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!!!!!

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.

The Back Street Boys...

Aren't that bad.

Really.

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

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

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

Excerpt From A Speech By Me...

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

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.

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.

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...

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

...

thought that the boss was coming in so I clicked out of the post that I was writing. I was done with it too. Now it's gone. It was bloody too.

My Gigli...

Am I that desperate or either that LAZY for dialogue for the play that I'm writing that's due in March that I was interested in watching Jersey Girl to copy the flow of WHAT EXACTLY?

Clever pitter-patter?

Verbose blargh?

Poo diatribe?

God. Shoot me. The best bits of me today have been scatterred like Skittles across the minutes of this weird mess of a day. I mean, I couldn't even communicate properly w/ the girlfriend at the supermarket. I grunted and pushed the cart around.

Maybe that's it. Maybe REAL writers DON'T go to the supermarket AND DON't have the TV on like I do right now. Maybe REAL WRITERS don't write on blogs named after the first thing that one saw in the fridge. Maybe the fact that Ben Affleck's voice is a sneeze's spray away from me - is the reason why I don't deserve to write more tonight.

One does not receive the keys to the kingdom when one writes a sentence about keys to the kingdom. Tell me that you just didn't look at the TV screen again, man.

Say it's over, man...

Say it.

Okay...IT.

Found This While Looking Through Old Word Documents ( The "Kevin" Is Kevin Smith ) I Need To Look Through The Computer More...

Crap. I'm sorry. I've never done that before. I must have switched it with the other package that I sent to a different customer. If you could send me back the package I will fully compensate you. I can even send you the money via paypal before hand for the shipping>? This has never happened to me beforeplease let me know what is the most comfortable option for you. Thanks. Kev


BATMAN #638 VF/NM Red Hood is JASON TODD! Robin Joker

Batman #638 -
Jason Todd Revealed as the Red Hood!
Written by Judd Winick & Drawn by Doug Mahnke
1 Issue Total (Average Condition: Unread VF/NM)

You are bidding on the Red-Hot SOLD OUT Batman #638, which features the shocking revelation that the Red Hood is Jason Todd! Condition is Unread VF/NM condition.

You Get The Following Issues:
* Batman #638

Shipping is $4.50 (Secure packaging, Priority Mail) for mainland United States.
(Canada and outside USA please inquire before bidding)
I can combine multiple wins, please contact me after auction(s) end.

I accept money orders, checks (7-10 days to clear), and Paypal.
(Confirmed Addresses Only)
Do not bid if you do not intend to buy!!
Payment is due in 10 days. Any questions, feel free to email.


Simon: Oh, all that crap. 'Are you an angel?' Don't make me sick. Also, one thing as a kid I loved and I really appreciated it as a kid was that Star Wars had nothing to do with my life, nothing to do with my planet. Everything was completely alien. Even the cantina music, even though it was jazz, sounded kinda alien. And in the new ones, he's got American football droids on the TV and sportscasters droids and that awful line, 'hey, you wanna buy a deathstick?' Well, it's a fag, isn't it? Course it is. Don't link it to my world!

Kevin: Well, at least he's brought fags into space, finally. First he brought blacks, and then he's bringing gays. It'll be a much better universe.

...................

Girlfriend’s mad at me now because when she was on the phone arguing with her mom I threw a bag of old baseball park style peanuts that you can pick up for free at the weekly downtown farmers market.

So, she was yapping at her mother and I jumped into the room and yelled, PEANUTS!!! And meant to chuck them at her chest but they smacked her in the lip. So now she’s really fucking pissed at me. PEANUTS!!! I rock. Maybe I’ll get a job at Angel Stadium after she breaks up with me. (did I ever post this? Because, fuck - it made me laugh.)

THIS WAS LABELED UNDER "BATMAN" I felt like I found a cold beer snuggled way back in the back of the fridge.

Do I...

really want to talk about Werewolves?