Wednesday, September 10, 2008
speaking of lists...
top ten beers as of 9/9/08 that I drink regularly (in no specific order):
1) Racer 5
2) Saranac Black Forest (east coast exclusive)
3) Guiness
4) Tecate (representing the cheapness)
5) Sierra Nevada
6) Jameson's...omg, not a beer? mother's milk is still on the list.
7) Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout
8) Three Philosophers (only for the name...and the buzz)
9) My own, on the occasion that I brew.
10) Since I'm in SF, I'll say Prohibition, but I'm probably lying.
I haven't tasted all the beer in the world yet. I heard Belgium has bars with hundreds of beers to try. When I've tasted every beer on earth, I'll holler (drunkenly).
1) Racer 5
2) Saranac Black Forest (east coast exclusive)
3) Guiness
4) Tecate (representing the cheapness)
5) Sierra Nevada
6) Jameson's...omg, not a beer? mother's milk is still on the list.
7) Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout
8) Three Philosophers (only for the name...and the buzz)
9) My own, on the occasion that I brew.
10) Since I'm in SF, I'll say Prohibition, but I'm probably lying.
I haven't tasted all the beer in the world yet. I heard Belgium has bars with hundreds of beers to try. When I've tasted every beer on earth, I'll holler (drunkenly).
Saturday, September 6, 2008
when a friend called me last night and asked to write something for the memorial service currently happening for our late great beautiful friend Bree, i hesitated. i still do. everyone who wrote to her family kept saying "she will forever be missed" and "too young". and i agree completely--but why do we clam up and become so unnecessarily clumsy with our words around death? why should i feel compelled to speak any differently of this person? especially when they are not even around to hear what i'm saying anymore! if i'm wrong, and there is an afterlife, sorry. maybe there is some moral ground post mortem where everyone is courteous and gentle.
either way, Bree was a true freak. a weirdo of the gonzo nature. a comrade in the voyage through this strange world. Bree was the one who laughed or cried first. it's scary when intelligence joins the influence of a jester, but this is one of the best minds to share thoughts with. she was a complete ball of goof. i can remember so many crazy adventures with her, and it seems like she spent much more time with a lot of people other than me, so i can't begin to imagine how many crazy adventures she participated in during her life. things seen, the people she met, the countless jokes told and good times with people she cared for.
let us not forget the bad times, though. these are as much the moments that make a person as the times we enjoyed. Bree was someone who searched for the indescribable essence of life that a lot of people forget about because they watch too much TV or are too worried about what they're going to wear to work the next day. i think there are a lot of people who become involved in this searching, and i commend anyone in doing so, but it is a sad quest that can lead us to question many of life's pleasures that make us comfortable or complacent. fortunately, and on second thought, not surprisingly, Bree knew something intuitively that charged her with an assurance and positivity lacking in a lot of searchers. i'm not saying she was always on top of her shit. who is, though? i can't say much of what she thought recently, because i haven't seen her in a little over a year. the Bree i saw last was closing in on something, she was strong in heart, body, and mind, and i hope that this was the case in her last moments.
Bree didn't deserve this. the frustration of this fact is overwhelming, devastating. in this time of separation, it's the love we shared with Bree we should all remember. a few months prior she remarked to a mutual friend that at her memorial she would not want people to mourn, but to rejoice in celebration of sharing moments with a person we enjoyed being around and loved, even when those moments were good or bad, brief as they always are.
either way, Bree was a true freak. a weirdo of the gonzo nature. a comrade in the voyage through this strange world. Bree was the one who laughed or cried first. it's scary when intelligence joins the influence of a jester, but this is one of the best minds to share thoughts with. she was a complete ball of goof. i can remember so many crazy adventures with her, and it seems like she spent much more time with a lot of people other than me, so i can't begin to imagine how many crazy adventures she participated in during her life. things seen, the people she met, the countless jokes told and good times with people she cared for.
let us not forget the bad times, though. these are as much the moments that make a person as the times we enjoyed. Bree was someone who searched for the indescribable essence of life that a lot of people forget about because they watch too much TV or are too worried about what they're going to wear to work the next day. i think there are a lot of people who become involved in this searching, and i commend anyone in doing so, but it is a sad quest that can lead us to question many of life's pleasures that make us comfortable or complacent. fortunately, and on second thought, not surprisingly, Bree knew something intuitively that charged her with an assurance and positivity lacking in a lot of searchers. i'm not saying she was always on top of her shit. who is, though? i can't say much of what she thought recently, because i haven't seen her in a little over a year. the Bree i saw last was closing in on something, she was strong in heart, body, and mind, and i hope that this was the case in her last moments.
Bree didn't deserve this. the frustration of this fact is overwhelming, devastating. in this time of separation, it's the love we shared with Bree we should all remember. a few months prior she remarked to a mutual friend that at her memorial she would not want people to mourn, but to rejoice in celebration of sharing moments with a person we enjoyed being around and loved, even when those moments were good or bad, brief as they always are.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
what the hell? gone for a week and suddenly i've got thousands of ants crawling throughout all corners of this room.
who wouldn't fuck sarah palin?
i'm not discussing politics, but honestly, she's pretty hot for a "hockey mom."
just kidding.
fuck politics, not vice presidents.
just kidding.
fuck politics, not vice presidents.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
love is not a chaser for alcohol.
i fear too much
like the company you are able to provide
it makes my soul rejoice
and my heart shake
with lack of confidence to be enough for you.
like the company you are able to provide
it makes my soul rejoice
and my heart shake
with lack of confidence to be enough for you.
that i could have written this myself, i might feel more comfortable. or maybe just more entangled in the emotions that lead to writing down thoughts like this. alas, this is what she wrote to me. and it seems unfair. maybe it's unfair of me to say. this flood of emotions rampaging through the valley to the bay...only a trickle for 6 months prior. my lame summation: i'm glad you could finally make it here. it's more than that. i'm glad because for so long i've had to come to terms with what i believed was rejection, or at least the ending of a chapter. and then we turn the page.
seeing you was hard only cuz now i can't stop thinkin about you
i wish i could curl up in your arms tonight
i wish i could curl up in your arms tonight
this is where i am at a loss. the page turned. a new chapter. but the distance still remains. and i've been wondering if the distance was what kept us together in the past. or maybe the adventures shared allowed us to keep that distance, always a distracting view...does infatuation make us closer? even when our lives are separate? i'm confused...what's new? but i know the wishing and desires that come along with separation. the sorrow at the dead end of communication. you taught that to me. and i'm not sure if i can dredge up such feelings again without a sour look on my face. instead, let's enjoy what was, is, and continues to be us, as vague and sauntering as that silhouette can be. let us be careful in this chapter.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Today
Hey Patrick,
I finally found this termite infested paper to get this one off on. A stamp blew out of the wind today as did an envelope,
thought I'd scratch out a few pages.
I finally found this termite infested paper to get this one off on. A stamp blew out of the wind today as did an envelope,
thought I'd scratch out a few pages.
Lara and I are going to finish the downstairs apt.
The same one you came down here to help me finish
Life goes on within you are without you....I still do Beatles Sunday.
I'm phoneless sometime domeday I'll get one that acually works i'm up to eleven in the canal and am feeling no remorse.
I need to recoate the roof that you did four years ago.
Thanks buddy.
Needs a new one.
So I might say got some work cut out for me being a ho-moaner
How's life in the big city, all i remember is take advantage as you are not a stanger.
Rape it for everything it has to offer.
Someday you'll look back and say to yourself and say I might still be here
Tripped over a 1/2 oz of bud on the way back from the little store.
Life is good.
Drinking a Steel Reserve for breakfast
not much has changed.
Put on some stanlet clarke one of the greatest bass player's i've ever head.
I think the weed and the steel are kickin in.
I need to recoate the roof that you did four years ago.
Thanks buddy.Needs a new one.
So I might say got some work cut out for me being a ho-moaner
How's life in the big city, all i remember is take advantage as you are not a stanger.
Rape it for everything it has to offer.
Someday you'll look back and say to yourself and say I might still be here
Tripped over a 1/2 oz of bud on the way back from the little store.
Life is good.
Drinking a Steel Reserve for breakfast
not much has changed.
Put on some stanlet clarke one of the greatest bass player's i've ever head.
I think the weed and the steel are kickin in.
I don't do paragrahfs well, but I waste as much paper as I do to save some.
As you might tell I'm very relaxed at the moment.
why not be?
I don't breed stress and I don't need it in my life.
On the darker side of life I have to go to the houshing #
why not be?
I don't breed stress and I don't need it in my life.
On the darker side of life I have to go to the houshing #
because
Clyde has fucked me out of 5 grand. I will never let
let this happen to me again if i have to take legal matters into my hands I will.
It sucks but let the old fucking law take over.
This has been fun but I'm going to take a nap now
meeting Lara in four hours.
I've been up 74 hours now going for the guiness, not the world's record, just another pint.
(future update) Clyde and i have come to an agreement
I get his pick up truck and he walks away free
I need to get back to work
Life is good.
Keep playing the odds
As Always,
Dad
let this happen to me again if i have to take legal matters into my hands I will.
It sucks but let the old fucking law take over.
This has been fun but I'm going to take a nap now
meeting Lara in four hours.
I've been up 74 hours now going for the guiness, not the world's record, just another pint.
(future update) Clyde and i have come to an agreementI get his pick up truck and he walks away free
I need to get back to work
Life is good.
Keep playing the odds
As Always,
Dad
Friday, August 15, 2008
should i stay or should i go?
"it seems worth checking out. i mean, a bunch of cute girls who are on the prowl?" he says.
i understand. prey meets prey. it's worth it...if you get laid. what the fuck ever. why should i be guilt tripped. everytime i choose to go home there's something great that happens. everytime i try to go out nobody wants to go. what does that mean? i hate this. the feeling of inadequacy and belittlement because i missed an experience.
maybe i saved myself from a bad experience. or maybe i missed the best night of my life.
these two contrasts dominate my night life.
why can't i just be pleased with my own decisions? why do i let others move my emotions?
i need all my mental capacity to calm the frustration in my head. i want to burn away like rice paper, non-existent in the wind. no longer caring about the what-if, this naive attempt at feeling a conquest, power over another. drunken fuckin one night stands. that's what it boils down to.
tonight, rod said there is a way of connecting ourselves to the source of happiness. a feeling that permeates from everyone, an assurance of being alive and loved. the feeling that dissolves all fogs of insecurity and vulnerability. i need it. we all do, but we're so confused that this seeking has been diluted to the quest for money and beauty. the physical. another addiction. samsara anonymous. hi, my name is sandy badger, and i'm afraid, angry, hungry for everything. or maybe old yeller. put me out of my misery, literally, not figuratively.
i don't want to die:
i want to share substance and performance and eloquence and benevolence of the soul we all possess to share.
i understand. prey meets prey. it's worth it...if you get laid. what the fuck ever. why should i be guilt tripped. everytime i choose to go home there's something great that happens. everytime i try to go out nobody wants to go. what does that mean? i hate this. the feeling of inadequacy and belittlement because i missed an experience.
maybe i saved myself from a bad experience. or maybe i missed the best night of my life.
these two contrasts dominate my night life.
why can't i just be pleased with my own decisions? why do i let others move my emotions?
i need all my mental capacity to calm the frustration in my head. i want to burn away like rice paper, non-existent in the wind. no longer caring about the what-if, this naive attempt at feeling a conquest, power over another. drunken fuckin one night stands. that's what it boils down to.
tonight, rod said there is a way of connecting ourselves to the source of happiness. a feeling that permeates from everyone, an assurance of being alive and loved. the feeling that dissolves all fogs of insecurity and vulnerability. i need it. we all do, but we're so confused that this seeking has been diluted to the quest for money and beauty. the physical. another addiction. samsara anonymous. hi, my name is sandy badger, and i'm afraid, angry, hungry for everything. or maybe old yeller. put me out of my misery, literally, not figuratively.
i don't want to die:
i want to share substance and performance and eloquence and benevolence of the soul we all possess to share.
right now at 2:31 am i'm sitting at my window looking down on the street.
dad said once, on a balcony, "i'm good at looking down on people."
there are 3 cop cars closing down the block outside my house because of two cars of kids, maybe my age, younger (?), either way, it's been a while since they've been fucking with these kids. i can't establish what happened that led to 6 to 8 cops (maybe i'm missing a car) to interrogate people in front of my window for the last 40 minutes. i can only sympathize with the kids. they were probably only trying to get high. who knows. i don't what's ironic, is here i am at 2:31 drunk and free to be me in my abode! just yesterday i engaged in a debate with friends over the liberty to kill oneself through indulgence, and societies obligation to protect those individuals from themselves...or, as Beardo said, not to protect as much as to encourage and promote the upbringing of a community that cares and takes an active role in the members of the community. it sounds like lateral decision making to me, as if the "community" can somehow contain an understanding and awareness of the line between enjoyment and abuse. as if there is an objective critical approach to understanding everyone's psychology through one lens, one microscope. then again, i was taking the libertarian side of the debate. why can't we get fucked up as long as we aren't hurting anyone? but there again, we hit the fork of ideology and reality. people get fucked up, people do stupid shit. mistakes, maybe. but it happens anyway. but the question remains, is the moral compass set by the masses? do we know what we're doing? a lot of people believe they know, and that level of certainty is something to be cautious of.
at 2:50, the cops are driving away, arrests made, people released to the streets on the streets. free to roam where they were just free to roam. like buffalos, only not being shot at or being caged in a zoo...yet. alanis morissette can go fuck herself right now.
and at 2:51, all is quiet on the western front of 26th street...it actually might be the first time since i moved here that i could leave my window open and lie in peace. i should use this time to get some sleep...
...a car starts in the street. it's the kids who just got pulled over, getting back into the car that the police forbid them to return to (as they were so fucked up), the car they promised not to return to, as they could walk home. and here's the police following right behind them...goodnight moon.
dad said once, on a balcony, "i'm good at looking down on people."
there are 3 cop cars closing down the block outside my house because of two cars of kids, maybe my age, younger (?), either way, it's been a while since they've been fucking with these kids. i can't establish what happened that led to 6 to 8 cops (maybe i'm missing a car) to interrogate people in front of my window for the last 40 minutes. i can only sympathize with the kids. they were probably only trying to get high. who knows. i don't what's ironic, is here i am at 2:31 drunk and free to be me in my abode! just yesterday i engaged in a debate with friends over the liberty to kill oneself through indulgence, and societies obligation to protect those individuals from themselves...or, as Beardo said, not to protect as much as to encourage and promote the upbringing of a community that cares and takes an active role in the members of the community. it sounds like lateral decision making to me, as if the "community" can somehow contain an understanding and awareness of the line between enjoyment and abuse. as if there is an objective critical approach to understanding everyone's psychology through one lens, one microscope. then again, i was taking the libertarian side of the debate. why can't we get fucked up as long as we aren't hurting anyone? but there again, we hit the fork of ideology and reality. people get fucked up, people do stupid shit. mistakes, maybe. but it happens anyway. but the question remains, is the moral compass set by the masses? do we know what we're doing? a lot of people believe they know, and that level of certainty is something to be cautious of.
at 2:50, the cops are driving away, arrests made, people released to the streets on the streets. free to roam where they were just free to roam. like buffalos, only not being shot at or being caged in a zoo...yet. alanis morissette can go fuck herself right now.
and at 2:51, all is quiet on the western front of 26th street...it actually might be the first time since i moved here that i could leave my window open and lie in peace. i should use this time to get some sleep...
...a car starts in the street. it's the kids who just got pulled over, getting back into the car that the police forbid them to return to (as they were so fucked up), the car they promised not to return to, as they could walk home. and here's the police following right behind them...goodnight moon.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
know what else is addictive? MUSIC. i'm glad there's no stigma involved in being an audioholic. and right now, i'm completely hooked on lil wayne. i know how late on the sleazy pathetic bandwagon i am. i've always been late to pick up on popular rap artists. i mean, what is there to like about a mass marketed black icon with a gun in one hand the other around a) money b) alcohol/drugs c) another firearm d) a beautiful woman. at the same time, the moron in me says, what isn't there to like about these idolized rhymers?
the misogyny.
the materialism.
the religion.
the unbelievably moronic fanbase.
not even knowing what hip hop is supposed to mean anymore
(and probably lacking in experience to ever know).
either way.
all those concepts that have been exploited to sell records and sell some sort of image...or express it...whichever side of the art influencing culture debate you take, one fact remains:
lil wayne is crazy.
not fucking gnarls barkley crazy.
charles manson crazy.
lil wayne crazy.
it's scary and ridiculous at the same time.
the beauty of this guy is that you can't take a word of it seriously. i'm not sure if he takes it seriously either. of course, most average people love sex, money, status items, but how many people dedicate a 9 minute track to smoking a blunt and philosophizing about topics ranging from hating al sharpton, his neighbor getting arrested for selling crack resulting in a sex offender moving into the apartment, and speaking on the fact that it's cheaper to send a black youth to college than it is to imprison them? it's amazing the things said on a microphone, even more so when the person has striven their whole life to have the ear of the masses, acquires that, and then this is what they say! i'm not saying it's genius. it's nothing new, just a different voice. strange times with strange people, but i'll raise my pimp chalice to lil wheezy.
the misogyny.
the materialism.
the religion.
the unbelievably moronic fanbase.
not even knowing what hip hop is supposed to mean anymore
(and probably lacking in experience to ever know).
either way.
all those concepts that have been exploited to sell records and sell some sort of image...or express it...whichever side of the art influencing culture debate you take, one fact remains:
lil wayne is crazy.
not fucking gnarls barkley crazy.
charles manson crazy.
lil wayne crazy.
it's scary and ridiculous at the same time.
the beauty of this guy is that you can't take a word of it seriously. i'm not sure if he takes it seriously either. of course, most average people love sex, money, status items, but how many people dedicate a 9 minute track to smoking a blunt and philosophizing about topics ranging from hating al sharpton, his neighbor getting arrested for selling crack resulting in a sex offender moving into the apartment, and speaking on the fact that it's cheaper to send a black youth to college than it is to imprison them? it's amazing the things said on a microphone, even more so when the person has striven their whole life to have the ear of the masses, acquires that, and then this is what they say! i'm not saying it's genius. it's nothing new, just a different voice. strange times with strange people, but i'll raise my pimp chalice to lil wheezy.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
I'm REALLy good whEN tT COMES dowN To bLuNNdER.
today
it might be mond
ay
it might be mond
ay
August 4TH. I'm
REALLy good whEN
tT COMES dowN To
bLuNNdER. I doN'T
KNow who I'm scRib
bLing AT. MusT bE
youR TuRN!
I'm NoT SuRE WhAT
ORdER This is iN wiTH
BE KiND To your--
SELf. KEEP up ThE
good Looks I know
you'LL fiNd hER ouT -
ThERE somEdAy oR
somETimE. WELCOME
TO yOUR NEW LifE
AgaiN.
As ALwAys
DA'D
REALLy good whEN
tT COMES dowN To
bLuNNdER. I doN'T
KNow who I'm scRib
bLing AT. MusT bE
youR TuRN!
I'vE
LosT my TRain of
ThoughT. Am I iN The middLe of
THoughT depREv
iNsy. *
goe's
To show you ho'w
The fuck's REaLLy
ouT hERE!
moNdAy
ThoughT. Am I iN The middLe of
THoughT depREv
iNsy. *
goe'sThe fuck's REaLLy
ouT hERE!
moNdAyI was wRiTT*
iNg
To BiLLy buT
CRosES musT hAVE
cRoSEd. I hopE
youR doiNg wELL
I LOVE you LiTTc
LiTTLE bRoThER
How's Life TREATin2
iN The big ciTy
my dAys ARE SpEnT
'N soLiTudE. LARA
sTops by oN occaTsioc
I'Ts hARd foR me To
WRiTE! I hAvE TEN
LETrR's To mAiL
ouT. I'f iT wAsNT'
foR hER. ShE ALwA
ys
show's up bRokE
buT
hAs posTAgE iN
/ hER * PocKET. This
is ThE REASON I
CAN WRiTE TO you.
I'vE bEEN KickEN
The shiT on ThE dRum
music KEEps comiNg
my wAy.PhiL my
bAcksToor RENTER
gAve mE CD's STANLEy
CLARKE, ThE bEsT
pLAyer you'vE
EEVER
hEAR'd ON bASS.
JEAN-LUC PONTy on
JAzz FiddLE AND GREEN
PEACE WARRIORS
iNg
To BiLLy buT
CRosES musT hAVE
cRoSEd. I hopE
youR doiNg wELL
I LOVE you LiTTc
LiTTLE bRoThER
How's Life TREATin2
iN The big ciTy
my dAys ARE SpEnT'N soLiTudE. LARA
sTops by oN occaTsioc
I'Ts hARd foR me To
WRiTE! I hAvE TEN
LETrR's To mAiL
ouT. I'f iT wAsNT'
foR hER. ShE ALwA
ys
show's up bRokE
buT
hAs posTAgE iN/ hER * PocKET. This
is ThE REASON I
CAN WRiTE TO you.
I'vE bEEN KickEN
The shiT on ThE dRum
music KEEps comiNg
my wAy.PhiL my
bAcksToor RENTER
gAve mE CD's STANLEy
CLARKE, ThE bEsT
pLAyer you'vE
EEVER
hEAR'd ON bASS.
JEAN-LUC PONTy on
JAzz FiddLE AND GREEN
PEACE WARRIORS
my Life is WELL. BE-
eing boRN EVERy mo--
menT. I cAN fiNd
No hopE iN whAT's
found.
eing boRN EVERy mo--
menT. I cAN fiNd
No hopE iN whAT's
found.
I'm NoT SuRE WhAT
ORdER This is iN wiTH
BE KiND To your--SELf. KEEP up ThE
good Looks I know
you'LL fiNd hER ouT -
ThERE somEdAy oR
somETimE. WELCOME
TO yOUR NEW LifE
AgaiN.
As ALwAys
DA'D
Thursday, August 7, 2008
the absinthe of proof is not proof of absinthe.
i just had a really weird thought: what if i was the most quiet person on earth? obviously it's not true because i'm typing now, but just before this. and during that weird firing of ganglia and synapses i quickly became aware of how ridiculous this thought was, and the amount of people who were trying to be quiet at that moment on the earth, and their situations and the crazy things they were doing and for what extremely disturbing or righteous reasons that may be. it's always the quiet ones. sneaksneaksneak.
on a lighter note: i'm watching THE POWER OF NIGHTMARES, straussian philosopher's beware. ever get the feeling that you're afraid of everything?
yah, probably another leo strauss attack.
it sucks when you begin to see the scope of the world through the eyes of someone who rushed home to watch gunsmoke. i understand that materialism and selfish ignorant arrogance has overrun society. i ain't hatin'. well, maybe i am.
it sucks when you begin to see the scope of the world through the eyes of someone who rushed home to watch gunsmoke. i understand that materialism and selfish ignorant arrogance has overrun society. i ain't hatin'. well, maybe i am.
WAKE THE FUCK UP EVERYONE
[easier said than done]
why do we have to fear everything?
why are we so twisted that enjoyment can never be peaceful?
why can't we just a have a drink and a puff and remember, enjoy, celebrate in what the depths of philosophy and arts and thousands of years of culture and society has amalgamated to instead of brooding over the minor details.
whether it be seeking justice and some fucked up visage of an aristotlelian wet dream, pursuing some twisted and absurd motive justified by "god's will," or jerking off to the latest music video by whatever blonde poop star is being pushed by the meat market: you might want to start ruminating on what it is you call a life.
time is limited. we are small. let's all agree that we try to stay aware of our actions and let them flow from a compassion towards what we are, rather than a fear of what we are not or could be.
most importantly: a) don't take any of this seriously. b) make your own decisions.
take it from dr. badger:
scared of clowns? let's go to the circus!
not sure if dog's will bite you when you're about to pet them? cover your hand in animal fat.
can't swim? use your hands and hold air in your lungs. buoyancy, idiot.
worried about your next car payment? sell your car.
feeling nervous about approaching that "special someone?" open your heart. buoyancy, idiot.
threatened by something, anything, anyone? laugh. if they don't laugh with you, run.
scared of assholes? finger yours. we all have one.
can't find the time? please, just fucking do it. you need it.
looking for substance? pinch yourself.
uneasy about confronting conflict? make yourself big and make loud noises...or is that for dealing with bears?
can't remember why you're here? i can't explain. all we can do is remind each other.
milk taste bad? check the expiration date, dummy.
afraid of death? everyone dies, get over it. this one takes time, really. get over it.
afraid of change? everything changes, get over it. this one takes time, really. get over it.
don't know what to think anymore? it gets worse. find your safe place.
actually: make your safe place. finding is frustrating, making is possible.
scared of making? cover yourself in paint and run the streets wild. we've been waiting for you.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
love is blue...let's not fool ourselves. be honest. don't be candid. we always do that. always hold a distance and wait for the other to open up, like matryoshka dolls. more apt, we rest across a valley from one another, boulders on mountaintops we once climbed.
our everlasting metaphor: the mountain. strenuously, laborious to exhaustion, we strive upwards to unknown peaks and summits. but the physical can dominate a relationship. it's hard to have a conversation when you're breathless.
we spent our time enjoying company but enjoying the adventure more. and when the adventure ended, so did the company. it's funny, because i want to feel sad, play the clown, feel heartbreak. and sometimes i do. or at least i think i do. maybe i want to feel it. and who knows what IT is?
anything your neuropeptides communicate. anything your heart desires.
anything god wills (just kidding, but some people believe that and it worries me).
how do i cope without her? disconnection.
no more mountains.
apathy.
alcohol.
the same old me.
that's my AA, apathy and alcohol...
...that was meant as a joke but it's not that funny. i laugh anyway. because as smokey said, "my smile is my makeup i've worn since our breakup."
there i go again.
acting dramatic.
acting dramatic. is that an oxymoron?
our everlasting metaphor: the mountain. strenuously, laborious to exhaustion, we strive upwards to unknown peaks and summits. but the physical can dominate a relationship. it's hard to have a conversation when you're breathless.
we spent our time enjoying company but enjoying the adventure more. and when the adventure ended, so did the company. it's funny, because i want to feel sad, play the clown, feel heartbreak. and sometimes i do. or at least i think i do. maybe i want to feel it. and who knows what IT is?
anything your neuropeptides communicate. anything your heart desires.
anything god wills (just kidding, but some people believe that and it worries me).
how do i cope without her? disconnection.
no more mountains.
apathy.
alcohol.
the same old me.
that's my AA, apathy and alcohol...
...that was meant as a joke but it's not that funny. i laugh anyway. because as smokey said, "my smile is my makeup i've worn since our breakup."
there i go again.
acting dramatic.
acting dramatic. is that an oxymoron?
either way, we had a great time together, and the parting of ways was the fuckin' way she goes...
Monday, August 4, 2008
Explaining simply without a more worldly tone the reason for the empty bottle’s now more musical quality.
I hope that's a typo...withOUT a worldly tone?
she's probably right.
i like to imagine myself as a renaissance man, but more often i look the fool.
either way, her memories are more expressive than mine, more eloquent.
memory is fragile, she cradles hers like a champagne flute.
mine, like a pint glass. occasionally spilled and broken.
and she is right.
i let a girl in.
in fact, i'd been waiting a long time to let her in.
and this could be where i become inspired, expansive, explain the sordid details of my first
*cough*gag*
"true love."
let's not do this here. not now. i'm still not sure what to think.
ferment your rose petals and distill a drop for the last sip of the evening.
she's probably right.
i like to imagine myself as a renaissance man, but more often i look the fool.
either way, her memories are more expressive than mine, more eloquent.
memory is fragile, she cradles hers like a champagne flute.
mine, like a pint glass. occasionally spilled and broken.
and she is right.
i let a girl in.
in fact, i'd been waiting a long time to let her in.
and this could be where i become inspired, expansive, explain the sordid details of my first
*cough*gag*
"true love."
let's not do this here. not now. i'm still not sure what to think.
ferment your rose petals and distill a drop for the last sip of the evening.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
what would jesus meat?
Just because you eat healthy and pay too much for your food doesn’t make you a better person, only poorer, and I’m not talking financially.
You’re telling my boss about all the times you’ve been in the butcher shop.
“There’s always something that doesn’t look fresh,” you say, “but your product is for the most part good, and I want to support that. That’s why I shop here.”
My boss is nodding considerately, but I know she’s focusing all her mental energy into not jumping over the counter and smacking you around for a few hours.
“Come over to this side of the counter and see what the meat looks like,” you continue.
“It’s not where you’re standing,” my boss states, “I can tell from here if the meat is bad.”
She goes on, explaining to you again how long she’s worked with food and all the legitimate reasons you shouldn’t be worried about what we are providing, but you don’t seem convinced. Instead, you seem to be trying to convince us of our ineptitude, or perhaps how much you know about organic grass fed beef.
My other boss says you just have some weird aggressive flirtation thing with Tia. She says this scene has developed from months of Tia ignoring your attention.
Is that it?
Everytime you come in you’re asking for Tia to butcher your meat. I don’t blame you. Tia’s hot. And as I’ve been told, people who yield knives get respect.
If Darwin could throw in his two cents, he might say it’s natural to be attracted by the provider of food. You’ll live longer if you hook up with someone who works with food. We get to bring some home for free!
If I could throw in my two cents, I might tell you to go to hell. But I won’t. You’re a “good customer.”
Now you’re saying, “I want to support your business, I want to see you all succeed, but it’s hard when I can’t trust in the quality of your food.”
You rant…for entirely way too long. Why won’t you leave? Oh yes, Tia’s still paying attention. That’s why you want her on the other side of the counter. You want to check out dat ass. Meat slapping. That’s all this is.
You leave unsatisfied in another failed attempt to get through to Tia. You don’t understand. All you want is good food, maybe someone to share it with. Meanwhile, I’m yelling behind you that you haven’t signed your receipt. You run back, embarrassed, but not publicly.
“Sorry,” you say, “I guess I got wrapped up in that whole thing.”
“No worries,” I say.
All meat gets wrapped up eventually.
Friday, August 1, 2008
trading spaces
i just found some of my original (and only) blog posts from myspace that i thought would be interesting because i'm deleting the account (and creatively lazy tonight).
these are so not worth reposting...
on writing Friday, April 07, 2006
my writing is what it is. consecutive words on a page. symbols without meaning. philosophy without soul. death without any closure.
...at least i'm not playing video games all day.
the innocence of the devil Thursday, April 06, 2006
I just breathed in. Wouldn't you know, I inhaled ceasar's last breath! It was stale and coated my lips with distrust. A hint of olive pervaded my nostrils. I now look to the sky and see the multi-faceted web of gems, blinding me with its reflective beauty. The light leaks through my retina like the sun pierces the ruby stone. For a moment, peace is mine.
a new day Monday, April 03, 2006
when i was a smarter human being in this world, yet still not being in this world. when a girl was just a girl and not a life decision. when this keyboard was less an extension of my thought and i was ollying the soap box instead of standing on it. when nihilism was still just a confusing word in a dictionary. when my love abounded ignorant of restraints. when when when did any of this exist, and where did it stop doing the same?
thawed mud and stripped clothing Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Maybe I'm wrong but a song isn't just a song and a strong "ism" just created a long pause. Emancipate yourself from the grandfather clause. Talk to Gods with psychadelic frogs. Ask them the question for which your heart truly longs. But feel free to forget while you toke on your bongs. Because the groove's on this vinyl don't skip and the moves on your rival won't stick cuz rubber ain't glue so your libel. Purpose is lost in this haze of purple porpoises and grimy bar stools. Sand stuck in my sandals.
Remember that?
A man at that same sticky fallen ground said "It's not rocket surgery."
If he thinks so, there must be hope for humanity.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Advice to writers: Sometimes you just have to stop writing. Even before you begin.
1) Pirates and monkeys are the best comedic tools available to a writer.
2) The rules of grammar, correct spelling, and punctuation are our best friends. Let's occasionally abuse them.
3) Every story has a beginning, middle, and end. Every character a birth and death.
4) Know your writing as well as yourself. In other words, work on yourself.
5) Every character is as real as the author.
6) When in doubt: laugh.
7) When inspired: create.
8) When your mind draws a blank, don’t try to remember.
9) _____
10) Subtleties are more interesting than extremes.
11) Words create realities, use responsibly.
12) Return to your two-year-old roots and ask ‘why’ about everything.
13) Buy an audio recorder. They remember what was said better than us.
14) Mommy loves you. If not, somebody does, even if you’re not aware.
!5)16 Don’t ever hate or destroy what you have made.
17) Think twice, but don’t think more than twice.
18) Routinely seek out pirates and monkeys.
19) Eat your greens and fruits (meat is ok too, if you like).
20) See the individual spokes. The faster a wheel goes, the less of the spokes you see, the more a wheel appears empty.
21) .
22) Sober or high: listening…anytime can be writing time. Don’t deny the opportunities!
23) Dictionaries exist for a reason.
24) If you write about someone, write lovingly, even if you hate them.
25) Writing does not exist on paper alone.
26) Find time everyday to write. Schedules are good, but who has time to make one?
27) Be succinct, avoid uncertain words...and good luck.
28) Really..sincerely, good luck. If you can read and write, you have the power.
29) I lied. Sometimes are not writing times. Use writing times appropriately.
30) Stop ignoring (refer to #22).
31) Stop adhering to rules/Stop making lists/Stop writing.
32) Stop listening to me.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
b
she said i said,
"i drink and i don't want to change and this is where i am and this is where i'm comfortable."
and she said i said this is how my parents had relationships with alcohol.
and i was saying that this is how things are.
and she was saying something about being concerned.
and i was trying to reconcile a reasonable explanation as to why she shouldn't be worried about how much i drink.
the first time we kissed i was driving her home, drunk from the bar. and i was saying i was alright to drive.
her hand lingering on my thigh between the shifting of gears. we kissed more on the floor and against walls in my house, kittens treading lightly across our bellies. she said she had to go home.
i said i was alright to drive. we both said goodnight across the shifting of gears.
on her 1am east coast phone to my 10pm west coast ear tonight she says,
"this isn't fair, i'm already drunk and you're only starting to drink."
i lamely conjure a laugh and something not-so-witty
because i'm flustered
because i'm already pretty buzzed
because, you know.
i say too much to recall after this
because, you know.
i ramble on and on and on;
i ramble on and on and on
because,
you know.
"i drink and i don't want to change and this is where i am and this is where i'm comfortable."
and she said i said this is how my parents had relationships with alcohol.
and i was saying that this is how things are.
and she was saying something about being concerned.
and i was trying to reconcile a reasonable explanation as to why she shouldn't be worried about how much i drink.
the first time we kissed i was driving her home, drunk from the bar. and i was saying i was alright to drive.
her hand lingering on my thigh between the shifting of gears. we kissed more on the floor and against walls in my house, kittens treading lightly across our bellies. she said she had to go home.
i said i was alright to drive. we both said goodnight across the shifting of gears.
on her 1am east coast phone to my 10pm west coast ear tonight she says,
"this isn't fair, i'm already drunk and you're only starting to drink."
i lamely conjure a laugh and something not-so-witty
because i'm flustered
because i'm already pretty buzzed
because, you know.
i say too much to recall after this
because, you know.
i ramble on and on and on;
i ramble on and on and on
because,
you know.
so...
...i'm currently out of topics that strike me as relevant. hence, i'm going to do what most bloggers do best: blather on about myself. i could talk about current events, how the bush "administration" (administering more than just politics) announced a "drop in homelessnes" and how ridiculous articles that attribute the decline to a name when all that's happening is an exchange of finance and how easy it would be to alleviate ALL homelessness, poverty, starvation. if only we didn't spend all our cash on an elaborate scheme to make a few people wealthy enough to make solomon blush, and oh yes weapons to destroy everyone. thanks. no. that's my answer to politics at this juncture in my life. i'll kill myself on my own terms. one drink and smoke at a time. apathetic towards institutions, but still a compassionate humanist. i yam what i yam. mr. potato head. and on that note...
let's get to know me a little bit, shall we?
my name is narcissus. when i said in my first post "i don't plan on writing for the sake of vanity" yeah that was a lie. of the bold faced kind no less. i apologize for the lie,
but not for my beautiful awesome intelligent drunkard self! ha.
i do things other than drink, believe it or not.
i have a job at a butcher shop! cuttindameat...well, not really. i work the counter and deli. essentially, i just push meat. i also make music with friends, by myself, and obviously i like to write, although this is honestly the first time i've kept a journal and considered sticking with it for some time. it's perverted how we, and by we i mean the blogging community, all love putting our words out there to strangers to send us comments. tell us how to live or what we should be saying and somehow this is something people thrive on? and bloggging is a terrible word that sounds like a curse word: "MOTHER BLOGGER" or "JESUS BLOGGING CHRIST" or "WHERE IN THE BLOG DID YOU EVEN FIND THAT MONKEY?" oh yes. i have yet to mention my love for monkeys. and pirates. literary wet dreams, those two. pirates and monkeys. mmmmmmmm. whoa, that's a little creepy. and i could erase it, but you gotta show respect to the p&m combo, which is a combo i've just invented, consider yourself enlightened. tangents and rants are fun also. anyway, i gotta go handle and push some meat. blog off...
let's get to know me a little bit, shall we?
my name is narcissus. when i said in my first post "i don't plan on writing for the sake of vanity" yeah that was a lie. of the bold faced kind no less. i apologize for the lie,
but not for my beautiful awesome intelligent drunkard self! ha.i do things other than drink, believe it or not.
i have a job at a butcher shop! cuttindameat...well, not really. i work the counter and deli. essentially, i just push meat. i also make music with friends, by myself, and obviously i like to write, although this is honestly the first time i've kept a journal and considered sticking with it for some time. it's perverted how we, and by we i mean the blogging community, all love putting our words out there to strangers to send us comments. tell us how to live or what we should be saying and somehow this is something people thrive on? and bloggging is a terrible word that sounds like a curse word: "MOTHER BLOGGER" or "JESUS BLOGGING CHRIST" or "WHERE IN THE BLOG DID YOU EVEN FIND THAT MONKEY?" oh yes. i have yet to mention my love for monkeys. and pirates. literary wet dreams, those two. pirates and monkeys. mmmmmmmm. whoa, that's a little creepy. and i could erase it, but you gotta show respect to the p&m combo, which is a combo i've just invented, consider yourself enlightened. tangents and rants are fun also. anyway, i gotta go handle and push some meat. blog off...
Sunday, July 27, 2008
spit or swallow
rod says i make a stupid face when i drink beer because i hold the swill in my mouth instead of swallowing it immediately. i will confess it's a weird habit. i've been doing it for a few years. i hold a mouthful of beer like a
i just caught myself doing it.
it's really not my most flattering face, and i'm a little bit embarrassed about the ramifications on my sex life. how many times have i had a mouthful of beer yet to be swallowed when talking to a pretty lady? rod sucks for bringing this to my attention. i mean, thanks, because i've already started to stop doing it recently, but you still suck. i had my drinking figured out until then. a pun my dad makes: "I can hold my liquor." maybe this was an unconscious mechanism for regulating how much alcohol i was intaking, because now that i don't make my hamster beer face as much i've been getting more wasted more often...or maybe i've just been getting more wasted more often. either way, i resolve to stop this maladapted monstrosity of the mandible...mouth.
i just caught myself doing it.
it's really not my most flattering face, and i'm a little bit embarrassed about the ramifications on my sex life. how many times have i had a mouthful of beer yet to be swallowed when talking to a pretty lady? rod sucks for bringing this to my attention. i mean, thanks, because i've already started to stop doing it recently, but you still suck. i had my drinking figured out until then. a pun my dad makes: "I can hold my liquor." maybe this was an unconscious mechanism for regulating how much alcohol i was intaking, because now that i don't make my hamster beer face as much i've been getting more wasted more often...or maybe i've just been getting more wasted more often. either way, i resolve to stop this maladapted monstrosity of the mandible...mouth.
she's my sponsor.
already got my pregame on. maybe too much. showing up at the party and realizing 80% of the crowd is sober and recovering with a deuce-deuce in my hand: priceless. i can't begin to explain how awkward it is to show up with a drunken crowd to a party where everyone is sober. even though molly, the birthday girl, said we could bring drinks, i think we were the only people who did. molly is my sister, almost literally. and when asked about my love for her, i told it striaght: i love you because you are who you want to be, and who you are is beautiful. she is amazing, and so was the blonde across the room checking me out. eyes connect once in a moment, but my testing gaze met with hers more than once. i had to go for it. that sounds terrible. i hate making my movements sound like predatorial grazings. i think i might like this girl. at least from our interactions...which was under five minutes...mmaybe i'm naive.
i ask her how she knew mollie she says, "she's my sponsor."
the thing is, she still wants to talk to me, and i don't know what to think. she is gorgeous, and as my friend put it later on after she left, "what were you doing talking to the hottest chick in the room?" i don't know. like i said, we made eye contact, and i'm so sick of being introverted when i find someone interested in me, especially the "hottest chick in the room." so mollie is your sponsor, and you are, and were, and continue to be the hottest chick in the room. your name is hatley. what would become of me seeking you out? the sober girl courted by a fucking wastoid. probably not. but you blew me a kiss, and even if in response to my own blown advance, i think i could be in (drunken) love. and i'll wake up tomorrow with no memory of your face and only a name and a stained memory to hold onto. but i bet i will call mollie and ask her for your number and she will probably give it to me and i will call you and you will not respond (as it is the game) and i will lamely give up. hatley, you are something i can't attain, and therefore you are beautiful and idolized.
fuck you, i (drunken) love you.
i ask her how she knew mollie she says, "she's my sponsor."
the thing is, she still wants to talk to me, and i don't know what to think. she is gorgeous, and as my friend put it later on after she left, "what were you doing talking to the hottest chick in the room?" i don't know. like i said, we made eye contact, and i'm so sick of being introverted when i find someone interested in me, especially the "hottest chick in the room." so mollie is your sponsor, and you are, and were, and continue to be the hottest chick in the room. your name is hatley. what would become of me seeking you out? the sober girl courted by a fucking wastoid. probably not. but you blew me a kiss, and even if in response to my own blown advance, i think i could be in (drunken) love. and i'll wake up tomorrow with no memory of your face and only a name and a stained memory to hold onto. but i bet i will call mollie and ask her for your number and she will probably give it to me and i will call you and you will not respond (as it is the game) and i will lamely give up. hatley, you are something i can't attain, and therefore you are beautiful and idolized.
fuck you, i (drunken) love you.
Friday, July 25, 2008
ThiS iS HOW T do iT.
it's been quite a day, now finished four minutes and counting(posted 1 hour 20 minutos later) . 25, now 26. friday, then saturday. young, then old. innocent, then corrupt. the main bullet point of this presentation is--time passes. bottles empty. are refilled, or recycled, or broken. or sucked on obsessively for last drops of memory and feeling. where was i going with this?
ah.
indeed.
the passing of things.
i bought a dulcimer today. i lost a window today. a letter was delivered to my doorstep.
ah.
indeed.
the passing of things.
i bought a dulcimer today. i lost a window today. a letter was delivered to my doorstep.
#1
hey paddy,
excuse the stationary
this fuckin' pen don't
seem to work. its sunday
A.m, i'm slowly drinking
down this pint of guinness
it's food and it's breakfast
so how's it goes living on the "best coast"
I think about you all the time. I regard your
decisions in life and you (turn page, or more precisely a receipt from a hardware store)
#2
only get one time around.
make it real compared
to what?
my life seem's to tricle
qown, my d's look like
a G, not to worry, woman
worry, men go to work.
i've been watching
the "British Open" how do
they find these golf covar-
es's, so demanding, and no-one
can make a two foot putt.
the winner may up at #(?) 6
I just want to stay in touch with you.EVEN
#3
if it's only by letter's
i havent got a phone, my
interest is a cell phone, no
more at&t. they shut my SER-
VICE down for the last two
months and they'rebilling
me?
Just remember every
day you open that door,
qou walk the sidewalk you
cross that curb, your puTTinq
your life on the line. look both
WAy's!
I'LL ALWAy'S REMEMbER you foR ThE pERSON you'd ThouqhT ThiS iS HOW T do iT. DAD
hey paddy,
excuse the stationary
this fuckin' pen don't
seem to work. its sunday
A.m, i'm slowly drinking
down this pint of guinness
it's food and it's breakfast
so how's it goes living on the "best coast"
I think about you all the time. I regard your
decisions in life and you (turn page, or more precisely a receipt from a hardware store)
#2
only get one time around.
make it real compared
to what?
my life seem's to tricle
qown, my d's look like
a G, not to worry, woman
worry, men go to work.
i've been watching
the "British Open" how do
they find these golf covar-
es's, so demanding, and no-one
can make a two foot putt.
the winner may up at #(?) 6
I just want to stay in touch with you.EVEN
#3
if it's only by letter's
i havent got a phone, my
interest is a cell phone, no
more at&t. they shut my SER-
VICE down for the last two
months and they'rebilling
me?
Just remember every
day you open that door,
qou walk the sidewalk you
cross that curb, your puTTinq
your life on the line. look both
WAy's!
I'LL ALWAy'S REMEMbER you foR ThE pERSON you'd ThouqhT ThiS iS HOW T do iT. DAD
where was my lucky glow in the dark coke dealer when i needed him?
sometimes drinking whiskey in the morning can be a good thing. for instance, when you walk out of your apartment to find the passenger window of your car smashed into a thousand tiny jagged pieces of "safety glass."
what was taken? a cd player, a knife, and maybe something else that i haven't noticed (and maybe never will).
what the douche nozzle missed?
$30 in change,
a pair of bonoculars worth well over $100,
a 300 CD book,
the radio,
my lucky glow in the coke dealer figurine glued to the dashboard (apparently a patron saint of driving in argentina?).
i don't think the figurine is as lucky to me anymore.
anyway, the asshole also did not get on my nerves...maybe later it bothered me (definitely later it bothered me), but i'd had a few sips of jameson's before leaving the house, and somehow my buzz trumped the reality of the immediate moment. i laughed incredulously. i laughed at myself for having a car in san francisco. i wasn't surprised or angry. the whiskey was a padding, but maybe i'd been gearing up for this moment. either way, it happened, and thank the powers that be for a good buzz to hold my optimism in what sober might've ruined my day. also thanks to my friends for getting me high later when they found out about it.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
gimme your lunch money, or it's curtains kid.
getting mugged doesn't help your nightlife. ALMOST getting mugged is ALMOST as bad...
...so i'm walking off of mission and up cortland ave to meet friends at the bar. it's friday, july 18th., my day off. i've been drinking vodka since 1 pm plus 8 hours. i'm on the phone, not paying attention to 6 kids with black hoods up
all
lined
up
against
the
wall
up
against
the
wall
not talking, not doing things that kids do (or maybe i'm already out of touch at 25) but all grilling me, oblivious to the whole situation still on my cell phone. luckily, my drunk obtuse ass is hanging up, and all of a sudden i have two 14 year old toddlers trying to hem me up.
people, i'm a lover, not a fighter.
i ran into the street, one still hanging onto my sweater.
"HEEYYYO! AAYYY!" i yelled. "HEEYYYO! AAYYY!" it's the new club hit...
...and they ran back into the darkness. and yeah, it's that cliche. i was too drunk. my memory is fucked. maybe they weren't 14. maybe they were a drunken midget circus troop of gypsies running tourist's pockets for gas money. i mean, it is over $4 a gallon.
fuck it.
i don't care who it was.
it's sad that anybody thinks beating or robbing someone is entertaining.
corporation executives screwing shareholders and employees for money, ego driven deviant children ruining a drunk's night in search of the elusive
people, i'm a lover, not a fighter.
i ran into the street, one still hanging onto my sweater.
"HEEYYYO! AAYYY!" i yelled. "HEEYYYO! AAYYY!" it's the new club hit...
...and they ran back into the darkness. and yeah, it's that cliche. i was too drunk. my memory is fucked. maybe they weren't 14. maybe they were a drunken midget circus troop of gypsies running tourist's pockets for gas money. i mean, it is over $4 a gallon.
fuck it.
i don't care who it was.
it's sad that anybody thinks beating or robbing someone is entertaining.
corporation executives screwing shareholders and employees for money, ego driven deviant children ruining a drunk's night in search of the elusive
we're all exerting power over one another in every instance.
nietzsche would agree.
then he might try to smack me in the face...
why not?
it's no easy chore staying alert to freaks and hipsters and thugs running amok in this city. up until recently, i've been serendipitously sheltered from things like car theft and stupid kids with nothing better to do. trapped in this complifuckation of a landscape, i can only come to one conclusion. inebriated is the only way i can travel.nietzsche would agree.
then he might try to smack me in the face...
why not?
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
back in the day when i was a teenager...
tonight i'm staying home, no bars, no chicks, yes whiskey. jame-o's to be exact. it used to be protestant whiskey, but i've switched to the distillations of catholics now. i've read that tastebuds die and new ones are grown about every seven years, so maybe it makes sense. maybe i'm feeling my irish roots? i did end the last post with an irish cheer. either way, i didn't always drink whiskey by choice. beer was my gateway liqour. i've been thinking about one time in particular as one of my first memories of drinking, which is an oxyoron.
location: new wilmington, pennsylvania.
age: 14.
alcohol tolerance: zero.
new wilmington is 45 minutes north of pittsburgh. it's a well homogenized blend of white people and white people. my mom used to say the only diversity in the town was whether you were protestant or presbyterian, but a large amish population also inhabits the area. in new wilmington, there is an 11 o'clock curfew. nobody under 18 allowed out after naughty time...which is exactly what became of that time. new wilmington was also a dry town. for anyone trying to get liqour, it was either steal from your parents or drive 20 minutes and find someone to buy it for you. for the clueless 14 year olds, driving was out of the question. so...
the night in question, we met at "the tree." "the tree" was a large field surrounded by mostly trees, laying adjacent to the elementary and middle/high school. a group of us met around midnight planning to drink even though none of us had anything. i was staying with my grandparents for the summer. their house was close to "the tree," only a few fields in between, so my midnight sneaking was easy. it was pretty easy in general, because new wilmington had only one police cruiser. i arrived late, and discussion was already in progress.
"we should raid larry's dad's fridge in their garage. it's never locked. we'll just grab a case or two."
i don't think anyone ever considered whether or not larry's dad would notice. he did. he beat the fuck out of larry. larry wasn't even with us that night.
i didn't go with the group that broke into larry's garage. i stayed at the tree with my best friend at the time, smoking cigarettes and feeling cool breaking curfew. that does not excuse me from anything that happened to larry. i drank the beer when they brought it back. even though this began as a recounting of my first night of drinking, all that happened was some asshole yelling, "shutup and drink your beer, pussy." me puking. me walking not-so-sneakily home. as i said, a drinking memory is an oxymoron. but this is really about larry. we all shitted on larry's life that night. i never admitted sincerely to the suffering i helped create. larry will most likely never read this. does me writing "i'm sorry, larry" do anything? i don't know. sorry, larry. kids are cruel and uncaring, and so are drunken abusive parents. we're all shitheads. sorry for being in the way...
location: new wilmington, pennsylvania.
age: 14.
alcohol tolerance: zero.
new wilmington is 45 minutes north of pittsburgh. it's a well homogenized blend of white people and white people. my mom used to say the only diversity in the town was whether you were protestant or presbyterian, but a large amish population also inhabits the area. in new wilmington, there is an 11 o'clock curfew. nobody under 18 allowed out after naughty time...which is exactly what became of that time. new wilmington was also a dry town. for anyone trying to get liqour, it was either steal from your parents or drive 20 minutes and find someone to buy it for you. for the clueless 14 year olds, driving was out of the question. so...
the night in question, we met at "the tree." "the tree" was a large field surrounded by mostly trees, laying adjacent to the elementary and middle/high school. a group of us met around midnight planning to drink even though none of us had anything. i was staying with my grandparents for the summer. their house was close to "the tree," only a few fields in between, so my midnight sneaking was easy. it was pretty easy in general, because new wilmington had only one police cruiser. i arrived late, and discussion was already in progress.
"we should raid larry's dad's fridge in their garage. it's never locked. we'll just grab a case or two."
i don't think anyone ever considered whether or not larry's dad would notice. he did. he beat the fuck out of larry. larry wasn't even with us that night.
i didn't go with the group that broke into larry's garage. i stayed at the tree with my best friend at the time, smoking cigarettes and feeling cool breaking curfew. that does not excuse me from anything that happened to larry. i drank the beer when they brought it back. even though this began as a recounting of my first night of drinking, all that happened was some asshole yelling, "shutup and drink your beer, pussy." me puking. me walking not-so-sneakily home. as i said, a drinking memory is an oxymoron. but this is really about larry. we all shitted on larry's life that night. i never admitted sincerely to the suffering i helped create. larry will most likely never read this. does me writing "i'm sorry, larry" do anything? i don't know. sorry, larry. kids are cruel and uncaring, and so are drunken abusive parents. we're all shitheads. sorry for being in the way...
Friday, July 18, 2008
i will float until i learn how to swim.
My worst regret of being a lush: my small bladder. Living alone, no problem. Piss thirty times a night, nobody cares, flush every time and laugh hohoho. With roommates I’m waking people up at all hours of the night to piddle. My door squeaks if you don’t open it fast enough. The bathroom door squeals if you don’t touch it. I’d rather not subject someone right across the hall to me spending a penny with the door open, so I squeal that motherfucker shut. Then bliss arrives. Nothing feels more relieving to me than a freshly emptied bladder. It’s not just that organ, I sometimes feel a shudder and twitching of muscles like an orgasm or when the best part of a favorite song does it to your ear hole. Everything expresses freedom of movement, and isn’t that what America is all about? Freedom of movement: to pee where you want! Hmm…off track. Maybe not. A friend impressed me the other night by peeing while walking down a city street. That’s on track. But I digress from the fact of my pint-sized urinary dysfunction symptoms. It’s a medical condition. P-SUDS. It means I pee a lot. For every pint, I take a whiz. Hence the pint-sized. It’s a medical term. It’s not rocket surgery. But I digress from the fact of my P-SUDS. It annoys all the people I live with who hear me shuffling through the creaky and squealing hallways at night, the people at bars who have to pause their gut-spilling life moments so I can go take five minutes feeling awkward standing next to multiple assholes who probably think I’m weird for not being able to pee in public when their awareness of it only enhances my anxiety and THIS IS A PROBLEM PEOPLE! But I digress from my P-SUDS. I drink everywhere I go, and in public parks there isn’t always a restroom. I urinate in public a lot. It’s not a medical condition, but I think doctors should start prescribing medical allowances to those of us with bantam tolerance for libation. Let my pee be free!
…Maybe not.
Remember, I’m a proud (but shy) member of the International Paruresis Association. I pee because I have to, not because I want to. You can yell at me for being an alcoholic, but when nature calls, nobody can deny me. On that note...
…Maybe not.
Remember, I’m a proud (but shy) member of the International Paruresis Association. I pee because I have to, not because I want to. You can yell at me for being an alcoholic, but when nature calls, nobody can deny me. On that note...
Thursday, July 17, 2008
regrets
I hear your voice, but it’s the TV
I
Tremor,
Moan
Bemuse myself
Cry
Desperately, you aren’t this.
I
Scream, shake,
Fuck
You,
Losing
Control,
You’re voice is soothing,
Me
Not
Some type of sanity
Some type of vanity
I
Will call you
But
I
Wont.
This is
My
Death,
Slow
Cursed
Wasted
On a bed with all regrets
Wishing I could give you these words.
I
Tremor,
Moan
Bemuse myself
Cry
Desperately, you aren’t this.
I
Scream, shake,
Fuck
You,
Losing
Control,
You’re voice is soothing,
Me
Not
Some type of sanity
Some type of vanity
I
Will call you
But
I
Wont.
This is
My
Death,
Slow
Cursed
Wasted
On a bed with all regrets
Wishing I could give you these words.
your kiss so sweet, your sweat so sour.
In 1969 I gave up women and alcohol - it was the worst 20 minutes of my life.
it's been said that deep down in our reptilian brain we possess the fight or flight response, a mysterious (or maybe not so much) ability to determine when personal danger is imminent, telling us to stand up and fight, or make like mint jelly and be on the lamb. it seems to me that over the course of thousands of years of inebriation we have also developed a distorted, drunken version of this which can be labeled and the "fight or fuck response." this awareness (or lack thereof) in our brain allows us to discriminate in an instant whether we want to treat another person with no respect or class, or one becomes so enamored with another they regress to that drunken cliche of "I LOVE YOU, MAN! NO, NO, REEEAALLY. You're awesome..." and so on.what i experienced last night was that the removal of the fuck from the fight or fuck options leaves little room for misdirection. when the booty calls disappear, it's either go home or start yelling obscenities at the unfortunate person who's been sitting quietly, perhaps politely, next to your drunken ass all night. poor suckers. they never know it's coming until you open your shitfaced mouth. then they are your crying shoulder, punching bag, and best friend, all at the same time. i hate doing this to friends or strangers, being the buzzkill in a house of buzz. the worst part? i was pissed off about not going home with a girl. mind blowing when one takes an objective perspective on the situation. i'd never met her before, and under the layers of silky drunken veils draped over my eyes, i was not even that attracted to her. i barely remember what we talked about. nothing real. she was from the OC, how would I justify THAT in the morning? nevertheless, when she departed for her bed, saying she had to get up at 7, i was broken, desperate...a sore loser?
it is a game. this makes me feel insincere in the long run (no pun intended, but worth noting), and i suppose any real connections i could make with other humans is slowly deteriorating in this ridiculous display of fakeness; my charm and attention in exchange for your loins. this becomes even more pathetic and misleading to my soul when i'm engaging someone i could give a fuck about but still want to fuck. maybe none of what i'm saying is new to anyone, but it's worth being honest to myself that sometimes i act like a sack of shit and screw with other people's heads for my own pleasure (so many puns intended...not sure about the sack of shit pun). but my mask gets heavy. being fake is depressing. so why do i do it? i know it's only lust. the ambrosia can damper my conscience, but i'm never in denial that my smile and innocent inquisitive eyes are fading when no one is around to tempt such a face.
maybe here and now i can make a tentative promise to myself. stop being such a drunken whore? no, i'd be lying if i said i would stop playing the game. sex is too much fun, and monogamy has yet to present any alluring qualities to me. maybe if I meet the right person i'll think differently...no...i promise to let raging hormones rage elsewhere from a good night of drinking with friends and potential lovers. they say seek and ye shall find. fuck them. that's a bold faced lie. stop searching. (BLANK) is always been in front of you. in other words, if you're always looking for sex, you're going to be fucked, one way or the other. enjoy life for what you've got, especially if a drink is in hand. Sliante!
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