Monday, May 30, 2005



The Battle Of The Bulge...

We need to eat first and then we'll drink more AND THEN WERE GOING TO PLAY KICKBALL.

A Memorial Day, indeed.






Before...

getting home from bartending for almost twelve hours. I limped through the supermarket and bought Gatorade, cigarettes and a Tombstone pizza. I then saw two Coyotes in front of my house. I made hissing noises at them. They both smiled at me. Not moving. So I threw an old Wu Tang Clan casette tape at them and then they ran off.




Friday, May 27, 2005



From Hell...

The keys feel like hard Play-Doh.
Am I finding it hard to concentrate because of the Abshtine/abshthinse/abracadabra stuff of my friends that I drank tonight? Now, trust me - i'm more of the boobt boring type. Only Bud/boring light and maybe the occasional mixed drink combined with the usual madness, but I don't even like taking Aspirin. I've had my fair share of madness back in the exploratory years - but liquor-ish crud never makes the night for me.

But, tonight my friend had some Absithne/abdkdwejkrd. I had alot. Stuff that we can get in America is weaK. i tHINK THAT i WAS BUZZED AND ALL THAT IT MADE ME WAS DRUNKER. TRY TO EXPLAIN THAT TO MY GIRLFRIEND AND MY FRIEND'S GIRLFRIEND. i FELT LIKE THE ONLY GUY IN THE ROOM WEARING PANTIES. i NEED TO TURN THESE CAPLOCKS OFF.

If you don't listen to Atari Teenage Riot or to Alex Empire - then die of your own non-noisy poo.

I will take bets that I'll feel like Atari Teenage Riot tommorrow, though.

I'm finding it hard to concentrate. I want to laugh, write and rip your head off.

So, apparently this crap doesn't work because this is how I normally am.

Absithne be damned.




Thursday, May 26, 2005



Rasputin...

Was hard to get rid off.

but the thousands of nerdy, ding-dong comic books
that I'm trying to sort out in alphabetical order
and that are cluttering every square inch
of my living room -

are even harder to kill tonight.




Tuesday, May 24, 2005



Does Darth Have A Special Robot That Helps Him Pee?...



Anyway. To get the rest of it out of my system and to answer the questions of my ever-loyal and always inquisitive fanbase -

I liked the movie. As much as one can like a Star Wars movie post 1999. The acting was not as bad as I expected. Not as bad as I expected, which means that there weren't as many cringe-worthy moments as the previous two. This is basically the equivalent as saying you didn't bleed as much this time as opposed to the last time that you walked into a dark closet full of knives.

Yoda, like always was way to overdrawn. Yoda also speaks like my Vietnamese mother. For a guy nearing 800 years old, you would think that he'd be able to figure out not only the fine points of The Force - but also the proper placement of certain words in the basic galactic language.

Chewbacca. Unnecessary. Why was he in it? Why Jimmy Smits for that matter. It most be nice to twiddle your thumbs endlessly, to wait for royalty checks from NYPD Blue and to wait for George Lucas to tell you when to come over to stand in front of a blue screen. NYPD Blue Screen.

Natalie Portman was pregnant. Natalie Portman was not Garden State material. She was more like...Vegetative State written and directed by Zach Braff.

Emperor Palpatine/Ian Mcdirmid/Mcdirmid/Macdiarmid/Mcdirmiad/ed was a true joy. He's probably been the only actor who has been a joy to watch consistently - both in this new, darn-fangled trilogy and in the last two films of the previous. This is what you get when you hire English, theatrically trained actors. You get actors who can work with horrible dialogue. If I wrote a movie called Kaka doody poo - Sir Alec Guinness would make everything that I wrote sound like the Shakespearean equlivalent of verbal butter. I am the George Lucas of the Internet. YOU make something of it.

Ewan McGregor capped of his infinite patience with a great performance and impersonation. It's amazing to think that Renton is still Obi. Now take all of that hard-earned cash, Ewan - and spend it on extra protection so that you don't end up killing yourself on one of your friggin' motorcycles. I still want to see you in Porno by Irvine Welsh, Andrew McDonald and Danny Boyle.

And I guess that I just cut off half of what I wrote. Damnit. I wrote about my inability to perceive Samuel Jackson as anything as Jules from Pulp Fiction with no hair in a robe. I talked about hoe Anakin could've even been more evil and how Sith are supposed to be like, the equivalent of Galactic Nazis - so that should make Anakin in this movie akin to the spurned, young painter named Adolph Hitler. Ummm...it was funnier the way I wrote it before.

Damn. What a horrible endnote. Now I can't REremember how clever I was previously. This is how we'll all end up, folks. Trying to be as quick, witty and pleasing as we were before. Much like me, you and George.

I DID love the movies. THIS one especially. I'm just being a nerdy dickwad. It made a lot of money. It made everybody happy. Life will go on. The TV show will come out in 2007. Maybe I'll have a kid by then. I probably won't. I was surrounded by fathers and their sons in the Star Wars lines. I was always with friends. George Lucas'll be dead by the time that one of my bastard offspring'll be old enough to even ASK me Star Wars-related questions. With my luck, he'll tell me that Stars Wars is GAY and that he's only interested in FOOTBALL statistics. GAY.

I think that I ended it before with saying that this was probably my first and will probably be my last movie review ever.

And then I said MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU.

And then I called you NERDY BIRDIES.

Horrible ending, but now I'm too lazy to undo what was undone that I REDID.

Dig?




Saturday, May 21, 2005



Dip Them In A Vat Of Popcorn Butter And Then Kick Them Down The Hallway...

Babies and kids in theatres. On Thursday I had to tell some twelve year-old kids that I was going to rip their fucking heads off if they didn't shut up and if they continued to kick my seat. Today, I told somebody that something was wrong with their baby and then had to console a crying five-year old whose father left him due to a cellphone call.

Yesterday, I vainly tried to help as an older man suffered a major heart attack in front of me at my restaurant. He died.

This is not related to anything, except that my last couple of days have been both boring, annoying, exciting and sad.




Thursday, May 19, 2005



People Are Watching It Right Now...



I'm a big fucking Star Wars geek. Always loved the movie - I'm in my late, late, late twenties...so far...and grew up with an older brother, which helps you get into SW more. Could tell you a million stories about stuff and my recollections, blah, blah...

But why force this kind of crap just because the last movies's coming out?

I can't write or cram a million hilarious, nerdy stories into one night just because ROTS is coming out. I'm watching the damn movie tomorrow. I will be happy. I will get sushi afterwards. I will ask a lot of questions afterwards. My Jedi powers never surfaced, too, by the way.

So FUCK YOU, Palpatine!

Lying, sonofabitch.

You look like shit anyway.

I'm going to bomb the hell out of Toshi Station, just to do it - you bastards.




Wednesday, May 18, 2005



And The Slow Days Do Nothing To Erase The Constant Changes In Your Face...

and he asked himself
quietly
and politely

to
Stop for a second.

what
what's wrong?
don't bother me
I'm busy
y' see?


No. I don't see.
I see what you don't - and more.
This is the reason of my being. I am the outerworldy essence that exists within you. The outsides of your insides that we all hope that you may, one day, spread to others in your outside world.


I'm not really getting what you're saying, man. You seem like a nice guy and all - but...I'm, kinda like, really doin' a lot of things right now, y' know? Maybe I'll have some time later or sumthin'...

No. You won't. I know this, have seen it...lived it. That is why I speak to you now. I see you. Know you. Am you. I am THE OLDER you. The FUTURE YOU.

......really? Wow. Cool. Huh. Ummm...so, are you, like - rich yet?

(sigh).........




Tuesday, May 17, 2005



Racecar Backwards...

Just caught myself not knowing what to say on the phone because I was so distracted with something stupid on the computer and just got home from work early and called somebody but couldn't remember who the hell I called so the recording was blank until I said...uuuhhhhh I don't know who this is - but this is Kevynn and...I know I was calling to play poker, so I hope this is somebody that likes to play. Bye.






Things I Hate To Do...

Why does it seem that I know everybody else a lot better than they know me?




Monday, May 16, 2005



Nothing Compares...To You...



Sometimes, I wanna shave my head. It only happens when I'm drunk. I don't know why. Maybe I look at myself in the mirror and feel ashamed. Maybe the monastic and shamefully anti-bacchanal part of me rears its ugly pun-intended head. Or maybe it's because that my friend Tony has a pair of clippers always lying about in his bathroom and every single time that I'm at Tony's - I'm totally wasted.




Friday, May 13, 2005



Mommy And Daddy...Thanks, Raymi...

That's the second cool band that I've found on her website.

Sometimes you discover the best things when everybody else is sleeping.

Axe-murderers, Owls and The Chupacabra know what's up.

It can make one feel old against the squinting glare of the alarm-clocked LED display when you realize that sporadic moments of creative discovery, loud music and writing madness happen when the next work day looms overhead like Pennywise's true galactic form. Stupid spider.

If that didn't make sense, I'll make it so.

I miss writing on paper.

Enough with missing shit and on to dissing shit.

Enough with submissing and on to the next mission.






And They Should...

carry our bodies down by the river after we die. There, they will bathe us, wrap us in fine silk and then let the slow currents whisk us away. They'll watch until we're out of sight - we might get snagged by a jutting rock or a stray bush branch - then, they'll wade into the cold water and free us from the tangles. They'll hope for unimpeded progress down the river...either that, or a peaceful descent down to the river bottom.

Either way...out of sight, out of mind, out of their hands - into someone else's.

Straight down the middle.

Or a slow descent to the bottom.

Either way is fine.

Godspeed.




Thursday, May 12, 2005



Knights Of The Old Republic...

I type this without my glasses. Without SPECTACLES, which is the Greek god of sight. Without TESTICLES, which is the Greek god of fertility. I am performing The Seven Labors Of Kevycles. But I keep on getting distracted. This is getting easier to do now. Too easy.

Everything is easier to not do now. Should I start worrying?

Even italicizing that one word took effort.

Typing italicizing made me feel triumphant.

Even typing makes me feel triumphant.




Monday, May 09, 2005



I Am Walter Mitty's Lack Of Realism...

Pretty much every Chrsitmas, I would at least, get a couple of records from my dad. The Adventures Of The Lone Ranger, Robin Hood, Disney's Haunted Mansion, Grimms Fairy Tales, Etc.

Mt favorite though, was a record completely narrated by Danny Kaye. He did all of the character voices for storied like The Something Something Musicians Of Bremen, some skit about peas in a kettle, and something about...oh wait-yeah, he did Rumplestilskin too. Tons of stuff, and he was funny. It had sound effects and the whole deal. This is the type of stuff that I would listen too. Swiss Family Robinson, songs, limericks, blah blah.

I would sit in the dark sometimes and just imagine everything that was going on. I would sing. What else was there to do im my room besides listen to crap on the record player and to play with all of my Star Wars Figures.

I think that my father's record gifts made a huge impact on my life. I can think of nothing better for a kid. Sitting and imagining pictures and settings in your head because you want to. I got outside a lot though, so don't be a buttmunch. I had a surprisingly active lifestyle considering how crappy my parent were.

But I DID have a lot of wonderful books, records and cartoons at my disposal when nobody else would pay attention to me. There's no point to this. I was thinking about a title while driving home after bartending tonight. A girl from Days Of Out Lives, one of the guys from The Wonder Years - one of Kevin Arnold's friends shot the shit with me for a while, and my friend who's related to Johnny Carson came in. Different night tonight. But, anyway - as I was driving home from work and then from buying beer that I will probably only drink two of - I started thinking about Walter Mitty and Danny Kaye.

And noe I'm thinking about more beer, a snack and popping in some good background noise while I sleep the sleep of the just.

The I will wake up for the second job at 9 am - and then will utilize all of my Walter Mitty-ness. I will use a common fountain pen's componets to help repair medical machinery to save a mans life. I will think about Batman and Jason Todd coming back from the dead. I will think of the cast of charcters in two screenplays that I've written that I can never get a final draft of. I will be thinking Emperor Palpatine and pricks of the finger on golden spindles.

fafdfdsahjfdsje




Saturday, May 07, 2005



Even Though...

I've lived in OC/LA almost all of my life -

I have no idea where I live.

I don't know cities.

I don't know freeways, I don't know how to get anywhere.

I once tried to go to a AAA (not AA), and wound up at Disneyland.

I always ask about city names and where it is, even though I've been everywhere.

I don't pay attention. Maybe I should. I spent a couple of summers going to the beach all of the time and would now need a Thomas Guide to get there. I get nervous and start to sweat if I end up driving more than twenty minutes.

I have never driven to LA by myself, even though I've driven to San diego, Joshua Tree, San Jose and Las Vegas.

I don't know anything.

Everybody can do things that I can't.

Yet, I've travelled at least through half of the US by myself.

Dichotomous dickhead w/no, or a great sense of non-direction?

Lazy? Yes.

Funny? Yes.

Hopeful? Yes.

Helpless? ALWAYS.




Friday, May 06, 2005



A Paypal Donation Of $2.95 Will Get You...

A personalized secret from me.

This will be something that I haven't told anybody else. Ever.

Hopefully this will not be forwarded or used as blackmail to my girlfriend.

I have a lot of secrets.

Paypal link on the left, lover...hubbahubba

Ten dollars will get you the gay ones.

The link is on the left, bubba...




Thursday, May 05, 2005



I Am The Lonely Creature In The Dagobah Swamp...

The clock ticks by slowly at work. Five pm seems very far away. You think of all of the cool things that you could be doing right now even if you don't actually do any of them when you get home. The grass is always more exciting on the other side of the fence. I have friends who will smoke your lawn. I need to close the door. Somebody turned on the air conditioning. Time to smoke. When I do that - my phone will ring. I bet you. Watch......




Wednesday, May 04, 2005



If You...

Had a boring time at a strip club tonight,

would you chalk it up as a mistake -

or still as a success?




Tuesday, May 03, 2005



Don't Make Me Turn This Car Around...



Okay. That's it.

I think I'm ready to go now.

To your town, country, island, whatever.

I'm ready to leave. Just let me pack some booze and arrange storage rental for my comic books, toys and girlfriend. Not necessarily in that order of preference.

If you want to sell me on why I should move to a place that you know of...

Please - let me know.

Hurry.

Thanks.




Monday, May 02, 2005



I Am...

Not the security guard singing Al Green to himself at 3 am as I was leaving work.

Weird sentence, I know.

Weird, lonely job? Yes.

Worse than bartending? Yes.

Impossible? Apparently not.




Wednesday, April 27, 2005



Peter Porker - Spider Ham...

If somebody sends you an invite to a BBQ in Santa Monica this Saturday and you don't have any idea as to whom it's from? Then you must go. You'll have more fun, or at least there will be a hint of surprise as you're driving there. Who am I kidding? I don't drive far. I think I'll have to ask around - but I get the feeling that I just don't remember the person telling me in person because I was drunk at the time. Big surprise.




Tuesday, April 26, 2005



Fig Newton And The Nature Of Garvity...

I'm getting to be a big bore.

I think that I may have to get so drunk tonight - that I poo my pants.

That should liven things up a bit.




Monday, April 25, 2005



Roaches Have No Karmic Value...

I killed two spiders the other day. One, I felt guilty about and the other - I didn't.

The first fought valiantly. I needed to shower, though. I, at first ran water from the spigot, but the big fucker clung on to the sloped sides with dear life...

fuck - I'm being interrupted...

girlfriend and birthdays parties....

bite me.




Sunday, April 24, 2005



You Ruined My Night, Jen - I'm Going Home...

This is what i just heard. Now Im listening to fat Free Radio. Chris Rock is bagging on The Trenchcoat Mafia. I just got kicked out of the bathroom at Jen's house. All of the girls are naked and talking about what they think is wrong with their bodies. They actually kicked me out. This is wrong. Everybody I have known - male or female has seen every part of my body. My mother hasn't even seen me naked as much as my gal friends. So...I'm offended. Like I haven't seen anything of theirs. I streaked in front of two of them last weekend. Nakednakednaked. One small hand covering one small package. I must stop, because this is not my computer - and feels weird.




Thursday, April 21, 2005



Jason Todd...

If the stupid cat never would've run out in the first place - he never would've gotten his ass kicked. Now he has three functioning legs. This is either sad for the cat, or tempting to a hungry Vietnamese. Or both.




Wednesday, April 20, 2005



Poppies...

I am in limbo, am at my new second job, behind a desk, trying to be productive. Trying not to twiddle my thumbs. The boss is on vacation and I'm here all alone. This is very strange.




Tuesday, April 19, 2005



Who Created Ultron?...



I've never had any idea what I was doing. I've never had a plan. I've never fully dedicated myself to anything. And if I said that I had it all figured out - I was lying.

I hope that whatever I'm doing works because I don't want to be content eighty years from now. I want everything NOW. I want to be floating out on a lake, on a boat. Drunk, sun-burned and singing. Nobody will ever know that I killed her. They would never think to look on the lake bottom. But, I'll keep the head as a souvenir. And if the power goes out in the freezer? Who knows. There are always stores that sell ice, right?

I don't know what that was all about.

You get tired sometimes, sometimes you're too lazy too erase or fix shit - because what's the point? You like it. You hate it. You like it better later, hate it more later, etc.

I killed two spiders today. That seems a bit excessive, doesn't it? One I felt sorry for and one I didn't. I'll explain to you why if you ask me.

I want to stay inside forever. I'm sick of talking to people. I want to be Eric Stoltz from MASK, John Travolta from The Boy In The Bubble and Boo Radley from To Kill A Mockingbird all wrapped up into one. I'm probably a bit more Howard Hughes, though. Just without the immense wealth. doh. I don't know.






Ojo...

am content as an outside cat is when you feed it.




Friday, April 15, 2005



Stan Lee As Willie Lumpkin...

Green lantern. Green Hornet. Green Arrow. All superheros. All stupid names. And trust me, in the nerdy comic book world - there's a lot of them. Even the names that are supposed to sound cool suck. Call me...Deadpool! Lame. Actually, there was an older comic book character name Magnus:Robot Fighter. Now that's okay. It's kind of funny too. Because I automatically know what this guy does. He fights robots. That's what I'm going to say next time that somebody asks me what I do for a living. I'm going to tell them that -

-I'm a robot fighter.

-Ha. Wait...what?

-I fight robots.

-What'd'ya mean, like you build them or something?

-No. You're not listening. I fight them. I'm the best. I don't even need gloves or nuthin' too. Arrgghhh. Beep!

Green Arrow dresses like Robin Hood. Gay. He shoots arrows. GayGay.

Green Hornet. Stupid name. Why a green hornet? Is he sick? Why not the Ass-Stinging Hornet? Sounds more threatening. Maybe the You-Might-Be-Allergic-To-Me-Hornet. More life-threatening.

Now, Green Lantern seems like a nice guy and all. Especially now that they've brought him back from the dead and, but - Green Lantern? First, if you're a normal person then you don't know this guys origin and why the hell he's called that. He powers up his super duper green power ring with a green-colored lantern. Wow. Neat. But if he's named after the thing that he gets his power from, then isn't that kind of like Batman calling himself The Yellow Utility Belt?

Lame. Nerd lame. No spellcheck lame. No nerdcheck.






Tad Hamilton...

I just called myself an "ass-munch" for not putting more cokes in the fridge.

I must be really pissed off.






Me llamo Legolas...

I have an uncanny knack when it comes to archery. Blame it on the dad who was a Boy Scout/YMCA/Army/secret government agency/all-American Rambo. I received an archery set as a kid, I remember - but I don't remember anything else but trying to shoot my dickwad brother with it.

For Xmas, I asked my girlfriend for some arrows and asked for her to string the bow that I got for free from a friend from work. I love her even more because she hung out with fat, white, camo vest-wearing hunters while the work was being performed.

Tonight, I was hanging out with a couple of YOUNG friends that I know through work. Ten years younger. I told them that I was like Legolas. And I am. I can always hit any target that I want to whenever I call it. I have a bale of hay that the girl bought me too. I got six bullseyes out of six tries. That's how gifted I am. I can do this now if you ask me.

I think I'm good. I know I'm boasting, but...

THIS IS IT? I'm good at archery?

Fucking archery?

Not math. No, I don't have a photographic memory. I am not Stephen Hawking's evil twin. I am not Radiohead. I am not Da Vinci. I am talented - but swiss cheese talented.

I can shoot an arrow wherever I want.

This is my luck.

Way too fucking late too.

I am an Idiot Savant.

Heavy on the idiot.




Wednesday, April 13, 2005



Amy The Hutt...

The best type of friend is one that can be birthday-shopped for at the supermarket.




Monday, April 11, 2005



Attention:

World...

Learn how to hold your booze.

Seriously.

I will be holding classes all week.




Thursday, April 07, 2005



The Light That Burns Twice As Bright Lasts Half As Quick...



Or something like that.

Working two jobs. Both a far cry from the other. After I am done training with one job, I'll do the other full time. Both require me to dress up. Both require me to be nice. Both require me to be professional. Both are not writing. Both are not comic books. One will pay the bills and give me more money.

What happened to me dying my hair blue? I miss the days of walking in with black eyes, cuts on my arms, and fingernail polish on my fingertips. I miss the hangovers and the unrememberances of the nights and girls before. Wait - maybe not that. Wait - maybe I do. Not. Do. Not.

I miss The Fonz and how he used to bang his fist against shit to make it work. That was so tough. I also miss Al's Place and watching The Fonz jump his cycle over sharks. I miss french fries.

I think I'm going to quit everything and leave this place. I feel like I stopped wandering around in a dark forest right when a rusty, old bear trap clamped around my right ankle. And as more time has passed, all I can do is to move in slow, painful circles while watching myself bleed to death...

I am waiting for my radioactive spider. I want to be taught the lessons of POWER and RESPONSIBILITY. But then, Peter Parker always has a shitload of problems too, so...crap on that whole deal.

I want to move and sell all of my stuff.
I want to be the guy with the accent.
I want to buy more useless shit. Just new.
I want a lot.
I want a pony.
So that I can kick it in the head.
And then run away and blame it on somebody else.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe I should go.

Maybe I should stop.







Tuesday, April 05, 2005



Ketjak...

So, do you think
that Chewbacca needs
to drag his butt
across the grass
after he poos?

Does he shave down there?




Monday, April 04, 2005



Accomplishments...

I can now honestly say that I have had a beer while watching two friends get married on a cruise ship.
Nice.
I have been constantly drunk since Friday morning.
I need to sleep.




Thursday, March 31, 2005



Nick Fury : Agent Of Shield...



God(s), I'm going to clench my fist tightly together and give you the almighty prayer scoop.

I'm gonna lay out the whole battle plan to you. Grab some coffee and a pillow, stoke up your pipe and take a rest, because you may need to be comfortable for my whole expungence.

I. Me. This person writing the words...is the greatest person in the whole universe. I'm going to be your replacement. Sorry to hear it like this, guys, but - I thought that you would appreciate hearing the bad news directly from the source rather than from an in-between/liason/puppet/robot kind of guy.

Like, I said...sorry, buddies - but, I think that your time has come, I mean - you should of really been gone from here, like years ago, man. Seriously.

You suck at your job. I'm much better at it. Playing the self-serving, wrathful, pretend-to-be-all-knowing, wrathful dude. You must understand this. You must give it up. Go home. Lick your wounds far from here. Just go.

Don't fight back for your position. Give it up. The die has been cast. The cards drawn. Here comes the river card. Checkmate. UNO. Yahtzee. You sunk my battleship. Connect Four. Touche. Tag. You're it. Boom. Bomb. Blast, and BLAH. It's all happening to you, baby.

I think that I'm tired of walking on this yellow brick road!, Dorothy said.

W-w-w-w-what about m-m-m-meeting t-t-the w-w-wizard? said The Cowardly Lion.

Dorothy stopped and said, You never can regret someone that you've never met, and it's best to forget all of the things that haven't happened yet.

And The Tin Man said, If I only had a heart!

And Dorothy said, Yeah....me too.




Saturday, March 26, 2005



Bok Bok...

Tomorrow, when I'm hiding Easter Eggs - they'll all be in my pants.

I will also be looking for treats at the bottom of beer bottles.

And bunnies will be to busy to furiously hump.

The end.




Friday, March 25, 2005



Delete Yourself...

Found my first grey hair tonight.

I wanted to do something special w/ it.

So I ate it.




Monday, March 21, 2005



Older Post Than Thou...

I'm so confused. I just found out that my old grade school has a website. It was a random thought that crossed my mind and one Google search later?...I'm transported back to a time that I remember well, but seem to have forgotten at the same time. There's a picture of the school posted on the site that makes me think of my first day of kindergarten, almost being blown away by the wind in storm when I was in second grade...being a bad boy in sixth...so many memories that would probably bore you to death...I remember how fortunate I was to go to a good school, and I remember how straight-fucking-insane all of the children were in the city that I grew up in. I swear, there must be something in the water because everybody I knew was hilarious, but would kill you in a second. Too much of an overload, I'll tell ya'.

Here's something else...there was a staff list on the website. Most of the names were unfamiliar, but my second grade teacher still teaches there! Yeah, the one who screamed when I opened up the door during that windstorm. I got off of the bus last. It was a horrible, rainy, and windy day. I'm thin now, but back then I looked like a little balloon. I was about as heavy as a kitten. I made the mistake of trying to peek into my older brother's fifth grade class like I always would. The class would wave. I'd make a funny face and the teacher would playfully throw something at me. I started to move towards the windows of my brother's classroom but almost got knocked off of my feet. The big-ass, stupid, adult umbrella that I had, captured the wind and almost carried me away. One foot wasn't touching the ground. I had to hold on to a pole so I wouldn't fly away. I'm serious. I was holding on with all of my strength and could see the laughing heads of my brother's class through the windows. Some were pointing at me. Some looked like they were laughing so hard that they were crying. No one was helping. Visions of Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins went through my head. Did they think I was kidding? I wasn't. I was seriously in danger of being lifted into the air. Everybody would've been really sad if months later they found a thin, little skeleton stuck in a tree somewhere.

I don't know how I did it (maybe I put pebbles in my shoes), but I started to walk to class. I, of course, took the long way around with nothing to duck under. The rain was hard and howling. I tried to make it from pole to pole. My umbrella would flip inside out, I'd face the wind and then it would correct itself. When I opened up the door, it banged open. I don't remember how I shut it. All I remember was the silence. Every head in class turned to look at me. I saw a room full of little mouth "O's". I could hear the dripping of my clothing on the linoleum floor beneath me. Everybody laughed until my teacher screamed, "Oh my god!" and then was promptly arrested for preaching her bullshit religion in my class. No, just kidding. She swooped me up in her fat arms (maybe she wasn't fat, y'know? She could've been normal-sized. Maybe I was just so small that she seemed like a huge ol' fatty. I bet she was quite hefty though. Aren't all grade school teachers?) and put me in some room that I'd never seen before with a washer and dryer and started to take off my clothes!!! She got this weird look in her eye when she started to undo my wet jeans. Just kidding, you perverts! I'll tell church stories some other time. Ha. She took my clothes and put them in the dryer and searched for something for me to wear. I'd kill for a picture of the twenty pound second grader with the Beatles hair, shivering alone in a school laundry room. Actually, you would too, huh? You pervert! NO, SHE CAME BACK WITH AN OVER-SIZED PAINTERS SMOCK! I had to sit in class wearing only a multi-colored, blotchy, painters smock. It looked like something Boy George would wear.

They finally contacted my mother, which scared me even more. My mother was a drunk and Vietnamese-I don't know which is worse. I guess I'm still trying to figure it out, because I guess I'm both right now too. Ha. Yoo reciv petic justuff!, my mom says. See, I've never looked like I was a half-bastard Asian. My fathers strong and stubborn Irish genes kicked the asses of the gook genes that were in my body, so there ain't no slanty eyes on this face. I'm also not devoid in the crotch area either. Thank you, Ireland.

Fuck. Where was I? Oh yeah...drunk, gook mothers. I was terrified that she was coming to school to pick me up. I was surprised too because, she'd never been there before. Was she going to get the class drunk? Two hours later, when she came-I got lucky because they just told me that she was there and I could meet her instead of her coming into my class. She probably would’ve embarrassed me by taking down the address of every classmate of mine and recording the name of their pets. But it might have saved us money on food, so who knows? My little sister was there too. She must have been about...shit; she's four years younger than me. How old is one when they're in second grade? Anyway, she was small and whimpering in the passenger seat when we were driving home. The storm had turned worse. My mother wasn't drunk, but remember...she's Asian. So instead of driving fast and avoiding all of the flying shit all over the place, she drove about ten miles an hour. Everything that was moving through the air was faster than us. I saw a huge tree branch crashing down and fall behind us, blocking the road. My mutha didn't notice. I think she was singing along to The Steve Miller Band. Oh yeah, also? My little sister was probably already taller than my mother by that age.

We made it home and then my mother tried to drink me. End of story.

Sorry about that, ol' chap. I don't know where that came from. I ignored the story about my sixth grade teacher. Not much about him anyway except that he looked like Chuck Norris and would get red-faced furious at me every time that I called him that. I should call him up. I swear! Oh my god! I sound like an adult now; I don't think I have the balls for it. Do I? I want to call him and say, "Hi Chuck!" just like I always used to. I could tell he wanted to bash my fucking head in when I said that. He'll know it's me, won't he? If I did that I wouldn't be able to eat in the school cafeteria now, like I want to. Which leads me to my last part......

One final thing that I noticed on the website of my elementary school was the menu. I don't know why they have that on the site. Maybe it's kind of smart. Kids must dig it because then they could see when the pizza and the grilled cheese sandwiches are being served and ask for junk from home on the other days. Maybe all of the dirty, hippie parents can check up on the menu too, and see when the school's serving something veggie-friendly. Anyway, guess how much a school lunch was when I was a kid? One dollar. Not that bad. You got the main dish, three sides, a dessert, and a milk. The poor kids had a discounted lunch for thirty-five-fucking cents. Dudes, I'm not old. I'm an eighties kid, but thirty-five-fucking cents is the shit. I mean that in a good way. So guess what the price is now? I'm gonna smoke...I'll let you think about it for a while..................
................
......
Okay, I'm back......
.....
THE PRICE IS STILL THE FUCKING SAME! Can you believe that? Is that the one thing in the world that hasn't risen in price? Wow and double-ass Wow. Poor kids can still get a lunch for thirty-five-fucking cents? Who are they sponsored by, McDonalds?

Hail Mary, y'all. I apologize for my vile verbosity.

Vini Vidi Vietnamese.

Good night...




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.







Wednesday, March 16, 2005



Running Of The Vodka Redbulls...

So far, The Rev. KMal has made my girlfriend stand on patio furniture and not able to get down unless she smoked a cigarette with me - thrown bottle caps at the next door neighbors window until he came out, and then sprayed beer all over him, forced him to take a shot of crap that I would never, ever drink. I'm managing to terrorize my house and all of my surroudings. I will get everybody to do what I want until I grow tired of it. Yhis is my plan. I am in the mood. I am cleaning my teeth with my lovely tongue. Tongue is a fun word to spell. I am not drunk yet, but I will get there;. I will make this happen. I want to cause trouble tonight, because I'm Denzel Washington on fire.






Thing I'm Most Afraid Of No. 83...

That when they write about me after I die, they'll say...

'During 1995-2005, he worked various, unremarkable jobs - not really getting into his (fill in the blank here) until kjsahjkhdsjkshdjkhd, etc.'




Tuesday, March 15, 2005



A Puff of Smoke...

Yeah, I make dinner a lot - and it's never for me. I like to cook because it's something to do while thinking non-thinking thoughts...to...do...while you're standing there thinking, I think. I don't like to eat. I hate it. I'd rather drink things instead. Anything. It doesn't even have to be alcohol-based. I just need liquids. I can never NOT have anything to drink by me. Beer seems to be the most fun.

And I'm very proud of myself. I'm so very skinny still. An old bastard with creaking everythings trapped in a dried-out, brittle toothpick tower. Yet, you can pick me up and hear things sloshing around in my head. Where's that come from, you wonder? He's kind of like those African rain sticks that you can purchase at the mall. And then you gingerly set me back down.

I will stay forever like this until the cancers and preservatives start to eat me away like ravenous termites with buck teeth. I am a peeling Mona Lisa. Each bead of sweat is paint thinner.

I am not hungry. I am not hungry. I am not hungry. Yes I AM. I want to split your skull and slurp out everything except your brain. I need everything and want nothing all at the same time. I will not stop. Ever. I do what I want. Always.

There's your goddamn appetite.

Fatty.






Why I'm A Good Boyfriend, Reason No. 5498754376...

Me - (from the computer) Hi honey!

Her - (from the bedroom) I just watched a dsahklshwihwgrblgrh!!!

Me - What?

Her - I just watched a new Good Charlotte video.

Me - Eeewww.

Her - It was actually pretty good.

Me - I hope they fucking die.




Monday, March 14, 2005



Aayla Secura's Blue Boobs...

If I watch the new Star Wars trailer one more time - I will become THE BIGGEST NERD EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.




Thursday, March 10, 2005



You're Eating Maggots, Michael...

So, I almost caught a glimpse of Kiefer Sutherland on Saturday night. Rumor had it that he was around, and he was. After making a bunch of Lost Boys jokes, I left the patio of the bar that I was at and used the bathroom. Of course, two minutes after that-he passed by my friends. Not that big of a deal - but, I think that that was the only chance I ever had for eternal life - and I blew it. Stupid me. But then I'd have to let a man bite me on the neck. Hmmm...worth it? Maybe. I'd let The Count from Sesame Street bith me first, It's hurt less and he's just a puppet. We both have the same skin tone, don't y' know. Isn't that nice. I'd let Alliyah/Queen Of The Damned bite me, though. Dead or not. Blacula's okay too.




Wednesday, March 09, 2005



I Am More Raw Umber Than Your Burnt Sienna...

I bet Crayola stock used to go up
everytime some dummy used the term 'colored people'.




Monday, March 07, 2005



Doombot...



Starting tomorrow/today - when I wake up I will do everything differently than I normally do. I haven't yet, fully thought this through. I am going to act like me in the future coming back into my body now in 2005. I will also treat everyday like it's Opposites Day - that game that we used to play when we were kids. So that means everything that I say should be the complete opposite of something that I would normally say. Also, if I hate doing something, than I will do it more. And if I really love something, I'm going to do my best to ignore it. I'm going to stop this now, because normally I would explain in detail a bunch of crazy ideas that I've dredged up on the fly. But I won't. I need to warm myself up to this...tomorrow's going to be an interesting day. I should just quit my job. I might do some drugs. I never do drugs. I need to start huffing paint. Okay, this is going to be haredr than I thought because already I'm back to my old ways and just typing in things that pop into my brain. I'm confusing myself. As step number one in my FUTURE SELF STEPPING BACK IN TIME - I am going to wake up early and cook breakfast for the girlfriend. I don't do breakfast much, I'm more of a lunch and dinner type. I don't know if I'll recap the differences in the days events or post on progress - I'll just have to see. Curious I be. Hmmm. I'm insane. Experiment starts now. I'm going to bed.




Saturday, March 05, 2005



Dr. Banner Says That There Are Greener Days Ahead...

When you see me out in public and I don't say hi to you, it means that: I was deep in thought, not looking at you, didn't care, was avoiding you, not feeling social, was late to get somewhere, don't remember your name, had sex with you and am embarassed, not wearing my glasses or too angry to talk.




Wednesday, March 02, 2005



Not One Of Independence, But Of Dependent Service...

What used to be the buzz of a million Krynn dragons in my mind, is now a housefly. What used to be an enormous fire, is now an smoky ember. What used to be the rebounding echo of a preying bats squeak, is now the gnat flitting around in the same dark cave. What used to be Voltron is now, just Pidge making Anime faces.

I move in slow motion. You still move slower. The air is electric, but I am stagnant. The doses of pain administered to me are nothing - one can't take more out of the frontal lobe after the initial operation. It's hard to make a lame horse run faster, no matter how hard you crack the whip.

Steve Rogers was trapped in time. He awoke to a different age and adapted quickly because circumstances demanded it. The Vision has been resurrected as many times as Ultron. Comic book characters make Jesus jealous. Jason Todd tried to make a comeback, but couldn't find all of his parts. It's hard to walk, when bits of your flesh deck the hall like boughs of holly. ttralalalalalalalalaaaahhh

Reading Bushido: The Soul Of Japan and Replay by Ken Grimwood.

One deals with the outdated codes and ethics of historical samurai culture and one deals with a guy who gets the chance to relive his life after he's died. This might tell me something. This might tell me that all of the answers to my questions are obvious. That everything that you think you know - you do. That nothing is easy, and anything is only hard - if you care. This might tell me that if I'm so tired, that I need to either give up and have fun, roll with the punches, throw a thematical party now and then and sleep as long as possible, or to train myself not to RE remember how I used to be. Because who the hell wants to be like they were? Especially if we're apparently alive enough to lament about the passing of youth, time, love, money, Thundercats, etc.?

No, what we need is either a slow awakening or our skulls crushed whilst dreaming. There is no in-between. That only leads to more wasted time. I am Luke Skywalker's cut off arm. I am Daniel Ketch on fire. I am the hunger pangs of Gandhi. I am Phillip Morris' pocketbook. Why can't I have the persistence of my pulse? Why shouldn't I fight as hard as my asthmatic lungs? Why fight?

Don't know.






bitches...

I walk the same strip of Lemon Ave.
Everyday on my way
To work
friends of mine
Will drive by and
Honk their horns
Waving
From their windows,
“Hey, Tom,” they yell,
and keep going.
Now, what I want to know is,
If you see me walking
The same damn street
Every goddamn day,
Why won’t you
Pick me up?

I want to strangle their
Skinny little turkey necks.
Bitches…




Monday, February 28, 2005



The Orange County Register...

Just got off of the phone with them - and I figured out a way to make the conversation as nice as possible, besides just hanging up on them...make them laugh. I was telling her how cheap her offer was, and what an amazing deal it was that she was offering me. I told her that I hated her newspaper, and that I have a fear of mulch. I told her that there was no way, ever and what-so-ever that I would ever get another newspaper delivered to my door unless she told me that she was going to kill me if I didn't accept her offer. She said that she wouldn't ever say that. I told her, good. I asked her how the Oscars were and she said that she liked them but eventually fell asleep. I told her that Hilary Swank's dress looked like crap, didn't it? And she said that she liked Million Dollar Baby. I said that she definitely didn't spend a million dollars on her outfit - but I was glad that Charlie Kaufman won for best original screenplay. She said, who? And I asked her if she really watched the awards and she said, No - that she didn't - that she never watches them. I told her that I'll buy her paper when I'm famous and to call me back in 74 years when I am. She said that she would.

And then we hung up.






Then Turn The TV OFF...

It's hard enough to watch MTV when you're awake - but somehow in this last week the TV's been playing MTV all night while I've been sleeping AND LAST NIGHT WAS THE SECOND TIME THAT I'VE HAD A DREAM that involved me hanging out with my friend, NICK LACHEY. Not Jessica Simpson - not even Ashlee Simpson. Just Me and Nick hanging out. And YES, we both had our clothes on, you schmucks. There were also subplots involving a dead pig, jumping trucks over curbs, jet planes that looked like UFO's at first, and a tiny kitten that was bleeding that I eventually ended up naming FLEA.

I will now go back to sleeping to Empire Strikes Back.

Or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Both are better than MTV.




Wednesday, February 23, 2005



Barrow, Alaska...

First Hunter ST dies and now this. My comic book store is closing, going out of business, finito, no mas. Sucks for me, now where am I going to go to get my stupid comics? Waste time after work?

I walked in there today and there were a bunch of other nerds milling about with lost looks on their faces. Fatties were piling up Thor and Captain America statues in their enormous arms. Geeks were whispering to other geeks and telling them to hurry up and come down because action figures and shirts were 50% off.

I was just kind of sad. Nerdy hobbies should be easy and effortless – that’s why alcoholics have it easy because they have hobby shops conveniently located on every corner for their pleasures.

I was talking with a friend the other day about the demise of local arcades, and about how there aren’t any around anymore like there were when I was growing up, when I was young, that’s what you did – you rode your bike to the arcade and comic stores. THEN at night tried to get in trouble – but what do kids nowadays do? Stay at home. They have everything they need. Why go out?

It’s dangerous out there for kids now as it is, so is it better? I’m probably gonna keep my kids at home too. Swimming in public pools in the summer? Somebody might put acid or piranhas in the water. Fly a kite in the park? Might get electrocuted by terrorists who can wield the power of lightning. Kegger parties are okay though, the worst thing that could happen is that your kid gets laid.

Regardless, I’m sad. Tonight I will be tipping my 40oz. Of Old E to the million deaths of the written word and will give a big ol’ fuck you finger to the squashings of imagination and creativity.

Excelsior.




Saturday, February 19, 2005



For Your Consideration...

To remember an important lesson that you had taught yourself before,
but forgotten along the way.

To get it back from wherever you lost it,
and then,
to now,
do more with it.

To give yourself another final try.

To succeed.

To create beauty.

And to beautify others creations.

To have others learn from what you teach them.

To not be forgotten.

To be a beacon for those trying to find their way.

To push everything, constantly.

To be beautiful.

Try to remember.

To do all this.




Friday, February 18, 2005



I Am The Face Underneath The Apple On Top Of Mrs. Burroughs' Head...



I just heard something break. At first I thought that it came from the kitchen. I've craned my neck to see where it came from. It wasn't from the kitchen. It couldn't have come from outside, because the crash was too loud. It couldn't have come from the next room. The cats are right by me. Nothing has fallen off of the shelves. There are no pictures on the floor.

What was it?

Should I get up and investigate?

What broke?

And where did it come from?

It sounded loud.

It sounded heavy.

It sounded valuable.

expensive.

One-of-a-kind.

I can't replace it.

Whatever it was...

It's GONE.

Forever.

I could hear it saying a million, tiny goodbyes.






Baraka...

I would rather swing through the trees of an Ewok village rather than a Wookie one, because as a guest of the Ewoks,I would probably be able to push myself around more.




Thursday, February 17, 2005



Really Makes You...

feel like schmuck when you procrastinate on doing a couple of things and let it go for a loooooong time - and then it takes you ten minutes to do them.




Tuesday, February 15, 2005



Stark Enterprises Whiskey...

Where My Ideas Come From
Filed under: faq— warrenellis @ 2:08 am
I still get asked with appalling regularity “where my ideas come from.”

Here’s the deal. I flood my poor ageing head with information. Any information. Lots of it. And I let it all slosh around in the back of my brain, in the part normal people use for remembering bills, thinking about sex and making appointments to wash the dishes.

Eventually, you get a critical mass of information. Datum 1 plugs into Datum 3 which connects to Datum 3 and Data 4 and 5 stick to it and you’ve got a chain reaction. A bunch of stuff knits together and lights up and you’ve got what’s called “an idea".

And for that brief moment where it’s all flaring and welding together, you are Holy. You can’t be touched. Something impossible and brilliant has happened and suddenly you understand what it would be like if Einstein’s brain was placed into the body of a young tyrannosaur, stuffed full of amphetamines and suffused with Sex Radiation.

That is what has happened to me tonight. I am beaming Sex Rays across the world and my brain is all lit up with Holy Fire. If I felt like it, I could shag a million nuns and destroy their faith in Christ.

From my chair.

See, this is the good bit about writing. It’s what keeps you going. It’s the wild rush of “shit, did I think of that?” with all kinds of weird chemicals shunting around your brain and ideas and images and moments and storyforms all opening up snapsnapsnap in your mind, a mass of new and unrealised possibilities.

It’s ten past two in the morning, and I’m completely wired, caught up in the new thing, shivering and laughing and glowing in the dark. Just as well it’s the middle of the night. No-one would be safe from me right now. I could read their minds and take over their heartbeats with a glare.

Faster than the speed of anyone.

That’s how it works.

(Written in 2003 for the Bad Signal mailing list.)






Count Katsu...

Things are starting to slow down now.
I can finally get back to my normal non-productive self.
I love this, and want to spend the rest of my life doing absoultely NOTHING.

I will make this so.

I will try my hardest to accomplish this.




Tuesday, February 08, 2005



I Would Swap Bodies With You, Stephen Hawking...In The Name Of Science.



But we're both, probably just as skinny as the other - so maybe this isn't as cool for you. You won't get laid more because I know, from what I've read - that you have horrible taste and self-destructive, bad judgement when it comes to the opposite sex. Who woulda thunk it, Steve? You - one of the most brilliant minds since Albert Einstein? Bah! C'mon Steve! This is like me flunking a Spiderman test.

What gives? You can talk to me. My speech, at times, is just as fragmented as yours. We're all the same grains of sand in the cosmic beach, right?

You can talk about Konstantin Tsiolkovsky and I can talk about Jack Kirby.

Let's sip some beers through straws. I can sneak you puffs off of my cigarettes when the scholars aren't looking. We'll take a gander at all of the pretty ladies strolling by us. We'll slowly nod our big heads up and down to the beat of distant music. Nothing can stop us, Steve. NOTHING AT ALL.

WE HAVE JUST BARELY BEGUN TO TAP INTO OUR RESERVOIRS. We've only reached a fine, top-layer of film - It's like scratching the faces off of the first picture of the world's tallest stack of wet Polaroids.

I know that you and me, Steve have a lot of years to live - we're practically babies -and you and me both know that in the grand scheme of things, that nothing exists for any allotted amount of time, except for hot, fiery suns and drying laundry in coin-operated machines. Nobody can tell me when to stop, nobody can tell me when to go, Steven. NOBODY.

Our minds, hearts and souls are our own miasmic and dichotomous beautiful combinations of Big Bangs Theories and Black Holes. Our lives are the only time that small, soft creatures get the chance to play GOD. If dyslexic dogs get to aim high - then I do too.

We have so much potential. Let's show all of the sidewalk worms some rain.

I want what I've had since birth, Steven -

A chance to die GLORIOUSLY.




Saturday, February 05, 2005



Inazo Nitobe…



I was watching Freaks And Geeks via Netflix and decided to have a cigarette in the front yard and brought the newspaper with me. I’m like this when I eat also. I can’t just sit there if I’m by myself. I need to look at something or else I feel like I’m wasting my time. My health? Blah. Time? Ooohhh, so precious

Anyway. Was sitting on a step and reading about ABC and the NEW Mighty Morphin Power Rangers from the calender section of The Los Angeles Times when a car from down the street made a really stupid turn. The car stopped in the middle of my street. I just sat there and stared at them. Then people yelled out my name, so I didn’t have to kill anybody. It was two guys that I work with and a couple of their girls. I walked into the middle of the street and said hey. They either saw me sitting there while driving by and saw me looking like a dork at two o clock in the morning or were going to cruise by my house to see what I was doing anyway – I wouldn’t know and didn't get time to ask because a car started coming in my direction from the opposite end of the street and I needed to stop standing in the middle of it. So, I said later and told the guys that I worked with to remember about poker tomorrow day. They drove away. I walked back inside my house.

The funny thing is that the guys that I work with are 20 years old. 20. I’m far away from that. It’s no big deal. Trust me, I don’t age. When I look in the mirror I look at a guy who looks like he’s in his mid-twenties but fell down a cliff full of heroin needles and baseball bats sticking out of it. I am Peter Pan. I am trapped in time. This is because my mind is always in a constant state of retardation or it must’ve atrophied way beyond all hope of re-growth years ago. I usually forget how old I am – I don’t ever think about it except when I move my legs, bend or stretch. Funny to think though, that I have friends that I hang out with that aren’t even of legal drinking age and my oldest friend that I hang out with is in his eighties.

This means something cool, I think – but doesn’t make you feel too cool when it’s Friday night/Saturday morning at 2 AM and the young one's are out getting back from partying and you’re in the front of your house reading the newspaper OR maybe this means that I was always doing this kind of thing in combination with going out at all hours of the morning. I do still go crazy - just not as much.

Maybe this just means that I felt like a schmuck because I had the bad timing of being out by myself in the front yard when a carload of giggling Unicorns drove by.

Maybe this means that I am the bridge between all generations. Yeah! Maybe I’m like Mr. Rogers. Appealing to the awe-struck young and nostalgiac old.

Or maybe this means that I am very, very GAY.

Goodnight, self.

Goodnight non-spellcheck.

And also, goodnight to my friend that is in his eighties, because I know for a fact that he went to sleep at least six hours ago.

Time for another cigarette.




Friday, February 04, 2005



Sloan Valve Company...

Last night I was driving home after work and stopped at a light, ready to turn left. A guy in his early twenties rode by on a bike and screamed out, "AAARRRRR Mateys!!!"

I jumped a little because, of course, that was the last thing that I expected. There was nobody else around. I had to ask myself if I really heard what I heard but there was no doubt in my mind that he said it. He wasn't dressed abnormally. He didn't have an eyepatch, pegleg or a parrot hanging onto his shoulder for dear life.

Hey just fucking yelled out "AAARRRRR Mateys!!!"

I do not drive a pirate ship. I drive a car. Maybe I had played Pirates with this guy when I was a kid but he was in a hurry and couldn't stop to say hello? I started to smile a little bit and by the time my light turned green, I was convinced that that was one of the weirdest things that has ever happened to me. That whole five seconds. And I think that the guy is brilliant...or insane - or both. Doesn't matter really. Undercover fucking pirates on bikes?

I am now on the lookout for Ninjas.




Wednesday, February 02, 2005



I Somehow Always Arrive Beneath Your Window When You're Dreaming...

And I cant help myself. I tell myself that I'm just going for a walk. I tell myself that it's cold outside and that I should be home doing all of the things that I need to be doing.

It's always the same window. Not always the same night's chill, it's sometimes warm. Sometimes the sweat miasmically mingles in with the just-as-warm tears from my rubbed-raw eyes.

There's no shuffling of my feet because I stand perfectly still. I picture you curled up like a puppy. Sometimes like a dragon. Sometimes I picture you not actually asleep upstairs in that room and in that bed. Sometimes I think that you may be somewhere else.

Sometimes I regret what I'm doing, but don't live in fear of you finding out because I know that even if I was standing in front of you and not beneath your window-

You'd still never even know that I was there.

And how could I care?

I can't help myself.





Monday, January 31, 2005



An unusual pause, just staring at
The table, but not really,
More like seeing through it.


In the last two days I have written something and then erased it because it seemed like I was just writing something topical because of an inability to produce anything at the moment. If that's ever the case, then I guess I'd rather write nothing then. If you're getting paid for it or going to school for it - great. Otherwise, I'd rather just write off of the top of my head than pretend to care about something that comes very slowly. I don't know if that made sense. I'm listening to Crispin Glover sing These Boots Are Made For Walking and it's kind of distracting.

Running around and doing errands today was nice. It was sunny, I had things to do. I was young, everybody else was old and making weird maneuvers in their cars. I floated past them. Nobody pays attention to me anyway. I had a conversation about time with an auto mechanic who washed my windows for free. I saw a small dog with a cell phone attached to his back. I am still puzzled by this. So, does this mean that if your dog runs away - you lose your phone too? Or maybe you're afraid of losing your dog and pack another phone in your pocket and then use that to track him down?
I should've asked, but didn't because the lady looked hairier than her dog.

I think that I can feel myself waking up now. It takes that long. I'm basically asleep until the sun starts to go down. After that I'm fine and friendly. But I DO feel good running around during the day. I am a bit strange for a Southern Californian - I can only take the sun in small increments. I love the water but hate the heat. If I could just combine winter weather and sporadic rainfalls with inner body warmth than I'd be set. I live where I live and I haven't been to the beach in...four to five years or something like that. I've been to the ocean - but that was on boats and yacht thingys - beaches are annoying unless you're by yourself and I keep on meaning to buy a surfboard but...maybe I should stay home and write more instead. The beach can be for later...later, when I'm all big and fat, not recognizable like the Parisian Morrison and a fat Brando combined.

Nice, fat, drunk and insane.

Thanks to Guile for the comment he or she left me and there's your graffiti, dude.







Sharon Carter And Red Skull Return...

Everybody asks me to go out after I'm done at the bar and I usually shrug them off and politely decline. Then I get home and want to go. But then I would never go back out once I'm comfortable. And then tomorrow, when I call everybody - they'll all be working. And I'll do nothing. The end.




Friday, January 28, 2005



As Promised In My Last Comment...A Guest Post By---

The University Of Phoenix ---

Is your new year's resolution to finish that degree? Find out how to get started!

The cost of tuition is a barrier to earning a degree for many adults, but there are a number of ways to make it affordable. Learn How .


People on campus
This Month, meet online graduate Donna Doyon. Take a moment to meet her. Also, we introduce University of Phoenix Online instructor Steve Boylan, who somehow manages to teach while serving in the Army from Iraq! Read his incredible story here.




Thursday, January 27, 2005



All Comic Book And Music Nerds Must Make Themselves Happy With All Of This Stuff...



I now have twenty minutes to get ready to go out I've been told.

But what I really want to do is to continue sitting here in front of this stupid machine and to sell nerds my stuff. This means you. And what's sad about the whole affair is that if I was a nerd sitting in front of a different stupid machine - I would probably buy some of my own shit. This is the cyclical snake butt biting eternal problem, boys and girls.




Tuesday, January 25, 2005



Cassady VS. Bukowski...

I wish that people still found poetry readings interesting. Or poetry and poets for that matter. But nobody does anymore. I would like to be a professional poet. I would like to list that as my occupation. POET. Nobody would snicker. Nobody would think of Langston Hughes, Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman. They'd equate me to the young Kerouac, to Michael Madsen, to Ender Wiggin.

I wish that they would give gift bags full of poetry at The Oscars. Tsunami victims don't need poetry, but Hollywood does. I wish that the United States recruited poets as diligently as they do young, poor males to enlist in the armed forces.

I wish that Marvel published monthly poetry comics about super heroes.

I wish that delis wrapped their sandwiches in wax paper with poetry printed on it.

I wish that MTV actually talked about lyrics.

I wish for TV reality shows based on drunken poets.

I wish that Gary Coleman wrote a book of poetry called Whatchoo Writin' Bout Willis?

I wish that every New York Times Bestselling Author was required to include a mini book of poetry in their novels, because I want to read The Da Vinci Code in Haiku.

I wish we could all sit around and read to each other by candlelight like we used to back in the day, coming home at the end of the night buzzed with beers and words and sleeping the good sleep. Dreaming the dreamy dreams.

I wish that nobody ever invented the term SLAM poetry, unless it involved a reading with Michael Jordan or that old rap group ONYX.

I wish that somebody would publish the thousands of pages of the poetry that I now have rotting away in boxes in the garage.

I wish poets and teachers made as much money as J-LO or somebody equally as undeserving as that.

I wish that Microsoft would include MICROSOFT POETRY to OFFICE.

I wish that you write something tonight and cry while you do it, either because it's really, really beautiful or really, really bad.

Same thing, I think.

Snap your fingers you smelly beatniks.

coo coo




Sunday, January 23, 2005



Oak Mot...

Today is my friend Baxter's birthday. This means that he's really old. This means that I got up early to go to brunch. I don't do this too often anymore because I have absoultely no appetite and because I'm such a lush - I end up drinking way too much champagne and end up all sleepy-headed pooey by evening. I'm a night owl, don't try to feed me mice whilst sleeping, dig?

I have to get ready to bartend now. Which makes no sense. I am buzzed and tired. I should be watching a movie in bed. I miss my old Sundays. Why do I write like a kid at summer camp does to his parents? Miss you lots. XXX

SO.

In honor of Baxter's berfday I give you this thing right here.

Goodnight.




Saturday, January 22, 2005



Just Say No To Skateboarding Recklessly For Years...



And to broken ankles that never mended and to tiring employment that requires you to walk around for thirteen hours non-stop. Because when you're as young as I am and you shuffle around like an 80 yr-old man, when you wince as you slowly limp up stairs - when you have that peg-legged pirate strut - you feel like a joke.

hahahahahaha?

Not funny.




Tuesday, January 18, 2005



The Hammer Of Ishmael Versus The Skull Of Randall Flagg...

I have about 348 things that I want to get done tonight. It's 11:38. Close to midnight, and now I can finally relax. And therein lies the problems, my sweet children...because that means that I probably won't accomplish SHITE.

But I did type something. That's one thing, at least. And I showered. Read three comic books. Smoked twice. Have had two beers. Something? No. Not really. But that's fine with me because Hemingway wrote like a horse and ended up shooting himself down like one eventually.

That was mean.

I'm sorry, Ernest.

Wait - no, I'm not. Ernest, you fucking dumbass.




Monday, January 17, 2005



When I'm Famous...

I still will have this BLOG. But I'll just be totally high while I'm writing it. That totally makes no sense - so...yeah. I guess I should've said something like...oh forget it. I'm not famous...and I said...BLOG. And I totally said TOATALLY like, a lot.

Oh. And if they like, gave out bombs instead of golden statuettes at the Golden Globes - then, I bet the acceptance speeches would be a lot shorter, huh?




Saturday, January 15, 2005



We'd Like To Help You Learn To Help Yourself...

last nights brilliant dreams and ideas
still unforgotten today
but all it will take
is a little more time
or a good nights rest
to forget how smart you were





Wednesday, January 12, 2005



Does anybody know how to view what programs you have running on your computer at start up or whenever and then how to turn some of them off? I think that I used to remember how to get there before - but have now forgotten. My computer has been progressively running slower and slower as time has eked on. Combine the sluggishness of my computer with my inabilty to focus on anything for more than five minutes and you get an ABSOLUTE ZERO GOOGLEPLEX of everything and nothing. I have a PC and use XP. Thank you. TLA...

Yoda Was Smart To Stay On Dagobah...

"What the hell is she doing?" Kevynn asked. Taking another drag from his cigarette.

Dee squinted through the rain at the girl across the street. A white car had its emergency lights on and was parked off to the side of the busy street. The girl was pacing back and forth and mouthing into a cel phone.

"I don't know...maybe she's in trouble." Dee whispered.

I'M TOO LAZY TO GO ON AND TYPE THIS LIKE THIS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING ANYWAY, BECAUSE ITS A SUCKY IDEA...

So. We were in front of the house having a drink and waiting for Cartoon Pig and his girl to come over. We were going to grab some late-night appetizers and drinks at whatever place would still be doing dinner at 11pm.

I ran over to the girl in the rain and asked her if she needed help. She had hit a dog and was crying hysterically. I live across the street from a park, which is nice. There can sometimes be a lot of traffic, though - which is not. People need to slow the fuck down. This means YOU. Be good. Pay attention whilst driving. Put down your stupid-ass cel phone. Be careful.

I ran back to the house and grabbed some plastic bags, a blanket and a flashlight and then walked out into the street. I picked up the dog. He was tiny. Cute. Like a black and white-colored chihuahua mix, I think. Breath expunged from its mouth. I hoped that this was a good thing and not because of the last remnants of oxygen in its lungs. I placed the dog under a tree and checked it for injuries. The eyes looked like they were opening and I thought that I heard a couple of faint noises or whimpers as I talked to the now-apparent girl dog.

My girlfriend started crying.

The other girl started crying.

Time passed as we gave the girl support and condolences. As we were waiting for Animal Control to show up – we heard a crash from down the street. It was one of those dull, metallic, empty thuds that means a car accident.

Dee suggested that maybe I go down the street to check it out. I thought that it was farther down the street and I wanted to keep on petting the-now-I-thought-dead dog.

After the nice lady from Animal Control came and after we gave hugs to the crying girl who hit the dog and after we had warmed up and after Cartoon Pig and his girl came – we drove down the street to go eat. About a three minute jog where I had been standing shivering with my dead dog friend was one overturned SUV and two smashed cars. Glass everywhere. I didn’t look for bodybags. It started to rain harder.

Then I had a 10 oz. Filet mignon with Bleu Cheese and gravy, mashed potatoes, veggies, garlic bread, a Coke and six beers.

And then I went home.





Friday, January 07, 2005



Flair And Trying To Fall Down The Stairs...

Whatever you do...if you aren't already mired in it...

Don't you ever.

EVER.

Work in a restaurant.

There are only two emotional options that working in this industry allow:

killing others
or
killing yourself

That's it.

Flo from Alice and Shirl from What's Happening don't really exist.

Bartenders and waiters are hummans on The Planet Of The Apes.

I'm done.

Thank you and enjoy your meal.




Tuesday, January 04, 2005



mememe...

So, out of all of the things that I wanted to write today - and after all of the hours that've passed - out of all of the things that I've been doing and not doing - out of having one great conversation while I was bartending last night with that one dude that pops up once every six months and looks sad and tired...

I forget it all.

Well, I actually started remembering things now that I started to write this - but I can save the good stuff and just leave the dregs here. Dregs are parts of uneaten eggs, I think. And if they aren't I think they should be called that - and I will start calling them that from now on. I can make these things happen just by saying it. That is how powerful I've become.

I write like Yoda. This is how lazy I am, yes?

I will not spellcheck because time is precious. Because idle time on the computer leads to hours of pointless perusals on Ebay. It leads to email checks that lead to sex sites. Leads to the anti-Oz.

I tried to wake up early today. I woke up earlier than usual. That's better than nothing. I remember waking up at four and eating pizza, chips, candy and drinking a coke. Yes. I did. Watched something that I forgot, but I think that it was good. I went back to sleep when the sun started pekking out through the recently ever-present rain clouds. Couldn't go to breakfast with my girl because I was gorging while she was dreaming. Sucks, huh? I sound like a closet bulimic.

What the hell did I do today? Was on the computer sporadically through the day - accomplishing nothing. I read way too much useless crap. Watched some Star Wars nerdy stuff with Tom. Went to Target and bought a bunch of crud for the house. Looked at pictures from New Years - remembered taking about half of them.

Cleaned a bit. Did odd jobs around the house. That sounded weird. Sounds like I get paid for doing chores. I don't. Maybe that's why I don't do much around the house usually. Called my father because it was his 70th birthday. He said that he didn't feel old until today. I told him that I felt old. He told me that I wasn't. I told him that I was. Sort of.

I listened to new cds. I am bored of them already. I watched all of the extras from the Garden State dvd and I think that I ruined my potential home-viewing of it because now I remember everything about the movie that I saw when it was in the theatres.

I think I will post a picture now. Tell mom not to worry. Don't forget to write. Be good. KIT. TLA. BFF. MLF. Signing out. Vote Kerry.




Friday, December 31, 2004



Thank You, Chris...



I didn't want to go to a strip club tonight.

Thank you for paying for the cover charge.

Thank you for the money for the lap dances.

Me and my girlfriend thank you.

Really.

She was hot.

Thank you.

No. Really.

Thank you.




Thursday, December 30, 2004



Govinda...

Internet. Waste of time. Sometimes I don't like you. You look good, smell good, give to charity - but you're a filthy whore. Selfish. Loafing. Lazy good-for-nothing. Sucking up time and laughing at me. Distract me. Waste my life just like everybody else when I should really be visitng my friends Blue Pen and Notebook. I've dome nothing useful on you, you bitch - except for this thing. And it only seems like a semi-accomplishment because of it's enormity. Kind of like how a pile of trash isn't impressive - but a landfill is.

Leave me alone, Internet.

Go back to Al Gore.




Monday, December 27, 2004



Reason Why I'm A Bad Boyfriend No. 4764343...

Girlfriend was feeling depressed because of her period, tsunami coverage on TV, a special on The Holocaust and a program about mutant children growing up around Cherynobyl.

So I took the remote and started channel surfing, trying to find something better for her to watch. I eventually settled on a National Geographic program about Crocodiles. Good stuff.

Just in time to watch a baby bird fall in the water, try vainly to swim to shore, only to be eaten by a Crocodile.

I will now throw things at her head to improve her demeanor.




Saturday, December 25, 2004



My Best Christmas Ever...



Might of written about this before. I know that I have, but I think that it was in one of my notebooks. Maybe I wrote about it in a magazine or school paper. Somewhere.

Back in the day. When I was young. When the top of my head probably came to my fathers hip - my father and I went down the street to the Xmas tree lot. This was a REAL lot. One of the ones where you actually picked a tree and a bundled up gnarly neanderthalic man sawed it off for you and lugged it to your car. Not one of the drugstore parking lot lots. Something that you didn't do in combination with grocery shopping.

It was cold. But Southern California cold. So that means, like...60 degrees. My father and I had trudged deeper and deeper into this mini-forest looking for a nice, full tree to take home. I don't know where my older brother was. Probably playing Atari or watching football. Definitely not dating girls. My brother was a very late bloomer.

We found one. Not a girl or a late bloomer, but a great-looking tree off in the distance. Looked huge to me. Gigantic. As we approached it, I realized that my father wasn't around anymore. He was behind me, crouched down on one knee and had his hand placed on something by the ground. I crunched back to where my father was and heard him speaking in a strange voice. A tiny, soft voice. My father's eyes were misty. He had stepped on a baby rabbit. It was probably no bigger than my hand and was jerking spasmodiacally on a blanket of pine needles. My father was softly saying that he was sorry. I'm so sorry, so, so sorry...

I kept on looking back from the dying baby rabbit and to my father's now alien face. I couldn't figure out what was more of a shock to me - the little thing dying before me or the glimpse of actual emotion on my father's face.

My father eventually barked an order at me to KEEP ON GOING. I did, because he was my father. My father told me to not stop looking back. I did, because he was my father. I didn't ask any questions. I did, because he was my father.

We got our tree.

Do I remember how it looked that year in the livingroom?

No.

Do I still remember that tiny, twitching rabbit?

Yes. Perfectly.

Best Christmas ever?

Yes.

Why?

Because I'll remember that one for the rest of my life.






I Was Excited...

When I heard that a show called ANIMAL COPS was going to be on Animal Planet. But...alas, the show didn't feature Bears or Kangaroos arresting other animals - it was about humans arresting Vietnamese families for eating their pets or something.






That There. That's Not Me. I Go Where I Please...

Merry Pippin Astrid Lindgren Dolph Hitler Or Mistletoe Jam On It by Stephen King of all media mail female outlets Millers Outpost its a girl! power to the people are strangers in the night rider micheal jackson browne stone cafe press this button red skelton crew J-lo down dirty crooked finger masturbation.




Friday, December 24, 2004



Or Like When I Leave The Grocery Store Without My Groceries...

Or like right now. Getting to my front door and realizing that I left my keys in my parked and still-running car.




Tuesday, December 21, 2004



In My Optimus Prime...



They say that it's good to take a different route to work every day. To help break the tedium. To ease the monotony and to quell the ever-impending sense of doom that usually accompanies your blurry-eyed early morning car journey.

So I took a different way this morning. No big deal, It was just a right turn later than the usual one I take. I usually don't take this one, though. On the left side of the street is a very cute, very Melrose-y Place-y looking apartment complex. Across from it is a convalescent home. It must be occupied with a lot of non-ambulatory guests because not once have I seen an old man or woman basking in the sun or one sneaking the occasional-not-encouraged cigarette under a dusty awning. I've seen a lot of ambulances and firetrucks in the past when I've gone down this street. It must be sad to live across from it - Melrose-y Place-y place or not.

This morning when I made my right turn, I immediately stopped because a firetruck partially blocked my path. I slowly squeezed by an oncoming car and saw another parked firetruck, and further down, an ambulance. I tried not to look, to see what the commotion was - expecting the worst. As I approached the ambulance I saw an Emergency Medical Tech guy wheeling a very old man in a bed towards the ambulance. The old man had tubes all around him and some stuck in his arms and some up his nose and the old man had no hair and his right arm was curled at the wrists and fingers joints almost straight up towards the sky. Kind of like an almost FUCK YOU gesture to the gods that really didn't pan out towards the end. I don't think he was dead because he wasn't covered up. I felt sad and turned my attention back towards the road.

Not a good way to start off a workday, I thought to myself.

So as my heart was trying not to feel sad, my eyes fell upon the chainlink fence from the Montessori Private School for young kids that borders the convalescent home. A small alley separates the two enormous buildings. Kids are always playing, throwing things around and probably hatching diabolical plans to technologically change the world as we know it.

But not this morning.

I saw five small children with their fingers curled and crooked in between the little diamonds of the chainlink fence. All silent with little gaping O mouths. They stared. I did too. My heart hurt again. I eventually passed. I hope he didn't. Maybe I do.

Just...those kids, man...seeing that at school...

How typical, Kev - Gee, you couldn't be anywhere else at this moment except here right now? My voice said...

But then I thought that it seemed somehow fitting that a man/boy such as myself happened to be cruising right by at that moment and happened to see the epitome of age followed by the innocence of youth. How I was just this ever-thinking voyeur floating between life and death. Always. Typical me situation. Caught between growing up and caught between going down.

For the rest of my car ride, I figured out all of the answers.

I did. Right there in the car.

Wait. No, I didn't.

I never will.

And that's what I figured out.

And that's the answer.

Both sides died a little that day.

Both sides moved on a little.

Only to grow a little bit more tomorrow.




Wednesday, December 15, 2004



Nigella's Kind Of Big...But Sexy...

Best way to decorate for my girlfriend's berfday extravaganza this weekend - and considering that she's like, the best decorator and party planner EVER? Best way is to buy a crap load of the cheesiest and most NON-thematic party store poo ever. AND anything printed in a foreign language makes this even better.

Oh. And I've recruited help. Girl help. I will be drinking and trying to look like I'm in charge.

My version of decorating is...last time that we had people over, I passed out decks of cards to everybody and we spent the next hour throwing them at each other.

This is why I need a decorating show on tv. Right fucking now.




Monday, December 13, 2004



And you will find a fortune - though it will not be the fortune you seek......




...But first, first you must travel a long and difficult road - a road fraught with peril, uh-huh, and pregnant with adventure.




You shall see things wonderful to tell. You shall see a cow on the roof of a cottonhouse, uh-huh, and oh, so many startlements...





...I cannot say how long this road shall be.






But fear not the obstacles in your path, for Fate has vouchsafed your reward.





And though the road may wind, and yea, your hearts grow weary, still shall ye foller the way, even unto your salvation.







Friday, December 10, 2004

Wednesday, December 08, 2004



The Figures And Measurements Offered In Figure 16 Are Compilations Of Several Tables Showing "Ideal" Weights; They Are Not Meant To Be Absolute, Since There Is At This Time No General Agreement As To What Normal Weight Should Be. If Your Weight - According To Your Age, Body Build (See Figure 17), Height And Sex - Lies Within The Range Of 20 Percent More Or Less Than The Suggested Figure, It Can Be Considered Usual. For Example, The Ideal Weight Of A 45-Year Old, 68-Inch-High, Medium-Body-Framed Man Is Listed At 150 pounds, But Any Weight Between 120 pounds And 180 Pounds Could Still Be Listed Within Normal Limits...

To have fingers that smell like chimney smoke and can't be washed fully of its odor, I guess is much better than many other smells that can replace it.

And now, the refugee cat is trying so hard to get that plastic water bottle cap behind me. He's trying so hard. If I could, somehow, tap into its reservoir of diligence and somehow transfer it into my human body - The wonders I could do for myself! But cats are cuter anyway. And all of the pretty-looking folk usually get all of the breaks.

I used to conduct imaginary interviews with myself in the bathtub when I was a kid.

Now that I'm an adult, I perform self examinations on my various, cancerous bodyparts instead.

No more praise.

Only prognosis'.

Lacuna, Inc. could make me forget the past, but I would only end up repeating it.

Traveling back in time wouldn't help either. It'd only make Doc Brown exclaim, "Great Scott!" more often.

Girlfriend just interrupted my train of thought with her slippered feet and a question about Christmas decorations. She was holding up two things made out of that...what do you call them? That fuzzy little wire that we used in grade school for art projects? Looks like little pipe cleaners? Kinda like tiny caterpillar antennae?

Do you know what these are?

(Me, stopping typing. Trying to stifle an exasperated sigh)

Yeah. A Christmas tree and an ornament.

(Her. Pleased)

Oh. Good.

(Me, looking back at the computer screen and realizing that the one sentence answer to all of life's questions that I was about to type - has now left me and flown to warmer climates.)

Or it could be a sideways angry mouth and a sperm. Or it could be a fat lightning bolt and an escaping balloon.

She frowns and leaves the room.

Whish Whish Whish go her slippered feet.

Wish Wish Wish goes my slippery mind.

Days and opportunities escaping through my hands like Salmon.

Today.

Tonight.

Forever.