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 a God of Imagination.
"I want to live a real life... I don't want to dream any longer." Now. Now. Now. Everything that you always imagined Everything that you've always dreamed Every night and daymare every mistake every beautiful moment everything you've ingested needs to come out, kid wake up wake up wake up no more dreams Now. Now. Now.
Now that I'm a complete whore and have to bartend for 30 hours a week, I can start writing my will. It's all over folks. Stick a city's-worth of drunks in me - I'm done.or now. It forces me to not go downtown and talk to drunken idiots because I'm bored of being at home. I barely have patience with myself.
I just decided that I AM going to go camping this weekend because I need to.
I'm writing in a backyard while everybody else is asleep. My, how things have changed. Oh, I forgot to mention writing absolute crap is all still my norm, right?
I don't have much to say because of how much I want to. Time is limited, crucial and tick-tocking at an alarming rate and I don't know how to handle it. I know that I shouldn't let the hard-caked and sun-baked soil affect how much I whip my beasts of burden when I have potential gardens growing. I know that I feel more like a Pollack painting than a Rockwell. I know that I feel more Communist Manifesto than Catcher And The Rye. I feel like a dark-knighted Batman, without the vigilance and with the obligatory dead parents, I feel like an invincible Tony Stark without the armor, I feel like Bruce Banner in a desolate desert without the anger and infused Gamma radiation...yes, wanting to be left alone, wanting to be an incredulous Hulk of focal strength.
True believers, what do you do?
Marvel at your universe and let Galactus-level, cosmic events make you feel infinitesimal?
Do you let the Gods govern your Earth-154?
I am an amalgamous Perry White and J. Jonah Jameson.
BEND, Oregon (AP) -- Using his trusty BB gun to help him return to Earth, a 48-year-old gas station owner flew a lawn chair rigged with helium-filled balloons more than 200 miles across the Oregon desert Saturday, landing in a field in Idaho.
Kent Couch created a sensation in this tiny farming community, where he touched down safely in a pasture after lifting off from Bend, Ore., and was soon greeted by dozens of people who gave him drinks of water, local plumber Mark Hetz said.
"My wife works at the City Market," Hetz said. "She called and said, 'The balloon guy in the lawn chair just flew by the market, and if you look out the door you can see him.
"We go outside to look, and lo and behold, there he is. He's flying by probably 100 to 200 feet off the ground.
"He takes his BB gun and shoots some balloons to lower himself to the ground. When he hit the ground he released all the little tiny balloons. People were racing down the road with cameras. They were all talking and laughing."
Couch covered about 235 miles (about 370 kilometers) in about nine hours after lifting off at dawn from his gas station riding in a green lawn chair rigged with an array of more than 150 giant party balloons.
Sandi Barton, 58, who has lived her whole life in this town of about 300, said she and her brother-in-law were the first ones to reach Couch and shook his hand.
"Not much happens in Cambridge," she said, adding that about half the town turned out.
"He came right over our pea field," she said. "He was coming down pretty fast."
She said Couch gave some of his balloons to local children.
It was not clear where Couch went after he landed.
It began after Couch, clutching a big mug of coffee, kissed his wife and kids goodbye, then patted their shivering Chihuahua, Isabella, on the head.
After spilling off some cherry-flavored Kool-Aid that served as ballast, Couch got a push from the ground crew so he could clear light poles and soared over a coffee cart and across U.S. Highway 20 into a bright blue sky.
"If I had the time and money and people, I'd do this every weekend," Couch said before getting into the chair. "Things just look different from up there. You've moving so slowly. The best thing is the peace, the serenity. VideoWatch Couch explain why balloon flying is "a beautiful thing" »
"Originally, I wanted to do it because of boyhood dreams. I don't know about girls, but I think most guys look up in the sky and wish they could ride on a cloud."
Couch's wife, Susan, called him crazy: "It's never been a dull moment since I married him."
This was Couch's third balloon flight. He realized it would be possible after watching a TV show about the 1982 lawn chair flight over Los Angeles of truck driver Larry Walters, who gained folk hero fame but was fined $1,500 for violating air traffic rules.
In 2006, Couch had to parachute out after popping too many balloons. And last year he flew 193 miles to the sagebrush of northeastern Oregon, short of his goal.
"I'm not stopping till I get out of state," he said.
To that end, he ordered more balloons. Dozens of volunteers wearing fluorescent green T-shirts that said "Dream Big" filled latex balloons 5 feet in diameter, attached them to strings and tied clusters of six balloons each to a tiny carabiner clip.
Each balloon gives four pounds of lift. The chair was about 400 pounds, and Couch and his parachute 200 more.
"I'd go to 30,000 feet if I didn't shoot a balloon down periodically," Couch said.
For that job, he carried a Red Ryder BB gun and a blow gun equipped with steel darts. He also had a pole with a hook for pulling in balloons, a parachute in case anything went wrong, a handheld Global Positioning System device with altimeter, a satellite phone, and two GPS tracking devices. One was one for him, the other for the chair, which got away in the wind as he landed last year.
For food he carried some boiled eggs, jerky and chocolate.
Couch flew hang gliders and skydived before taking up lawn-chair flights. He estimated the rig cost about $6,000, mostly for helium. Costs were defrayed by corporate sponsors.
Easiest way to get her out of the room is to show her your embededded MySpace clip of little children crashing on Big Wheels and Tricycles. This means that I can write more because now I'm a dick. BUT. I wrote this, didn't I? And that, in some sick way is a lot better in the long run than me having to watch "So You Think You Can Dance".
Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.
* ABC Saturday Morning Preview * The Adventures of the Galaxy Rangers * The Adventures of the Little Koala * ALF * The All-New Scooby and Scrappy-Doo Show * ALF Tales * Alvin and the Chipmunks * Bananaman * Barbie and the Rockers * The Batman/Tarzan/Lone Ranger Adventure Hour * Battle of the Planets * Beanie and Cecil * Beetlejuice (1989) * Belle and Sebastian * Bernstein Bears * Beverly Hills Teens * Bionic Six * The Biskitts * Blackstar * Bluffers * Bravestarr * Bucky O'Hare * The Caboose Kids * California Raisins * Camp Candy * Captain N: The Game Master * Care Bears * Centurions * Chuck Norris: Karate Kommandos (1987) * Comic Strip (included Karate Kat, Mini Monsters, Street Frogs, and Tigersharks) * The Completely Mental Misadventures of Ed Grimley * C.O.P.S. * Count Duckula * Dangermouse * David the Gnome * Defenders of the Earth (1986) * Dennis the Menace * Denver the Last Dinosaur * Dinoriders * Dinosaucers * Disney's Adventures of the Gummi Bears * Donkey Kong * Dr. Snuggles * Dragon's Lair * Drak Pack * Droids * Duck Tales * Dune Buggy * Dungeons & Dragons * Ewoks * Fanastic Max * Felix the Cat * Flintstone Kids * Fonz & the Happy Days Gang * Foofur * Force Five * Fraggle Rock * Galaxy High School * Galtar * Garfield and Friends * The Gary Coleman Show * Get Along Gang * Ghostbusters * G.I. Joe * Gilligan's Planet * Glo-Friends * Go Bots * Grimm's Fairy Tales and Storybook Series * Heathcliff * Hello Kitty * He-Man and the Masters of the Universe * Herself the Elf * The Hug-A-Bunch Kids * Hulk Hogan's Rock 'N' Wrestling * The Incredible Hulk * Inhumanoids * Inspector Gadget * Jason of Star Command * Jayce and the Wheeled Warriors * Jem! * Kangaroo * The Karate Kid * Kidd Video * Kissyfur * The Kids' Super Power Hour * Lazer Tag Academy * Leo The Lion * The Little Prince * The Little Wizards * The Littles * Madballs * Mario Bros. * M.A.S.K. * Maxie's World * Maya The Bee * Meatball and Spaghetti * Mighty Mouse, the New Adventures * Mighty Orbots * Mr. T * Moncchichis * The Mork & Mindy/Laverne & Shirley/Fonz Hour * Muppet Babies * My Little Pony * My Pet Monster * The Mysterious Cities of Gold * The New Fat Albert Show * The New Scooby-Doo Mysteries * The Noozles * Pac-Man * Pandamonium * Paw Paw Bears * Photon * Plastic Man * Pole Position * Poochie * Popples * The Potato Head Kids * Pound Puppies * Punky Brewster * A Pup Named Scooby Doo * The Puppy's Further Adventures * The Raccoons * Rainbow Brite * The Real Ghostbusters * The Richie Rich/Scooby-Doo Hour * Robocop * Robotech * Robotix * Rubik the Amazing Cube * Saban's Adventures of the Little Mermaid * Saber Rider & The Star Sheriffs * Saturday Morning Supercade (bunch of cartoons based on arcade games like Donkey Kong, Q*Bert, Frogger, Pitfall!) * Scooby's Mystery Funhouse * Sectaurs * She-Ra: Princess of Power * Shirt Tales * Sky Commanders * Silverhawks * Slimer! And the Real Ghostbusters * Smurfs * Snorks * Spartakus and the Sun Beneath the Sea * Spector Man * Spiderman and His Amazing Friends * Sport Billy * Star Blazers * Starcom: The U.S. Space Force (1987) * Strawberry Shortcake * The Super Mario Bros. Super Show! * Superhero High * The Tarzan/Lone Ranger Adventure Hour * The Tarzan/Lone Ranger/Zorro Adventure Hour * Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles * Teen Wolf * The Thirteen Ghosts of Scooby-Doo * Thundarr the Barbarian * Thunderbirds 2086 * Thundercats * Tigersharks * Transformers * Tranzor Z * Turbo Teen * Trollkins * Ulysses 31 * USA Cartoon Express * Visionaries * Voltron: Defender of the Universe (both the vehicle and the lion versions) * Wheeled Warriors * Wildfire * Wolf Rock TV (1982) * Wuzzles
Time travel when you sleep and you get to correct the days mistakes
Csgucscsugcs I think I'm done. Thank you for playing. Where do I go to return this? Lament... Anthony Stark Colleen Kevynn Chico Dawne T China Jane Trinitee Maria Bella Rosa Judi Reynaldo Dad Denny Milo Harry Cash George Jack Jerry Dennis Joe Sindy Brandy Patti Yellow Sabbath.. I am Iron Man without the armor or the technological affinity My Best Christmas Ever...
Might of written about this before. I know that I have, but I think that it was in one of my notebooks. Maybe I wrote about it in a magazine or school paper. Somewhere.
Back in the day. When I was young. When the top of my head probably came to my fathers hip - my father and I went down the street to the Xmas tree lot. This was a REAL lot. One of the ones where you actually picked a tree and a bundled up gnarly neanderthalic man sawed it off for you and lugged it to your car. Not one of the drugstore parking lot lots. Something that you didn't do in combination with grocery shopping.
It was cold. But Southern California cold. So that means, like...60 degrees. My father and I had trudged deeper and deeper into this mini-forest looking for a nice, full tree to take home. I don't know where my older brother was. Probably playing Atari or watching football. Definitely not dating girls. My brother was a very late bloomer.
We found one. Not a girl or a late bloomer, but a great-looking tree off in the distance. Looked huge to me. Gigantic. As we approached it, I realized that my father wasn't around anymore. He was behind me, crouched down on one knee and had his hand placed on something by the ground. I crunched back to where my father was and heard him speaking in a strange voice. A tiny, soft voice. My father's eyes were misty. He had stepped on a baby rabbit. It was probably no bigger than my hand and was jerking spasmodiacally on a blanket of pine needles. My father was softly saying that he was sorry. I'm so sorry, so, so sorry...
I kept on looking back from the dying baby rabbit and to my father's now alien face. I couldn't figure out what was more of a shock to me - the little thing dying before me or the glimpse of actual emotion on my father's face.
My father eventually barked an order at me to KEEP ON GOING. I did, because he was my father. My father told me to not stop looking back. I did, because he was my father. I didn't ask any questions. I did, because he was my father.
We got our tree.
Do I remember how it looked that year in the livingroom?
No.
Do I still remember that tiny, twitching rabbit?
Yes. Perfectly.
Best Christmas ever?
Yes.
Why?
Because I'll remember that one for the rest of my life.
I want so much and I want the world to go away In what way, I don'y know my world? the world I had? the world that I have? You can't start from scratch if you've alway been starting from scratch or you can't start from scratch when you never had an itch to fiddle with? Like a declawed cat in front of a scratching post or a eunuch at an orgy. Jimi Hendrix with webbed hands me with a brain Would Chewbacca without H Solo be co-pilot Jesus? Would Goblin exist without with Jane Goodall? I'm sorry. I've never known anything and was sorry I pretended that I did. I hope that I didn't harm you to a poi
See? This is shit. Complete shit. I'll be back later. even with all of the mistakes. Seriously - I'll be back.
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Sorry - cleaned the keyboard with my sleeve.
I was going to write something about how my life somehow mirrored the Bush administration's handling of everything involving planet Neptune and especially their political stance on Jem and The Holograms.
Today was old bruschetta tough. The rain cost me money. I couldn't work because of it. You rained TODAY, rain? Seriously, give me a break, Lucy Gods. Do you have to pull that football back ALL of the time? Amputate my legs. That's the only way I'll stop trying to kick field goals. WAAAGGGGHHHH!!!
LAST YEAR AT THIS TIME, I WROTE THIS......
Friday, May 25, 2007 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.
I'm living Pinocchio's life before he knew that humanity was possible. I'm living the life that the story books never told us listeners - About how hard it is to be a boy and what being a man really means.
lielielie to yourself time passes along with your nose
Gepeto's dead?
Now what?
What changes?
time passing along with your nose along with your nose along with your nose along with your nose along with your nose along with your nose along with your nose
Whatever you're doing now, don't make a habit of it. Take more walks. Skate. Read outside of your room. Offer to walk a friend's dog. Restring your bow. Mani/Pedi. Soup Plantation and The Los Angeles Times.
Only you can get yourself out of this pickle, Dill.
So...wake up and get out of bed.
We'll take it step by step.
Sloooooowwwwwwww-like because you're not too bright and usually scream when the sunlight hits your fragile, pasty head.
If books were spontaneously created and based on our morning's forgotten and previously-dreamed ideas, than librarians would...QUIT.
God, what I wrote last night was GREAT. I had it in my head for an hour or so and it was so good that when I woke up I DIDN'T rush to put it down because...it was GOLDEN.
THIS WAS NOT IT. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ....... ........ ........... .............
A lot more difficult when your current life is more drama-filled than you would like and the heart and soul slowly grinds like tectonic plates. One of these days, many years from now when I’m wheezing away on my deathbed and watching my life flash before my eyes for the last time – I’ll soak in the life that I saw and say… God damn, I’m glad that’s over. And die.
You get a picture of where I've been I'm disappointed and distracted I hate where this day ended up It's best to be drunk than to be with drunks But I'm sober Which is always good But not tonight
