I Don't Know What Happens After This...

And what is this, my friend?

A thing.

Some, amazing beautiful thing that we're sharing.

Let's not ruin this this while it's happening.

The Motorhomes - Psalm

I danced all winter so summer came as a surprise
Terrible thing that I've done tracing your steps too long
I laughed all summer I laughed until I dropped my guard
Terrible things that I've said hating you all too much
loving you all to much

Oh I wish I could be like you, so I asked you how and then you said no
no you don’t want to be like me, so don’t try to be, I hope you won't turn in to me
It took October I think it took November too
Then all it took was a push and I turned into you
Oh no, I turned into you.

I Ching, I Choose, I Change...

“Just because I liked something at one point in time doesn’t mean I’ll always like it, or that I have to go on liking it at all points in time as an unthinking act of loyalty to who I am as a person, based solely on who I was as a person. To be loyal to myself is to allow myself to grow and change, and challenge who I am and what I think. The only thing I am for sure is unsure, and this means I’m growing, and not stagnant or shrinking.” 

― Jarod Kintz.

Will you be my constant?

Dance and sing and dance and sing...

In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day. F. Scott Fitzgerald

Stop trying to wake yourself up.

Never sleep again.

Every night is a daymare.

You won't forget this tomorrow morning.

My parents are not dead.
I am not rich.
I have no wards.
I employ no hired help.
I'm not a genius.
And I have no enemies.

I am only a small man with big thoughts.
A big heart.
Small beginnings.
Haunted much.
But I try not to sweat the small stuff.

I will always be here.
I will be here way after you are gone.
All of you.
I miss you now.

You need to WAKE UP.

Get moving.

Get out of your own head.

And remember EVERYTHING.

Good day

and

Good night

Han Shoots First.

Han Shoots First...

I have spent the last hour expanding on a very short story that I wrote before.

It seems like a lot more like The Star Wars SPECIAL EDITION to THE ORIGINALS

I can, like - Haiku the story, right?

minimum wage worker

clown

hot chick

Allen Ginsberg Was A Werewolf...

I can't wait to type on my new typewriter.

I don't know what I'm going to write about. Nothing unusual there. Do I write only poetry? Only write on one LONG story? Only write short stories? Continue to rewrite my old, short stories? Do I take it to the laundry porch and annoy the neighbor, or to the backyard by the garden, underneath the lemon tree, in Deprak Chopper Phil's Garage while waiting for microwavvvvv burritos? (never)

I should bring my old-timey record player and only write for the length of the 78.

I wrote a long-ass rewriting of a short story the other night. The short story became longer. I don't know if I like it.

I, I, I,

barely write and when I do I write about not writing

The always thorn in my side, side, side

the eternal and creative frustration on my life, life, life

needle in my...(you get it)

Land of da Lost...

I'm looking at the palm tree fronds in my backyard

It's late, I know

Thinking of things
of you
people noise is coming from the alley
they're up to no good
i don't care
im tired
not supposed to be up now
i know
i dont care
we're all tired
i think more than you all do in your lifetimes
im not special
i just care

it's late, I know

Palm tree fronds looking at me in their backyard

fsssssshhhhhhhh

It's okay to not smoke
I'll get there
I'm ferocious
Done with smoldering

I encourage you, kindling

Just don't extinguish my fire

Fat Free Milk

“What a wee little part of a person's life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself”

Satie, Gnossienne No. 1 (piano solo)

It's just wrong.

Compose.

Write.

If you dont.

Then you'll decompose?

Right?

THESE

HITS
MISSED
SHIT
and
PISSED
AGAINST
AGAIN?

IS
IT
THIS
again?
pissed
and shit upon
always hit upon

I do not fear death I will pass away sooner than most people who read this, but that doesn't shake my sense of wonder and joy BY ROGER EBERT

I know it is coming, and I do not fear it, because I believe there is nothing on the other side of death to fear. I hope to be spared as much pain as possible on the approach path. I was perfectly content before I was born, and I think of death as the same state. I am grateful for the gifts of intelligence, love, wonder and laughter. You can’t say it wasn’t interesting. My lifetime’s memories are what I have brought home from the trip. I will require them for eternity no more than that little souvenir of the Eiffel Tower I brought home from Paris.

I don’t expect to die anytime soon. But it could happen this moment, while I am writing. I was talking the other day with Jim Toback, a friend of 35 years, and the conversation turned to our deaths, as it always does. “Ask someone how they feel about death,” he said, “and they’ll tell you everyone’s gonna die. Ask them, In the next 30 seconds? No, no, no, that’s not gonna happen. How about this afternoon? No. What you’re really asking them to admit is, Oh my God, I don’t really exist. I might be gone at any given second.”

Me too, but I hope not. I have plans. Still, illness led me resolutely toward the contemplation of death. That led me to the subject of evolution, that most consoling of all the sciences, and I became engulfed on my blog in unforeseen discussions about God, the afterlife, religion, theory of evolution, intelligent design, reincarnation, the nature of reality, what came before the big bang, what waits after the end, the nature of intelligence, the reality of the self, death, death, death.

Many readers have informed me that it is a tragic and dreary business to go into death without faith. I don’t feel that way. “Faith” is neutral. All depends on what is believed in. I have no desire to live forever. The concept frightens me. I am 69, have had cancer, will die sooner than most of those reading this. That is in the nature of things. In my plans for life after death, I say, again with Whitman:

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

And with Will, the brother in Saul Bellow’s “Herzog,” I say, “Look for me in the weather reports.”

Raised as a Roman Catholic, I internalized the social values of that faith and still hold most of them, even though its theology no longer persuades me. I have no quarrel with what anyone else subscribes to; everyone deals with these things in his own way, and I have no truths to impart. All I require of a religion is that it be tolerant of those who do not agree with it. I know a priest whose eyes twinkle when he says, “You go about God’s work in your way, and I’ll go about it in His.”

What I expect to happen is that my body will fail, my mind will cease to function and that will be that. My genes will not live on, because I have had no children. I am comforted by Richard Dawkins’ theory of memes. Those are mental units: thoughts, ideas, gestures, notions, songs, beliefs, rhymes, ideals, teachings, sayings, phrases, clichés that move from mind to mind as genes move from body to body. After a lifetime of writing, teaching, broadcasting and telling too many jokes, I will leave behind more memes than many. They will all also eventually die, but so it goes.

O’Rourke’s had a photograph of Brendan Behan on the wall, and under it this quotation, which I memorized:

I respect kindness in human beings first of all, and kindness to animals. I don’t respect the law; I have a total irreverence for anything connected with society except that which makes the roads safer, the beer stronger, the food cheaper and the old men and old women warmer in the winter and happier in the summer.

That does a pretty good job of summing it up. “Kindness” covers all of my political beliefs. No need to spell them out. I believe that if, at the end, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn’t always know this and am happy I lived long enough to find it out.

One of these days I will encounter what Henry James called on his deathbed “the distinguished thing.” I will not be conscious of the moment of passing. In this life I have already been declared dead. It wasn’t so bad. After the first ruptured artery, the doctors thought I was finished. My wife, Chaz, said she sensed that I was still alive and was communicating to her that I wasn’t finished yet. She said our hearts were beating in unison, although my heartbeat couldn’t be discovered. She told the doctors I was alive, they did what doctors do, and here I am, alive.

Do I believe her? Absolutely. I believe her literally — not symbolically, figuratively or spiritually. I believe she was actually aware of my call and that she sensed my heartbeat. I believe she did it in the real, physical world I have described, the one that I share with my wristwatch. I see no reason why such communication could not take place. I’m not talking about telepathy, psychic phenomenon or a miracle. The only miracle is that she was there when it happened, as she was for many long days and nights. I’m talking about her standing there and knowing something. Haven’t many of us experienced that? Come on, haven’t you? What goes on happens at a level not accessible to scientists, theologians, mystics, physicists, philosophers or psychiatrists. It’s a human kind of a thing.

Someday I will no longer call out, and there will be no heartbeat. I will be dead. What happens then? From my point of view, nothing. Absolutely nothing. All the same, as I wrote to Monica Eng, whom I have known since she was six, “You’d better cry at my memorial service.” I correspond with a dear friend, the wise and gentle Australian director Paul Cox. Our subject sometimes turns to death. In 2010 he came very close to dying before receiving a liver transplant. In 1988 he made a documentary named “Vincent: The Life and Death of Vincent van Gogh.” Paul wrote me that in his Arles days, van Gogh called himself “a simple worshiper of the external Buddha.” Paul told me that in those days, Vincent wrote:

Looking at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots representing towns and villages on a map.

Why, I ask myself, shouldn’t the shining dots of the sky be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France?

Just as we take a train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star. We cannot get to a star while we are alive any more than we can take the train when we are dead. So to me it seems possible that cholera, tuberculosis and cancer are the celestial means of locomotion. Just as steamboats, buses and railways are the terrestrial means.

To die quietly of old age would be to go there on foot.

That is a lovely thing to read, and a relief to find I will probably take the celestial locomotive. Or, as his little dog, Milou, says whenever Tintin proposes a journey, “Not by foot, I hope!”

FAT FREE MILK

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit, sed diam nonummy nibh euismod tincidunt ut laoreet dolore magna aliquam erat volutpat.Archive

NOV
8TH

WED

It does not matter how slow you go so long as you do not stop.

— Wisdom of Confucius

06251975/4513 = 3154\57915260

I wake up often and don't know where I am.

I don't know what time it is.

What day is it?

What job do I have to get to?

What/whose/which house is this?

I sometimes rub the sleep out of my eyes, blink at the ceiling and listen to the house and neighborhood sounds and try to remember what year it even is.

Everyday I do this -

The WHO

       WHAT

       WHERE

       WHEN

Everyday I do this - 

And I know...
     
       WHY.

Stream of obnoxiousness to be turned into new bodies of work...

A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval. - Mark Twain 

So that is why you will always suck, Self.

I can't fall asleep yet
but I don't think that I'm giving myself time to do so
It ticks louder when it's quiet
It's muted when you all are SO LOUD

SO SELFISH
SO STUPID

Mollusks
and shellfish

You are Krill
and I'm a Baleen Whale

I haven't been drinking
I've just been thinking too much
about thinking about how
I don't think enough
or do things enough
about the really important stuff

I used a lot or repetitive and aquatic words on Porpoise.

Sorry, I couldn't kelp myself.

STUPID.

Okay, now I'm going to shut this drown.

"Time will prove my love to you and cement my place in your heart forever. For time will give me the credibility and the believability that I need to convince you to want to spend the rest of your life with me. That I am worthy of such a commitment from you."

Time tells
that love spent
makes marks on our bones

The rocket's set now
do we set the dial to 1 or 10?

retract/unwind
life starts again

breathe
relax
calm down

Time told
you back then
that you were a speck

like a dust mote
galactic dust
a Big Bang of Love

The rocket's thrusting now
do we set the dial to 11?

Time will tell
if my love spent
will make me more

Than this...

It is true that a fellow cannot ignore women - but he can think of them as he ought - as sisters, not as sparring partners. Jim Elliot

FAT FREE LOVE

DEAR Kevin,

This is CNN. 

 I mean, this is Mandie. I wanted to express again my appreciation and gratitude for you. I am sure I will express these feelings again and again, for days and weeks and months to come and months turn into years, so let's see where this goes.  It's already been a little more than 30 days since you laid that kiss on me in the kitchen. I often replay the memory of that first night. I do. I really do.

 I have loved before, but this is different with you. It feels new every time I see you. There is a sort of electricity I get from you that grows from my heart space and wiggles with yours. That's the best way I can describe it and THAT is the new thing.  New love is always exciting, but this is different. You've done something to me that I've never experienced before.

 I don't have a doubt in my mind about this new relationship…. In the past, I found myself asking questions like, "How many times are we going to make this trip?"  Knowing that the drive to visit whomever it was would someday become a burden.  It always did. You realize how far away someone is when you fall out of love with them.  Conveniently and luckily, you live in a place that I already consider another home. I know this city and I love it. I'd like to move back one day. I'd like to love you more every day. I daydream about sharing a place with you, cooking you food, reading comic books, creating things, laughing a lot, leaving notes for you, kissing you, touching your butt as you walk by me, dancing, singing, playing records, shopping for old records… All of these things. It's true. I don't only think, but simply know a life with you would be a lot of fun.  And I'm a strong believer in having a fun, easy life. I also know that I can make you a happy man in more ways than one. I'll help keep you healthy, and young, and happy. If you're having a bad day, I have a magical ability to pull you out of it.  You are so-far fulfilling everything I would want from a partner. As if I were to write a list of all the components of my ideal mate. You're like me in so many ways and so not like me in complimentary ways.  I would watch Star Wars for you. Do you understand the importance of this decision? 

Oh Kevin. Oh baby. Oh sweet thing. You are wonderful. You are so good to me. So thoughtful, caring, expressive, and loving. Thoughtful. Sexy, beautiful, funny, intelligent. I am so glad you happened to me. I never quite understood why I was so sensitive to you before, but I suppose it makes sense now, yes?

I love you. 

A-Bzz-bzz,

Mandie Bee

Freelance Writer Afraid of Fire...

Martian Manhunter is obsessed with television programming. Martian Manhunter is obsessed with getting paid for comic book, tech, magazine, fiction, non-fiction, wedding vows and any other type of writing. Martian Manhunter is obsessed with Martian Manhunter obsessing about Martian Manhunter obsessing about television programming.

Make Money With AdSense...

Make nothing with nonsense
accomplish nothing with pretense
sixpence
penny farthings
for smatterings and heart smartings
and the absence of beats hearting
an awareness of obtusence
and a putrid semblence of
the one through five sense
says,

"There's no making money with AdSense."

As long as I'm writing @fatfreemilk

:)

A perfect day. A perfect night. It's nice. We deserve it. Right?

ZooooooooooozzzzzzzzzzzzZ

And the reason that you don't write as much as before is because
you wrote so much before
you see paper and want to write on it
you have ideas and clever thoughts and movie things and poems
business things

but you don't
not as much
and you're cool with it
sometimes

And the reason that you don't write as much as before is because
there's
no rush
it's frustrating, I KNOW
but
I'm older now
LIFE got older
more important

We're getting older

I want to write about this TOGETHER.