Moon Patrol...

this is my primary blog. blog, meaning-not a novel.
i am too lazy to eat.
i need to remind myself to make that file with all of my compounded brain activity.
hey, put on some music, too - you boo radley.
might as well.
while you're wasting time.

(why doesn't my archive work??????)

Help??????

Mappy...

Our house smells like cat pee. I think I'm gonna go out and buy some firewood to cover it up. Word.

I got two early Christmas presents this year.

The cool, black shirt I ruined while using bleach.

The bottle of vodka didn't make it past midnight.

I rule.

erghhh...

Kelly Clarkson is in my head.

I Have Another Blog...

And I just wrote something much funnier than this on it.

Much funnier.

Boss #3 took me out to lunch today which happened to be right across the parking lot from a place that I worked at for about four years. This old job of mine had windows on pretty much one whole side of the building that the employees often used to look out of when they got bored (which was often).

Anyway, I was out in the parking lot for a bit and wondered if any of the old employees were still there. I wondered if they could see me and thought that maybe I should peek my head in and say hi?

Then I said FUCK ALL THAT and didn't.

The End.

M'i Afeerd fo brees....

Three seperate times today a bee was hovering outside my car window.

Why?

Johnny Blaze, Daniel Ketch And Truman Capote...

Seriously, I noticed it a long time ago and mentioned something but - what's the deal with 30 hits a day looking for Ghost Rider?

Is he really that popular?

The Spirit Of Vengeance. Really?

Mannnnn.....

When the boring job (not the cool one) now won't let me access You Tube due to their firewall?

That's when things get even more boring.

What am I supposed to do? Bring a book?

Horrible.

I Am Hunter S. Thompson Without The Drug Habit And Access To Firearms...

Maybe I'm more like the reclusive J.D. Salinger, but without the talent and the one good book. Am I'm totally not comparing myself to HST. Well, I do have access to arrows. I can't wait for the day that I get arrested for shooting drunk kids in the park with my bow. And no, I don't have a quiver or go to Renaissance Faires (sp?), but I am as pretty as Legolas if not prettier, that sissy-boy.

I'm thinking that I've got to keep up the blogging-things because I'm developing some serious gaps in my chronological documentation for my future sperm-spawn. I mean, I sure as hell am not going to talk to them, so how will they know what I was doing back in the day when we talked on cell phones and had polar ice caps?

Not that they'd be able to gleam anything useful from Fat Free Milk because unless they were looking for bad poetry and fart jokes, then they'd be better off asking one of the many Tijuana whores that I've traded comic books with.

This is why I don't write as much anymore.

Because I am even more distracted than I used to be, more of a drunk, super-sexy, totally Greg Louganis, getting paid for writing on a regular basis for an awesome company and pecking away at things, but not consuming them wholly as I should.

My brain gets so synaptically overloaded, I think that it just goes into Cherynobel-status. Meaning - whatever.

What? Huh? I can't concentrate. Air conditioning and planes and the setting sun and to-do-lists and have to drive to pick up my car

bzzt

This Is What My Life Has Become...

I was talking to my cell phone company's customer service gal today and she asked if I wanted to add 300 text messages a month for just five dollars more on my plan. My first reaction was one of holier-than-thou est ness ity ishness. Me? Need a text message plan? You must be joking.
Right?

Ummm...she told me that last month I had 90 sent and received text messages on record and have been consistent with that number in the last three months or so and at .15 cents a pop - I'd be actually saving money by adding on five more bucks a month. I'd be saving, what? $4.50 a month?

So, I figured that I could add the five bucks and laugh at myself for even having this conversation. Since when did I join the rest of the herd?

Or, I could maybe not text because I'm lazy and it's easier than actually talking to people and that maybe I should especially not text people clever, ha-ha crap when I've been drinking either?

So.

I added on the five bucks.

Moo.

Pork.

Molly, Isn't A Cockle A Mussel Too?

Seriously bored out of my mind at job #2. Not #1 because #1 is well, #1 stupid. No, #1 job is not stupid - you're stupid for thinking that job#1 is stupid and not #1.

Yeah, and the city chopped down all of the trees around my house and in my backyard so now the place looks like dog shit and people will be able to see me in the patio area. Dummies.

Otherwise, I can't wait to get home and order the Bud-Light Combo, with a side of Vodka Redbulls and some extra cigarettes, please. And sure, why not super-size it?

Fucking brilliant weekend, this will be.

Maybe...

I should take Crispin Glovers trailer
to his new movie, "What Is It?"
off of my MySpace?

It's kind of hard to explain at work.

I woke up at 8 a.m. to beat the crowds at the DMV. When I've done this in the past, there's always been a line of about fifty people waiting for it to open anyway. So, I was expecting to wait a bit - but happy to wait the thirty minutes, as opposed to the obligatory two hours without an appointment. (I had actually scheduled an appointment for the day before - but forgot because I'm a douchbag.)

Lo-and-behold, it took me a grand total of five seconds to walk through the door and get help. When I received my number, I stood around, looking to see what number was up next...mine! Hmmmm....Interesting.

Now, no matter if the actual three employees that I came in contact with spoke to me like a judge does to a pedophile awaiting trial.

Forget that all of the previously mentioned employees looked like a constipated manatee, a sloth with a cleft lip and a roach with something in his teeth - forget all of this.

Forget why I was there - forget that I don't really know anything about rules, laws and about how society functions and that no matter what and no matter where I am - I'll always end up owing money to something because, once again - I'm a douchebag.

What's most important. What really matters about all of this - is that...

Something that's a given, the way that something always works - (at least in my world) didn't happen today.

It's kind of like, if you always forgot not to lean against the oven and then one day? Hey, no burning! Or maybe if you realized that now that you're home from a buffet-filled Vegas trip - you never took a dump once? Going out at a bar and no jock fights? Seriously? Having all of your monthly bills lower than you expected? Really?

Yeah, long-winded diatribe, I know.

BUT - listen to me. This kind of crap makes me nervous. The whole, something-cool-and-unexpected-and-actually-convenient-for-me-thing. Not used to it, don't like it, don't trust it. SO. I need to do something to counter-balance what happened to me this morning at the DMV. I need to do - what then?

Ahah! I've got it! I'm going to do something horrible to something nice that I usually encounter. Like, be rude to people that work at businesses that I frequent. I can save all of my dogs poop and then at night lay the piles out strategically all over the park for people to step in. I can overcharge people when I bartend and "short pour" their drinks. I will pinch little children's eyelids when their parents aren't looking.

It's all about balance. Never trust luck or fate. Random acts of pleasantness fortell impending doom. Beware.

jksjflvl;vfafd

Ghost Rider Versus Jack Sprat Versus The Haiti Kid...

I can't wait for a horrible tragedy to happen to me -

So, that I can truly appreciate how wonderful life is right now.

It said, "This product contains less fat than our regular sausage!" Is this kind of like somebody saying your current girlfriend is not as much of a whore as your last?

No, you say.

Yes, I say to you banging into something crotch-first.

His left hand is my brain...

Oh, I was writing something about me whispering filth into your mother's ears and about poisoning the sugar-plumb'ed dreams of your offspring - but then I stopped.

When one has to question or slow down when writing about nothing - then one has lost the game that could never've been won.

The distant sirens are now becoming louder. In seconds, they'll completely envelop me - I think that I'll catch my rhythm by the time they get here.

Loud. Abrasive. Distracting.

Now.

Here it comes.

I'm listening...and not writing.

And this is what we get tonight.

Me, writing about one moment right now - as opposed to all of the other stuff...

Holden, Scout, Kilgore or Klingon...

One could only wish to pull off a brilliant Harper Lee or J.D. Salinger reclusive entrance/exit. Journalism and writing small articles or books of short stories never cuts it, either. That's like passing gas against an enormous waft of expectant King Kong stink.

Somebody told me the other day that Van Gogh only cut off part of his ear.

I'd like to be known for writing an earlobe's worth of something lasting.

Something bloody.

And something that doesn't stink...too bad.

Big, Fat Sausage Fingers And Spaghetti Brain...

So, was all excited at the restaurant as I was waiting for my girlfriend. Had Fat Free Milk on my cell phone and was going to leave a comment on it for the very first time! By phone? Holy Jesus Snacks, you mean, like RIGHT THERE? Wow, huh?

So, I typed in this really funny-clever-me-so-witty crap...and then fucked it all up. And then gave up. And will probably never try to again.

That's how it works, folks.

Once and only once for the impatiently pea-brained.

(meaning me)

Reed Richards And Tony Stark Cloned Thor...

And I thought that I've been busy lately.

A Cicada's Life For Me Every Twenty Four Hours...

Me - "I just had the weirdest dream. I dreamt that I was in an old apartment with some other people and that it was haunted. I saw things move around constantly and there were, like, doors opening all of the time by themselves and it was totally scary and awesome because we knew that what we were seeing was actually happening and it was because it was really haunted, like the things were all totally happening, like all of the time and shit, but then towards the end, Joel told us that he slipped us some drugs and told us that was why we were seeing what we were seeing but that it actually did happen because if I and everybody else saw something happen - no matter if it was because of what he slipped us - then it was true, because in a way, we experienced a reality that, no matter how it was, like..instigated or created - WAS real because it was a lived and...shared experience. So if we did think that the apartment was haunted and saw what we saw, then it was true....isn't that crazy?"

Her - "I dreamt that I met Jake Gyllenhall."

If All Of Our Browsers Didn't Enable Cookies...

Than The Cookie Monster would drop-kick you in the weakest spot of your body.

He'd be pissed.

Nobody should ever deny a being his addictive sustenance or his monstrous posturing and/or identity. What particular spot of your glorious body would a monster decide to feed upon? If you had one, maybe the only - but most likely one-of-many, vulnerable, atrophied or already weak parts of yourself -which part would your imaginary monster choose to feed upon?

Vampires and necks.
Zombies and your brains.
Chupacabras and livestock.
Primate feces and face.
Fingers and nose.
Great White Shark and topless 70's screaming actress.
Red Lightsaber and poorly-acted Jedi death.
Werewolf and poor peasant.
RAID and cockroach.
Kryptonite and Kal-El.
World and Boy In Bubble.
Zeus and mortal women.
Life's societal, obligatory demands and personal/artistic freedoms.
Confrontation and resolution.
China and everything.
Forgiveness and forgetfulness.
Patience and TIME.

Writing drunk and SLEEP.

POWAQQATSI...

Frustrating not to be able to share my simple joys with complicated people.

Frankenstein's monster ended up confusing flower petals with brittle, little girl necks.

Lenny wanted to share the soft and soothing experience of petting cute bunny rabbits with hard, callused ranch hands.

The satisfaction that you get with filling a house full of new furniture does nothing to quell the vast emptiness of my soul.

Your fast food gives you ths satisfaction equivalent to my frustrated headache.

What noisy gardners give me before waking dreams is your extra hour to get a cup of coffee before work.

Nintendo to your Wii.

My Mad Libs to your Blackberry.

I breathe lung cancer.

You live.

I am too far-sighted and not hungry enough to follow a fucking carrot.

I see six million blind and beautiful shuffling mules.

Not even aware of the shit that they're leaving behind.

I see me forever mulling over the potential beauty of six million animals blinding me with their unstoppable momentum.

Frustrating

confusing

hard

nothing

headache

noisy

I breathe

You live

I am too far-sighted

and not hungry enough

blind

and beautiful

shuffling

behind

forever mulling over
the potential beauty of
six million animals
blinding me with
their unstoppable momentum

Frustrating not to be able to share my simple joys with complicated people.

Me So Hanso...

Note to self:

Self, Hello!
Hope your day went well!
Remember to check who you're emailing Dharma Initiative logos to next time.
Your boss was a little puzzled this morning when you came in.

There are leftovers in the fridge and please remember to take out the trash. Thanks!

Love,

Self XOXOXO