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.