Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
repost
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.
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.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
laz e
Fuk. I relly dnt lik this com pumputer nd th smoeks all poring n my eys nd i guss its cld otside r at lest cld fr asouthern alifornia nd evn thogh tht ths sntnce wsnt tht gloriou it stll tk me mor tme t blw acros the thje kybrd. to blw ashs acrss this Mc kybord thet I fuckg hte. i'v wrien n prchmnt. imis cnieform. imis arrnging big St\nehenge bloks. i mis my CIA focallity. iam fuckng cazy andI am nts. I neeed t diee, aloonend wih mny petsz nd to b coverd wthvultre p]\ckings nd rdiation tht wll pngpingping pstumosly wi me nd yor grate gddamn granchildrn wen Richard Branson n Octobabies r mining ore n th Virgin Moon.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 04, 2004
The Best Thing That I Did Today
Was The Worst Thing That I Could've Done...
Because Then - Everything Was Better After That...
I have a new wallet now. Strikes me funny that, in twenty-eight years, I think that this is only the second time that I've bought one myself. There were probably a couple before that, but they were probably fastened together with Velcro, so they don't count. I might've traded a friend one of my G.I. Joes for one of the wallets that I had before. And the one before this, was a Harley Davidson one that I bought in a biker shop in downtown Cincinnati when I was eighteen. It had a long chain on it. I thought it was cool. And it helped prevent people from stealing it while I tried to sleep on the Greyhound bus too.
Dude, yes - I am getting older...nothing makes an old dog sniff the aging air more than perusing wallets in Target because your old one's on its last thread. I cheaped out and bought it at Target. Do you have Target where you live? It's like the west coast equivalent of your Wal-Mart. Except without the guns. And the old people greeting you. We do have Wal-Mart here though. Don't get me wrong. We have a lot here that you do too. Except White Castles...maybe that's a good thing. But...
Buying a new wallet made me feel ancient. Car lots, buying booze, lap dances, work clothes, ordering for your date, having kids call you SIR...none of this makes you feel as dusty as buying a wallet by yourself. I don't know why, but it does. I also bought some plain, white t-shirts, socks, light bulbs, Cokes, and picture frames. That's old too. But I did spend a lot of time agonizing over whether to buy more Star Wars figures - so that doesn't make me a gray ol' man yet, does it?
If I could've stopped any part of the day today, it would've been the part where I woke up, and if I could've sped up a part of the day it would've been the part that I'm at now. Stretch it to the limit. See what happens in the end before you fall asleep and have to return it the next day to avoid late fees.
I think that I just figured out the law of nature, kids. We have to hunt down all of the cats, let the dogs fight it out amongst themselves and let the monkeys be monkeys. Everything else can be bugs and insects. That sounds good to me.
I'm scared of the snail's pace in the world's race. I remember how cute and sad my little sister was, all at once, when she was young. She used to construct little dollhouses for the numerous snails that used to inhabit our front and backyard bushes. My father eventually found out and made her move her sticky cardboard and miniature plastic furniture mansion outside in the front by the doorbell. One day, as I was getting ready for school, she ran up to me crying. I followed her outside and looked towards the direction that she was pointing at with her tiny little fingers. Cardboard snail shelter intact, but myriad shiny snail trails leading from her house, over the walls, and back into the bushes.
Sad for little girls. A relief for fathers. Freedom for fast-moving snails in the night. It must've been some operation for them under the cover of hushed darkness. I bet they ran real fast. She was only slowing them down.
Little sister's all grown up now, trying to build her own house. While I feel like one of her snails. Except the walls are bigger for me and I can't figure out which way to go. Would you look for me if I left a phosphorescent trail for you? Would you try to retrieve me like she did? Would you try to replace me with another or just forget about me and move on to something bigger?
I like my new wallet. It's nicer. Sleeker. Slimmer. Kind of like how I am now in my older age. I liked only filling in the new wallet with the bare essentials and chucking out the pack rat paranoiac feeling that I-cant–throw-this-away-because-I-think-that-I-might-need-it-in-an-emergency. I like feeling that if an emergency came up and if I needed a number or a scrap of paper that I'd survive and that I should just chill and that none of this stuff comes up anyway, and that if I really needed it - then I could get it - and if I couldn't? Then fuck it. My mind keeps on telling me to get jumper cables for my car, but I still haven't gotten those yet, though - have I? So why worry about having a certain business card? Yes. Why?
Oh...everything's fine. This is part of the reason why I turn nonsense letters into nonsense sentences. This is how I've always been. All questions with, maybe, a different answer every second. Every second breeds more questions - all you're trying to do is catch up. You forget most of it by the time that you wake up the next day - and then...shake...stir...repeat process.
Looking at the long list of ingredients to the package of Pringles that I brought home for my girlfriend makes me depressed. Looking at the cigar to my right doesn't. Uh-huh. Yeah. Hypocrite. I spent all of my day working at a job that I hate doing, now that I should be sleeping at three in the morning - I finally feel alive. Love the girlfriend and can't wait to spend time with her - but now that she's asleep in the next room - I feel alive. Feeling like, I think, the person that she fell in love with. The person at work all day doesn't exist. He's just a gossamer image of me now. Tonight's ME can totally kick today's ME's ass.
I'm getting better and better each day…I hope. I need a little fast and a little slow snail pace. I need what I need based on my schedule. I need you to listen to me. I need to listen to myself. I need to be young and old all in the same moment. I need sleep and I need to wake up. I want you to kiss me and I want you to leave me alone. I need more time and I've used all of mine up. I need to keep drinking and I need to sober up. I need to start running harder. I only want to float. I can' t watch. My eyes won't close. I should stop writing...
But I can't shut up...
The Best Thing That I Did Today
Was The Worst Thing That I Could've Done...
Because Then - Everything Was Better After That...
I have a new wallet now. Strikes me funny that, in twenty-eight years, I think that this is only the second time that I've bought one myself. There were probably a couple before that, but they were probably fastened together with Velcro, so they don't count. I might've traded a friend one of my G.I. Joes for one of the wallets that I had before. And the one before this, was a Harley Davidson one that I bought in a biker shop in downtown Cincinnati when I was eighteen. It had a long chain on it. I thought it was cool. And it helped prevent people from stealing it while I tried to sleep on the Greyhound bus too.
Dude, yes - I am getting older...nothing makes an old dog sniff the aging air more than perusing wallets in Target because your old one's on its last thread. I cheaped out and bought it at Target. Do you have Target where you live? It's like the west coast equivalent of your Wal-Mart. Except without the guns. And the old people greeting you. We do have Wal-Mart here though. Don't get me wrong. We have a lot here that you do too. Except White Castles...maybe that's a good thing. But...
Buying a new wallet made me feel ancient. Car lots, buying booze, lap dances, work clothes, ordering for your date, having kids call you SIR...none of this makes you feel as dusty as buying a wallet by yourself. I don't know why, but it does. I also bought some plain, white t-shirts, socks, light bulbs, Cokes, and picture frames. That's old too. But I did spend a lot of time agonizing over whether to buy more Star Wars figures - so that doesn't make me a gray ol' man yet, does it?
If I could've stopped any part of the day today, it would've been the part where I woke up, and if I could've sped up a part of the day it would've been the part that I'm at now. Stretch it to the limit. See what happens in the end before you fall asleep and have to return it the next day to avoid late fees.
I think that I just figured out the law of nature, kids. We have to hunt down all of the cats, let the dogs fight it out amongst themselves and let the monkeys be monkeys. Everything else can be bugs and insects. That sounds good to me.
I'm scared of the snail's pace in the world's race. I remember how cute and sad my little sister was, all at once, when she was young. She used to construct little dollhouses for the numerous snails that used to inhabit our front and backyard bushes. My father eventually found out and made her move her sticky cardboard and miniature plastic furniture mansion outside in the front by the doorbell. One day, as I was getting ready for school, she ran up to me crying. I followed her outside and looked towards the direction that she was pointing at with her tiny little fingers. Cardboard snail shelter intact, but myriad shiny snail trails leading from her house, over the walls, and back into the bushes.
Sad for little girls. A relief for fathers. Freedom for fast-moving snails in the night. It must've been some operation for them under the cover of hushed darkness. I bet they ran real fast. She was only slowing them down.
Little sister's all grown up now, trying to build her own house. While I feel like one of her snails. Except the walls are bigger for me and I can't figure out which way to go. Would you look for me if I left a phosphorescent trail for you? Would you try to retrieve me like she did? Would you try to replace me with another or just forget about me and move on to something bigger?
I like my new wallet. It's nicer. Sleeker. Slimmer. Kind of like how I am now in my older age. I liked only filling in the new wallet with the bare essentials and chucking out the pack rat paranoiac feeling that I-cant–throw-this-away-because-I-think-that-I-might-need-it-in-an-emergency. I like feeling that if an emergency came up and if I needed a number or a scrap of paper that I'd survive and that I should just chill and that none of this stuff comes up anyway, and that if I really needed it - then I could get it - and if I couldn't? Then fuck it. My mind keeps on telling me to get jumper cables for my car, but I still haven't gotten those yet, though - have I? So why worry about having a certain business card? Yes. Why?
Oh...everything's fine. This is part of the reason why I turn nonsense letters into nonsense sentences. This is how I've always been. All questions with, maybe, a different answer every second. Every second breeds more questions - all you're trying to do is catch up. You forget most of it by the time that you wake up the next day - and then...shake...stir...repeat process.
Looking at the long list of ingredients to the package of Pringles that I brought home for my girlfriend makes me depressed. Looking at the cigar to my right doesn't. Uh-huh. Yeah. Hypocrite. I spent all of my day working at a job that I hate doing, now that I should be sleeping at three in the morning - I finally feel alive. Love the girlfriend and can't wait to spend time with her - but now that she's asleep in the next room - I feel alive. Feeling like, I think, the person that she fell in love with. The person at work all day doesn't exist. He's just a gossamer image of me now. Tonight's ME can totally kick today's ME's ass.
I'm getting better and better each day…I hope. I need a little fast and a little slow snail pace. I need what I need based on my schedule. I need you to listen to me. I need to listen to myself. I need to be young and old all in the same moment. I need sleep and I need to wake up. I want you to kiss me and I want you to leave me alone. I need more time and I've used all of mine up. I need to keep drinking and I need to sober up. I need to start running harder. I only want to float. I can' t watch. My eyes won't close. I should stop writing...
But I can't shut up...
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
DRAFT
and when I'm not trying to prove that my life makes sense
and to not be the stuff of Sleepy Hollow legends
I
learn, learn, learn - about CCD 2011, Reindeer/Caribou/Rachel Reis/Mirah/The Hoover Dam/Air Force 1/The House/Senate/Migratory patterns/Patience/Ghosts/Warren Ellis/Lisa Hannigan/Ollabelle/Love/Chemtrails/The Panchen Lama/Factory farming/Nelson Riddle/Sewing/Tom Stoppard/Bokanovsky's Process/Bokonoism/Rachel OG/S.M. Stirling/Mayans/Jesca Hoop/Hands held/Tesla formulas/Smiles/Fat Man and Little Boy/
I try too much
and now I'm trying to prove that life makes sense
and I've learned to be humble/patient and like WATER
to be so much better then before
I
want to not to speel check my actions
and to Mirriam Webster/iPhone app my heart ALWAYAS
and to not be the stuff of Sleepy Hollow legends
I
learn, learn, learn - about CCD 2011, Reindeer/Caribou/Rachel Reis/Mirah/The Hoover Dam/Air Force 1/The House/Senate/Migratory patterns/Patience/Ghosts/Warren Ellis/Lisa Hannigan/Ollabelle/Love/Chemtrails/The Panchen Lama/Factory farming/Nelson Riddle/Sewing/Tom Stoppard/Bokanovsky's Process/Bokonoism/Rachel OG/S.M. Stirling/Mayans/Jesca Hoop/Hands held/Tesla formulas/Smiles/Fat Man and Little Boy/
I try too much
and now I'm trying to prove that life makes sense
and I've learned to be humble/patient and like WATER
to be so much better then before
I
want to not to speel check my actions
and to Mirriam Webster/iPhone app my heart ALWAYAS
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
aspacecadet
explorer Ostrich
with his head in the ground
an insect
trapped in amber
until you release me
from
wonder
fear
and from being stuck
in the past
with his head in the ground
an insect
trapped in amber
until you release me
from
wonder
fear
and from being stuck
in the past
Friday, September 17, 2010
I come from the future...
Back then we used to write about
Cat Stevens and Sufjan Stevens
factory farming and sustainable agriculture
time in a bottle and
howdoesonemakethat?
tinyworkerscontributing
connectingsynapses
stringsandmemorythings
tobecherished
andputonpedestals
andputonshelves
andthensoldyearslater@estatesales
nowiwriteaboutmyself
Cat Stevens and Sufjan Stevens
factory farming and sustainable agriculture
time in a bottle and
howdoesonemakethat?
tinyworkerscontributing
connectingsynapses
stringsandmemorythings
tobecherished
andputonpedestals
andputonshelves
andthensoldyearslater@estatesales
nowiwriteaboutmyself
Thursday, September 02, 2010
I have not written too much lately. I've been distracted. Dealing with things. Overworked and under-stimulated. Part of me didn't miss the writing. I don't miss freelance jobs. I don't miss writing about your DJ's, your magazine, your company or helping to write your screenplay, script, proposal, etc. What I do miss is writing on a front porch, drinking cigarettes and smoking beers furiously. I miss writing things that aren't for anything and that will go nowhere...but here.
God bless this blog.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
This Year... (sort of)
i died
got better
and then got betterbetter
got creative (sort of)
got comfortable (sort of)
tried (sort of)
and feel now
like getting better
all of the time
with practice
and consistency (all of the time)
with LIVING (all of the time)
this year (and NEXT year)
Hermes...
You don't have a pen that I can write with and no paper to write upon with the pen that I don't have. I wanted to make a Facebook status update in regards to how happy I am at the moment but I didn't want to get responses back via my phone. It's set to high volume because we have to wake up in the morning and I want you to sleep. Your neighbors are noisy but they're getting quieter as their drunken tide starts to grab and grab at their LOUDNESS. I can imagine a cop not giving a shit when I call - neighbor.noisy.need sleep.
I think you're good. Sleeping soundly. I'm here. It's nice to type on something that works. I've missed writing. I promise to give you everything that you want and please don't hate me if sometimes I excuse myself and try to give myself a little bit of everything that I want...besides what I have with you.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
22
and i like you and i think that there's something in my drink and I'm okay with that
i want you to be okay and for you to like me
and damn, it takes so much work to be a better person
i never was before
i never was a bad tyke
LIES
but
i never knew what it felt like to grow up
and i
want to grow up even more now
and i
want to like me and for you to be okay
and i like you
and i think that there's something in this life
and I'm okay with that
and damn, it takes so much time
and I'm okay with that
i want you to be okay and for you to like me
and damn, it takes so much work to be a better person
i never was before
i never was a bad tyke
LIES
but
i never knew what it felt like to grow up
and i
want to grow up even more now
and i
want to like me and for you to be okay
and i like you
and i think that there's something in this life
and I'm okay with that
and damn, it takes so much time
and I'm okay with that
24
I just erased what I wrote
it wasn't bad
it just wasn't good enough
for you
maybe
just roll
with what little I can give
to you
right now
it may
get better
for us both
and if not
then we'll BOTH
get rid of this
Monday, July 26, 2010
25
I've been fiddling around with this stupid computer since i got home
to a house filled with autistic children, pooping cats and ticking clocks
not really
I'm just staring
right here
it's white before me
stupid technology
failed mechanics
another failed
writing night
to a house filled with autistic children, pooping cats and ticking clocks
not really
I'm just staring
right here
it's white before me
stupid technology
failed mechanics
another failed
writing night
Friday, July 02, 2010
26
Can you hear it?
Shhh...LISTEN - just shut up for a second.
Can you NOW?
Yeah...It's nice isn't it?
Shhh...LISTEN - just shut up for a second.
Can you NOW?
Yeah...It's nice isn't it?
Monday, June 28, 2010
27
and i thank you
for everything
and thank you for all of the love
and the friendship
and the care
and your constant hugs
all of you
are amazingly patient
i keep on running and
you're always right beside me
when i bother to look
and i thank you
for everything
and thank you for all of the love
and the friendship
and the care
and your constant hugs
all of you
are amazingly patient
i keep on running and
you're always right beside me
when i bother to look
and i thank you
Monday, June 21, 2010
30
I saw a play by myself on Saturday
I read two reviews about it for weeks
so i bought the ticket in bed the night before
credit card in hand
I've realized that i need to continue doing things
that i like
that don't involve anybody else
even though
DUDE
I totally want all of you in my life
but...you aren't
I saw the play
ninety minutes
with an actress by my shoulder in a theater of twenty people
so close
I smoked a couple of cigarettes afterwards
not looking for a party
or to cement my theatric experience
I said hi to a couple of people that I knew and
excused myself
because I was hungry
and because sometimes I don't know
what to do with myself
Ummmm...and that's it.
Quiet night. Stupid poem.
Ummmm...and that's it.
Quiet night. Stupid poem.
32
It took me 15 solid minutes
to fix the sliding glass door in my room
that I haven't been able to open for the last 6 months
and now
these last 20 minutes
since I've opened
my sliding glass door
feels like
a face-buffeting hurricane of FUCKING AMAZING.
to fix the sliding glass door in my room
that I haven't been able to open for the last 6 months
and now
these last 20 minutes
since I've opened
my sliding glass door
feels like
a face-buffeting hurricane of FUCKING AMAZING.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)