The Horror...

Christmas sweaters...EVERYWHERE!!!

Egg...

Everything that I wished for before I now have
and everything I now have is nothing compared to what I had.

Alto...

I collect brilliant scraps of life
like you do tickets

I'll start writing my shit down when
you learn how to FUCKING drive

Truth...

Having a hole in your sock
sounds much better than
having a sock in your hole.

Christmas Craptacular...

Downloading songs for my work's iPod. I'm in hell. Bing Crosby helps, though. Sammy Davis Jr. does not. I want to shoot him in his glass eye.

Items I'm Watching...

I wish the rest of my life was as perfect as my eBay feedback score.

Fat Free Milk Friends...

Awww...man. I'm really touched but no, my house didn't burn down. I rent anyway. It's true that all of my crap is gone but that's only because my ex-girlfriend has it all.

Crap. I feel bad. I'm fine. Kind of. Same old me. Thanks, guys!

Oh, What A Tangled Web...

Fire's out but I can still smell the smoke. It permeates the air, my clothes will need to be washed and I'll need someone to look at these burns. My house is gone. Smoldering ruins. My pets are nowhere to be found. I'll miss them dearly. All of my possessions, the comic books, my passport, TV and computers are blackened husks. Not so important I guess, but all of that will be hard to replace.

Today's my first day of starting from scratch and so far...

This poem is all I own.

Robinson Crusoe Meets Jack The Ripper...

Haven't been writing on this old friend, here, Fat Free Milk, because of big life changes and a lack of a computer. Revisiting a lot of the ol' pen and paper Deus Ex Machina. Maybe I'll end up getting more done. We'll see...

Malaysian Emperor Cicadas...

Each bruise on my body tells a story.

I Am A tiny Man...

Very small.

"You Get So Alone at Times It Just Makes Sense"

Bukowski knew.

And I think that I'm just beginning to get it.

Kyle Was Right...

Fish and chips at the old pub was a lot better than eating with the blue-haired ladies at Carrows. True, true.

So Sweet...

You save our honey bees and I'll spend my time building natural sized cells, and virtually eliminating my Varroa and Tracheal mite problems.

He who tries to forget a woman, never loved her...

Which one are you?

The one I miss now?

Or the one I loved before?

Ear Noises...

Choosing not to write is sometimes the best way to express your feelings.

Hey Kid...

One day you'll grow up.

One day you'll have an important moment of clarity that spirals through your brain and explodes outward through your heart.

The newly-found, diamond-like focus that suddenly envelops your eyes will cause them to well up with tears because what you've just learned is so, so beautiful...

You grew up...

You finally get it.

And now you're too old to do anything about, kid.

Yom Thorke....

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana...

Raoul Duke: There's a uh, big machine in the sky, some kind of, I dunno, electric snake, coming straight at us.

Dr. Gonzo: Shoot it.

Raoul Duke: Not yet, I want to study its habits.



Yesterday's Hippies call other people "Hippies" now.

Think about this...REALLY.

bis vincit qui se vincit in victoria

He conquers twice who conquers himself in victory

im the guy

right now

writing about things to write

my soul is the Earth’s sun 8 million years from now

and my heart is chum, constantly thrown into oceans

jotting down ideas

and always writing about writing

and my writing

always takes a lot of rewriting

i’m so tired

and so ready

to cultivate the paddy fields of your mind

mine your ore

and excavate your precious resources

i am big business

when not writing about not writing

you’ll never see my greatest moments

and if you do?

then I’ll see it first

because,

im the guy

right now

writing

trying

People Like Me?

Need to make money off their ideas or they're just wasted.

A Prayer For Owen Nicey...

Yesterday, a spider rappelled down it's own thread right in front of my face at the bar. With my luck or my usual absence of, it figures that I came close to being bitten by a spider that was not irradiated with potential Arachnid-like powers but with venomy drunkeness instead (oh wait, I might already have that...)

Also, later that night, while editing my Great American Novel from the back patio, I picked up a penny from the ground and a tiny spider about the size of a red pepper flake scurried away beneath it.

And then this morning, I peed Tarantulas.

15N + 249Cf → 261105Db + 4 1n and 16N + 249Bk → 261105Db + 4 1n

I might just be hopeless enough to self publish bits and pieces of the thousands of pages of the written things in my garage, in notebooks and on the hard drives of various computers now.

To justify my existence
and to help ease you
into REM sleep.

I feel ill...

SPRINGFIELD, Massachusetts (AP) -- It was a ginormous year for the wordsmiths at Merriam-Webster.

Along with embracing the adjective that combines "gigantic" and "enormous," the dictionary publishers also got into Bollywood, sudoku and speed dating.

But their interest in India's motion-picture industry, number puzzles and trendy ways to meet people was all meant for a higher cause: updating the company's collegiate dictionary, which goes on sale this fall with about 100 newly added words.

As always, the yearly list gives meaning to the latest lingo in pop culture, technology and current events.

There's "crunk," a style of Southern rap music; the abbreviated "DVR," for digital video recorder; and "IED," shorthand for the improvised explosive devices that have become common in the war in Iraq.

If it sounds as though Merriam-Webster is dropping its buttoned-down image with too much talk of "smackdowns" (contests in entertainment wrestling) and "telenovelas" (Latin-American soap operas), consider it also is adding "gray literature" (hard-to-get written material) and "microgreen" (a shoot of a standard salad plant.)

No matter how odd some of the words might seem, the dictionary editors say each has the promise of sticking around in the American vocabulary.

"There will be linguistic conservatives who will turn their nose up at a word like `ginormous,"' said John Morse, Merriam-Webster's president. "But it's become a part of our language. It's used by professional writers in mainstream publications. It clearly has staying power."

One of those naysayers is Allan Metcalf, a professor of English at MacMurray College in Jacksonville, Illinois, and the executive secretary of the American Dialect Society.

"A new word that stands out and is ostentatious is going to sink like a lead balloon," he said. "It might enjoy a fringe existence."

But Merriam-Webster traces ginormous back to 1948, when it appeared in a British dictionary of military slang. And in the past several years, its use has become, well, ginormous.

Visitors to the Springfield-based dictionary publisher's Web site picked "ginormous" as their favorite word that's not in the dictionary in 2005, and Merriam-Webster editors have spotted it in countless newspaper and magazine articles since 2000.

That's essentially the criteria for making it into the collegiate dictionary -- if a word shows up often enough in mainstream writing, the editors consider defining it.

But as editor Jim Lowe puts it: "Nobody has to use `ginormous' if they don't want to."

For the record, he doesn't.

Gepeto Had It Right...

To create a boy that could feel, but was devoid of physical commitments.

To be human, but with none of the obligatory toothaches.

Spot on, yet - aren't TERMITES the Pinocchiolian equivalent of cancer?

Timber versus flesh.

Both inevitably lose in the rotting end.

Dear Blogger...

I liked you better when you were single.

Love, Fat Free Milk

Andtheworldjustseemstogoabitquickerwhenyourmindslowsabit

I stopped reading a story about what came before the Big Bang and was amazed that I had never thought about it before.

Then, my quest for knowledge intersected with my small brain’s conceptual and theoretical capabilities and imploded, funnel-like.

And that’s why I’m writing this now instead.

My cosmic roadblocks are now dividing further and folding into infinitesimal zeros…

Red Hot Riding Hood...

There Are coyotes howling in my front yard.

DO NOT WALK THE DOG, KEVYNN.

I went out front and whistled because I don't ever know what to do when the Kindred come calling.

This is tonight's reverse Tex Avery scenario.



My trashcans are the sexy singer on stage.

And yes, it's a full moon tonight.

Seriously.

Walter Mitty Meets Mr. Limpet Meets Tyler Durden Meets Hemingway's Favorite Shotgun...

I think I'm fine, I always have been to a certain point.

I'm a bit like Casper The Friendly Ghost, just not as cute and a lot more angst-ridden about my existence in life.

A bit like Bukowski, but not as talented and pock-marked.

One percent Kerouac, but not in love with my mother.

A tiny bit Ginsberg, but not as gay.

Burroughs without the drugs.

Scott Card without the religion and cosmic blueprints.

Vonnegut without the Vonnegut.

My father without the discipline.

Richard Bachman without the Stephen King.

My girlfriend without the Buddha-like precision.

Me without the mirror.

I am exactly the same as I always have been.

Really.

I am everything that I've always known.

As as my years trail by like comets -

My heart says
that
in this universe
at least
in MINE

that this is still

a good thing.

The Summer of 2007' - Day 1

Dear Diary of Earth 2 and the Marvel Universe 616,

It's getting warmer. The dog is panting, beers sweat and my sleep is more sporadic than usual.

I caught up on all of my For Better Or For Worse today.

I've been pecking away on my play.

I've rewritten it about ten times.

It's an actors dream and my nightmare. You know how in Sci-Fi and comic books there are Multi-and alternate universes that co-exist and entwine with our own?

This is what writing stories is like sometimes.

Sometimes, in one of my own Multi-verses, I finish everything that I start and don't have a narcoleptic attention span.

Milk Free Fat

I'm done and done with working
I'm done and done with thinking
I'm done and done with peeking at
all of the dreams I'm envisioning

I'm done with dumb
and think I'll plumb
the darknesses
that my bright days have become

I'm down with words
and floundering, for sure
Life is creatively frustrating
My heart and brain is like a crack whore
and so you just shut up
and don't get in my way
I'll carve you up
my mind can kick your mind's ass

the end

Kafka Has A Posse...

I'm finding it very hard to write or to get motivated for much recently.

I sleep a lot.

I never used to sleep.

Phone Call (Seattle Bar noise in the background)

Ian - Hey, buddy - gotta Star Wars question for you.

Self - Ha ha, sure - what's up?

Ian - What're the Sand People called from Star Wars?

Self - Tusken Raiders.

Ian - Awesome, and what are the things that they ride called?

Self - Banthas.

Ian - Sweet. Thanks, man.

Self - Will it help you get lucky?

Ian - Ha ha...maybe.

No cigars, no drug use - just a lack of parental guidance and copius amounts of freetime...

I was talking to myself today and asked myself, "Self? What was the first thing that you did growing up, knowing that you'd paved a path for potential blackmail, thus, destroying any chance of you ever becoming President?"

I answered, "Ummm...probably humping bedposts, self."

Fat Free Milk

"The pellet with the poison’s in the vessel with the pestle, the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true"

I went to a movie by myself for the first time in my life. I've always wanted to go by myself and have always meant to but have never been able to get it together. I see about 5-10 movies a year in the theaters - and this amount is dwindling because of, mostly, other people being rude and the normal, stupid people they are. Last year, I threatened to kill a 12 year old kid. Today I almost strangled a guy who was gargling his Coke. I mean, who wants to watch a movie in close proximity to a complete stranger anyway?

So. Went by myself today and realized:

that it's exactly the same as going with somebody else except that you have more food to yourself

you feel kind of creepy in a Paul Reubens way

you exit the theater and get to your car faster

that you might go by yourself again

Lost

"The body of John Lantham of New York was found shortly after 4 am in the 4300 block of Grand Avenue.

Ted Worden, a doorman at the Tower Lofts complex, heard loud noises coming from the victim's loft.

Concerned for tenants' safety, he entered the loft and found the body hanging from a beam in the living room.

According to Jaime Ortiz, a police spokesman, the incident was deemed a suicide after medical tests. Latham (sic) is survived by one teenaged son.

Memorial services will be held at the Hoffs-Drawlar Funeral Home tomorrow evening."

Found the post - difference is that now I fully admit to a lifelong's worth of depression, addiction and Restless Leg Syndrome...and Quadsexuality...

(so this is a repost or a repost of a post...)

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.

What I wanted to reference and write about was on Google and already written by me before, I guess...

Fat Free Milk...... - May 19
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. ...
www.blogger.com/feeds/3830677/posts/default - 55k - Cached - Similar pages - Note this

NOX

NOCTISNOCTINOCTEMNOXNOCTENOCTESNOCTIUMNOCTIBUSNOCTESNOCTESNOCTIBUS



Forehead touching keyboard
Typing with eyebrows
My head and heartache
is
this
sentence................

Things you shouldn't tell your significant other unless she reads your blog part 1

The cute little, student farm down the street? The one that my girlfriend and I take our little dog to when he tries to crawl into the cow pens and whines when we take him away? The one also with the chickens, pigs, sheep etc?

I just found out that at the end of the year that the students have to either put down the cows or turn them into steaks.

Yeah, sucks. But maybe sucks more for my girlfriend than for me because I always expect the worst. If you told me that the Thanksgiving dinner I just had was filled with cyanide - I'd burp and ask for seconds.

So.

Should I tell my girlfriend?

Chaos Like Clockwork...

Is it possible for things to get any less dependable, cohesive or predictable?

I think that the only thing I can count on happening is either the worst thing ever or the best thing ever and neither ever happens - so that leaves me with all of the flotsam, jetsam and shmegma in-between.

I don't think I spelled those right, either.

Bullets made of diamond-tipped Melatonin...

Sweet, that the girlfriend can't fall asleep until you get home.

Not sweet, that the girlfriend can't fall asleep until you get home.

Ponce DeLeon = Fountain Of Youth NOT Cortez, Self...

Even though I feel like I'm 92 years old - I'm glad that I look younger than you.

Gay Man Walking...

Took the dog with me to run errands today.

Gay.

Delphi

The
Best
Thing
That
You
Can
Do
Is
Speak
Less

from 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.

Hansel? Gretel? FOOD.

I don't have any children
because I'm SCARED
I would eat them

अह, ब्लॉगर...

अल्वाय्स गिविंग मे शीत।

ई गुएस्स ई शौल्दं'त कारे तू मुच थौघ, हह?

तेरे'एस अ लॉट मोरे इम्पोर्तंत थिंग्स गोइंग ओं इन थे वर्ल्ड थान मय इनाबिल्टी तो ब्रेक योर विल्ड, मुस्तंद-लिके तेंदेंसिएस।

ई'म तिरेड.

Video Killed The Radial Star...

Where do tires go to die?

I bet the tire version of heaven, their hope/ascension into the pearly gates, is to become a tire swing. That's the tire afterlife.

Tire hell is being lit on fire in Sudan and used as cover by a gun-toting 7 year old soldier.

Night is not beautiful and this post isn't either...

It's scary.

I'm thinking that the only people that are up right now are either up to no good or on drugs.

Or both.

These nocturnal miscreants are probably rummaging through my car as you read and/or as I type this or they're fighting with other vampires over spoiled meat or they're breathing heavily into an unwilling recipient's ear or they're chatting with people online and pretending to be younger than they are or they're writing about people that are awake right now and are either up to no good or on drugs or both, nocturnal miscreants that are probably rummaging through cars as you read and as I type this or people fighting with other vampires over steak or people that breathe heavily into an unwilling recipient's ear or people who chat with people online and pretend to be younger than they are or they're writing about puppies that talk like humans.

11. somebody like me

Imagine waking up to a complete carbon-copy version of yourself one morning. No, don't think of Michael Keaton in Multiplicity, you dick - just imagine what it would be like to wake up to a copy of yourself. I don't think I'd like him. Seriously. I think I would find myself annoying and moody - but he might be fun to drink with...

12. fairy dust and shit all these years

?

13. childrens story. A kid named kitty (meow! ) kenny. Blue jumper w/feet!

One instance. A mother and her kid came in to my work. He liked to pretend he was a cat. That was it.

14. no life on earth. Me modern

Ooohhh, i know what this is - this is cool. I've always loved this!

15. hopsing and the little bandits versus the scarlet rhemus

Seriously, I had so much fun with this. i used to draw this as a comic strip. It's only fun to me. Which is why it lasted so long.

6. it was like losing a child at k-mart

I think I was using this as a story to talk about what it feels like to break up with somebody when you're younger.

7. my ma and pa fairy tale beginnings

Ummm...my parent meeting, how romantic it sounded and how it all eventually turned to shit.

8. writer who sells pot. Constantly interrupted

I think this is hilarious. Why this is hilarious and me going through the same thing when I don't even smoke or sell pot is beyong me, but I think this would work well more in a movie than in a story because who want top read about this guy unless you could incorporate the pot smokers story in the story that you write?


9. my world. Starting out in white room story. Perfect earth society. Meet counsel

Sci-fi-ish-sounding-like, eh?


10. bovine millennium miscalculations slaughters and the real reason they’re
celebrating + worktraps?

Either nonsense or written down towards the late part of 1999.

Explanations for the post below that you cant steal...

1. fish tank

Dont remember what this one was about -


2. why I love life now

Dont care what I love about life now, writing about what you hate makes better subject matter

3. buying beer “lookout!” story

Crap, do I really have to do this? One time, me, Tim, Mike, Joel and Tony were trying to "pimp" beer in high school - something that I ALWAYS hated doing, standing around in front of a supermarket or liquor store and trying to get somebody to buy you alcohol. Sometimes it could take 5 minutes, sometimes it could take you an hour. All of this so that you could get wasted and wander around in the bushes or sit on a bench in a public park. Sometimes, girls were involved, but with this group of guys - girls weren't, because if I was hanging out with them that night, then it was nerd/drunk-fest in a park.

Anyway, one of us approached a guy - he seemed REALLY willing, looked like a hybrid homeless guy - not homeless, but looked like it. He took our money and then when he came out he said to follow his truck with the camper shell and meet him down the street because he didnt want to hand over the booze in front of the store. Fair enough. Makes sense.

Thing that sucked was that, so the hybrid homeless guy now has all of our alcohol with him and we're following him. This guy drives not down the street but about five minutes down the street into the back of a wherehouse building. We park behing him and all get out. He starts to act like the handing off of the alcohol is like a drug deal. So, I'm standing there, looking around, feeling nervous and listening to this guy chatter away in his raspy homeless voice that's not homeless and what does that really mean and little did I KNOW that I WOULD be homeless myself and sleeping in parks and staying up all night in 24 hour donut shops about a year later. That's the karmic backlash for being a judgmental prick, I guess.

So, I'm standing there by the hybrid homeless guys truck with the camper shell and notice that the windows have a tint to it but is also taped up in p[laces. There's cracks and gaps in the campewr shell's windows. I SEE A BODY RUSTLING IN THE BACK. Like legs shifting. Did i just see an eye!!!

I freeze up, I mean fucking freeze the fucking up, my blood just grinds to a halt and I can hear the screeching in my head - but I can't say anything because the guys are nervously listening to the hybrid homeless guy talk about cops and what he used to do as a kid and to watch out, etc.

We get the beer and slowly walk back to the car, my mouth wants to shout out to the guy that Buffalo Bill from Silence Of The Lambs is in the back of this guys car and he's probably wearing a GIMP mask, my legs want to run - but I do nothing.

As were all safely back in the car and Mike starts to drive away, I tell the guys what I saw in the back of the truck - right then, the hybrid homeless guy yells, "LOOK OUT!!!"

We all screamed, Mike slammed his foot on the gas and we peeled away.

The rest of the guys told me later that they thought if they looked back that the hybrid homeless man would have a shotgun in his hands -

The image that I conjured up in my head was horrific and emotionally scarring and shall never be repeated again.


4. timid vicki stepmom who covered her teeth when she laughed, her three beautiful children + amy daughter.

Picture her two older sons/my step brothers, who looked more like Arayan Mormons thatn anything else and my hot-ass older step sister and that's all there is to the story.

5. punching butterflies from the sky

This was more rough imagery that I conjured up - that made sense at the time and I guess still makes sense to me even if it doesn't reflect how I feel or the character that I was imagining that was writing this sentence felt (huh?)

Now, I think, it would be more like "Punching Financial Security And People WWiliing To Hand Over Their Comic Book Stores For Me To Own From The Sky"

Have You Ever Seen Such A Helpless Man - Oh No...

1. fish tank
2. why I love life now
3. buying beer “lookout!” story
4. timid vicki stepmom who covered her teeth when she laughed, her three beautiful children + amy daughter.
5. punching butterflies from the sky
6. it was like losing a child at k-mart
7. my ma and pa fairy tale beginnings
8. writer who sells pot. Constantly interrupted
9. my world. Starting out in white room story. Perfect earth society. Meet counsel
10. bovine millennium miscalculations slaughters and the real reason they’re
celebrating + worktraps?
11. somebody like me
12. fairy dust and shit all these years
13. childrens story. A kid named kitty (meow! ) kenny. Blue jumper w/feet!
14. no life on earth. Me modern
15. hopsing and the little bandits versus the scarlet rhemus
16. conformist world
fitting bookshelves
get rid of people/deviants
one corporation makes all from movies to food
17. childhood. Eating fruit and throwing rocks. E strikes back father story
18. freeway anne speed death scene/wind up in hollywood. me being one of the homeless
19. childhood2. Bread incident. Dialogue. Walk down archibald to stater bros.act, beg and sing for a dollar.
20. you know what sucks? A vacuum.
21. “wongs” restaurant aisle runnings. Whip it. The laughing vietnamese chefs in the back kitchen. Unlimited fortune cookies. Dennys give me head speech that got me in trouble when I repeated it. Was he humping her when he would stop by?
22. kid talking to the old nosferatu in chair. Research history. Pick a place!
23. stomping the washer water out w/my father in the play room. First real stories where I felt old enough to hear them, brave or curious enough to ask questions.
24. girl with sudden dreams. Every night foretelling the future until she begins to dread them. But shes too addicted, she cant stop. Blood and water dripping. Very modern? Or flashes of her in a more victorian period? Who cares, blah.
25. organ robot free verse rifts story
26. comic synopsis
27. yr. Post high school story
28. light hole in backyard. Dig. Dig.
29. mexican pizza. Chicken gordita.
30. it seems that everybodys a mother a father or a lover now except me.
31. hothouse? Whats that? Anyway…waking up in older ladys bed
32. evil kevynn
33. loves his or her cat/dog so much that they transfer(science, devil pact?) its mind into a humans? Thats pretty stupid.
34. lost number idea? Horror. Bring back dead. Look at all the classical facets of old legends and horror.
35. my version of the trench coat mafia shit. One guy ambushes one shooter. Gets guns and bombs, prowls the halls in search of others or other shooter
36. toady. About a boy with amphibious desires. No, I really meant write about today.
37. remeber when one throws a pebble into a stream that the flow of the river………
38. damians family/sis/big daddy/mean bro/dogs/nintendo
39. guy getting married to or very serious girl introduces her to his friends or best friend and finds out that they’ve gone out b4. His x gal friend, dougherty stories. ‘ that was her? ‘ ‘ why didnt you tell me? ‘
40. guy/gal
41. the most selfish thing I did today was whine in front of a walking and whistling one-armed man.
42. locked in bar…….
43. wood grain punishment.
44. man refused access to next world because he aws an organ donor-stopped at medieval midway half-realm9 hells prison.)
45. oc
46. the 23rd psalm robinson crusoe/23 people/all different/different times

Click To Play

On the fourth anniversary of the Iraq invasion, Alive in Baghdad brings you an assortment of Arabs and Iraqis speaking about life in Iraq and some thoughts they have for Americans and the world.

This is only a small slice of opinion about the war and the ongoing conflict in Iraq. For other opinions continue to watch the blog section of Alive in Baghdad.

As the fourth anniversary passes without a foreseeable end to the ongoing conflict in Iraq, please consider making a small donation to continue our work, and enabling our Iraqi correspondents to continue producing regular news about life in Baghdad.

You can also check out these Iraqi bloggers for a wide range of opinion on events in Iraq:

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Tell Me a Secret

Baghdad Treasure will also be publishing a special anniversary blog entry, collecting thoughts and opinions from many Iraqi bloggers about the war in Iraq on its 4th anniversary. We'll post a direct link as soon as he's finished it!

The Birds And The Bees...

Avian Bird Flu.
Colony Collapse Disorder.

The end of the human race.

Sex is to blame.

Bizarro House Chores...

Filling up the sink with water and putting the dirty dishes in it does not mean that you're going to do the dishes before the girlfriend gets home. It means that you are lazy and the girlfriend will give an exasperated sigh and mentally add that on her "Reason number 453 why I should've picked (fill in the name of some hunky craphead) list.

Also, today I went for a walk with Chico, the tiny dog who looks like he's wearing a brown jogging suit and we visited the pigs, cows and sheep down by the local college. I've found out that Chico could care less about pigs, likes to pee repeatedly in front of the sheep and is in love with cows. He tried repeatedly to make friends with the cows and tried to get in their pen-thingys. He whined constantly, but only for the cows. I can't think of anything funny to say about this because whatever I say will probably have to do with dog-on-cow sex and that's just gross.

Writing

On pages 9 and 10 of his book Bagombo Snuff Box: Uncollected Short Fiction, Vonnegut listed eight rules for writing a short story:

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

4. Every sentence must do one of two things -- reveal character or advance the action.

5. Start as close to the end as possible.

6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them -- in order that the reader may see what they are made of.

7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

So it Goes...

299792458 m / s

I've seriously got to stop drinking...

Caffeine.

What I Want RIGHT NOW...

I know, it's not very Buddhist of me but -

I WANT:

A bmx bike and a dirt track.
Launch ramp.
Lunch and/or drinks with Stephen King, Orson Scott Card, Joe Quesada, Warren Ellis and Zelda Fitzgerald.
Millions in VC funding.
The voice of James Earl Jones.
The Heigth of David Prowse.
A personal assistant.
A pet Hobbit, Ewok, Knobby and Snork.
A photographic memory.
Alan Moore's freedom.
Ernest Hemingway's skull.

And an un-cancerous cigarette and more powerful Bud Light.

Jane And Dick...

First book that I ever read was Dick And Jane. Last book I ever read was a graphic novel about a girl coming to grips with her lesbianism and forgiving her dead, closeted, gay father.

Same book, I think.

William Meets Debbie Meets The Dog Alien?

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. SPACE

Approach of a large ship.

The PING of homing radar.

ANGLE ON THE HULL

As it slides past, enormous letters: KANSAS CITY.

EXT. SPACE - ANGLE UP

From below Kansas City as a wide bay opens.

The interceptor comes INTO FRAME and is drawn up into the brightly-lit hold.

The bay closes.

EXT. SPACE

Kansas City. Receding. Gone.

The stars.

FADE OUT.




THE END

DVDA and OPP...

Self,

Just post a pic and go to sleep...

The Planet Mars Has How Many Moons?

I was at the beach for something work-related today. I haven't been to the beach in two years and before that was about two years also. This summer I want to learn how to surf. I tried before and I sucked bad. I am also pale, out-of-shape and scared of sharks.

I will let you know what I think of the beach when I'm there in 2009.

I Find Guilty Pleasure In Knowing Her Parents Are Coming Home...

Old Posts Become New Hosts...

Sometimes I wake up, and I'm falling asleep, And I think that maybe the curtains are closing on me, But I wake up, Yes I wake up, Smiling. Sometimes I feel that the chance is surprising, Surprisingly good to be moving around, So I wake up, Yes I wake up, Smiling. So what? I feel fine, I'm OK, I've seen the lighter side of life, I'm alright, I feel good, So I'll do, I'll try to stop moving, Sometimes I wake up, and I'm falling asleep, And I've got to get going so much that I wanted to do, Yes I wake up, Smiling. And this could be my last chance, This may be my only chance, Yeah this could be my last chance, No more keeping my feet on the ground. Sometimes I feel that the chance is surprising, Surprisingly good to be moving around, And I move, And I wake up, Smiling. So what? I feel fine, I'm OK, I've seen the lighter side of life, I'm alright, I feel good, So I'll do, well it's time to stop moving. And this could be my last chance, This may be my only chance, Yeah this could be my last chance, No more keeping my feet on the ground. There's nothing to keep me, Nothing to keep me.



I am convinced that someday, a team of historians will spend years going through every single toy, drawing, scrap of writing, piece of junk, etc. to somehow dissect my grand life. They'll categorize everything, hoping, someday, to put it all on display. "Kevynn Malone's Pez Collection", "Nudie Drawings", "Nail Polish"...things like that.

They'll read through those forty notebooks that I have molding away in the garage, they'll unearth every file on my computer. My clothing will be purchased by a young, snotty actor and worn to holo-movie premieres. Gothic teens will scribble away Malone verses on their holo-Pee Chee folders during Economics. My great, granddaughter will be an old woman and refuse to speak to historians, fans, and the press. She'll never leave her mansion and silently curse my existence for the burdens that my brilliance bestowed upon her.

My house will be declared a historical landmark, and through photographs - it will be painstakingly recreated to look like it does today. Maybe they'll even make a movie about me, but they'll get all of the facts wrong. They'll jumble things together and kind of throw in a galactic predicament to heighten the drama. Paper cuts, break ups, and fuck ups aren't enough, I guess. They'll throw in Satan and a gay interior decorator too. Just because.

My image will be on t-shirts sold on the internet, people will dress like I do now, the glasses that I wear will finally come back in style. Poverty will be too. Fans will want to stay true to my works and live like a deaf, Chinese immigrant.

Somebody will write a book on Star Wars - but will write it based on what I thought about it. There will be Essays on Malone's Essays on Chewbacca's homosexuality. What'll happen to my comic book collection? Where will it end up? Why, at Leroy's Boy Home, that's where. Poor, beaten, disadvantaged children will be able to check out my issues only if they've been good and remember to not smear dirt on the pages of my old Amazing Spidermans.

They'll wonder, they'll write, ponder, theorize, oh, yes they will, as to what went on in my head, and how beautiful and adventurous it must've been to live my life - oh, what was it like to live his life? I wish my life was that exciting, they'll say...

Why did he have to die?, kids will cry! Young girls will do secret things to themselves after the lights have gone out and the parents are asleep. My face will lull their aching bodies into peaceful dreams. High school jocks will tell anybody with one of my books about how I was a necrophiliac, homo, and a pussy, and that only dorks read Malone. After practice, they'll read me quietly in their room and get the same feeling in their crotch that the young girls above this sentence did.

Bob Dylan will write a song about me - he'll still be alive. It won't reach the top of the charts, though... just because. People will drink my beer of choice just because I did, and because they're idiots. They'll pretend to like it too, even if it tastes just like water. People will unmotivate themselves on purpose and lie back and fantasize about some of the same things that I do. Simians, solitude, and secret passageways. They'll start losing their hair and starve themselves, they'll take up skateboarding and then break their ankles jumping out of cars when drunk so that they can't skate anymore. They'll also look up my sister Sindy, and read all of the stories that she published, they'll get tidbits about me here and there when reading her stuff and wonder what it must have been like to be the sibling of one so sad and mad all at the same time? What must of it of been like to share the same genes? To have all of that fire burning through your veins? His blood and thoughts were like the best heroin, his limbs were like silly putty. His grammatical syntax was shite.

I heard that he always longed for a dog, but ended up with countless homeless cats, I heard that he always wanted a bow and arrow set like he had when he was a kid, he always wanted a big, ol' box of toothpicks and a ton of wood glue too! That's just what I heard. I don't know why. He could never find enough time to do all of the things that he wanted, I read somewhere. Half of his time was spent daydreaming and being a kid while the other half accomplished smatterings of productivity sporadically. Sometimes he wrote weird sentences too!

I am convinced that someday, they will know me a little.

I am convinced that someday, I will too.

Welts

I'm going paintballing tomorrow with the guys at work.

I've never been before, but I shouldn't worry because all of the Indian guys in our tech department didn't even know what a paintballs was so...maybe that's an advantage for me.

AND I'm really skinny, so if I want to hide I can just throw a leaf over my head or stand behind a pole.

Also, found on a thumbdrive...

Five Dollar Boom Boom...

My mom's from Vietnam. Yup, I'm first-generation-born-somewhere-other-than-that-place-guy. My older brother was born there too. Why don't we have the obligatory X-Men-Cyclops eyes? Don't know. Don't care. I always look tired anyways, so it doesn't make much of a difference in the long run. I had a bad mother. She's nice and all, but sucks in a lot of departments when it comes down to the final inventory. No big deal. No bad feelings. No skin off of the Irish-Vietnamese back. Tonight at the bar, I was engaging in some type of conversation that I thought was important, when I heard my name being called...There was a small, smiling lady selling something. With my bad vision, I thought that it was roses. But it wasn't. She was lugging around a wooden display case full of bracelets. That was probably why the lady was brought to my attention. I'm one of the only guys left with a girlfriend. So everybody was directing the lady towards me. Nobody wanted anything. The bracelets were okay. Nothing special. What was special was that I bought one. That she was smiling, even though that she had to try to sell cheap trinkets of homemade beauty to a bunch or worthless kids. What was special was that she always had a smile on her face. What was special was that I could hear people making racist comments behind her back, even though two of them were black. What was special was that she danced to the live band that was playing as she left the bar. The only money that she had was what I gave her. She danced away with a smile on her face as people made fun of her. These are the same people who probably made fun of my mother years ago when she came to this country. The only reason that she was here, and the only reason that I exist is because she met a handsome white guy. A guy that gave up the job that he loved to shack up and do the nasty with a beautiful girl. Nothing mattered. All that my father wanted was what was best for the both of them. They asked why I bought the cheap bracelet. I half-joked that I was watching out for my own. I told them that that was my mother who just left. They said, why, because she was Vietnamese?

I said no...because she was a person, you fucking idiots.

Found On Thumbdrive...

The donut shop was the only place in my suburban town that was open twenty-four hours. Sometimes Tony, Chris, and I would end up there anyway because we all had no cars and little money to do anything anyway. We could smoke, talk, laugh or end up bored with the boring boredom and leave to go sit bored at the boring park. It would suck whenever they had to go home because that would mean I’d have to entertain myself. Which was okay for the first couple of hours, but then you’d start to go crazy knowing that you wouldn’t be able to see anyone until at least eleven am or by noon. They had homes with parents. Warm beds. Showers. Music, TV, etc. I had a yellow-tinted 24-hour donut shop with distant Mexican music playing in the background.

All of the pictures were faded. Donuts and croissants. I used to laugh at the one that described their croissants as creamery and buttery. Creamery? I still don’t know if that’s really a word. I haven’t checked.

I would start reading the newspaper at about two or three in the morning. Making it last, reading every inch and every word of it except for the classifieds, sports, and opinion sections. I would write a lot in notebooks. Nobody would mistake me for a fledgling screenwriter or a young insomniac putting down The Great American Novel because they don’t have backpacks. I don’t know, maybe they do.

Occasionally people would come in. Usually to buy smokes. The guy who worked there and couldn’t speak much English was cool and never kicked me out because I’d been buying cigarettes there since I was fourteen and always bought a coke and a creamery ham and cheese croissant. It was the only item that they had that had actual food in it and not a bunch of sickeningly sweet shit. Donuts are like candy. If I want candy, I’ll eat it. Blagh. I needed to eat somehow. So when I die of a heart attack by the age of thirty – you know whom to blame.

One time a good friend of mine that I hadn’t seen since we graduated high school came in. She gave me a big old hug and asked me a bunch of questions about what I’d been doing since we graduated, what was I doing here, etc? I must’ve looked like I was on drugs because I felt uncomfortable and my eyes kept on darting around looking for an escape. I didn’t want her to know that I was homeless. Even though she was a friend, I didn’t want anybody to know that my father had kicked me out right after I graduated and by the time that my senior class was taking Tequila shots in Mexico, I was dodging cockroaches and sleeping in Elementary schools. I lied and told her that I was waiting for Tony to come home from a party and that I should leave. She offered me a ride but I didn’t take it because then I would have to let her drop me off in front Tony’s house and then have to pretend to go up to the door and then wait for her to leave. Fuck all of that. Last thing that I remember was her looking at me confused and concerned as she drove away.

I walked around the block, smoked a cigarette and then came back to the donut store. I had to buy another coke too because I had thrown out my last one to make it look like I was leaving.

There were only a small handful of homeless people in the town that I lived in. I knew them all by sight and some I used to give money to when I was in high school. After I got kicked out, I always used to see the Vietnam vet guy sleeping at one of the elementary schools that I did. He was nice. I used to buy him a coke and a small bag of chips every time I saw him outside of the Blockbuster Video. When I was sleeping at the school, he was always cool to me and I never thought that he’d try to fuck me up or steal my shit. That still didn’t keep me from wrapping the straps of my backpack around my arms though. I learned that trick on Greyhound bus trips. I had a wallet with a chain on it too. I used to shorten the length of it so that nobody could try to unlatch it without me feeling it.

The one that I saw the most was the big fat guy. He was fat fat. Really fat. He looked Hawaiian or something, maybe in his forties, and wore shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops all the time. I would always see him leaning against a shopping cart and strolling along like that. Like his weight was too heavy for him to bear and that he needed help. One time he asked me to buy him a bottle of cherry brandy. I told him how young I was. He said that it was only four bucks. I told him again how old I was. He acted disgusted at me. Whatever. Anyway he was fucking huge. Sometimes he would come into the donut shop too. He’d buy a coffee and would start to nod off. He snored. Sometimes I would have to wake him up because the cigarette in between his fingers would look like it was going to drop on the floor or burn his fingers. Sometimes he’d knock over his coffee and the donut guy would kick him out.

The fat homeless guy would talk to me sometimes. I tried not to speak to anybody because It’s hard to be in a place that’s your last resort and to engage in a conversation that you’re not interested in because you don’t really have an escape route if you have no where else to go.

I remember that he said that he grew up next to Hank Ketchum and used to play with him. He was the guy who created the Dennis The Menace comic strip. Hank Ketchum – not the fat guy. Maybe he was bullshitting. He used to tell me all kind of stories in between his bouts of narcoleptic sleep. I drew pictures of him sometimes in my notebook. One time I left early because he noticed that my shoes had silver duct tape wrapped around them. He started laughing hysterically and pointing at my shoes. My face burned red. I tried to explain to him that I usually did that to my shoes because of skateboarding, but he was too busy laughing/choking. Tears rolled down his big, red cheeks and he kept on pointing at my shoes. So I gathered my shit up and then slept in the park.

It all sucked. I hated that fucking place but was grateful for it’s existence. I hated my life. I hated when the sun came out and the occasional passing car became a constant drone because then more people started to come in before work. Then I would leave. Too crowded. Too loud. Too many people looking at me. Too many people going and doing things. Nobody knew or cared who the hell I was and that was how I liked to keep it. By that time I could maybe wait for Carls Jr. to open and then I could grab a burger or some fries. I stretched that out too. I had nothing to read because I didn’t want to read the paper. I would have to save that for the night. If I was lucky I could maybe watch a little TV. I wish that they’d had a TV in the donut shop - that would’ve made it easier. I’d waste an hour or two at Carls and then go to the park for a quick nap. Tony was in continuation school and would get home at noon, maybe at 1 p.m. if he was smoking pot with somebody. Then I would get to use his shower, maybe change my clothes. Try not to bug him or his parents too much because I might get to spend the night there on the weekends. I stayed there for a couple weeks once until his father asked me what my plans were – so I left. And I didn’t want to do that to Tony or Chris because it was hard enough for them to live with their parents, they didn’t need me to put a strain on all of that shit. Anyways, people’s parents like you a lot better the less they see you. Trust me on this.

And if there was a point to this story, then I’ve forgotten it. I wanted to tell you about the fat man, but it really doesn’t do it justice unless you get to see how huge he was. No, I’m not trying to whine – but if it sounds like it and you don’t like it – then you have my permission to leave, you loser. Don’t ever come back. I wrote this story last week and now and forgot about it. I have to fire up the barbecue now.

I hate donuts.

Thanks.

Found This In A Thumbdrive...

7 a.m. fucking cute ass dog licking his goddamn feet all of the fucking goddamn time.
7:17 a.m. fucking cute ass cat biting my nose, trying to be affectionate. Killing me like humans do bunnies in chocolate form.
8:01 Caffeinated girlfriend almost gets killed as she walks into the bedroom to talk about the days forthcoming events. Kevynn abruptly/sleep-deprived/nightmare-plagued, lunges at her. She screams and gives him the “maybe we should increase the sedation dosage of our prized research primate” look.
8:05 first of many bass-thumping cars rattles the windows.

ATM, Comic Book Store, Get Paint, Get Shelves...

Been sick, feverish, eyes tired, muscles aching, frustrated not being able to do anything productive.

So, sick or not - things are the same with me.

Hennery products...

The last time that I submitted to an open Marvel Comics call for writers/artists, I submitted a story about a widowed father who shows his children the house that he grew up in.

Yeah - my thoughts exactly.

Warcraft, Warhammer, Guild Wars, Warren Buffet...

Just got done reading a Wiki entry in regards to World of Warcraft because I'm old and needed to read about what I don't know. I used to play Star wars Galaxies for a tiny bit (I received it as a present) but even then I didn't have time. My computer's too old to play games anyway. I have an XBOX that I rarely play but I did play last week. I played The Godfather game and it's pretty darn good but when 4:30 a.m. rolled around - I remembered why I stopped playing video games much.

So, here the question: If I DO want to play video games at least a little, but still read, write my movies/stories/blog/work projects, do ebay stuff, organize comics, do household stuff and spend time with my girlfriend (which involves TV and movie watching, eating and touching each other and stuff) - How does one manage to do it?

Did all of that make sense?

Anyway - tell me now...I'm waiting.

Long Xuyen, S. Viet Nam, in the Delta, near Can Tho.

How long before a guy creates a pornographic game to use the Wii controllers with?

Lincess Preia...

I think the cast of Lost is actually stranded on the island from Jurassic Park. Or Doctor Moureau's island. Or Fantasy or the place where all of the boys went and then that fox turned them into donkeys in Pinnochio.

Strawberry Hill...

I'm supposed to put together two shelves tonight.

Progress report?

Jackass Number 2 was funny.

What's even funnier is laughing in an empty house by yourself.

I love watching movies with me.

Me writing this fodder, flotsam, jetsam and seedless grapes.

How in the heck can I wash my neck...

I prayed to The Rain Gods to give more than the sporadic, half-arsed effort that they presented to us earlier today and thought that if I was a god, I'd want to be a Rain God because, I mean - who would really want to be an important god, you know? Like, one responsible for people's luck, salvation, punishment, revenge, and answering the pleas of perverts that swear that if they get away with this, they swear they'll never, ever do it again.

Dude, a Rain God only produces rain. That's it. And it's either a yes or no answer that you ponder over, and if you DO decide to answer a prayer and make it rain, you've only got ten options from that point on - you can make it rain on a Level One Intensity up to Level Ten.

That's it. If you're a Rain God, the rest of your days are spent drinking light beer and playing super Mario Brothers on the original Nintendo system. Word to that, brutha.

Pitfall...

I am writing so much on work-related things that aren't The Great American Novel - that my Tom Sawyer feels like it's going to Catcher In The Rye out of my To Kill A Mockingbird.

oooooo

Wrote "Replay". Mormon master of Sci-Fi. Even better with her new nose. Where is he? Used to be cool. My oldest buddy. Could beat up Butler Jarvis in a fight. Writing genius. R.I.P. R.I.P. Soon to fight The Marvel Zombies. Duck, duck - DRUNK! M.I.A. R.I.P. R.I.P. Never finished the four books I've had at my disposal. Miss her. R.I.P. Drank aplle juice on stage. Gummy Bear-y juice. Hot. Went down like a bitch. Genius. Donde esta el Panchen Lama, chintos? D.L.M. es yr berfday. Wil Wheaton and I talked blogs b4 They Might Be Giants played. Iron Fist. Still can't find that book. (sigh). The Four. Ugly behind an iron mask. Bck in black, Spidey. Sederra. Love. Juliette and The Licks. Porno. Jae Lee. Rodney Mullen. Lincoln. The Diviners. Sarah Brown. Obesity meets Crispin Glover. Where are you? Beer. Where are you? Minotaur. R.I.P. Dee. Dharamsala. David Greybeard. Drexel. Rob Lowe. Ramona. Elmore Leonard. Frank Miller. Free staring tomorrow. Zod. Ghost Rider. Che Guevara. Shemp. For Better Or For Worse. Choamsky. Roge. Adderral. Marriage. Foghorn Leghorn. Soup. Lycanthropes. Black Pepper. People. Hard-to-do. Ritalin.

......

Kenneth Grimwood. Orson Scott Card. Ashlee Simpson. Adam Langlois. Selina Kyle. George Little. Alfred Pennyworth. Warren Ellis. Charles Bukowski. Gladys Horn. Ash. Grey Goose. Man Or Astroman. Wrist Action. Hannah The Cat. Fight Club. Sindy. Kerouac. Dean Martin. Gummy Worms. Hermione. Kit Fisto. Charlie Kaufman. The Dalai Lama. D.L.M. Shawdy. Wesley Crusher. Bruce Lee. The Trolley Car Family. Hunter S. Thompson. Elijah Snow. Victor Von Doom. Mary Jane getting shot by a sniper. Sedera. Elizabeth Hurley. Mallory Knox. Irvine Welsh. Stephen King. Roney Mullen. Large Mouth Bass. Precipitation. Egon Spangler. Willy Wonka. David Hammamoto. Anti-antiobiotics. Shane Brooks. Theseus. Carl Sagan. Joe. Buddha. Gombe National Preserve. Clarence Whorley. Demi Moore. Beezus. Hokey Pokey Elmo. Las Vegas. Beer. Boz. Benjamin Grimm. Sonny Chiba. Bruce Campbell. Calvin And Hobbes. Socrates. Dee. Flintstones Vitamins. Marvin Gaye. Daffy Duck. Sundried Tomato Deviled Eggs. Werewolves. Blank Paper. Tomorrow. Sleep. And Restless Leg Syndrome.

Find The Panchen Lama....

Fuck Waldo.

Gradius...

In the the land of Wii's and I-things -
There are smoking craters
Burned huts
and
(fill in the blank)

Burger Time...

Bad poetry is bad poetry
but
bad poetry
can sometimes
become good poetry
if it's not
bad

Maybe Deja-Vu Is...

That somebody in an alternate universe is reading that book about you, the comic book or watching your movie and either had to re-read that sentence, chapter, etc. or rewind to the last part before the phone rang or having to feed the dogs.

Ladybug...

Pole Position...

Seriously - I love words.
Sentences.
Paragraphs and stories.
All of it.
Love telling them and hearing them, reading them.

Nice.

Nerd.

Defender...

Was excited to knock out me ditching my current auto insurance company for another one because I'm letting it lapse out on The Sabbath - did all of the finalization at the office at the worst time possible. Didn't get my emailed PDF files until I got home. Gave it to my girlfriend to look at the coverage, etc.

Why does it say the (insert name of older car here)?

Dude. Seriously?

I now have a car that I don't own, insured for the weekend.

For the guy who has no health, life or dental insurance.

But I do own the first appearance of Sentry, Speedball, Carnage, X-23, Concrete, AvP, Black Mask, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Darkseid, The Excelsior Team from BKV's Runaways, Ventriloquist, Anarky, Penance, Jigsaw, Jubilee, Marvel Zombiefied Fantastic Four, Deadpool, Cable, Warpath, Spiderman's black costume, John Constantine, Elijah Snow, Illuminati, Nuke, Elsie Dee and Albert, Arana, Damian Wayne, Bane, Azreal, Killer Croc, Ezekiel, and the ghost of Princess Diana...

Nerd Insurance.

That Kid...

in Ultraviolet w/ Milla Jovovich -
I also remember him with Nicole Kidman in the movie, Birth.
I wonder if him, getting all close and snuggly with two hot girls as a child actor's gonna screw him up in later years?

I doubt he cares.

Boz is a genius!!!

Boz fixed my archives AGAIN!!!
But seriously, Boz is a genius.
And he has a great personality too.
And small children and animals like him too.
And if they gave lifetime achievement awards to people nicknamed Boz, Boz would win it every year.

Dig-Dug...

Man, why do I always have archive problems? mememeeee?

Karma sandwich.