Tonight we make soap operas...

“Worker bees can leave.
Even drones can fly away.
The Queen is their slave.”

Samurai Sabers...

I started on scratch paper. I did notebooks for years. I bought an old Smith Corona, powder blue, pounding machine. Then procured an old electric typewriter for kicks. I wrote on an old word processor briefly. I bought my first computer from a store that offered you two years of Hotmail access and the PC computer tower for 250 dollars. It was a great deal but barely affordable for me at the time. Years later I bought another computer that lasted longer then it should've. I worked for a startup company and was given my work computer to work from home when they started to fizzle. I left that computer with an ex-girlfriend and then bought my first laptop. It lasted for three years. I bought a brand new Netbook from a friend. It sucked from the start. Poop machine. I bought a used MacBook Pro from a friend. I still use it. I just typed this boring diatribe on my girlfriend's Ipad2 thingy. Kind of cool. Easy. I like big keys. I'm old now. I like this. It's fucking easy to type on this machine.....but90pagenotebooksthatflipupandnottothesideandblueinkpensandoldtypewritersthatyouwritepoetryonandhavetopoundthekeys?....

Nostalgiapad.

Evening! Mourning...

I have late hours. I would write more but sometimes I have an itch to check the news about trainwrecks, tsunamis, murders, Wal-Mart, China, Colony Collapse Disorder, Bieber, Bono, Wolf Blitzer, Jamie Madrox, Paula Abdul, Afghanistan, Kobe, Monsanto, High Fructose Corn Syurp and Flu Pandemics. It goes on and on...

Then it gets later. I've visited Hotmail, Gmail, Google+, Spotify, You Tube, Break.com, The Hub, Wikipedia, Marvelpedia, Pbs.org, Esurance, Hulu, Toplessrobot, Io9, Kongregate, Ebay, etc.

Not really. I've been home for an hour. I got home, parked my car in the back of the house, turned on the heater, peed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, took my mace, keys, wallet, cigarettes and Zippo out of my pockets, changed my clothes, put leftovers in the fridge, made a drink and then turned on this computer.

Now I'm watching the clock.

What to do?

Write?

I just found this. wrtite? Hahaha!!! hagrid colliders?

You just prevented me from writing about all of the amazing things that I was going to write about
i was going to wrtite about hagrid colliders hig boson elmo centrist fight club hitler vs lincoln logs versus haliburton oompa loompa lamas panchen and the dalai

Enter Presentation Mode...

Urgh. This laptop burns my kneetops. Just saying.

I need some Bengay
for my knees-ay
just to do writing-ay today-ay.

IMSO

here for you and I hope that you will continue to ghost me with your presents
things get better and they get deeper than the levels of
a Salton Sea
a Sea of
shells and skulls
I see The Shore

neverthought I'd get there before

Zombies are the new hoboes...

I don't know how I'll get rid of all of this stuff.

Not the writing, but all of the crap that I have in this place before I move soon. And when I'm in my new place...I'll be writing about not knowing to do with the stuff that I have there.

Fear Retardant

wear your galoshes
your condoms
invest in bullets
and the great hope
roll up your sleeves
hope for the best

there's work to be done

Hello. How are you? I am fine. Thank you.

Texts with Terry
Tonight about
Trying
To drop him off at
The airport next
Tuesday
The sister that I miss in
Texas
Tears on the inside, I miss her
Terribly
The
Theological discussion(s)
Tonight and
The
Time spent with
The girlfriend
The patience
The learning
The regrets
The stupid
The smart
This is it.
This is
all it i
s, ma
n.Th
is m
orta
l co
il

I can't sleep. I don't care. Don't judge me. I just can't go to bed right now. I hate the keyboard on this computer even though it's the best computer that I've ever had. I'm better than I've ever been but right now I'm hitting everything HARD. The Setupsconflictsandresolutions. They're killing me, Larry.

:)

I may not be cut out for this life...

I think that I may have latent talents that would emerge in a Zombie Infestation, an alien Invasion or in a post-apocalyptic future. I also think that my real-life skill-set would not be helpful at all because...

Zombies eat failed writers.
Aliens wouldn't want to meld with my brain.
And in a post apocalyptic future, going through old forgotten drafts on The Good Old Fat Free Milk Blog created in the year 2002 doesn't help hunger.

Even to the lactose-intolerant.

I want to meet...

Jane Goodall
Stephen king
The Dalai Lama
The REAL Panchen Lama
JJ Abrahms
Stephen King
Steve Niles
Ian MacKaye
Koko
The Rancor Keeper
Warren Ellis
Micheal Allred
Archie McPhee
Alan Moore
Terrence Malick
George Lucas and Jar Jar Binks
Dave Eggers
Harper Lee
Sigur Ros
The three remaining Doors
Ron Moore
Guillermo Del Toro
The Great Cthulhu
Deana Martin
My Grandfather(s)
John Lasseter
My Mother
Kevynn
Kevin
My C.H.U.D ASAP
Fat Free Milk in 2002 - NOW in 2022

Fat Free Hemingway...

Cần Thơ gạo trắng nước trong, Ai đi đến đó lòng không muốn về.

She describes being attracted to my father, whom she had met through acquaintances, because when she first saw him he was walking down the street, looking at the sky.

I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about not typing...

What little writing that I do now is for other people. In the last couple of years, I've written DJ bios, Blargh content, worked on other people's plays, student films, funeral rites, parking-ticket legalese, Vietnamese Pho Menus and Dr. Who action figure catalogues, etc.

I am a shitty writer. Really. A hack. But it sucks because I do the I-Am-A-Shitty-Writer-Really-A Hack-But-It-Sucks-Because-I-Do-The-I-Am-A-Shitty-Writer-Really-A-Hack-But-It-Sucks-Because-I-Do-The-I-Am-A-Shitty-Writer-Really-But-It-Sucks-Stuff.

Because...Shit, It's been a bit strange, Strangers.

I'm in my backyard right now. Typing on the laptop in the dark. Afraid of Avacados falling on my head. My head is tick-tocking back and forth like a Metronome. I want to get drunk and to put down every single, fucking, goddamn thing before it's too late.

It's not about the amount of hours passing and pissing away anymore
but
It's all about the amount of time not creating and writing about
What's here
and not anymore.

The bulk of my writing that I do now will be only for me.

A shark jumped the shark a long time time ago...

ratings are low
but this show will never be canceled
never

Chess. Smoke. Poem. Soda Pop. Jeanette Walls. Smoke. Hulu/Nova.com = Sleestak-hissing sleep.

Fat Free Milk

Meet Me (1996 Notebook)

There's a sad song on
no one to read this
and only one person to write it

as long as I live
I will never give up
I'll still laugh
and even
in poverty and poetry
I'll still know more
and be
more aware of things
than all of you

I'm just waiting
and am tired
       of fighting
       the invisibles
that only I
       can see

Samuel Twain And Stephen Bachman...

Exiting Wormholes at the same time =

I wrote a lot when I was more stupider.

-

Every day
Waging war
With Peace

I sailed a wild, wild sea
Climbed up a tall, tall mountain
I met a old, old man
Beneath a weeping willow tree
He said now if you got some questions
Go and lay them at my feet
But my time here is brief
So you'll have to pick just three

And I said
What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart
And how can a man like me remain in the light
And if life is really as short as they say
Then why is the night so long
And then the sun went down
And he sang for me this song

See I once was a young fool like you
Afraid to do the things
That I knew I had to do
So I played an escapade just like you
I played an escapade just like you
I sailed a wild, wild sea
Climbed up a tall, tall mountain
I met an old, old man
He sat beneath a sapling tree
He said now if you got some questions
Go and lay them at my feet
But my time here is brief
So you'll have to pick just three

And I said
What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart
And how can a man like me remain in the light
And if life is really as short as they say
Then why is the night so long
And then the sun went down
And he played for me this song