Wednesday, August 31, 2005



Fat Free Milk...

would like your help...

YOU

Need to tell me a story (or as many as you want) about a wild and crazy night involving drunkenness and a/or w/ members of the opposite sex. Tell me what you drank, what was the deal and why it was so memorable to you and - did you ever see the person afterwards?

Basically. Drunk story. Date or otherwise involving a guy or girl.

By responding to this, this means that you absolve all ownership of this particular embarrassing moment of your past for ME TO USE and to give you NO CREDIT. This might wind up in a story. I will become rich. You will die poor.

Thank you for your cooperation.




Thursday, August 25, 2005



William Shatner's Nights Will Always Be More Boring Than Mine Even Though He Lives In Outerspace...

I catch myself, sometimes, thumping my fist aginst the desk to a rythym that, if not produced from speakers come from within my own head - which is fine, just as long as the shit's catchy. People might think that I'm angry, though...which is okay because I'm a third angry all of the time anyway, with another third...cloudy-wishy-washy, and the other third...vacant.

I'm nodding my head up and down right now. The world is asleep. When I want to talk to people and to go out - everybody's always very, very, far away from me. And then, sometimes when I am out - all I get from everybody else is primal, fecal throwing. Which is better than nothing, but still stinks all the same.

For every minute that I'm bored out of my fucking mind tomorrow at work - I will trade that for two minutes worth of equal time when I get off and go bat-shit-crazy. I will be out and about because it will Thursday. I will be glad to not be working. I will be glad to think about...being glad.

I am the luckiest person in the whole world right now because I am me right here and you will never know what it's like because you suck, or are asleep. or grounded, or narrow-mindedly poo-headed, or on a spaceship, or a communist, or a Republican.

The great thing about tomorrow - besides not spell-checking this...

The GREATEST thing about tomorrow will be................
..............................
...........................
.......................
................
...........
.......
.....
...
..
.
.
.




Wednesday, August 24, 2005



I Blame
Frank Black,
Burl Ives
And The
Satisfyingly Dichotomous itunes...


for making me not further contribute to the great american novel. Instead of telling you about the further adventures of Jem, Scout and Boo Radley, instead of telling you about what Holden Caulfield did after the loony bin, instead of telling you about Payne and what he did after working for the Los Angeles Times, instead of telling you about what Tony, Chris, Kevin and Joel did after that horrible road trip, instead of telling you if the guy and girl's dating experiment worked or gave them further reason to avoid bars and alcohol, instead of telling you about Beezus killing Romona, instead of telling you about Hermione's muggle-born punk rock, drug-addicted children, instead of telling you about Chinaski snorting blow off of the breasts of Sophia Loren, instead of telling you about Ender Wiggin waking up and realizing it was all a dream right before his first visit from Col. Graff, instead of telling you about the same poison that killed Romeo, Juliet and Hamlet's mom, Instead of telling you about the penis ring of Sauron's, instead of telling you about Eliza Doolittle eventually getting Alzheimers, instead of telling you about The Old Man coming home and then going down to the local A&P and just buying an 8 oz. filet of shark, instead of telling you about Tom Sawyer writing under the pseudonym : Samuel Clemens, instead of telling you if Pennywise The Clown ever came back to the town of Derry, Maine, instead of telling you if the prince found the princess, instead of telling you if the bee found the honey, the fly found the shit, A found the Z, Ying found the Yang, if William The poker player found the Tell, if Norman found the Fell, and if the money inevitably made it back into Akbar the store owner's till.

Yes.
I Blame
Frank Black,
Burl Ives
And The
Satisfyingly Dichotomous itunes...




Tuesday, August 23, 2005



No Amount Of Looking Around The Room...

will provide enough inspiration to warrant me spending more than five minutes writing on this thing. Okay. That's it. More like 30 seconds.




Saturday, August 20, 2005



Things That Make Me Happy In 2005 So Far...

Spider-Man Comics
Radiohead (still)
Remembering things that I've forgotten that I liked
ipods
Spider The Cat
Getting rid of stuff that used to be important to me - but is now...clutter
Getting drunk and shooting arrows in the backyard over with friends
Friends moving close
receiving books and skull head keychains in the mail
wearing ties to work. really? No. I'll scrap that.
shoot the moon
shut the box
singing out loud regardless if anybody's home
making my girlfriend laugh all of the time, even when she's tired and telling me to leave her alone and that she's trying to sleep
cleaning out my desk
visits from my sister
taking cruises
plants
ending this so that I can tell Chris on the phone about the Darth Vader mask that he's going to buy for a crapload of money because he's an even bigger nerd than I am...




Wednesday, August 17, 2005



Man...

I'm kind of nuts sometimes. I get in these moods where I decide to be bad and just start drinking through self-created bouts of madness. When I was playing poker with the guys the other night, I decided that I was totally bored and so I brought vodka. Ummm...hmmm...that's interesting. Vodka? I don't like vodka. When everybody asked me what I was drinking, I said, "Red Bull and Vodka". When they asked why I told them that I was bored. Hmphff. Okay. Bored. You're playing poker. Bored? Weird's more like it.

Yesterday was Bukowski's birthday so I decided to get really drunk. Made sense to me. It still makes sense to me, actually. Bukowski's birthday! I got pretty darn drunk too, I guess, In honor of ol' Hank Charles -

But----

I also did wake up this morning, forgetting that I had shaved my head down to stubble at my friend's house. I had a mohawk for a while too last night and I DO remember being bummed out that I couldn't keep it.

So. Now my head is cold.

I think I need to calm down when I get home. Watch a movie or something. Sort some comic books. Eat some sushi. Drink some water. Calm down.

This week isn't even half over yet
and I've already lost my money
and my friggin' hair.




Monday, August 15, 2005



Half Pepperoni, Half Baby's Breath And Some Sides Of Ranch Dressing Please...

So, if I, coming home from work late last night, considered getting the girlfriend flowers as a surprise - but opted instead to get her some frozen french bread pizzas - does this mean that I am totally unromantic or just that I know my girlfriend way too well?




Saturday, August 13, 2005



bzzzzzzzzzz...



Tonight, I will be drinking with such powerful ferocity that my eyeballs will implode into my skull. The police will come inevitably. They'll try to catch me, but I'll be hard to contain because I'll be blind and bumping into things. I'll also be slippery because of all of the blood. By the time that I read this later tonight. It will be late, I'll be tired, my girlfriend will be mad at me, I"ll be hungry and I'll be cursing the soon-to-come bartending shift.

But. I'm here. Right now. Ready to go.

Ready for my one shot.

Let's go hurt ourselves.




Wednesday, August 10, 2005



Why Take My Peter Jennings When There's Always Your Tucker Carlson and Bill O'Reilly?

I told my boss today to expect me coming into the office limping more than usual.

She asked why, and I told her that I was starting to skateboard by myself again.

She asked why, and I told her that I was getting older and lazier and that I felt-

Do you think you're getting fat, she asked?

Ummm...no, I said.

So does this mean that my emerging beer gut is now noticeable?

And does this mean that I have to sit up straighter in my chair?

On the other hand, this weekend I was dropping off the rent check and skated to my landlords house. Some friends just bought a house right by ours so I asked Chris, one of the guys that was moving into the house if he needed any help when I saw him getting ready to unload a mattress off of his truck.

He said no thanks, and then stopped and realized that it was me and laughed because he thought that I was some sketer kid asking him to help and thought that that was a bit strange.

I laughed at that too. It reminded me of about a couple of years ago skating some steps with Ian downtown. An older man came out of the office building and started to yell at us,

"I've told you before to get out of here!"

I almost stopped to tell him that I'd never been there before but didn't when I realized that he didn't know how old I was and that to him I looked no different than a 14 year old. In his eyes we were all destructive, rude little punks anyway.

Which I am.

So. Anyway. I am feeling lethargic, but might not yet look as old as I feel. Yet.

But I do want to be able to see dirt in my belly button again.

We can't all be Jabba The Hutt, you know.

He was fortunate enough to have cackling Salacious Crumb around to pick him clean.




Tuesday, August 09, 2005



Post.

This is what I do when I sit down in this chair, right here, right by the light, on top of the desk, y' know that thing that holds all of the stuff that you do things on. Things like writing about things? It's full of a bunch of things too. There's, like little things in one of the little drawers and bigger things in some of the bigger drawers. Sometimes I've put things that don't really fit in the little drawer and I mutter curses as I try to open the little drawer

my girlfriend just asked me WHAT ARE YOU TYPING?

poof.

gone.

Like an arrow in a newborn baby's heart

this dies

now i'm going to watch MTV to see if Danny from The Real World will go back to Austin after burying his dead mom and start to schtup Melinda, the hot dummy-head that he lives with.




Saturday, August 06, 2005



My 30 is equivalent to your 80...

I went through an old box of writing from jr. high to 94/95.

Strange indeeed.

I went through about half of it before I just gave up and decided that some things in dusty boxes are a pure joy to re-remember, but there's also an aspect of it that it sad. Sad in the sense that you've wasted a lot of time with your family and that you should've been a better corresponder. It's a kick though, to see some good, quality stuff that you wrote way back a million years ago.

Writing on a blog is not what that little boy from a long time ago would've expected to be doing in 05'. But, little boy would've been fucking floored that you could write something, and then have people instantly read it.

I can hear the trees sneezing tonight. Bless you.

I can hear nothing but Jack Kerouac reading something on my itunes and the hum of the air conditioner.

Spike Jones is on now, and I must end this. Nobody, and I mean, nobody can write while Spike Jones is on in the background.

Boy, man or sneezing tree...




Wednesday, August 03, 2005



My Swiss-Army Knife...

All I care about is going to the comic book store after work today.

That's it.

Oh, and calling my mother. I havent talked to her, in like, a year or two.

I have to, after seeing the Danny guy from The Real World crying after his mom kicked the bucket last night.

Yes, I watch bad television.

Yes, that gives me guilt.

Now, is it the quality of the television that I'm watching make me feel guilty or is the guilt inspired by the subject matter of the bad television that I'm watching?

What?

I don't know. Forget it.

comicbookstorecomicbookstorecomicbookstore




Tuesday, August 02, 2005



Brewed With The Finest Ingredients For A Smooth Refreshing Light Taste...

I think I'm waking up.

I feel like I've been asleep for a month

but without the reinvigorating benefits.




Monday, August 01, 2005

Thursday, July 28, 2005



Carl Sagan Poos On Your Cheap Ice Chest Flying Thing...

I will personally fly alongside the space shuttle when it comes back to ensure its safe return. You would think that we'd be able to upgrade a space fleet so that they don't fall apart. The tiles on the space shuttle are like my teeth. Big gaping holes and wide, open spaces.

Forget the war. I'm going to further space exploration.

I'm getting off of this planet and starting my own colony somwehere else.

And Warren Ellis will be the Minister Of Defense And Alcohol.




Wednesday, July 27, 2005



The Only Thing...

Funny about my insomnia is...

nothing.

BUT

I AM

doing something

even if it's REALLY nothing

while you're doing nothing

and that's SOMETHING

isn't it?






Too stupid to be smarter.

Too smart to be stupid.

Too much. Too little.

Too lazy. Brain on fire.


One of these days - hopefully a great many days from now...

I'll be dead. Food for worms. Tattered burial clothing. Cracked bones.

I just forgot - I wont be all of those things above because I'm going to be cremated, even though I hate fire - but, I'll be cremated because it's the most unselfish thing to do when space is limited on planet Earth or planet California.

Just burn the shit.

I DO want my ashes to be chucked out into space, though. To someday be picked up by an advanced alien race and mick-mucked together in a petri dish like a Betty Crocker looks-like-poo-muffin. I want to be interrogated by pale blue, spindly, wide-eyed beings through thoughts. Why this? Why that? What were you...STUPID?, They'll press.

They'll also ask me about bad punctuation, my inabilty to take over the world and my lack of moral fiber.

I will speak of things. Strange things that will make no sense to them. I'll tell them about the pleasures of Bud Light that tastes like water but creeps up on you in a slow, progressive way. Much like a pleasurable anti-cancer. I will tell them about love. I will tell them about the joy of two-dimensional comic books. I will confuse them with tales of two-dimensional people, also.

I will regale them with Star Wars stories. They will scoff, snort, and sneer. I will end up publishing these stories and selling them to the alien youth market.

That last sentence was really dumb. Pretend I didn't write it.

They'll ask me tons of questions. I will answer honestly.

I will tell them about the voices in my head. I will tell them that I think that one is my grandmother, even though she died when I was 5 or 6, and seems to have developed an immense amount of patience, which is different than the grandmother that I barely knew, because as far as I remember and know, she was very set in her ways and wouldn't of ever of had a conversation deeply about anything that was geared outside of her beliefs. But I still love her because she was a badass and taught me to read at a great age, and she was nicknamed Bubba and she wasn't fat so how's that for fun?

I will tell the aliens who put me back together again about the voice in my head that is the sad and bemused future me. The one that knows that the young me is too headstrong to really listen, but every once in a while will sit down and have a serious and open-minded conversation with you.

Years from now, in a floating space station or by being interrogated via alien telepathy - I will start to remember things that I took for granted while I was in that funny, frail form on Earth. I will remember cats, poems, hugs and blood. I will remember mind-expanding conversations and youthful excursions. I will see stars. I will feel the dirt beneath my toes. I will remember what it was like to be alive.

I will think of disposable nights

like tonight

that last

forever.




Tuesday, July 26, 2005



Dude.

The other day I bought a bag of potatoes and it's totally smelling up the house. And now I don't know where to put the bag of potatoes. We have no room for a bag of potatoes.

Also, on the vegetable front...I have an avacado pit. As far as I remember...can't you stick some toothpicks in one, half-immerse it in water, and then a plant will start growing out of it? I made a bet with friends that this would happen years ago and all I ended up with was a cup of smelly water and I had to throw it away.

Did I just imagine that you could do this?

Or was it a potatoe?

I'm spelling potatoes wrong, huh?

potato?

potatoe.

tomatoe. tomato.




Saturday, July 23, 2005



Whatever Song This Is, Playing - I Don't Like It...



But I'm too busy typing crap that you and I won't remember tomorrow.

By this time tomorrow, I will just be getting home from Hollywood from a horseback ride. I will probably've been very drunk before, but after the stupid freeway ride that always bores me to death the one in every six months that I go out to Hollywood...ummm what was I saying?. Ummm...I was saying that my buzz will be worn off and that I'll be tired.

Oh. I will not be drinking whilst atop the beast. I will be drinking at the Mexican restaurant that we're going to. Drinking whilst horseback riding WOULD be Friggin' A Awesome, though. I COULD bring my gals flask, eh?

I will not die on tomorrow nights horse. That will be up to my girlfriend. I grew up around horses and she's never touched one. How will I get home?

Please pick me up if you live in LALA/HOLYWEIRD.

Thank you.




Friday, July 22, 2005



"Groovy!"...

Everybody should write at least ONE horror film.




Tuesday, July 19, 2005



F U In The A, Kid...

That's what I should've said after my bartending shift when I was at the 24 grocery store inquiring to the pimply, half-asleep checker about the new Harry Potter book. I knew that they were carrying it, but couldn't find it. He just looked at me blankly and slooooooowly asked another clerk who ignored him. So I told him to forget it. He said nothing. I said nothing also. It was 3 in the morning. I will get it now. Right after I type this. Because I am old and weird.




Monday, July 18, 2005



Why...

Do old men smell like eggs?

When I'm old, I want to smell like pipe smoke and the cheap perfume of hookers...or maybe like the perfume of cheap hookers, instead. Yeah that sounds better, I think.

Whatever.




Friday, July 15, 2005



Dogs Of War...

I'm glad that I wear socks and shoes because if I didn't...

The I'd never appreciate how good it feels to take them off.




Thursday, July 14, 2005



I Came Up With The Title Of Fat Free Milk Because I looked In The Fridge...



And now, folks...it's been awhile, but I just may - start to do some productive things. REAL things. I will try not to let my real imaginary world affect my imaginary real world.

Three things to work on.

The second Marvel Comics submission.
The Mad Magazine Freelance thing.
Have to work on the totally simple thing that the library girl was going to give to Cartoon Network.
Dig out the old notebooks and re-type.
And talk to the already twice-over-published loyd about his literary agent so that maybe he can get me a meeting.

Fuck the screenplays. They're like ex-girlfriends to me now. Best left forgotten unless you have to deal with them out of necessity.

Maybe there's a Cafepress.com for fun book in there once I find out the costs, tech specifics, idiot-friendly factor and copyright-so-that-I-can-reprint issues.

Any help? Coo.

Not? Coo too.




Tuesday, July 12, 2005



Runaway Ralph And April's 30th Birthday...



Once again, the outside cat left me a present in the form of a splayed out, large, dead rat. So, I got some newspapers and shuffled over to the back yard and swung it by its tail over the chainlink fence but it hit the top and bounced back and hit my sandaled right foot. Then I picked it up by its body and hucked it over hand and now it's gone.

I love cats.

I love coming home.

I love rat blood and brains on my big toe.







Kind Of Funny...

Drunk friends call tonight while I write this. I was originally going to write about phobias. I talk to them, tell them to hold on, and drop the phone by the computer speakers. I think that they're now listening to MUSE. After I am done typing this senten - oh wait....they hung up.

This was funny. A little bit.




Monday, July 11, 2005



Rivers Cuomo...

I will only allow myself to play Texas Hold Em' once a month from now on.

I can only afford to suck horribly at things every so often as oppossed to my regular routine.

But even typing this makes me want to play even more.

Yet, poor people shouldn't gamble. Apparently I haven't learned this yet.

I suck at a lot of things.

But, yet, writing about things that I suck at...seems to be my forte.

Would I rather have words in the place place of good luck, winnings and sense of luck-dodging accomplishment?

No.

I am the best WORST poker player ever.




Sunday, July 10, 2005



Greatest Hits...

I really don't know anything about my grandparents. I have no sense of family history beyond my mother and father, and even then, it's sketchy. It's sad to think that 30 years from now, when I have children, that they'll ask questions that I won't be able to answer. Yet, the only sick comfort that I have about this is that someday there'll be a great grand ME that'll be writing this same sentence, frustratingly, years and years from now......




Saturday, July 09, 2005



I Am The Jedi Master Of Potential Stomach Aches...

So, If I pulled some steak out of the freezer that was left over from The Fourth Of July, then blended some onions, garlic, pepper, beer and A1 Sauce together and am now marinating it to BBQ later - is this how I'm going to go out? Will my actions today be an ulcer later?

Wish my butt luck.




Friday, July 08, 2005



I Fart Just As Much As You Breathe...

I feel old, fat, slow and stupid more often than before, but then my friends and I all crank call each other's offices on a daily basis, so we can't be that old yet.

Or maybe we just never grew up in the first place. I don't know.




Monday, July 04, 2005



The Beginning Of Tommorows Headache Starts Tonight...

But I did promise my neighbors that I wouldn't tape fireworks on top of one of my motorcycle helmets and run up and down their stairs like I did last year.

So that's good.




Saturday, June 25, 2005



Today Is My Birthday. All Of You Need To Eat A Piece Of My Flesh...



AN SOISGEUL AIR REIR NAOMH MARC

1. CAIBIDEIL

Teagasg Eoin Baistidh: Criosda air a bhaisteadh leis: Criosda a gairm a dheisciopul, 'sa deanamh moran mhiarailtean.

T OISEACHD soisgeul Iosa Criosda, Mac Dhe.

2 Air reir 's mar tha e sgriobhte san fhaidh Isaias: seall, cuiridh mi m' aingeal roimh do ghnuis, a reiticheas do shlighe romhad.

3 Guth neach ag eigheach san fhasach: Reitichibh slighe an Tighearna, agus dianaibh a rathadain direach.

4 Bha Eoin anns an fhasach a baisteadh, 'sa searmonachadh baisteadh an aithreachais gu mathanas pheacannan.

5 Agus chaidh duthaich Iudea uile mach ga ionnsuidh, agus muinntir Ierusalem gu leir, is bhaisteadh iad leis ann an abhuinn Iordain ag aideachadh am peacannan.

6 Agus bha Eoin air eideadh le fionnadh chamhal, is crios leathair mu mheadhon; agus dh' ith e locuist is mil fhiadhaich. Agus shearmonaich e ag radh:

7 Tha fear nas cumhachdaiche na mise tighinn as mo dheigh: neach nach airidh mise air cromadh sios is barail a bhrogan fhuasgladh.

8 Bhaist mise sibh le uisge; ach baistidh esan sibh leis an Spiorad Naomh.

9 Is thachair, gun tainig Iosa anns na laithean sin bho Nasareth Ghalile; agus bhaisteadh e le Eoin ann an abhuinn Iordan.

10 'S air ball a direadh as an uisge, chunnaic e neamh fosgailte, 's an Spiorad mar chalman a tearnadh 'sa fantuinn air.

11 Agus thainig guth bho neamh : Is tusa mo Mhac gaolach, is mor mo thlachd dhiot.

12 Agus ghrad-ghreas an Spiorad e dhan fhasach.

13 Agus bha e san fhasach da-fhichead latha, agus da-fhichead oidhche; is bhuaireadh le Satan e; 's bha e comhla ris na h-ainmhidhean, agus bha na h-ainglean a frithealadh dha.

14 'S an deigh do dh' Eoin a bhith air a chuir an greim, thainig Iosa do Ghalile, a searmonachadh soisgeul rioghachd Dhe,

15 'S ag radh: Tha 'n t-am air a choimhlionadh, 's tha rioghachd Dhe aig laimh; deanaibh aithreachas, agus creidibh san t-soisgeul.

16 'Sa gabhail ri taobh muir Ghalile, chunnaic e Simon,agus Anndra a bhrathair, a cur lion sa mhuir (oir b' iasgairean iad.),

17 Agus thuirt Iosa riutha: Thigibh leanaibh mise, agus ni mi iasgairean dhaoine dhibh.

18 Agus ghrad dh' fhag iad na lin, is lean iad e.

19 'Sa gabhail as a sin ceum beag air adhart, chunnaic e Seumas mac Shebede agus Eoin a bhrathair, 's iad a caradh nan lion sa bhata:

20 Agus ghairm e iad san uair. 'Sa fagail an athar Sebede maille ris an luchd thuarasdail sa bhata, lean iad e.

21 Agus chaidh iad a stigh do Chapharnaum; agus air dha a dhol a stigh gun dail air na laithean sabaid dhan t-sinagog, theagaisg e iad.

22 Agus ghabh iad ioghnadh ri theagasg: oir bha e gan teagasg mar neach aig an robh cumhachd, 's chan ann mar na Sgriobhaich.

23 Agus bha san t-sinagag aca duine anns an robh spiorad neoghlan, is dh' eigh e

24 Ag radh: Ciod an comunn eadar sinn agus thusa, Iosa bho Nasareth? An tainig thu gus ar sgrios? Is aithne dhomh co thu, Aon Naomh Dhe.

25 Is mhaoith Iosa air, ag radh: Bi samhach, agus gabh a-mach as an duine.

26 'S an spiorad neoghlan ga reubadh, 's ag eigheach le guth ard, chaidh e mach as.

27 Agus ghabh iad uile ioghnadh, ionnus gun d' fharraid iad 'nam measg fhein, ag radh: De tha so? De an teagasg ur so? oir tha e toirt orduigh le cumhachd do na spioraid neoghlan fhein, agus tha iad umhail dha.

28 'Agus sgaoil iomradh air gun dail feadh duthaich Ghalile uile.

29 'Sa dol a mach air ball as an t-sinagog, thainig iad maille ri Seumas is Eoin gu tigh Shimoin is Anndra.

30 Agus bha mathair-cheile Shimoin 'na laidhe ann am fiabhras; agus dh 'innis iad dha gun dail mu deidhinn.

31 Agus thainig e, 'sa breith air laimh oirre thog e i is ghrad-dh' fhag am fiabhras i, agus fhreasdail i dhaibh.

32 'S nuair thainig am feasgar, 'sa chaidh a ghrian fodha, thug iad ga ionnsuidh iadsan uile a bha easlainteach, agus anns an robh deomhain.

33 'S bha am baile uile air cruinneachadh aig an dorus.

34 Agus leighis e moran, a bha air an leireadh le iomadh gne ghalar, agus thilg e mach moran dheomhan, 's cha do leig e leo labhairt, a chionn 's gum b' aithne dhaibh e.

35 'S ag eirigh ro-mhoch, 'sa dol a mach, chaidh e gu aite fas; is rinn e urnaigh an sin.

36 Agus lean Simon e, agus iadsan a bha comhla ris.

37 'S nuair a fhuair iad e, thuirt iad ris: Tha iad uile gad shireadh.

38 Is thuirt e riutha: rachamaid dha na bailtean sa choimhearsnachd, gus an searmonaich mi an sin cuideachd: 's gur ann air son so a thainig mi.

39 'S bha e teagasg 'nan sinagogan, 's feadh Ghalile uile, 'sa tilgeadh a-mach dheomhan.

40 Agus thainig lobhar ga ionnsuidh, a guidhe air; 'sa tuiteam air a ghluinean,thuirt e ris: Ma 's aill leat, is urrainn dhut mo ghlanadh.

41 'Sa gabhail truais ris, shin Iosa a lamh, 'sa beantuinn dha, thuirt e ris : Is aill leam: bi glan.

42 'S nuair thuirt e so, ghrad-dh' fhag an luibhre e, agus bha e air a ghlanadh.

43 'S thug e sparradh cruaidh dha, agus leig e air falbh e gun dail;

44 'S thuirt e ris: Fiach nach innis thu do neach sam bith : ach falbh, fiach thu fhein don ard-shagart, agus tairg air son do ghlanaidh na nithean a dh' orduich Maois, mar theisteanas dhaibh.

45 Ach air dhasan a dhol a mach, thoisich e ri innse, 's ri sgaoileadh an sgeoil; air chor 's nach b' urrainn dha a nis a dhol a stigh don bhaile gu follaiseach, ach dh' fhuirich e a mach ann an aiteachan fas, agus chrunnaich iad as gach aite ga ionnsuidh.




Wednesday, June 22, 2005



And The Meek Shall Inherit Meek Genes...

Like Ender Wiggin, I am too tired to play like I used to, but will still win, even though I groan loudly whenever I move.

That was one of the worst sentences that I've ever typed, I think.

And because this is already so bad, it makes me want to stop. But I don't think that I will for now. I am waking up, even though it's past midnight, even though the gosssamer goading of things that I should be doing cling to my head and make me flail around my hands like some kind of epileptic/tourettic voodoo doctor.

If I could cast spells on people, I would first, uncast the many spells that have been cast upon me. I would first start with the physical ones and then move on down the list. It would be an honor for me to roll bones made of your fingertips. To spit on them and then to mingle them with the fresh blood of a sacrificed chicken.

Because I'm cheap and lazy - I'd probably just throw some KFC in the dirt and then spit on that. That made absoultely no sense. I think.

My father met Col. Sanders once. Emperor Hirohito of Japan. George Lucas. Eartha Kitt. And a descendant of Adolph Coors.

The first two are true. The rest are lies.

Typing tonight is my Battle School. Like Ender Wiggin, I am too tired to play like I used to, but will still win, even though I groan loudly whenever I move. Use this piece of writing as proof.




Tuesday, June 21, 2005



Like Lightning - Except Only Slower - And More Like A Buzz, Instead Of A JOLT...

Sorry. I was talking about my mother's vagina.

No. I was talking about the state of my my mind.

But, yet, when one says a comment like the one that I previously stated - there's no amount of anything that can amount to something even close to the thing that I was going to tell you that really wasn't about anything anyway.




Saturday, June 18, 2005



"Through the use of MasterCard fraud-fighting tools that proactively monitor for fraud, MasterCard was able to identify the processor that was breached," the company said in its statement.

Ghosts pop up every so often.

Especially when you go out.

Ray Parker Jr. knows what's up.




Friday, June 17, 2005



Y' know, I Feel Sorry For People Who Don't Drink. Cuz' When They Wake Up In The Morning - That's The Best That They're Going To Feel All Day.





Happy Birthday, you awesome, dead bastard.


Thursday, June 16, 2005



Sagan's Brain...

If I could - I'd sell slivers of it in the bottom of special tequila bottles.

To be so smart, and then to die - must be frustrating.

But then, maybe, only stupid people are the only ones frustrated by death.




Tuesday, June 14, 2005



The Only Thing A Commander Ever Truly Controls Is His Own Army...

Days like the fastest molasses and dreams congeal into uneaten messes.

We never didn't appreciate the moment - but never gave the moments their due - knowing that there would be many more to come. The longing for past innocence creates future guilt. Not longing for longing feelings creates apathy. Apathy creates nothing. Nothing equals waste. Waste equals things that can't be used by you - but always by certain innovative and imaginative others.

And so you read this.

And I'm curious what can be done with these things...
when I'm not around anymore to see the results.






They Go For The Eyes First...

Yesterday, I was stopped at a stop sign and was fascinated by a crow pecking at a dead rat carcass. The rat's body would rise up from the asphalt every time that the crow plucked at it, and then it would thump back down to the ground. I kept on watching until a car behind me honked it's horn. I then ran around and did a bunch of useless errand-type crap, went home and felt like the dead rat I had seen earlier.

I wanted to be the crow.






It's My Little Sister's Birthday...

It is not Flag Day.




Friday, June 10, 2005



Rip Van Shithead...

I have spent the last two nights sleeping on the couch.

Tonight?

Better find out soon, boyo.

Your clock and relationship's tickin like an Al Qeada Dirty Bomb.





Tuesday, June 07, 2005



I Am Using The Largest Type Because My Eyesight Has Failed Me...

I feel like I've been blinded by Evil Ash from Armys Of Darkness.
Jason Voorhees has sliced my throat.
Freddy Krueger has stabbed my gut.

Micheal Myers is chasing me down dark hallways.
Frank The Bunny won't get out of my head.
Tyler Durden keeps knocking out my teeth.

And those stupid ferrets from Beastmaster keep on shitting in my boots.




Monday, June 06, 2005



Postage Will Be Paid By Addressee...

When I read this, I will be sitting bored in an insurance office.
I will wonder why I didn't write anything better, but then, I will yawn and remember how tired I was the night before, and what a long day it had been. I will congratulate myself on writing anything at all. I will take a drink of my Coke, read this again...and then it will all make a lot more sense. I hope.




Thursday, June 02, 2005



House Of M...

It's cool that you want to talk to me about comic books at the grocery store. I usually don't get a chance to talk about nerdy things that I like with that many people, but...please just dont speak SO LOUDLY. Telling me HOW COOL THE CURRENT BATMAN STORYLINES ARE RIGHT NOW is not socially kosher there, bubba. Even if I'm just standing there by the flowers and holding windshield wiper fluid, paper towels and a six-pack of Bud Light.

It's just uncomfortable being outed like that.

Y'know...with the Bud Light and all...




Monday, May 30, 2005



The Battle Of The Bulge...

We need to eat first and then we'll drink more AND THEN WERE GOING TO PLAY KICKBALL.

A Memorial Day, indeed.






Before...

getting home from bartending for almost twelve hours. I limped through the supermarket and bought Gatorade, cigarettes and a Tombstone pizza. I then saw two Coyotes in front of my house. I made hissing noises at them. They both smiled at me. Not moving. So I threw an old Wu Tang Clan casette tape at them and then they ran off.




Friday, May 27, 2005



From Hell...

The keys feel like hard Play-Doh.
Am I finding it hard to concentrate because of the Abshtine/abshthinse/abracadabra stuff of my friends that I drank tonight? Now, trust me - i'm more of the boobt boring type. Only Bud/boring light and maybe the occasional mixed drink combined with the usual madness, but I don't even like taking Aspirin. I've had my fair share of madness back in the exploratory years - but liquor-ish crud never makes the night for me.

But, tonight my friend had some Absithne/abdkdwejkrd. I had alot. Stuff that we can get in America is weaK. i tHINK THAT i WAS BUZZED AND ALL THAT IT MADE ME WAS DRUNKER. TRY TO EXPLAIN THAT TO MY GIRLFRIEND AND MY FRIEND'S GIRLFRIEND. i FELT LIKE THE ONLY GUY IN THE ROOM WEARING PANTIES. i NEED TO TURN THESE CAPLOCKS OFF.

If you don't listen to Atari Teenage Riot or to Alex Empire - then die of your own non-noisy poo.

I will take bets that I'll feel like Atari Teenage Riot tommorrow, though.

I'm finding it hard to concentrate. I want to laugh, write and rip your head off.

So, apparently this crap doesn't work because this is how I normally am.

Absithne be damned.




Thursday, May 26, 2005



Rasputin...

Was hard to get rid off.

but the thousands of nerdy, ding-dong comic books
that I'm trying to sort out in alphabetical order
and that are cluttering every square inch
of my living room -

are even harder to kill tonight.




Tuesday, May 24, 2005



Does Darth Have A Special Robot That Helps Him Pee?...



Anyway. To get the rest of it out of my system and to answer the questions of my ever-loyal and always inquisitive fanbase -

I liked the movie. As much as one can like a Star Wars movie post 1999. The acting was not as bad as I expected. Not as bad as I expected, which means that there weren't as many cringe-worthy moments as the previous two. This is basically the equivalent as saying you didn't bleed as much this time as opposed to the last time that you walked into a dark closet full of knives.

Yoda, like always was way to overdrawn. Yoda also speaks like my Vietnamese mother. For a guy nearing 800 years old, you would think that he'd be able to figure out not only the fine points of The Force - but also the proper placement of certain words in the basic galactic language.

Chewbacca. Unnecessary. Why was he in it? Why Jimmy Smits for that matter. It most be nice to twiddle your thumbs endlessly, to wait for royalty checks from NYPD Blue and to wait for George Lucas to tell you when to come over to stand in front of a blue screen. NYPD Blue Screen.

Natalie Portman was pregnant. Natalie Portman was not Garden State material. She was more like...Vegetative State written and directed by Zach Braff.

Emperor Palpatine/Ian Mcdirmid/Mcdirmid/Macdiarmid/Mcdirmiad/ed was a true joy. He's probably been the only actor who has been a joy to watch consistently - both in this new, darn-fangled trilogy and in the last two films of the previous. This is what you get when you hire English, theatrically trained actors. You get actors who can work with horrible dialogue. If I wrote a movie called Kaka doody poo - Sir Alec Guinness would make everything that I wrote sound like the Shakespearean equlivalent of verbal butter. I am the George Lucas of the Internet. YOU make something of it.

Ewan McGregor capped of his infinite patience with a great performance and impersonation. It's amazing to think that Renton is still Obi. Now take all of that hard-earned cash, Ewan - and spend it on extra protection so that you don't end up killing yourself on one of your friggin' motorcycles. I still want to see you in Porno by Irvine Welsh, Andrew McDonald and Danny Boyle.

And I guess that I just cut off half of what I wrote. Damnit. I wrote about my inability to perceive Samuel Jackson as anything as Jules from Pulp Fiction with no hair in a robe. I talked about hoe Anakin could've even been more evil and how Sith are supposed to be like, the equivalent of Galactic Nazis - so that should make Anakin in this movie akin to the spurned, young painter named Adolph Hitler. Ummm...it was funnier the way I wrote it before.

Damn. What a horrible endnote. Now I can't REremember how clever I was previously. This is how we'll all end up, folks. Trying to be as quick, witty and pleasing as we were before. Much like me, you and George.

I DID love the movies. THIS one especially. I'm just being a nerdy dickwad. It made a lot of money. It made everybody happy. Life will go on. The TV show will come out in 2007. Maybe I'll have a kid by then. I probably won't. I was surrounded by fathers and their sons in the Star Wars lines. I was always with friends. George Lucas'll be dead by the time that one of my bastard offspring'll be old enough to even ASK me Star Wars-related questions. With my luck, he'll tell me that Stars Wars is GAY and that he's only interested in FOOTBALL statistics. GAY.

I think that I ended it before with saying that this was probably my first and will probably be my last movie review ever.

And then I said MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU.

And then I called you NERDY BIRDIES.

Horrible ending, but now I'm too lazy to undo what was undone that I REDID.

Dig?




Saturday, May 21, 2005



Dip Them In A Vat Of Popcorn Butter And Then Kick Them Down The Hallway...

Babies and kids in theatres. On Thursday I had to tell some twelve year-old kids that I was going to rip their fucking heads off if they didn't shut up and if they continued to kick my seat. Today, I told somebody that something was wrong with their baby and then had to console a crying five-year old whose father left him due to a cellphone call.

Yesterday, I vainly tried to help as an older man suffered a major heart attack in front of me at my restaurant. He died.

This is not related to anything, except that my last couple of days have been both boring, annoying, exciting and sad.




Thursday, May 19, 2005



People Are Watching It Right Now...



I'm a big fucking Star Wars geek. Always loved the movie - I'm in my late, late, late twenties...so far...and grew up with an older brother, which helps you get into SW more. Could tell you a million stories about stuff and my recollections, blah, blah...

But why force this kind of crap just because the last movies's coming out?

I can't write or cram a million hilarious, nerdy stories into one night just because ROTS is coming out. I'm watching the damn movie tomorrow. I will be happy. I will get sushi afterwards. I will ask a lot of questions afterwards. My Jedi powers never surfaced, too, by the way.

So FUCK YOU, Palpatine!

Lying, sonofabitch.

You look like shit anyway.

I'm going to bomb the hell out of Toshi Station, just to do it - you bastards.




Wednesday, May 18, 2005



And The Slow Days Do Nothing To Erase The Constant Changes In Your Face...

and he asked himself
quietly
and politely

to
Stop for a second.

what
what's wrong?
don't bother me
I'm busy
y' see?


No. I don't see.
I see what you don't - and more.
This is the reason of my being. I am the outerworldy essence that exists within you. The outsides of your insides that we all hope that you may, one day, spread to others in your outside world.


I'm not really getting what you're saying, man. You seem like a nice guy and all - but...I'm, kinda like, really doin' a lot of things right now, y' know? Maybe I'll have some time later or sumthin'...

No. You won't. I know this, have seen it...lived it. That is why I speak to you now. I see you. Know you. Am you. I am THE OLDER you. The FUTURE YOU.

......really? Wow. Cool. Huh. Ummm...so, are you, like - rich yet?

(sigh).........




Tuesday, May 17, 2005



Racecar Backwards...

Just caught myself not knowing what to say on the phone because I was so distracted with something stupid on the computer and just got home from work early and called somebody but couldn't remember who the hell I called so the recording was blank until I said...uuuhhhhh I don't know who this is - but this is Kevynn and...I know I was calling to play poker, so I hope this is somebody that likes to play. Bye.






Things I Hate To Do...

Why does it seem that I know everybody else a lot better than they know me?




Monday, May 16, 2005



Nothing Compares...To You...



Sometimes, I wanna shave my head. It only happens when I'm drunk. I don't know why. Maybe I look at myself in the mirror and feel ashamed. Maybe the monastic and shamefully anti-bacchanal part of me rears its ugly pun-intended head. Or maybe it's because that my friend Tony has a pair of clippers always lying about in his bathroom and every single time that I'm at Tony's - I'm totally wasted.




Friday, May 13, 2005



Mommy And Daddy...Thanks, Raymi...

That's the second cool band that I've found on her website.

Sometimes you discover the best things when everybody else is sleeping.

Axe-murderers, Owls and The Chupacabra know what's up.

It can make one feel old against the squinting glare of the alarm-clocked LED display when you realize that sporadic moments of creative discovery, loud music and writing madness happen when the next work day looms overhead like Pennywise's true galactic form. Stupid spider.

If that didn't make sense, I'll make it so.

I miss writing on paper.

Enough with missing shit and on to dissing shit.

Enough with submissing and on to the next mission.






And They Should...

carry our bodies down by the river after we die. There, they will bathe us, wrap us in fine silk and then let the slow currents whisk us away. They'll watch until we're out of sight - we might get snagged by a jutting rock or a stray bush branch - then, they'll wade into the cold water and free us from the tangles. They'll hope for unimpeded progress down the river...either that, or a peaceful descent down to the river bottom.

Either way...out of sight, out of mind, out of their hands - into someone else's.

Straight down the middle.

Or a slow descent to the bottom.

Either way is fine.

Godspeed.




Thursday, May 12, 2005



Knights Of The Old Republic...

I type this without my glasses. Without SPECTACLES, which is the Greek god of sight. Without TESTICLES, which is the Greek god of fertility. I am performing The Seven Labors Of Kevycles. But I keep on getting distracted. This is getting easier to do now. Too easy.

Everything is easier to not do now. Should I start worrying?

Even italicizing that one word took effort.

Typing italicizing made me feel triumphant.

Even typing makes me feel triumphant.




Monday, May 09, 2005



I Am Walter Mitty's Lack Of Realism...

Pretty much every Chrsitmas, I would at least, get a couple of records from my dad. The Adventures Of The Lone Ranger, Robin Hood, Disney's Haunted Mansion, Grimms Fairy Tales, Etc.

Mt favorite though, was a record completely narrated by Danny Kaye. He did all of the character voices for storied like The Something Something Musicians Of Bremen, some skit about peas in a kettle, and something about...oh wait-yeah, he did Rumplestilskin too. Tons of stuff, and he was funny. It had sound effects and the whole deal. This is the type of stuff that I would listen too. Swiss Family Robinson, songs, limericks, blah blah.

I would sit in the dark sometimes and just imagine everything that was going on. I would sing. What else was there to do im my room besides listen to crap on the record player and to play with all of my Star Wars Figures.

I think that my father's record gifts made a huge impact on my life. I can think of nothing better for a kid. Sitting and imagining pictures and settings in your head because you want to. I got outside a lot though, so don't be a buttmunch. I had a surprisingly active lifestyle considering how crappy my parent were.

But I DID have a lot of wonderful books, records and cartoons at my disposal when nobody else would pay attention to me. There's no point to this. I was thinking about a title while driving home after bartending tonight. A girl from Days Of Out Lives, one of the guys from The Wonder Years - one of Kevin Arnold's friends shot the shit with me for a while, and my friend who's related to Johnny Carson came in. Different night tonight. But, anyway - as I was driving home from work and then from buying beer that I will probably only drink two of - I started thinking about Walter Mitty and Danny Kaye.

And noe I'm thinking about more beer, a snack and popping in some good background noise while I sleep the sleep of the just.

The I will wake up for the second job at 9 am - and then will utilize all of my Walter Mitty-ness. I will use a common fountain pen's componets to help repair medical machinery to save a mans life. I will think about Batman and Jason Todd coming back from the dead. I will think of the cast of charcters in two screenplays that I've written that I can never get a final draft of. I will be thinking Emperor Palpatine and pricks of the finger on golden spindles.

fafdfdsahjfdsje




Saturday, May 07, 2005



Even Though...

I've lived in OC/LA almost all of my life -

I have no idea where I live.

I don't know cities.

I don't know freeways, I don't know how to get anywhere.

I once tried to go to a AAA (not AA), and wound up at Disneyland.

I always ask about city names and where it is, even though I've been everywhere.

I don't pay attention. Maybe I should. I spent a couple of summers going to the beach all of the time and would now need a Thomas Guide to get there. I get nervous and start to sweat if I end up driving more than twenty minutes.

I have never driven to LA by myself, even though I've driven to San diego, Joshua Tree, San Jose and Las Vegas.

I don't know anything.

Everybody can do things that I can't.

Yet, I've travelled at least through half of the US by myself.

Dichotomous dickhead w/no, or a great sense of non-direction?

Lazy? Yes.

Funny? Yes.

Hopeful? Yes.

Helpless? ALWAYS.




Friday, May 06, 2005



A Paypal Donation Of $2.95 Will Get You...

A personalized secret from me.

This will be something that I haven't told anybody else. Ever.

Hopefully this will not be forwarded or used as blackmail to my girlfriend.

I have a lot of secrets.

Paypal link on the left, lover...hubbahubba

Ten dollars will get you the gay ones.

The link is on the left, bubba...




Thursday, May 05, 2005



I Am The Lonely Creature In The Dagobah Swamp...

The clock ticks by slowly at work. Five pm seems very far away. You think of all of the cool things that you could be doing right now even if you don't actually do any of them when you get home. The grass is always more exciting on the other side of the fence. I have friends who will smoke your lawn. I need to close the door. Somebody turned on the air conditioning. Time to smoke. When I do that - my phone will ring. I bet you. Watch......




Wednesday, May 04, 2005



If You...

Had a boring time at a strip club tonight,

would you chalk it up as a mistake -

or still as a success?




Tuesday, May 03, 2005



Don't Make Me Turn This Car Around...



Okay. That's it.

I think I'm ready to go now.

To your town, country, island, whatever.

I'm ready to leave. Just let me pack some booze and arrange storage rental for my comic books, toys and girlfriend. Not necessarily in that order of preference.

If you want to sell me on why I should move to a place that you know of...

Please - let me know.

Hurry.

Thanks.




Monday, May 02, 2005



I Am...

Not the security guard singing Al Green to himself at 3 am as I was leaving work.

Weird sentence, I know.

Weird, lonely job? Yes.

Worse than bartending? Yes.

Impossible? Apparently not.




Wednesday, April 27, 2005



Peter Porker - Spider Ham...

If somebody sends you an invite to a BBQ in Santa Monica this Saturday and you don't have any idea as to whom it's from? Then you must go. You'll have more fun, or at least there will be a hint of surprise as you're driving there. Who am I kidding? I don't drive far. I think I'll have to ask around - but I get the feeling that I just don't remember the person telling me in person because I was drunk at the time. Big surprise.




Tuesday, April 26, 2005



Fig Newton And The Nature Of Garvity...

I'm getting to be a big bore.

I think that I may have to get so drunk tonight - that I poo my pants.

That should liven things up a bit.




Monday, April 25, 2005



Roaches Have No Karmic Value...

I killed two spiders the other day. One, I felt guilty about and the other - I didn't.

The first fought valiantly. I needed to shower, though. I, at first ran water from the spigot, but the big fucker clung on to the sloped sides with dear life...

fuck - I'm being interrupted...

girlfriend and birthdays parties....

bite me.




Sunday, April 24, 2005



You Ruined My Night, Jen - I'm Going Home...

This is what i just heard. Now Im listening to fat Free Radio. Chris Rock is bagging on The Trenchcoat Mafia. I just got kicked out of the bathroom at Jen's house. All of the girls are naked and talking about what they think is wrong with their bodies. They actually kicked me out. This is wrong. Everybody I have known - male or female has seen every part of my body. My mother hasn't even seen me naked as much as my gal friends. So...I'm offended. Like I haven't seen anything of theirs. I streaked in front of two of them last weekend. Nakednakednaked. One small hand covering one small package. I must stop, because this is not my computer - and feels weird.




Thursday, April 21, 2005



Jason Todd...

If the stupid cat never would've run out in the first place - he never would've gotten his ass kicked. Now he has three functioning legs. This is either sad for the cat, or tempting to a hungry Vietnamese. Or both.




Wednesday, April 20, 2005



Poppies...

I am in limbo, am at my new second job, behind a desk, trying to be productive. Trying not to twiddle my thumbs. The boss is on vacation and I'm here all alone. This is very strange.




Tuesday, April 19, 2005



Who Created Ultron?...



I've never had any idea what I was doing. I've never had a plan. I've never fully dedicated myself to anything. And if I said that I had it all figured out - I was lying.

I hope that whatever I'm doing works because I don't want to be content eighty years from now. I want everything NOW. I want to be floating out on a lake, on a boat. Drunk, sun-burned and singing. Nobody will ever know that I killed her. They would never think to look on the lake bottom. But, I'll keep the head as a souvenir. And if the power goes out in the freezer? Who knows. There are always stores that sell ice, right?

I don't know what that was all about.

You get tired sometimes, sometimes you're too lazy too erase or fix shit - because what's the point? You like it. You hate it. You like it better later, hate it more later, etc.

I killed two spiders today. That seems a bit excessive, doesn't it? One I felt sorry for and one I didn't. I'll explain to you why if you ask me.

I want to stay inside forever. I'm sick of talking to people. I want to be Eric Stoltz from MASK, John Travolta from The Boy In The Bubble and Boo Radley from To Kill A Mockingbird all wrapped up into one. I'm probably a bit more Howard Hughes, though. Just without the immense wealth. doh. I don't know.






Ojo...

am content as an outside cat is when you feed it.




Friday, April 15, 2005



Stan Lee As Willie Lumpkin...

Green lantern. Green Hornet. Green Arrow. All superheros. All stupid names. And trust me, in the nerdy comic book world - there's a lot of them. Even the names that are supposed to sound cool suck. Call me...Deadpool! Lame. Actually, there was an older comic book character name Magnus:Robot Fighter. Now that's okay. It's kind of funny too. Because I automatically know what this guy does. He fights robots. That's what I'm going to say next time that somebody asks me what I do for a living. I'm going to tell them that -

-I'm a robot fighter.

-Ha. Wait...what?

-I fight robots.

-What'd'ya mean, like you build them or something?

-No. You're not listening. I fight them. I'm the best. I don't even need gloves or nuthin' too. Arrgghhh. Beep!

Green Arrow dresses like Robin Hood. Gay. He shoots arrows. GayGay.

Green Hornet. Stupid name. Why a green hornet? Is he sick? Why not the Ass-Stinging Hornet? Sounds more threatening. Maybe the You-Might-Be-Allergic-To-Me-Hornet. More life-threatening.

Now, Green Lantern seems like a nice guy and all. Especially now that they've brought him back from the dead and, but - Green Lantern? First, if you're a normal person then you don't know this guys origin and why the hell he's called that. He powers up his super duper green power ring with a green-colored lantern. Wow. Neat. But if he's named after the thing that he gets his power from, then isn't that kind of like Batman calling himself The Yellow Utility Belt?

Lame. Nerd lame. No spellcheck lame. No nerdcheck.






Tad Hamilton...

I just called myself an "ass-munch" for not putting more cokes in the fridge.

I must be really pissed off.






Me llamo Legolas...

I have an uncanny knack when it comes to archery. Blame it on the dad who was a Boy Scout/YMCA/Army/secret government agency/all-American Rambo. I received an archery set as a kid, I remember - but I don't remember anything else but trying to shoot my dickwad brother with it.

For Xmas, I asked my girlfriend for some arrows and asked for her to string the bow that I got for free from a friend from work. I love her even more because she hung out with fat, white, camo vest-wearing hunters while the work was being performed.

Tonight, I was hanging out with a couple of YOUNG friends that I know through work. Ten years younger. I told them that I was like Legolas. And I am. I can always hit any target that I want to whenever I call it. I have a bale of hay that the girl bought me too. I got six bullseyes out of six tries. That's how gifted I am. I can do this now if you ask me.

I think I'm good. I know I'm boasting, but...

THIS IS IT? I'm good at archery?

Fucking archery?

Not math. No, I don't have a photographic memory. I am not Stephen Hawking's evil twin. I am not Radiohead. I am not Da Vinci. I am talented - but swiss cheese talented.

I can shoot an arrow wherever I want.

This is my luck.

Way too fucking late too.

I am an Idiot Savant.

Heavy on the idiot.




Wednesday, April 13, 2005



Amy The Hutt...

The best type of friend is one that can be birthday-shopped for at the supermarket.




Monday, April 11, 2005



Attention:

World...

Learn how to hold your booze.

Seriously.

I will be holding classes all week.




Thursday, April 07, 2005



The Light That Burns Twice As Bright Lasts Half As Quick...



Or something like that.

Working two jobs. Both a far cry from the other. After I am done training with one job, I'll do the other full time. Both require me to dress up. Both require me to be nice. Both require me to be professional. Both are not writing. Both are not comic books. One will pay the bills and give me more money.

What happened to me dying my hair blue? I miss the days of walking in with black eyes, cuts on my arms, and fingernail polish on my fingertips. I miss the hangovers and the unrememberances of the nights and girls before. Wait - maybe not that. Wait - maybe I do. Not. Do. Not.

I miss The Fonz and how he used to bang his fist against shit to make it work. That was so tough. I also miss Al's Place and watching The Fonz jump his cycle over sharks. I miss french fries.

I think I'm going to quit everything and leave this place. I feel like I stopped wandering around in a dark forest right when a rusty, old bear trap clamped around my right ankle. And as more time has passed, all I can do is to move in slow, painful circles while watching myself bleed to death...

I am waiting for my radioactive spider. I want to be taught the lessons of POWER and RESPONSIBILITY. But then, Peter Parker always has a shitload of problems too, so...crap on that whole deal.

I want to move and sell all of my stuff.
I want to be the guy with the accent.
I want to buy more useless shit. Just new.
I want a lot.
I want a pony.
So that I can kick it in the head.
And then run away and blame it on somebody else.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Maybe I should go.

Maybe I should stop.







Tuesday, April 05, 2005



Ketjak...

So, do you think
that Chewbacca needs
to drag his butt
across the grass
after he poos?

Does he shave down there?




Monday, April 04, 2005



Accomplishments...

I can now honestly say that I have had a beer while watching two friends get married on a cruise ship.
Nice.
I have been constantly drunk since Friday morning.
I need to sleep.




Thursday, March 31, 2005



Nick Fury : Agent Of Shield...



God(s), I'm going to clench my fist tightly together and give you the almighty prayer scoop.

I'm gonna lay out the whole battle plan to you. Grab some coffee and a pillow, stoke up your pipe and take a rest, because you may need to be comfortable for my whole expungence.

I. Me. This person writing the words...is the greatest person in the whole universe. I'm going to be your replacement. Sorry to hear it like this, guys, but - I thought that you would appreciate hearing the bad news directly from the source rather than from an in-between/liason/puppet/robot kind of guy.

Like, I said...sorry, buddies - but, I think that your time has come, I mean - you should of really been gone from here, like years ago, man. Seriously.

You suck at your job. I'm much better at it. Playing the self-serving, wrathful, pretend-to-be-all-knowing, wrathful dude. You must understand this. You must give it up. Go home. Lick your wounds far from here. Just go.

Don't fight back for your position. Give it up. The die has been cast. The cards drawn. Here comes the river card. Checkmate. UNO. Yahtzee. You sunk my battleship. Connect Four. Touche. Tag. You're it. Boom. Bomb. Blast, and BLAH. It's all happening to you, baby.

I think that I'm tired of walking on this yellow brick road!, Dorothy said.

W-w-w-w-what about m-m-m-meeting t-t-the w-w-wizard? said The Cowardly Lion.

Dorothy stopped and said, You never can regret someone that you've never met, and it's best to forget all of the things that haven't happened yet.

And The Tin Man said, If I only had a heart!

And Dorothy said, Yeah....me too.




Saturday, March 26, 2005



Bok Bok...

Tomorrow, when I'm hiding Easter Eggs - they'll all be in my pants.

I will also be looking for treats at the bottom of beer bottles.

And bunnies will be to busy to furiously hump.

The end.




Friday, March 25, 2005



Delete Yourself...

Found my first grey hair tonight.

I wanted to do something special w/ it.

So I ate it.




Monday, March 21, 2005



Older Post Than Thou...

I'm so confused. I just found out that my old grade school has a website. It was a random thought that crossed my mind and one Google search later?...I'm transported back to a time that I remember well, but seem to have forgotten at the same time. There's a picture of the school posted on the site that makes me think of my first day of kindergarten, almost being blown away by the wind in storm when I was in second grade...being a bad boy in sixth...so many memories that would probably bore you to death...I remember how fortunate I was to go to a good school, and I remember how straight-fucking-insane all of the children were in the city that I grew up in. I swear, there must be something in the water because everybody I knew was hilarious, but would kill you in a second. Too much of an overload, I'll tell ya'.

Here's something else...there was a staff list on the website. Most of the names were unfamiliar, but my second grade teacher still teaches there! Yeah, the one who screamed when I opened up the door during that windstorm. I got off of the bus last. It was a horrible, rainy, and windy day. I'm thin now, but back then I looked like a little balloon. I was about as heavy as a kitten. I made the mistake of trying to peek into my older brother's fifth grade class like I always would. The class would wave. I'd make a funny face and the teacher would playfully throw something at me. I started to move towards the windows of my brother's classroom but almost got knocked off of my feet. The big-ass, stupid, adult umbrella that I had, captured the wind and almost carried me away. One foot wasn't touching the ground. I had to hold on to a pole so I wouldn't fly away. I'm serious. I was holding on with all of my strength and could see the laughing heads of my brother's class through the windows. Some were pointing at me. Some looked like they were laughing so hard that they were crying. No one was helping. Visions of Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins went through my head. Did they think I was kidding? I wasn't. I was seriously in danger of being lifted into the air. Everybody would've been really sad if months later they found a thin, little skeleton stuck in a tree somewhere.

I don't know how I did it (maybe I put pebbles in my shoes), but I started to walk to class. I, of course, took the long way around with nothing to duck under. The rain was hard and howling. I tried to make it from pole to pole. My umbrella would flip inside out, I'd face the wind and then it would correct itself. When I opened up the door, it banged open. I don't remember how I shut it. All I remember was the silence. Every head in class turned to look at me. I saw a room full of little mouth "O's". I could hear the dripping of my clothing on the linoleum floor beneath me. Everybody laughed until my teacher screamed, "Oh my god!" and then was promptly arrested for preaching her bullshit religion in my class. No, just kidding. She swooped me up in her fat arms (maybe she wasn't fat, y'know? She could've been normal-sized. Maybe I was just so small that she seemed like a huge ol' fatty. I bet she was quite hefty though. Aren't all grade school teachers?) and put me in some room that I'd never seen before with a washer and dryer and started to take off my clothes!!! She got this weird look in her eye when she started to undo my wet jeans. Just kidding, you perverts! I'll tell church stories some other time. Ha. She took my clothes and put them in the dryer and searched for something for me to wear. I'd kill for a picture of the twenty pound second grader with the Beatles hair, shivering alone in a school laundry room. Actually, you would too, huh? You pervert! NO, SHE CAME BACK WITH AN OVER-SIZED PAINTERS SMOCK! I had to sit in class wearing only a multi-colored, blotchy, painters smock. It looked like something Boy George would wear.

They finally contacted my mother, which scared me even more. My mother was a drunk and Vietnamese-I don't know which is worse. I guess I'm still trying to figure it out, because I guess I'm both right now too. Ha. Yoo reciv petic justuff!, my mom says. See, I've never looked like I was a half-bastard Asian. My fathers strong and stubborn Irish genes kicked the asses of the gook genes that were in my body, so there ain't no slanty eyes on this face. I'm also not devoid in the crotch area either. Thank you, Ireland.

Fuck. Where was I? Oh yeah...drunk, gook mothers. I was terrified that she was coming to school to pick me up. I was surprised too because, she'd never been there before. Was she going to get the class drunk? Two hours later, when she came-I got lucky because they just told me that she was there and I could meet her instead of her coming into my class. She probably would’ve embarrassed me by taking down the address of every classmate of mine and recording the name of their pets. But it might have saved us money on food, so who knows? My little sister was there too. She must have been about...shit; she's four years younger than me. How old is one when they're in second grade? Anyway, she was small and whimpering in the passenger seat when we were driving home. The storm had turned worse. My mother wasn't drunk, but remember...she's Asian. So instead of driving fast and avoiding all of the flying shit all over the place, she drove about ten miles an hour. Everything that was moving through the air was faster than us. I saw a huge tree branch crashing down and fall behind us, blocking the road. My mutha didn't notice. I think she was singing along to The Steve Miller Band. Oh yeah, also? My little sister was probably already taller than my mother by that age.

We made it home and then my mother tried to drink me. End of story.

Sorry about that, ol' chap. I don't know where that came from. I ignored the story about my sixth grade teacher. Not much about him anyway except that he looked like Chuck Norris and would get red-faced furious at me every time that I called him that. I should call him up. I swear! Oh my god! I sound like an adult now; I don't think I have the balls for it. Do I? I want to call him and say, "Hi Chuck!" just like I always used to. I could tell he wanted to bash my fucking head in when I said that. He'll know it's me, won't he? If I did that I wouldn't be able to eat in the school cafeteria now, like I want to. Which leads me to my last part......

One final thing that I noticed on the website of my elementary school was the menu. I don't know why they have that on the site. Maybe it's kind of smart. Kids must dig it because then they could see when the pizza and the grilled cheese sandwiches are being served and ask for junk from home on the other days. Maybe all of the dirty, hippie parents can check up on the menu too, and see when the school's serving something veggie-friendly. Anyway, guess how much a school lunch was when I was a kid? One dollar. Not that bad. You got the main dish, three sides, a dessert, and a milk. The poor kids had a discounted lunch for thirty-five-fucking cents. Dudes, I'm not old. I'm an eighties kid, but thirty-five-fucking cents is the shit. I mean that in a good way. So guess what the price is now? I'm gonna smoke...I'll let you think about it for a while..................
................
......
Okay, I'm back......
.....
THE PRICE IS STILL THE FUCKING SAME! Can you believe that? Is that the one thing in the world that hasn't risen in price? Wow and double-ass Wow. Poor kids can still get a lunch for thirty-five-fucking cents? Who are they sponsored by, McDonalds?

Hail Mary, y'all. I apologize for my vile verbosity.

Vini Vidi Vietnamese.

Good night...




Saturday, March 19, 2005



And Their Bruce Lee T-Shirts Will Continue To Chop Away At The Elements Until They Become Rags Of Fury...



If I was given a dollar from St. Ojos everytime I rubbed my eyes, I'd be a blind billionaire.

Weezer's coming out with a new album. So is Beck. Beastie Boys should. They need to re/reinvent the wheel again/better than their last couple of attempts. It's not an age thing, it's just more of an I EXPECTED BETTER OF YOU thing. We Are Scientists rock your dog's intestines and NGUYEN 5 kicks bloody arse.

I have no idea why I started to write about music. I hate writing about music as much as I hate writing about politics, philosophy and religion.

I used to write for a couple of music magazines. I don't anymore because I'm too old to be stupid(er)(est)(ewey).

I'm not particularly tired. Not too angry. Not sad at all. And maybe that's the problem. I want monetary and ambulatory obligations non-existent. I want to float around on hover-discs and to chop off heads with a hybrid chainsaw/sword. If I can't have this tonight, I'll have this in dreams. I want nothing. I don't even know why I'm writing. This is all crap. It seemed like a lot more way back before I smoked a cigarette and brought out all the ingredients for the food that I was going to make that I know that I now won't eat.

It's late.

Boom.

What was that?

-don't know, man. what'ya talkin' bout'?

That noise. You didn't hear it?

-idiot. no. what?

Aw. Forget it. Nothing.

I'm going on a three-day cruise soon to Baja or something for my friend's marriage. I will not be coming back, I've decided. I will not be back on the boat when it sails away. I'll be like Daniel Stern from Born In East L.A. and get hired as a door guy/promoter person. No I won't. That's pretty much what I do now. Talk to people that I don't care about and try to get them interested in the things that I'm getting paid to pimp. Yeah. Forget it, Bubba.

I might have a new job soon, though. I won't care about that either. The only occupation that I care about is my breathing job. Sometimes, I don't do this well either. I am more Jaga than Panthro. You are either Wily Kit or Wily Cat. Annoying. Stay still. My thoughts require effort and intense concentration.

I can feel the wheel turning. I can hear it squeaking. I am too poor and lazy to oil it. I am afraid of its progress. I am not strong enough to slow it down. I can, at least, kick some sand in front of it. Can't I, at least, lay in front of it? Some days I might bite it. Some days, it rains hard, and the wheel gets stuck in the mud. I laugh and cackle towards the sky and THEN I find the energy to dance wildly around the wheel. I pull down the rags around my waist and piss on the wheel. Making sure that no inch is left uncovered. I become brave. The clouds will part, though. The mud will dry and become parched. Hard. Flaky. Making it easy for the wheel to resume its progress. There will be nothing else for me to do. I won't be wearing shoes, let alone cleats. My tired feet will already be rubbed raw. I'll just sit and let it roll over my legs. Nobody will expect anything out of me by then. Nobody will ask me any more questions. They'll just see me as a regrettable speed bump in the path of inevitable progress. The vultures will continously shit on me and wait for me to die. They'll wind up fighting over what isn't there. Ghosts will fight for my energy. Most of this will dissipate. My energy will dissapate like early morning shower steam.

The only thing that I ask for is to be legendary. Legendary for all of the wrong reasons, but legendary all the same. I want people to read books about me, to drink more than they normally would and to puke on their significant other's head. I want them to regret emulating the easy and lazy aspects of my being and to remember harder than I did on what it means to make the machine work when you put your mind to it. I want them to try harder to get to know me and what I could've become. This would basically be a mirror to my life. The combination of strong and weak will, the combo of greatness and utter destruction. To be Dalai Lama/peaceful. To be Hitler/self-righteous/brutal. To be oatmeal/sticky/grey/watery/hard-rock/sludge.

This is me today and every day.

Now Neil Diamond is on.

This means no spell check.

This means goodbye.

For now.







Wednesday, March 16, 2005



Running Of The Vodka Redbulls...

So far, The Rev. KMal has made my girlfriend stand on patio furniture and not able to get down unless she smoked a cigarette with me - thrown bottle caps at the next door neighbors window until he came out, and then sprayed beer all over him, forced him to take a shot of crap that I would never, ever drink. I'm managing to terrorize my house and all of my surroudings. I will get everybody to do what I want until I grow tired of it. Yhis is my plan. I am in the mood. I am cleaning my teeth with my lovely tongue. Tongue is a fun word to spell. I am not drunk yet, but I will get there;. I will make this happen. I want to cause trouble tonight, because I'm Denzel Washington on fire.






Thing I'm Most Afraid Of No. 83...

That when they write about me after I die, they'll say...

'During 1995-2005, he worked various, unremarkable jobs - not really getting into his (fill in the blank here) until kjsahjkhdsjkshdjkhd, etc.'




Tuesday, March 15, 2005



A Puff of Smoke...

Yeah, I make dinner a lot - and it's never for me. I like to cook because it's something to do while thinking non-thinking thoughts...to...do...while you're standing there thinking, I think. I don't like to eat. I hate it. I'd rather drink things instead. Anything. It doesn't even have to be alcohol-based. I just need liquids. I can never NOT have anything to drink by me. Beer seems to be the most fun.

And I'm very proud of myself. I'm so very skinny still. An old bastard with creaking everythings trapped in a dried-out, brittle toothpick tower. Yet, you can pick me up and hear things sloshing around in my head. Where's that come from, you wonder? He's kind of like those African rain sticks that you can purchase at the mall. And then you gingerly set me back down.

I will stay forever like this until the cancers and preservatives start to eat me away like ravenous termites with buck teeth. I am a peeling Mona Lisa. Each bead of sweat is paint thinner.

I am not hungry. I am not hungry. I am not hungry. Yes I AM. I want to split your skull and slurp out everything except your brain. I need everything and want nothing all at the same time. I will not stop. Ever. I do what I want. Always.

There's your goddamn appetite.

Fatty.






Why I'm A Good Boyfriend, Reason No. 5498754376...

Me - (from the computer) Hi honey!

Her - (from the bedroom) I just watched a dsahklshwihwgrblgrh!!!

Me - What?

Her - I just watched a new Good Charlotte video.

Me - Eeewww.

Her - It was actually pretty good.

Me - I hope they fucking die.




Monday, March 14, 2005



Aayla Secura's Blue Boobs...

If I watch the new Star Wars trailer one more time - I will become THE BIGGEST NERD EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.




Thursday, March 10, 2005



You're Eating Maggots, Michael...

So, I almost caught a glimpse of Kiefer Sutherland on Saturday night. Rumor had it that he was around, and he was. After making a bunch of Lost Boys jokes, I left the patio of the bar that I was at and used the bathroom. Of course, two minutes after that-he passed by my friends. Not that big of a deal - but, I think that that was the only chance I ever had for eternal life - and I blew it. Stupid me. But then I'd have to let a man bite me on the neck. Hmmm...worth it? Maybe. I'd let The Count from Sesame Street bith me first, It's hurt less and he's just a puppet. We both have the same skin tone, don't y' know. Isn't that nice. I'd let Alliyah/Queen Of The Damned bite me, though. Dead or not. Blacula's okay too.




Wednesday, March 09, 2005



I Am More Raw Umber Than Your Burnt Sienna...

I bet Crayola stock used to go up
everytime some dummy used the term 'colored people'.




Monday, March 07, 2005



Doombot...



Starting tomorrow/today - when I wake up I will do everything differently than I normally do. I haven't yet, fully thought this through. I am going to act like me in the future coming back into my body now in 2005. I will also treat everyday like it's Opposites Day - that game that we used to play when we were kids. So that means everything that I say should be the complete opposite of something that I would normally say. Also, if I hate doing something, than I will do it more. And if I really love something, I'm going to do my best to ignore it. I'm going to stop this now, because normally I would explain in detail a bunch of crazy ideas that I've dredged up on the fly. But I won't. I need to warm myself up to this...tomorrow's going to be an interesting day. I should just quit my job. I might do some drugs. I never do drugs. I need to start huffing paint. Okay, this is going to be haredr than I thought because already I'm back to my old ways and just typing in things that pop into my brain. I'm confusing myself. As step number one in my FUTURE SELF STEPPING BACK IN TIME - I am going to wake up early and cook breakfast for the girlfriend. I don't do breakfast much, I'm more of a lunch and dinner type. I don't know if I'll recap the differences in the days events or post on progress - I'll just have to see. Curious I be. Hmmm. I'm insane. Experiment starts now. I'm going to bed.




Saturday, March 05, 2005



Dr. Banner Says That There Are Greener Days Ahead...

When you see me out in public and I don't say hi to you, it means that: I was deep in thought, not looking at you, didn't care, was avoiding you, not feeling social, was late to get somewhere, don't remember your name, had sex with you and am embarassed, not wearing my glasses or too angry to talk.




Wednesday, March 02, 2005



Not One Of Independence, But Of Dependent Service...

What used to be the buzz of a million Krynn dragons in my mind, is now a housefly. What used to be an enormous fire, is now an smoky ember. What used to be the rebounding echo of a preying bats squeak, is now the gnat flitting around in the same dark cave. What used to be Voltron is now, just Pidge making Anime faces.

I move in slow motion. You still move slower. The air is electric, but I am stagnant. The doses of pain administered to me are nothing - one can't take more out of the frontal lobe after the initial operation. It's hard to make a lame horse run faster, no matter how hard you crack the whip.

Steve Rogers was trapped in time. He awoke to a different age and adapted quickly because circumstances demanded it. The Vision has been resurrected as many times as Ultron. Comic book characters make Jesus jealous. Jason Todd tried to make a comeback, but couldn't find all of his parts. It's hard to walk, when bits of your flesh deck the hall like boughs of holly. ttralalalalalalalalaaaahhh

Reading Bushido: The Soul Of Japan and Replay by Ken Grimwood.

One deals with the outdated codes and ethics of historical samurai culture and one deals with a guy who gets the chance to relive his life after he's died. This might tell me something. This might tell me that all of the answers to my questions are obvious. That everything that you think you know - you do. That nothing is easy, and anything is only hard - if you care. This might tell me that if I'm so tired, that I need to either give up and have fun, roll with the punches, throw a thematical party now and then and sleep as long as possible, or to train myself not to RE remember how I used to be. Because who the hell wants to be like they were? Especially if we're apparently alive enough to lament about the passing of youth, time, love, money, Thundercats, etc.?

No, what we need is either a slow awakening or our skulls crushed whilst dreaming. There is no in-between. That only leads to more wasted time. I am Luke Skywalker's cut off arm. I am Daniel Ketch on fire. I am the hunger pangs of Gandhi. I am Phillip Morris' pocketbook. Why can't I have the persistence of my pulse? Why shouldn't I fight as hard as my asthmatic lungs? Why fight?

Don't know.






bitches...

I walk the same strip of Lemon Ave.
Everyday on my way
To work
friends of mine
Will drive by and
Honk their horns
Waving
From their windows,
“Hey, Tom,” they yell,
and keep going.
Now, what I want to know is,
If you see me walking
The same damn street
Every goddamn day,
Why won’t you
Pick me up?

I want to strangle their
Skinny little turkey necks.
Bitches…




Monday, February 28, 2005



The Orange County Register...

Just got off of the phone with them - and I figured out a way to make the conversation as nice as possible, besides just hanging up on them...make them laugh. I was telling her how cheap her offer was, and what an amazing deal it was that she was offering me. I told her that I hated her newspaper, and that I have a fear of mulch. I told her that there was no way, ever and what-so-ever that I would ever get another newspaper delivered to my door unless she told me that she was going to kill me if I didn't accept her offer. She said that she wouldn't ever say that. I told her, good. I asked her how the Oscars were and she said that she liked them but eventually fell asleep. I told her that Hilary Swank's dress looked like crap, didn't it? And she said that she liked Million Dollar Baby. I said that she definitely didn't spend a million dollars on her outfit - but I was glad that Charlie Kaufman won for best original screenplay. She said, who? And I asked her if she really watched the awards and she said, No - that she didn't - that she never watches them. I told her that I'll buy her paper when I'm famous and to call me back in 74 years when I am. She said that she would.

And then we hung up.






Then Turn The TV OFF...

It's hard enough to watch MTV when you're awake - but somehow in this last week the TV's been playing MTV all night while I've been sleeping AND LAST NIGHT WAS THE SECOND TIME THAT I'VE HAD A DREAM that involved me hanging out with my friend, NICK LACHEY. Not Jessica Simpson - not even Ashlee Simpson. Just Me and Nick hanging out. And YES, we both had our clothes on, you schmucks. There were also subplots involving a dead pig, jumping trucks over curbs, jet planes that looked like UFO's at first, and a tiny kitten that was bleeding that I eventually ended up naming FLEA.

I will now go back to sleeping to Empire Strikes Back.

Or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Both are better than MTV.




Wednesday, February 23, 2005



Barrow, Alaska...

First Hunter ST dies and now this. My comic book store is closing, going out of business, finito, no mas. Sucks for me, now where am I going to go to get my stupid comics? Waste time after work?

I walked in there today and there were a bunch of other nerds milling about with lost looks on their faces. Fatties were piling up Thor and Captain America statues in their enormous arms. Geeks were whispering to other geeks and telling them to hurry up and come down because action figures and shirts were 50% off.

I was just kind of sad. Nerdy hobbies should be easy and effortless – that’s why alcoholics have it easy because they have hobby shops conveniently located on every corner for their pleasures.

I was talking with a friend the other day about the demise of local arcades, and about how there aren’t any around anymore like there were when I was growing up, when I was young, that’s what you did – you rode your bike to the arcade and comic stores. THEN at night tried to get in trouble – but what do kids nowadays do? Stay at home. They have everything they need. Why go out?

It’s dangerous out there for kids now as it is, so is it better? I’m probably gonna keep my kids at home too. Swimming in public pools in the summer? Somebody might put acid or piranhas in the water. Fly a kite in the park? Might get electrocuted by terrorists who can wield the power of lightning. Kegger parties are okay though, the worst thing that could happen is that your kid gets laid.

Regardless, I’m sad. Tonight I will be tipping my 40oz. Of Old E to the million deaths of the written word and will give a big ol’ fuck you finger to the squashings of imagination and creativity.

Excelsior.




Saturday, February 19, 2005



For Your Consideration...

To remember an important lesson that you had taught yourself before,
but forgotten along the way.

To get it back from wherever you lost it,
and then,
to now,
do more with it.

To give yourself another final try.

To succeed.

To create beauty.

And to beautify others creations.

To have others learn from what you teach them.

To not be forgotten.

To be a beacon for those trying to find their way.

To push everything, constantly.

To be beautiful.

Try to remember.

To do all this.




Friday, February 18, 2005



I Am The Face Underneath The Apple On Top Of Mrs. Burroughs' Head...



I just heard something break. At first I thought that it came from the kitchen. I've craned my neck to see where it came from. It wasn't from the kitchen. It couldn't have come from outside, because the crash was too loud. It couldn't have come from the next room. The cats are right by me. Nothing has fallen off of the shelves. There are no pictures on the floor.

What was it?

Should I get up and investigate?

What broke?

And where did it come from?

It sounded loud.

It sounded heavy.

It sounded valuable.

expensive.

One-of-a-kind.

I can't replace it.

Whatever it was...

It's GONE.

Forever.

I could hear it saying a million, tiny goodbyes.






Baraka...

I would rather swing through the trees of an Ewok village rather than a Wookie one, because as a guest of the Ewoks,I would probably be able to push myself around more.




Thursday, February 17, 2005



Really Makes You...

feel like schmuck when you procrastinate on doing a couple of things and let it go for a loooooong time - and then it takes you ten minutes to do them.




Tuesday, February 15, 2005



Stark Enterprises Whiskey...

Where My Ideas Come From
Filed under: faq— warrenellis @ 2:08 am
I still get asked with appalling regularity “where my ideas come from.”

Here’s the deal. I flood my poor ageing head with information. Any information. Lots of it. And I let it all slosh around in the back of my brain, in the part normal people use for remembering bills, thinking about sex and making appointments to wash the dishes.

Eventually, you get a critical mass of information. Datum 1 plugs into Datum 3 which connects to Datum 3 and Data 4 and 5 stick to it and you’ve got a chain reaction. A bunch of stuff knits together and lights up and you’ve got what’s called “an idea".

And for that brief moment where it’s all flaring and welding together, you are Holy. You can’t be touched. Something impossible and brilliant has happened and suddenly you understand what it would be like if Einstein’s brain was placed into the body of a young tyrannosaur, stuffed full of amphetamines and suffused with Sex Radiation.

That is what has happened to me tonight. I am beaming Sex Rays across the world and my brain is all lit up with Holy Fire. If I felt like it, I could shag a million nuns and destroy their faith in Christ.

From my chair.

See, this is the good bit about writing. It’s what keeps you going. It’s the wild rush of “shit, did I think of that?” with all kinds of weird chemicals shunting around your brain and ideas and images and moments and storyforms all opening up snapsnapsnap in your mind, a mass of new and unrealised possibilities.

It’s ten past two in the morning, and I’m completely wired, caught up in the new thing, shivering and laughing and glowing in the dark. Just as well it’s the middle of the night. No-one would be safe from me right now. I could read their minds and take over their heartbeats with a glare.

Faster than the speed of anyone.

That’s how it works.

(Written in 2003 for the Bad Signal mailing list.)