Part of my other job is writing shit like this...

***** ******* Interview Questions

Let’s talk shoes.

Give me old school or current celebrity crushes, and why?

If you were going to be a TV show – what would it be?

A movie that you wish that you played a part in?

Fashion mistakes?

Last best meal that you just had?

Song in your head right now.

Underrated band.

Overrated band.

Last book that you read.

You get one week for a vacation in The United States – vacation.

International, Where?

Why are you going to Hell?

Why are you going to Heaven?

What do you do well?

ADD?

Describe yourself in High School?

Do you do your own laundry?

I’m eating almonds and am going to open up a bottle of champagne while I write this. It just started to rain. I just opened up the bottle of champagne. How does this make you feel?

If you had one thing to carry in your pocket for all time. Only this one thing. Not a wallet or a cell phone or keys – what would it be?

Catcher In The Rye?

What teen-idol are you?

Frank Sinatra/Dean Martin/Jerry Lewis

Last person that hung up on you?

How do you know me?

One word about you.

Two words.

Your epitaph?

You wind down at home after a lot of work – what’s that like?

What do you love about what you do?

Three best friends. Explain. Why?

If you would dress me right now – like, you’re my fashion guy – what am I doing right? What am I doing wrong? Do you want to trade clothes?

One book to carry with you to take on a desert island. One book that you’ve always wanted to burn.

TV, magazines or movies always. WHY?

Buying a girl something very expensive. What would it be?

Innocent or diabolical?

Phone or texting?

What’s a gentleman?

What’s a lady?

What’s fatherhood like?

Last vacation?

Aims?

How well would you fare in a zombie apocalypse?

If the 13 year-old you would tell you now something now – what would he say?

Star Wars?

If you were a political figure from the past or the present?

What bugs you?

If you could ask one question to you, twenty years from now – what would you say?

Favorite movie. Not Scarface.

Getting tired. Time for sleep….

I was going to write something EPIC

but i just started sneezing

Walking around in my backyard...

Looking up at the chemtrail Kanjii in the sky.

Time's passing.
You are too.
All of you.
In and out, back and forth.
Sometimes here for a while.
Sometimes never to be heard from again.
I'm still here.

I think.

Every Night For Years. Written By Kevin Malone. Filmed by Evan Schiefelbine.

About 3 years ago I bought this Tomaso Albinoni record that skipped on a five count halfway through a song. I liked the idea of something that looped...organically?

So I'd been wanting to use it for a couple years but couldn't find the right place for it. So I had this lil' idea that I put together as an experiment of sorts to explore the repetition in skateboarding - trying the same thing over and over and over...and how that relates to some things....

--- Evan Schiefelbine

All we ever heard was the same record playing over and over again. Was it the little old lady who played it or the rarely-seen, dumpy-looking son? Every night, exactly at 8:30. A skip in-between to flip the record over and then the music continued. Every night for years.

One night, there was no music. We checked our watches, glanced up at our clocks. The neighborhood slowly trickled out into the street. Murmurs, whispers, nervous glances. Why wasn’t the music playing? The front door opened. The dumpy-looking son walked out, wiped his eyes, shut the door quietly and shuffled down the street.

We never saw him or heard that record again.

--- Kevin Malone

Fat Free Milk A

Another day or
Another year
Another beat of the heart is 
A-Okay
A bad relationship
A working relationship
An unfathomably-hard-to-believe-how-good-it-is relationship
A certain amount of
Ak-ruh-moh-nee-uhs NESS makes sense
And I hope to continue to make more sense of this nonsense before my
Absence...
...
..
.

noAymanhhDUHbiekirno

“I will not try to convince you to love me, to respect me, to commit to me. I deserve better than that; I AM BETTER THAN THAT...Goodbye.” 

― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

THE HOUSE DOWN THE STREET - - -

All we ever heard was the same record playing over and over again. Was it the little old lady who played it or the rarely-seen, dumpy-looking son? Every night, exactly at 8:30. A skip in-between to flip the record over and then the music continued. Every night for years.

One night, there was no music. We checked our watches, glanced up at our clocks. The neighborhood slowly trickled out into the street. Murmurs, whispers, nervous glances. Why wasn’t the music playing? The front door opened. The dumpy-looking son walked out, wiped his eyes, shut the door quietly and shuffled down the street.

We never saw him or heard that record again.

DIPS - - -

Fall. Stumble. Run. Walk. Crawl. Skip. Hop. Jump. Fast. Slow. Stand. Sit. Stop. Go. Through life’s Up and Downs.

BUDDHA WALKS INTO A BAR - - -

HEYHOWYA’DOIN’CANIGETCHASUMTHIN’?

Buddha remained silent.

WHADYAWANTAJACKANDCOKEMAYBEABEER?

Buddha closed his eyes.

C’MONYAJACKASSENLIGHTENME!

TIMEOUT - - -

My Mother ended up getting very old. Retirement homes are expensive. Locks are not.

FRED - - -

He knew that he was different. But he didn’t care. Sure, maybe he couldn’t walk as fast as the rest of them and maybe he sometimes got stuck and needed help but…a handicap is what you make of it.

Father would be proud.

You think you're old now.

Wait until later.

You'll be REALLY OLD and then look back on today with nostalgia, laments, mistakes/regrets, you'll look back on what you should've done, and the y's and the ynot's, etc.

But, hey - we were only babies years ago and we couldn't even feed ourselves or control our bodily functions. What did we know?

But, we'll be there again. Maybe we're there right now, going through those same things.

You think you're old now.

Wait until later.

YOU'LL BE DEAD.

FUCKING DEAD.

SUNSHINE

I

Am making peace with my life

And am putting together

Hopefully

Something better

More pieces

Towards

A full future

Iminbedanditsdarkandiwrotethisonmytinyphone

I'm Here...

In my office again. Writing about you and realize that I need to quit.

A Journey - By Edward Field

When he got up that morning everything was different:

He enjoyed the bright spring day
But he did not realize it exactly, he just enjoyed it.


And walking down the street to the railroad station
Past magnolia trees with dying flowers like old socks
It was a long time since he had breathed so simply.


Tears filled his eyes and it felt good
But he held them back
Because men didn't walk around crying in that town.


Waiting on the platform at the station
The fear came over him of something terrible about to happen:
The train was late and he recited the alphabet to keep hold.


And in its time it came screeching in
And as it went on making its usual stops,
People coming and going, telephone poles passing,

He hid his head behind a newspaper
No longer able to hold back the sobs, and willed his eyes
To follow the rational weavings of the seat fabric.


He didn't do anything violent as he had imagined.

He cried for a long time, but when he finally quieted down
A place in him that had been closed like a fist was open,

And at the end of the ride he stood up and got off that train:
And through the streets and in all the places he lived in later on
He walked, himself at last, a man among men,
With such radiance that everyone looked up and wondered.

future facebook posts

One home and then I'm going drink

I'm watching a J.K. Rowling biopsy movie on Amazon Prime

I think she's going to get pregnant (MY MOM)

I'd like to keep on talking to you but I'm asleep

GET YOUR OWN DEAD PARENTS

eht prey luhv

Please press NEIN if you mean NO

Please press NIN if you mean Trent Reznor

If you lost your camouflage pants in the woods? You WANT somebody to find you

I'm so glad that my name isn't BILL and that you know whom to pay

If you ever want somebody to donate to your organization? Don't call it, "S.P.E.R.M."

Sincere greetings to you...

Chân thành gửi tới các bạn lời chào thân hữu

Good bye.

God be with, ye'.

Bebe.

Sometimes...

I understand what you're feeling by what you write when I read it.

Is this normal?

I'm thinking that I'm quite the opposite.

There are people that have read more of my writing here and can only glean a gossamer of tendrils of who and what I am in real? life. That was a weird sentence.

I'm much more than my writing, even though it's a huge chunk of my soul. I WILL NEVER NOT WRITE.

I WRITE ALL OF THE TIME.

Not as much as I want to - but I do. Scraps of paper. Jot down things in notebooks, write things on other peoples shit.

It's waves, baby. I'm not you. I'm ME.

I'm a fucking tsunami. I sleep. And then. I'm a fucking tsunami again. And then i'm the quietly lapping pond. AND THEN I'm THHHHEEEeeeee tsunami. The little tsunami. A mini-tempest.

I don't know you better then you see me.

I can't decide what to wear.

snorkel
arm floaties
submarine
just drown

or get the fuck out of the water and stay on dry land
until another siren calls to me

Ahhhh...but you just made me write somewhat about you...

SNORKEL

Will You Walk With Me?

in an amount of painful, laborious and sometimes -
long strides...
i hope that my small steps in life
will be recognized
by true friends
            lovers
            God(s)
  all witnessess
  and ME -
  after this life......
          this life of mine......

will you walk with me?

I Feel Appreciated...

A Thank-You Note to Men

By Mary-Louise Parker

To you, whom it may concern:

Manly creature, who smells good even when you don't, you wake up too slowly, with fuzzy, vertical hair and a slightly lost look on your face as though you are seven or seventy-five; you can fix my front door, my sink, and open most jars; you, who lose a cuff link and have to settle for a safety pin, you have promised to slay unfortunate interlopers and dragons with your Phillips head or Montblanc; to you, because you will notice a woman with a healthy chunk of years or pounds on her and let out a wolf whistle under your breath and mean it; because you think either rug will be fine, really it will; you seem to walk down the street a little taller than me, a little more aware but with a purpose still; to you who codifies, conjugates, slams a puck, baits a hook, builds a decent cabinet or the perfect sandwich; you who gives a twenty to the kids selling Hershey's bars and waits at baggage claim for three hours in your flannel shirt; you, sir, you take my order, my pulse, my bullshit; you who soaps me in the shower, soaks with me in the tub; to you, boy grown-up, the gentleman, soldier, professor, or caveman, the fancy man with initials on your towels and salt on your chocolates, to you and to that guy at the concession stand; thank you for the tour of the vineyard, the fire station, the sound booth, thank you for the kaleidoscope, the Horsehead Nebula, the painting, the truth; to you who carries me across the parking lot, up the stairs, to the ER, to roll-away or rice mat; to you who shows up every so often only to confuse and torment, and you who stays in orbit, always, to my left and steady, you stood up for me, I won't forget that; to you, the one who can't figure it out and never will, and you who lost the remote, the dog, or your way altogether; to you, wizard, you sang in my ear and brought me back from the dead, you tell me things, make me shiver; to the ones who destroyed me, even if for a minute, and to the ones who grew me, consumed me, gave me my heart back times ten; to most everything that deserves to call itself a man: How I do love thee, with your skill to light fires that keep me warm, light me up.

Fat FREE Milk

I'm going to go away for a bit.

It's not you.

It's me.