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