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The Mall On Haunted Hill...

The Mall On Haunted Hill...

The absolute wondrous horror of what was a rare Orange County mall experience for myself is today, losing its luster - so I might as well try to jot down what I can remember -

In Southern California, there are people. A lot of them. All attached to some type of device that transmits IMPORTANT relayed messages to their brain. Sometimes these PEOPLE fill up their tiny seconds with their IMPORTANT blabby-crap and sometimes forget to do things like say, HELLO, THANK YOU, EXCUSE ME, YOU'RE WELCOME, YES, NO, JUNIOR-DON'T-RUN-OUT-INTO TRAFFIC, etc. They also forget to drive faster, slower, at all and usually with any consideration towards the other millions of other dumb-dumby, spinning people driving out on the streets also. Sometimes their cars mirror the slow, congealing drips of mollasses inside their driver's skulls. Sometimes I point at these people while they go about their very important coffee retrieval and goods-purchasing daily sprees. Sometimes I don't point because there are a lot of bigger dinosaurs in this Pangeaic park of mine and I plan on settling into a nice, bubbly tar pit someday. I don't want anybody to fuck with that. I have plans. Rawrrr.

This is getting too long...

I only went to the mall after dinner to make my girlfriend happy. Her mall is my comic book store, but without the fast food smell, pimply teenagers and fat, sweaty men. Actually, both the mall and comic book stores have these type of people, but at least the mall is more spread out.

At the mall:

Clothing and accessories, when I rarely want them - are very easy for me to find. Not because I'm easy to please, but because my actual size in clothing never, ever actually gets bought by real humans beings because nobody is my size. My sizes are everywhere and always knocked down from a high price to a very, very LOW price. I don't know why they make these sizes. Why make clothes that fit drug-addict or tall Ethiopian builds? Or Ethiopian drug-addict builds?

I get bored easily if I'm in a store that doesn't interest me. I can't sit down and be patient. I whine a lot and walk and walk around the perimeter of the usually-a-women's-clothing-store and pretend not to be a gay guy looking at clothes.

I went to an Apple Store for my first time and was completely horrified and amazed at existence of the whole poopy thing. Welcome to the future, Gramps.

The bathrooms looked better than some L.A. clubs than I've been in. Actually, DUH. Nicer than ANY L.A./Hollywood clubs. (this is the part where friends who don't read this snicker because how often do I go to Hollywood or LA LA?)

2b continued after i read this incredible hulk comic...

Ummm..there were security guards on Segways.

Boring now. The End.

Old Stuff.

no matter what you think
the day is going to be like
no matter what your plans are
no matter what lyrics
you compose for yourself the night before

time passes
no matter what you think or hear
today is a symphony
that sounds far away from yesterday

talktalktalk
thinkthinkthink
bebetterbebetterbebetter
begoodbegoodbegood
belikewater
learn
live
breathe
focus
shooosh
so pretty, so pretty as she strokes your head
calm down, calm down
don'ttalkdon'ttalk
don'tthinkdon'tthink
bebetterbebetterbebetter
what'sgood?what'sgood?
belikevapor
rise to the top
realize that falling down
is natural
dripdripdrip
goes tears
dripdripdrip
thank you, says
everything beneath you

Sweating in orchestra pits

upside down

thank you, says
everything above you

no matter what you think
the day is going to be like
no matter what your plans are
no matter what lyrics
you compose for yourself the night before

time passes

Fat Free Milk...

I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas.

Though I love Ms. Goodall and her caring heart and though I do love the fabulous Gombe chimps - my fingers aren't typing Shakepearean sonnets about fruit. I haven't written much lately. I used to a lot - and not just on this crap. An old roommate emailed me yesterday if I was interested in doing comic book writing and said that she was serious about it. Crap, whatever it is. Ummm...yes. Then you'll be seeing some furious bouts of the ol' clickity clack from my simian stubs.

My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments.

I think in this last year that my hope has been more like a trickle from a broken water pump in Uganda than anything else and "creative environments?" I'm thinking that I need to find myself lot more of those. Really.

I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill.

This I still agree with.

Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses.

I am not Bukowski and don't want to be. I don't want what he had. Sorry, Hank.

A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy And the god of imagination.

I AM always peeing, that's true. I think I've been the whole Pantheon of the Greek Gods of Stagnancy in this last year. Imaginative, yes. Doing everything wrong and too late, yes.

Not really... I'm just tired And Full Of Poo...

Really. And I am always tired. And I have been completely full of shit.

No more poo for me. Really.

I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy And the god of imagination. Not really... I'm just tired And Full Of Poo...

You'll look back on today...

And wish you could've tried harder.

Not then.

Right now.



I'll look back on today...

And realize that I could've tried harder.

Then.

Not now.

Cute Girl in a Tracksuit by Eugene and Kevynn

Welcome to 2:15AM in the most anti-climactic town in the world - F********, California.
Where cute girls in tracksuits don't give you the time of day.
Where Guatemalan sisters get pissed off at you for not paying attention.
Where balding middle aged men want to fight you because you got it all figured out.
Where the drinks are moderately priced and strong - that is if you know the bartender
Where collaborations of two blogging giants happen.
Where getting tacos is an adventure you do not want to take.
I really really really wanted to talk to the cute girl in red adidas tracksuit tonight.
She remembered every nuance about me from 4 months ago.

She remembered what I did for a living.
She remembered my name.
She remembered the last time we talked.
She remembered what I know about her.
That kinda stuff just kills me.
That kinda stuff makes me melt on the bar floor.
That kinda stuff makes me tingle.
That kinda stuff makes me love life.
So, I did the only thing that comes naturally to me...
I pretended not to remember her.
She talked to a extra you would have seen on the boobtube.
He was tall and wails a guitar that's not plastic.

...


I got it all figured out,
Except cute girls in tracksuits.

***********************

There Are Always Cute Girls...



But not BEAUTIFUL girls
beauty is you at your most private
turning around to see if anybody else saw what you saw
beauty is you sharing a moment and realizing that you have nobody to take a picture of you in that special place
beauty is me crying last night talking to one of your friends on the phone and seeing a shooting star or maybe a passing satellite and not making a wish because it didn't matter if I did then because if wishes were always granted to the one's that wanted them than wishes are fishes and the world is Nuoc Cham.

Work is work but work is love.
Play is useless and is not as special if I can't extend myself and continue to share joys with other people.

I am a very confused man. And I only say, "Man" because it seems weird to say, "Boy" because I guess that I'm not. But I am. A boy. The same, confused fucker that never loved anything less than what he'd been given or not or never tried to work with what he had. I'm so proud of myself, guys - I really am, but need to remind myself of strengths that I have growing up. I am full of crap and flowers. BUT I AM IN CHARGE OF IT ALL. My life. Your love. My mistakes. My heart. I've killed myself with confusion and with mistakes but wouldn't be me if I hadn't been strong or weak in the past?

Were you there with me in the 24 hour donut shops? Were you there, holding my hand on a cold bench next to me at the elementary schools. Where were you when it rained as i walked the streets? Where were you two years ago? Where were you to protect me? Where were you to squash the cockroaches? The physical, sexual and mental pain? You weren't there - I was. I'm here all of the time.

YOU WERE THE PERSON THAT I KNEW THAT I WANTED AND THOUGHT THAT I DESERVED.

AND YOU'RE HERE NOW.

I am a fucking, large pill hard to swallow. A beautiful boatload of hope and an eyeful of cataracts in your future, you think.

I am Penicillin and an operation that you're unwilling to take to clear the sickness cloudy doubt that obscures the vision and health of your heart.

There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 - 1900), "On Reading and Writing"

I am long-winded. Duh, kids.
I've loved you all.
This was a thing that Eugene and I thought of real quick-like and bored.
I take his prose and turn it into a big, heady bummer. Badly-written but with an intensive purpose.

I am getting better and better - EVERYDAY.

But I still need your help. Why wouldn't I?

Be paper.

Be loving, laughing, be Eugene trying to solve a Rubik's Cube because we talked about how cool it would be to do so. He just dropped it and scratched his head and is now pulling books off of my bookshelf while sitting on my bed.

I need your help, folks. Sorry for putting you off. The heart has always been on and is so heavy, man. So HEAVY.

Thank you. All of you.

I'm not heartless. I don't want to pick fights. I just want to continue to love more and to love you better.

These words don't do anything justice...but they do help.

They really do, you beautiful friend.

You've always opened my eyes.

I love you. And I'll continue to do so. You. Me. All of us.

I Miss You At Every Corner...

and at every stoplight and
every sign and billboard that I pass
every bug and blade of grass

I can't do time anymore
everyday is like a prison sentence
leading to a quick lethal injection before going to sleep

I want to wake up, friends

tonight is one minute til midnight
and I have don't have the will to spend time with myself

shirts are drying and trying to be shrunk to fit my body for Ollie's funeral tomorrow
I'd rather cry about myself than to cry for other people
I'd rather miss myself than somebody else
I'm waiting to polish my shoes
I'll look pretty on the outside
I think I'm looking a lot more now like I feel inside
and I'd rather have it that way

no more polished turds to go along with my shoes

I have everything that I wished for before and I don't fucking like it

tomorrow? Oh god, fuck - really?

fuck fuck fuck tonight's a lonely night and I'm not going to go out because I hate it when I go out too. It's just a bit more distracting and having empty conversations with somebody else other than myself can feel good

I'm going to see my sister and my new nephew and also see my father next week
Not prepared for that either. Last time I saw my father I was in a happier place then but I was sharing D's grief and It killed me because of what she was going through. i felt hopeless and spent days, months and years holding somebody shaking uncontrollably. My face would fill with tears and I'd either look up at the ceiling or the sky and wish to the gods that they would take all of her pain and give it to me.

Last time I saw Sindy and Brian was a good time, kind of. I was confused and the relationship was going to shit. D encouraged me - kind of told me to go and that maybe it would be good for me and that maybe I'd figure out what I wanted to do. I was excited to drive by myself to Vegas but the trip back was fucking horrible. I was broke, tired, even more confused and almost drove myself off of a cliff. I shudder inside when I hear Vegas from now on. Bad, bad last day and drive back.

Hopefully, I can convert some of the symbolism of a new, shining kid that I'll meet for the first time who shares the same name as the dead friend that I'll be saying goodbye to tomorrow into something cyclically positive for me to chew on when I get back to my crappy town. Hopefully. I think the love in my heart is part of the problem. My head kills me. My fucking thoughts and my stupid mistakes haunt me everyday. Nobody's around. I've been told that this is my fault. I'm not around. This is my fault.

I love you all - I really do.

I love myself sometimes. I really think I do.

And I miss you. I know I do.

Why does food always smell better when you don't make it yourself?

The pizza always smells better on the other side of the fence.

H Butt...

I am forever changed by knowing you.

My heart has grown.

I grow stronger everyday.

And hopefully, you'll want to hire a team of workers to transport what's inside of me now to wherever you may happen to be later in life.

If you'll still have me then.

I love you.

Even more now.

Sales Of A Deathman...