
I searched for my camera
the phone rang
the cat skittered around my feet
I almost gave up
I made it outside
stood in my front yard as cars streamed by
kids and mothers came out also
now the rainbows gone
and I think that the old man sitting inside before is gone too
he'll be back again
I know it's inevitable
but next time that he does show up
maybe it won't take a brilliant rainbow
to illuminate my haze
mentally treading water
my head bending
and my heart squeezing
Friday, September 16, 2005
Am I that desperate or either that LAZY for dialogue for the play that I'm writing that's due in March that I was interested in watching Jersey Girl to copy the flow of WHAT EXACTLY?
God. Shoot me. The best bits of me today have been scatterred like Skittles across the minutes of this weird mess of a day. I mean, I couldn't even communicate properly w/ the girlfriend at the supermarket. I grunted and pushed the cart around.
Maybe that's it. Maybe REAL writers DON'T go to the supermarket AND DON't have the TV on like I do right now. Maybe REAL WRITERS don't write on blogs named after the first thing that one saw in the fridge. Maybe the fact that Ben Affleck's voice is a sneeze's spray away from me - is the reason why I don't deserve to write more tonight.
One does not receive the keys to the kingdom when one writes a sentence about keys to the kingdom. Tell me that you just didn't look at the TV screen again, man.
Say it's over, man...
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Found This While Looking Through Old Word Documents ( The "Kevin" Is Kevin Smith ) I Need To Look Through The Computer More...
Crap. I'm sorry. I've never done that before. I must have switched it with the other package that I sent to a different customer. If you could send me back the package I will fully compensate you. I can even send you the money via paypal before hand for the shipping>? This has never happened to me beforeplease let me know what is the most comfortable option for you. Thanks. Kev
BATMAN #638 VF/NM Red Hood is JASON TODD! Robin Joker
Batman #638 -
Jason Todd Revealed as the Red Hood!
Written by Judd Winick & Drawn by Doug Mahnke
1 Issue Total (Average Condition: Unread VF/NM)
You are bidding on the Red-Hot SOLD OUT Batman #638, which features the shocking revelation that the Red Hood is Jason Todd! Condition is Unread VF/NM condition.
You Get The Following Issues:
* Batman #638
Shipping is $4.50 (Secure packaging, Priority Mail) for mainland United States.
(Canada and outside USA please inquire before bidding)
I can combine multiple wins, please contact me after auction(s) end.
I accept money orders, checks (7-10 days to clear), and Paypal.
(Confirmed Addresses Only)
Do not bid if you do not intend to buy!!
Payment is due in 10 days. Any questions, feel free to email.
Simon: Oh, all that crap. 'Are you an angel?' Don't make me sick. Also, one thing as a kid I loved and I really appreciated it as a kid was that Star Wars had nothing to do with my life, nothing to do with my planet. Everything was completely alien. Even the cantina music, even though it was jazz, sounded kinda alien. And in the new ones, he's got American football droids on the TV and sportscasters droids and that awful line, 'hey, you wanna buy a deathstick?' Well, it's a fag, isn't it? Course it is. Don't link it to my world!
Kevin: Well, at least he's brought fags into space, finally. First he brought blacks, and then he's bringing gays. It'll be a much better universe.
Girlfriend’s mad at me now because when she was on the phone arguing with her mom I threw a bag of old baseball park style peanuts that you can pick up for free at the weekly downtown farmers market.
So, she was yapping at her mother and I jumped into the room and yelled, PEANUTS!!! And meant to chuck them at her chest but they smacked her in the lip. So now she’s really fucking pissed at me. PEANUTS!!! I rock. Maybe I’ll get a job at Angel Stadium after she breaks up with me. (did I ever post this? Because, fuck - it made me laugh.)
THIS WAS LABELED UNDER "BATMAN" I felt like I found a cold beer snuggled way back in the back of the fridge.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Tri Ta Eata Pi...
It's sorority rush down the street again.
I've been hearing them clip and clop down the street in their heels.
Giggling. Parking their shiny compact cars.
And now screaming and clapping undecipherable white girl voodoo-type chants.
Today, for about five minutes, I entertained the idea of streaking naked by them while they were doing one of their noisy front yard activities.
I was THIS close away from calling a friend to have him wait for me down the street.
But...I obviously didn't go through with it because...I'm not writing this from jail.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Jamal Just Said To Me...
that I should get a tattoo of a Spider Man suit on my chest. Now shouldn't Peter Parker do this? But to his whole body? All he'd have to do is to keep the mask in his back pocket and then he'd be set. He would never need to wear socks, either.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Sometimes you catch yourself being yourself - and you don't understand how you managed to grow up and become a dick. You start to tap your finger against your temples and then stop when brain starts to ooze out.
I feel like a million bombs reproduced at the rate of cockroaches and had an orgy in my gut and have now exploded. All that's left now - are regrets, memories and my two pointy fingers.
This is how I'm typing the drivel that you're reading now. But I'm leaving red blood marks on the keyboard letters.
I don't know why and when I became a wandering Frankenstein. Ask the Doctor. Ask the millions of innocent, little girls with snapped necks that I've left behind in my travels.
I am not a nice man.
I am not a nice monster.
I am not ANYTHING.
Monday, September 05, 2005
I was listening to Jisa Yu Holem Hand Blong Mi...
when Tony called me and told me that he was riding a bike and would be at my house soon. I said okay. The he called me back and said that he ate shit and thought that he was going to go home. I said no, to come. I got in my car and looked for him and then went all of the way around the block. I didn't find him and assumed that he went back home. When I got inside my house - Tony was there. He puked, cleaned up the blood from his elbow and is now talking to fat girls on the phone. I love Tony.