Alcoholic Monkeys

i think the title says everything.

play this song to death.

and here we are, at it again. like a moth to the flame, an alcoholic to the bottle, a gypsy to the road. the trivial pursuit is the only sojourn i can stomach. i want freedom, justice, compassion. but i don't. because for breakfast i eat the scraps of last nights regrets, the stale anxieties of following minutes. i pursue infinity, like a dog chasing his tail. i become so exhausted barricading selfishly from the people who love me. it's easier to please myself with a drink than it is to please you with my love. i've been here before we met. this selfishness only cultures in solitude. warm climates. then chilled to slightly below room temperature. fermented for a year. my passion has been diluted since we last spoke. what else is new? you're only as satisfying as the comfort you provide.


drink up, baby, stay up all night
the things you could do, you won't but you might
the potential you'll be, that you'll never see
the promises you'll only make

drink up with me now and forget all about the pressure of days
do what I say and I'll make you okay and drive them away
the images stuck in your head

people you've been before that you don't want around anymore
that push and shove and won't bend to your will
I'll keep them still

drink up, baby, look at the stars
I'll kiss you again between the bars where I'm seeing you
there with your hands in the air, waiting to finally be caught

drink up one more time and I'll make you mine
keep you apart deep in my heart separate from the rest
where I like you the best and keep the things you forgot

the people you've been before that you don't want around anymore
that push and shove and won't bend to your will
I'll keep them still

I’m DYING.

Just kidding, but who isn’t? Okay, September 11^th, 2008…unh? Oh, it’s September 10th, 2009? Look at how times flies when…things…happen. To me? Not really. Things around me. Things that thappen to US. We’ve elected a president who people believe is the new Jesus. People care. People are born. Children think they’re the truth. Commercial markets enable this fantasy. We’ve gone to war with Afghanistan (again). We’ve closed Gitmo (and had a grand opening of Disney torture in Bagraam). Crime does pay, in years on life’s sentences, and in millions of dollars. People die. And not people who are famous. Yes, MJ bit the big one. His dad bit on MJ like a shark. People feign to care. We’ve left Iraq(‘s cities). Nobody seems to care. Comedians are now senators? Makes sense to me. I don’t accept news from anything other than comedians.

Things that happen to me? O! You flatter me for asking. I’ll indulge because I love you. Love. Sleep. Meditation. Static. Yearning. Eating. Darkness. Sunrises. Beauty. Laughter. Desperation. Ignorance. Pleasure. Sloth. Over-analysis. That old chestnut. And if only boring people get bored, then I must accept that I am boring.

The sensationalist in me wants to say that I’ve been on a Bukowski bender. A torn journal page in one hand and a broken bottle scented with my blood in the other, cruelly assessing a bleak alleyway scene and grunting words of encouragement to up-and-coming [insert failing institution brand name] bank CEO’s walking by with the daily news. “I wipe my ass with that paper after you’ve digested the words!” I yell, not even aware I am speaking. No, that’s not me.

“What are our sandwiches today? Let me tell you! Today, we have a turkey panini! A bbq beef panini! An artichoke panini, for all you lovely (gush) vegetarians! And of course, a delicious Let’s Be Frank hot dog!” That’s me. Only with less sincerity and enthusiasm. Little enthusiasm. None Enthusiasm. Don’t ask me what our sandwiches are for the day. But let’s be clear: I love my job.

And I still love lists.

An update(ed) list, since last we spoke:

1: The movie lonesome jim is not even really that great in retrospective. And I regret leaving on such an insincere and impulsive note. I mean, really? “That is all.” Apparently. I remember writing that, drunk, and having just cried about probably one of the most cliché sentimental scene from the movie. I do that. That’s a whole other blog post.

2: I still like beer.

3: Bree is still missed. I had a recent jolt of memory: sharing a tent with Bree on an ACS spring trip in the thousand islands, spending at least a half hour one of the nights discussing the merits of a go-kart race track in the form of a marijuana leaf and how awesome we would make that business.

4: Four women in the past year I have known, loved, taken for granted, and begrudgingly, half-heartedly parted ways with. I have a problem. It’s a recurring tragedy. I should seek therapy. Things start when I’m on vacation. I meet someone. They are amazing. They think I’m amazing. Passion ensues. Then I leave. We keep in touch. Letters, phone calls, emails, text messages. Plans emerge. Plans seem to emerge. Plans are perhaps apparent from the beginning. “You had me at Jello.” Plans are confirmed. Dates are prescribed. Promises are made. Dates arrive. Literally. And no joke, things are awesome. Because pretense like this builds a fucking lot of fucking sexual tension fucking. And fucking ensues. And it’s great. Because endorphins and short term interactions and lots of fucking have one thing in common: Passion. I told you it ensued. But when passion fades (and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t), people realize that even though things are awesome, things are real, and people possess individual realities. All the fantasies built in the long distance communications corrode with a sudden realization of who the other person is. Or who I am. I think it’s generally who I am that turns things sour. I feel I can be eloquent in script, but the words that come out of my mouth off the top of the head, you’d think I was the George W. Bush of relationships.

Am I only attractive at a distance? An image of memory refreshed with letters of humor and affection? A voice to call when the time is right, a comfortable moment in the daily schedule to peruse the universe of another person, this is the game. And the text messages! God condemn me. Technology is Satan. Long distance relationships required long distance at one point. Now people are buzzing in your pocket whenever the fuck. At least some people recognize the beauty of handwritten letters. Those people probably think I should have sent more letters. They’re probably right. But there’s hope! And this is a list…so I should get on with it. What was I talking about?

5: O! Emotionally driven, but by whom? Humor is a poor mask for desperation. Is it any better that I was in desperate need of love? Can you forgive me? Will anyone ever love me again?

6. Oh, you do love me? Well, maybe we should talk. And I can say stupid things (driven, but by whom?). And we can fall up, out of touch, instantly human disconnection. It was my fault. One time. Two times. Can you forgive me? Maybe you have. In which case, scorn me again.

Why so much angerr?

Why so much self loathing?

Why so much sadness?

Why am I such an ass?

But let’s get down to brass tax. Why I’m really back. Is it really this simple? Yes.

Hooray for me.

the movie lonesome jim is amazing. that is all.

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).

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.

trying to get to you....

distance
nothing new
a little bit sad.
regardless, an opportunity to geek love on this.

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?

gotcha.

i'm not discussing politics, but honestly, she's pretty hot for a "hockey mom."
just kidding.
fuck politics, not vice presidents.

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.

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

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.

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.

Another sleepless night for me It's almost 7AM my time there are things I'm trying to get accomplised in my time.
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 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 #

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

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.

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.

what's wrong with crazy sad? everything apparently...

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.

I'm REALLy good whEN tT COMES dowN To bLuNNdER.

today
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'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

I 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

my Life is WELL. BE-
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

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.

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.

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?

either way, we had a great time together, and the parting of ways was the fuckin' way she goes...

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.

one of these days...one of these days...POW! right in the kisser.

1. 

Human: i'm sick of you







ALICE: I pray that you get well soon.