Thursday, December 29, 2005



Bees Make Honey. Cows Make Milk. Couples Make Babies. I Make Messes…

For 29.95 you can have unlimited calling to my heart, and for just 9.95 more –I get unlimited access to your pants.

My head is burning up. My brain feels like last nights charred campfire remains. If I shake my head around a bit, little flame tips poke out of my ears.

Two of my fingers on my right hand – the ones that you make a “Peace” sign with – are numb. Am I having a stroke? Or is this God’s way of telling me to stop being a Hippie?

The Chinese are starting another Space Race. Bin Laden’s hiding in a cave on the moon. Jason Todd and Bucky shower together. Ra's Al Ghul bathes with The Cosmic Cube.

You give me everything.

I give you nothing.

This is how it works.




Wednesday, December 21, 2005



Jesus Gave Me A Twenty Dollar McDonalds Gift Certificate And A High Five...

Christmas would be a lot more fun if people were only allowed to give each other only certain things. Like, you would only be allowed to pick gifts that fell under certain categories like:

WILD ANIMAL
ROBOT
DISGUSTING, YET STILL INTERESTING PORN
EXPLODING THINGS
SMELLY
DEAD




Monday, December 12, 2005



Deus Ex Machina Piece Of Crap...

Writing will be infrequent due to my computer always shutting off by itself whenever I try to start it up. I guess I need to have it looked at. Geez, take the TV instead.




Wednesday, December 07, 2005



Ten Years Ago I Was Jumping From Moving Cars Onto Front Lawns And Hurting My Ankles...

So I guess my type of activities hasn't changed much even if I have a little? Maybe this means that I've been drinking for too long? BUT, I did used to hurt myself sober also. I used to climb tall things and then fall off or have friends hold me over great heights for no reason. I used to sleep with random psychotic women. I'd always be bandaged up because of doing something impulsive and stupid. Not with the women, I meant. Well...maybe that too, I guess.

So, if I were to ask the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO what he thought about the ME FROM NOW - what would he say? Would the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO be so disappointed that he commits Hari-Kari? Would he vomit all over his horrible Hawaiian shirt? Would he hit me over the head with his Coors bottle?

Or would it all make sense to him? Seriously. If I sat down with the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO, would everything that I’m doing now make sense to him? Most of the same friends, living relatively in the same area, five year relationship with an amazing girl, drinks too much, still thin, still collects comics, talks too much, writes a bunch of crazy and useless crap on the computer, two jobs that both suck…

Would ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO be disappointed?

Nah, I guess not then, huh? There’d definitely be some things that surprise him but overall I don’t think that I’m doing anything today that is totally out of the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO’s future predictions or speculations.

Now…is this a good thing? The fact that I can’t overwhelm or surprise the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO with what I’m currently doing? Yes, I am going skydiving next week – but that doesn’t count. That’s not like living in a farmers hut in New Zealand studying ancient Hobbit Dung. It’s not being a personal assistant to Joel Silver's personal assistant.

So…is this kind of …sad? Does this mean that these last ten years have been a series of very small adventures, joys, misfortunes and accomplishments as opposed to drastic and bold changes of life?

Am I walking like a foot-bound China Man instead of taking Yeti-like strides?

I guess the ME FROM NOW will have to be asked this by the ME FROM TEN YEARS INTO THE FUTURE. Heh. Who knows? Maybe he won’t even bother to ask me anything. Maybe he won’t care. Maybe he’ll be too successful to spend time questioning past choices. Or maybe he won’t be around to ask, if you get my drift.

Anyway…so if I was TEN YEARS OLD and then asked the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO from back then these same questions…would I have to ask them by shouting into the crotches of my parents?

Just wondering.




Monday, December 05, 2005



The Hands...

of tragedy have big, fat, fucking sausage fingers.




Saturday, December 03, 2005



Dead Like Me...

So, I confirmed my skydiving trip. In nine days exactly I will be plummeting to the earth after ejecting myself from a plane. I will also be shitting my pants and screaming like a weaned-but-still-wanting-to-be-breast-fed-by-mom-Maddox-Jolie.

This will hopefully, be one of the smartest things I've ever done.

Next to marrying my life partner, Danny, of course.




Thursday, December 01, 2005



An Ambitious Lucifer Morningstar Creates A New Cosmos Modelled After His Own Image...



Attractive lady with a kid stopped by my office asking for my help to find a medical office somewhere in the building. First thing I did was make an obligatory cheesy joke, worry if she saw the comic books by the stapler and then get up and trip over my lunch that was on the floor by my feet.

I showed her a couple places that could be the office that she was looking for. The whole time trying to help her out even though I know absolutely nothing about everything and everybody that works here never talks to each other anyway. But what am I supposed to do? Say, “Sorry, I’m relatively new to this complex and I’m still unfamiliar with this place. You can use my phone if you would like, to help you find the location that you’re looking for better?” Perish the thought that I would ever calm down for anything and think things through. Perish the thought that I would not come across like a big dork. Dorkdorkdork.

Her kid was making fart noises with his mouth. I was leading her in the wrong directions. Nobody was remembering about Afghanistan. Nobody was caring about the kidnapped Panchen Lama. Farts and wrong directions. Fartfartfart. We just wandered around until she struck out on her own again. I am writing about this for no other reason than to say that I’m a bored penis and that tripping over my lunch was the only funny aspect of this long-winded story.

Oh, and the medical office that she was looking for is…three doors down from mine.

Goodbye.




Wednesday, November 30, 2005



The More That I Talk To You...


the more that we'll argue
so I won't
talk
not argue

I wish that we could talk
like the other people do
but that would mean
that we were just like other people

so
if I had a choice of
us
not being able to communicate as well as we should
versus
the communicative bunch of guttural cows
then
I'd rather be the one who stirs the stew
than
be the main ingredient of it




Friday, November 25, 2005



Miyagi Walks...



Girlfriend's talking to me about shopping sales.

I'm pretending to listen.

I think that I was going to talk about Captain America, Hitler, The Red Skull and Kanye West.

The Red Skull hates black people.

Today in almost-gonna-take-a-nap-before-work shift-no.2-world, I was nippy-eyeing a gossamer image of Mike Myers on the television and realized how uncomfortable he must've felt during the Hurricane Katrina telethon. Even though Kanye was wearing his heart in his vocal chords - and even though I loved that he was speaking the truth - it was still fucking funny. Too bad I never came up with the idea of being Kanye West and a friend being Mike Myers for Halloween. All we'd do all night is just stand by the keg at parties and play out that bit. I'd stutter, "George Bush hates black people" as Jocks would try to elbow me out of the way to get to the keg tap.

"George Bush hates black people."

Girl would ask me what I was supposed to be for Halloween.

"George Bush hates black people."

Host of the party would punch me in the face for sleeping with his girlfriend.

"George Bush hates black people."

Cops would show up.

"George Bush hates black people."

Puking afterwards.

"George Bush hates black people."

Why don't I have a keychain thingy that says, "George Bush hates black people?"

Napoleon Dynamite? Feh! Kanye West, baby!

That or Pat Morita.

"Pat Morita hates black people."




Wednesday, November 23, 2005



On 11/25/05, I Will Be Asleep In A Cryogenic Tube Dreaming About Koi Playing Lazer Tag To The Mos Eisley Cantina Jazz Ditty...


Buy Nothing Day



UPDATE: I suck. The end. No, wait - there's more...If the pic doesn't show up above, I'm not gonna change it because I'm unmotivated and technologically inept. So, the red, little cross in the box thing's as fancy as it's gonna get. Question, though...Does buying something on EBAY count? Does prostitution count? Poker? iTunes? Blargh? Feh? Meh? Blah? Oi!






Fight Club...



Fight to stay awake.
Be a cordial host.
Laugh at jokes.
Offer cocktails.
Constantly clean up.
Do not pass gas.
Do not collect $200.
Go directly to jail.

Fight to stay awake.

Be a cordial host.




Monday, November 21, 2005



A Safe Bet...

If you want to get on a bartender's bad side - come to his bar after a major sporting event. Make sure you've had a lot of drinks, yell about statistics for hours and make sure that you tell me repeatedly that you're hungry, even though the bartender isn't serving food.

Okay? Thanks.

GO CHARGERS!!! WHOOOOOO!!!! BELCH! FART! WHOOOOO!!!!!




Thursday, November 17, 2005



Found In A Notebook...

Sometimes I'm jealous of the Helen Keller-types.

The deaf might have it easy because at least you know that the only voices that you're going to hear in your head are your own.









Mars...

So dry today
feels like fiery chopsticks up the nose
eyes like wrinkly prunes
it's too bright
my head is the sun
my brain throbs one supernova a second
my mouth is moist like compost

Mars in November




Tuesday, November 15, 2005



For all of you political junkies...

Kenneth Starr came in to my work today. Wheee! I stole a couple of his french fries before he got his food too. Seriously, if Elvira or even Charo came in - I would've been more excited. Every politician just looks old and white. Oh wait...they all are old and white, huh?




Monday, November 14, 2005



That Means You, India...

Next time I'm on here, I'm going to ask all of my creepy lurkers to tell me who they are. Foreigners, of course, creep me out even more than my usual gang of piggy Americans. Prostitutes intrigue me also.

Just because.






And I Watched Oprah Too...

Farting in the office.

Not a good idea, Kev.

Hi boss!




Saturday, November 12, 2005





I took a Cab Van with a bunch of friends to a birthday party on Saturday night. The GPS driving screen thing inside the van was impressive. The Tom and Jerry cartoons playing on the dvd player were also, but you wanna know what really impressed me about the whole ride?

The Debbie Gibson that the cab driver was playing and then proceeded to turn up even LOUDER as we got noisier.

Debbie Gibson. Seriously. The driver could've turned around and then vomited blood all over the front of my jacket and I still wouldn't of been as thrownback as I was upon hearing Ms. Gibsons horrifically nostalgiac Electric Youth-y voice.

So, I got drunk. er.






Tasslehoff Burrfoot...

so
you sit here STARING
duh
arghh
what are we all doing
wasting time
and eating preservatives
prolonging the inevitable
ingesting empty calories
getting fat full of nothing

while we waste away




Thursday, November 10, 2005



Attention: Self

By the time you read this - you will be drunk.

Thank you.




Tuesday, November 08, 2005



I Hate Cake.

No, not the band. I like them. I hate cake, the dessert.

I hate when I'm at work and there's some extra cake left from a party or something and everybody else who works there hides pieces in the kitchen for themselves for later. I hate how people treat it like gold. They throw their hands up in the air, they get a fanatical look on their faces and start to run towards it.

What's it like, fucking gold? Shit, I'll make it myself. I've seen kids just practically poop themselves when you mention it. They have to be coerced into finishing their actual meal. Like their hamburger or pizza is so horrible to get through.

I mean...it's cake. Like Betty Crocker cake. You can buy it. You can get one decorated. Cake. CAKE! This isn't The Soviet Union. We don't live in the middle ages. People go to IHOP and practically eat cake for breakfast, so what's the deal? It drives me apeshit to see people going nuts over cake. Especially when they're full. Just eating cake because it exists? It's like having sex with a fat hooker because you have a free coupon. Fat hooker? Cake? CAKE!!!

I'm going to become a baker and just keep on having employees just shoot that shit right outside the building. It'll fly out of an iron chute and skid all across the street. I'll laugh watching all of the traffic accidents. SUV'S will flip over, fire hydrants will be knocked over, there'll be a pile of cars that reaches to the sky because there's FREE CAKE. FREE FUCKING CAKE EVERYONE, LOOK! YEAH, LOOK AT IT - RIGHT OVER THERE, IT'S FREE, I TELL YA' AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!!!

CAKECAKECAKECAKE!!!!!!




Saturday, November 05, 2005

Wednesday, November 02, 2005



BACKGROUND BAR PEOPLE have changed places some. Some new. Some the same. Some are still in the same place but have more glasses and bottles around them and are obviously drunker. Maybe the bar has more people in it. Maybe it doesn’t depend on the bar and the time.

But KEN and KESEY are getting very drunk.



KEN- Y’ know, I’m gonna make this into one of my screenplays…no – a play first because…

KESEY – Why?

KEN – If I can do it on – wait – what? Why what?

KESEY – Geez. Wait, why don’t you. Ummm…why?

KEN – Why what? What do you mean? Whymakeitintoafucking-

KESEY – Why write about shit before it’s done? Why don’t you write about something already done instead of preying on your real emotions and circumstances and just tooling around with what you already know as opposed to what you don’t? Why play the waiting game and just work with what you know? Maybe that’s why you haven’t really done anythi-

KEN – Why I haven’t done anything- Dude, I’ve done a lot of shit. I have…

KESEY – Yeah, I know what you’ve done, and it’s cool and all, but you’re getting older. Older. Seriously. You talk and talk about stuff and that’s great and all and you have a million good ideas but why not be fucking Da Vinci or Ben Franklin and just be Harper Lee or Catcher In The Rye?

Ken – What? Catcher In the Rye?

Kesey – What ever his name was.

KEN – Is. His name is

KESEY - Whatever.






Chris T.

That would be neat to be named Chris and then have a last name that starts with T, huh? I would always just use the initial for my last name. My frends would write to me in letters, "Jesus, Chris T!"

Sorry. I'm bored.

I need to write a list for myself:
Comic book store
Return Land Of The Dead and Dominion
Organize all of that crap that you're going to ship
Get a Money Order
Call the skydiving place
Call your mother. Ummm...okay. Suuuurrrreee.
Don't be this boring ever again.




Monday, October 31, 2005



The Sad Thing Is...

That I think that I spend more time talking about other peoples relationships or just philosophizing in general about the nature of the beast than actually spending time with my significant other.

It's kind of like being a sign-language teacher and not realizing that passing motorists are flipping you off on your way to work.




Sunday, October 30, 2005



Wrecking Crew...

Arghhh.

The only good thing about L.A. is the people living in it.




Thursday, October 27, 2005



My Ancestors Would Be Proud...

I hate being busy. I hate doing things. I hate going in public places. I hate being around people. I don't like to do things that're proposed to me by others. I'd rather slowly stir those things around and see how I feel about them later. I feel like I've done it all before, I know what to expect and that nothing is new to me.

I don't like to exercise, walk, hike or go to the gym. I hate the mall. I hate to shop and would rather not go than to just look around. I hate parking lots and hate how people drive. I hate the internal combustion engine. I hate loud noises. I hate car horns. I hate screeching. I hate wailing sirens and people yelling out, "Fuck You's!" to each other as they accelerate away.

I don't like working. I hate stifling sparks of creativity and, if you're lucky, making do with scribbling down that amazing idea on a nearby scrap of paper and cramming it into your pocket because you can't write more about it at work. I hate rules. I hate the hot smell of paper that comes out of the copier. I hate file cabinets. I hate food. I hate tips. I hate cranky, ass old people. I hate people in a hurry. I hate fat guts. I hate having too many options when I call customer service. I hate that the same woman's recorded voice is on the phone regardless of what department I call because it's just like seeing the same commercial on the TV every single time you turn it on.

I hate. I'm unmotivated. I'm lazy. I have no drive. No will. No discipline. I hate.

Yes, I do.

But I love this post. Yes. I love it. And I love this Coca-Cola over here to my right. I love that I just wasted 17 minutes doing something that I shouldn't be doing and that nobody can take that time back from me because I've already spent it.

I love it.




Monday, October 24, 2005



And His Brother Gandalf...

Dude. Full on just saw a guy's paperwork and his name is...Merlin.

Fucking Merlin.

He's married too.

Can you imagine being married to Merlin?

What's their house look like?

Does he ever get ID'd at Rennaisance Fairs? Or maybe Medieval Times?

Merlin. So awesome. Or so mean, I don't know.




Sunday, October 23, 2005



Richard Fell...



I think that the ankle's not broken
but my drunken, youthful exhuberance is
my confidence in this body is as brittle as my bones

I am now strapped to this computer
yet, I am told by my girlfriend that
we are having friends over for dinner

X-rays tomorrow
my underarms are already sore from the crutches

I feel like Mr. Glass fron Unbreakable.
I feel like Mr. Stupid-Head from October 2005.




Saturday, October 22, 2005



No More Golfing For Me...

3 A.M. in the park across the street. Drunk w/ a neighbor. I fell getting more golf balls. Now I won't have a limp anymore because I might've broken my LEFT ANKLE NOW.

Yay! Crutches again!!!!!




Wednesday, October 19, 2005



No More Vodka Redbulls For me...



The cement fairies must've poured cement in my ears while I was sleeping last night. I can't even focus. Let alone put together sentences - but I'll try...

Saw a friend at my girlfriend's work yesterday as he was picking something up to go. He said that he was buckling down and training at a mortgage company. Kind of surprising to me considering how arty he is. I started to tell him about the new, other thing that I've been doing when I'm not serving and bartending. We talked about both getting older and needing real jobs and more money, blah blah blah. After he left, I thought about how boring our two new jobs sounded. How old and unoriginal - but totally necessary. Especially for two college dropouts. I started to think about what some of my other friends were doing too. Mutual funds. English teacher. Graphic design. Commercial insurance. Printing. Legal video documentation. Flight attendant. Fed Ex. Bartenders. Servers. Bouncers. Boring.

I tried to be good and think harder. Surely some of my friends must be doing unique and wondrous things? Okay. We had one commercial jet pilot. Ummm...a couple of people in pretty popular bands, all right. Uhhh...nothing else?

No porn stars? No gourmet chefs with popular daytime TV series? No comic book artists, no founders of cults, no dolphin trainers?

What happened? Am I forgetting some of my friend's interesting jobs? Does a friend of mine having an interesting job, somehow, in a way, validate my mundane existence? Does our being in our late twenties, stuck somewhere in the thirties or maybe passing forty years old pretty much make us old? Does this mean that this is it? Get a job, even if it's boring because the relationship, starving child's mouth or empty wallet demand it? Is an interesting life sometimes defined by what one does when out of the workplace or when one has the time to be themselves?

Do I only exist off the clock?

My head is mushy. My skin is hot. My left butt cheek aches, for whatever reason - I don't know, and my eyes aren't focusing well. I think it's time to put my brain to bed and to get through the next 2 hours and 12 minutes.

Then it's time to go home.

After the comic book store, of course. Ha. I'm a nerd.




Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Monday, October 17, 2005



Palm Trees On Fire Smell Like Smog...

This lightning's burning them up out here
Power went out
and I just sat here in the darkness
not knowing what to do

A man in a tie
sold me an art set for ten dollars
and told me that it was just hailing

The power went back on
and then I got sad
the lights now seemed brighter than before
and I missed the darkness

I want more lightning now
I want the L.A. Riots in O.C.
I want Palm trees on fire that smell like smog

I want to type BLARGH




Friday, October 14, 2005



My Brain Is Dying...

After work I went to the corner store to buy a six pack of Coke. Minutes after that, on the way home I stopped at the gas station. I came home and realized as I was putting them away that I BOUGHT TWO six-packs and didn't even realize it. I got nothing else. What the hell is happening to me? I'm like Charlie from Flowers For Algernon. After the operation, when he starts to become retarded again. Except, I guess in my case - I was always dumb and now I'm just getting dumber.

I think this beats the time when I was at the front door and trying to find my house keys and then realized that they were still in my car while the car was running.

doi




Thursday, October 13, 2005



I Have Found An ANTI-wormhole...

Time is slowly stretching
one minute becomes ten
ten to thirty
30 to 60
all numbers
big chunk of rock
cut down to sand fragments




Wednesday, October 12, 2005



Excerpt From A Speech By Me...

It's only October 12th, and I already can't wait for Christmas to be over.




Monday, October 10, 2005



Excerpt from a Speech by Bill Watterson @
Kenyon College, Gambier Ohio, to the 1990 graduating class.


"It's surprising how hard we'll work when the work is done just for ourselves. And with all due respect to John Stuart Mill, maybe utilitarianism is overrated. If I've learned one thing from being a cartoonist, it's how important playing is to creativity and happiness. My job is essentially to come up with 365 ideas a year.
If you ever want to find out just how uninteresting you really are, get a job where the quality and frequency of your thoughts determine your livelihood. I've found that the only way I can keep writing every day, year after year, is to let my mind wander into new territories. To do that, I've had to cultivate a kind of mental playfulness.

We're not really taught how to recreate constructively. We need to do more than find diversions; we need to restore and expand ourselves. Our idea of relaxing is all too often to plop down in front of the television set and let its pandering idiocy liquefy our brains. Shutting off the thought process is not rejuvenating; the mind is like a car battery-it recharges by running.
You may be surprised to find how quickly daily routine and the demands of "just getting by: absorb your waking hours. You may be surprised to find how quickly you start to see your politics and religion become matters of habit rather than thought and inquiry. You may be surprised to find how quickly you start to see your life in terms of other people's expectations rather than issues. You may be surprised to find out how quickly reading a good book sounds like a luxury."


At school, new ideas are thrust at you every day. Out in the world, you'll have to find the inner motivation to search for new ideas on your own. With any luck at all, you'll never need to take an idea and squeeze a punchline out of it, but as bright, creative people, you'll be called upon to generate ideas and solutions all your lives. Letting your mind play is the best way to solve problems.
For me, it's been liberating to put myself in the mind of a fictitious six year-old each day, and rediscover my own curiosity. I've been amazed at how one ideas leads to others if I allow my mind to play and wander. I know a lot about dinosaurs now, and the information has helped me out of quite a few deadlines.
A playful mind is inquisitive, and learning is fun. If you indulge your natural curiosity and retain a sense of fun in new experience, I think you'll find it functions as a sort of shock absorber for the bumpy road ahead.


So, what's it like in the real world? Well, the food is better, but beyond that, I don't recommend it.




Saturday, October 08, 2005



Off the top of my head...



even though i love alec empire - when he talks all of his revolutionary/german political stuff - I'm at a loss. He's just too vague. But he rocks. Kind of like Elvis Presley and Hitler beating the shit out of each other while one sings and the other yells at the top of his lungs.

this is the first time that I've worn a sweater in a long, long time. I'm happy about this, but I should feel a lot cooler than I feel right now, because i feel like a dork. I wanted to wear something dark, scary, fashionably wrong or just plain boring - but sitting here looking like I do - just makes me feel like I'm an older boy writing a bunch of shit on a computer while the girlfriend gets ready. But I do have my fingernails painted - so maybe I'm not that old - just kind of retarded.

read warren ellis' Fell and/or Desolation Jones comic books. do it.

man, i love those nights when nothing's really happening and then you return the phone calls of a couple of friends (something that I'm trying to do w/ more regularity) and then it just turns into a whole shashed bang job of getting straight-pissed and then you wake up all head-thudded and w/ a friend on the couch asleep and then you take him home and remember that you have pictures of him putting his balls into Michelle's really expensive, fancy heels in your camera. this was w/ her permission, of course.

durka durka! what movie is that quote from?

my back still hurts from lifting a box of comic books last week

i dread bartending tomorrow night

my girlfriend is taking TWO hours to get ready and by the time that we arrive at the bar - it will be late. I'll have four drinks combined w/ the million that I'm having right now, and then when the bar closes and she's ready to pass out due to her two total drinks - I'll want to keep on going. This will cause some drunken strife. She'll also be up at 8 in the morning and I will be squealing like a freshly-shucked newborn from the vagina of a sweaty mother. I will regret that last sentence tomorrow morning when I re-remember it.

i like dean martin. much. not as much as drinking, but much. those last two words sounded like I was saying BUTT MUNCH. If you had a BUTT MUNCH for LUNCH then it would be a BUTT MUNCH LUNCH.

I need to stop this before Blogger eats it, and I do too.

get bloody pissed tonight, folks.

for me. just don't beat anybody up.




Friday, October 07, 2005



Bloc Party...

April (friend, not the month) had left. I started to watch The Peter Jennings Collection: Disc 1 with the girlfriend, who, of course, fell asleep. Right when we we're getting to the special report on Ecstasy and on the report about the history of the L.A.P.D. too! I bet when the Martians land and I have documented proof to show her on DVD - Sleeping Beauty'll miss that also, so no big deal.

Tony had flaked on me earlier. He was supposed to come over hours ago to pick up most of the old comic books of his that I was going to sell on eBay but never got really around to because I've got too many of mine that I'm trying to do the same to also.

Just a minute ago, Tom/friend and neighbor - scared the shit out of me while I was smoking in my backyard.

So. Mr. White Shirt Lead Guitarist Tony and Mr. Black Shirt Singer Tom are tonight's flake and boogeyman. I curse them. Watch them and curse them. Ask them to apologize while you watch this.

ENJOY...




Thursday, October 06, 2005



So, I just realized...

That because I forgot money
and because I'm a poor bastard

instead of snacking on chips
and downing Coke after Coke at the office job

I'm drinking some green tea
and eating an apple.

Hippie.






Po...

Paid rent.
Went to the 7-11 before work to get much needed caffeine.
Realized I had 34 cents.
Am not alert.
Am very poor.




Tuesday, October 04, 2005



From Far Away, They Sound Like Angels. But, The Closer I Get, The More They Sound Like Braking Trains...



tonight
I got hit
by another driver
when I was driving to the gas station

I hit my head against my window frame
but I've been hit harder than that
so it wasn't that big of a deal

after getting his info
I put all of the paperwork crap in my car
and then started to walk inside to buy beer

Gas for MY internal combustion engine
not for the Toyota

I heard a smack
the poor, stupid bastard
had backed up into a black SUV
a Japanese family spilled out of it
looking confused

I stood there
no way, I thought
no fucking way
this guy just hit another car?

I stood there
nobody paid attention to me
I went inside and got my beer
came back out

I stood there
asked if the family needed a witness to the accident
the wife nodded no slightly

I stood there
then shrugged my shoulders
and got back into my car

I drove away laughing
and could hear the guy
cursing into his cell phone as I left

I rubbed my head
put on my blinker
turned right
went straight
turned on my blinker
turned right
then parked in my driveway

I was smiling
as I searched for my housekeys
and started to giggle
as I got inside

I closed the door
still shaking my head
relieved

because
somewhere
no matter what
there is always

somebody
having
a worse day
than you




Monday, October 03, 2005



You Are My Sunshine - My Only Sunshine. You Make Me Want To Poke My Fingertips Into My Eyes Until I Reach The Knuckles...

Stupid Internet.

For the last couple of hours tonight, I have seen many beautiful things because of your technological and very fresh, content-friendly existence.

This is why I hate you.

My OCD and sick curiousity loves you.

But the shit that I should've been writing - wants to eat your entrails like a German does sausages.




Saturday, October 01, 2005



Happy Birthday To Fat Free Milk...

Three years of brilliance?

Or three years of wasted time?

Three years of both, huh?








The Straw...

It's funny that I threw out my back while lifting a box of comic books.

Old man.

Young man.

Just plain sad.

Ow.




Tuesday, September 27, 2005



I Don't Know If This Was Written For Fat Free Milk - But I Found It In An Old File...

John Constantine…

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



Your faces turn angry red, while mine turns a cute shade of pink...

God Hates Fags?

Well, then my god hates gods that hate fags.

And apparently your god is a non-smoker in England.

fphhlbtt.




Friday, September 23, 2005



Spooky...

I just erased what I wrote because it was stupid.

I should have just left it because this is even stupider.






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

thinking this
thinking that
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
looking up
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

thinking this
thinking that
mentally treading water
my head bending
and my heart squeezing