Aloneness means the world to me.
Introversion is a difficult thing to navigate. This is news to no one. The people I am around are well aware of my introversion's depths and shallows. I am occasionally gripped in manic depressive cycles of changing ferocity, but the underlying truth that forms the foundation of my being, core, and interactions is introversion. It's quiet. It's private. I rarely talk simply to talk. I often spend days without saying a word to anyone beyond the few cat noises I'll make to my pets. I don't like being around people for much time outside of a few hours, sometimes a half day, rarely a full day, but anxiety creeps in and introversion twists my nerves. I have to be left alone for regular and frequent stints of time.
Communication is a problem. Introverts can get trampled easily. I don't like fighting. I hate fighting. I hate arguing. At times I hate conversation, period. However, eschewing these things makes it difficult or impossible to express displeasure with people around you. Behold the reason why I will not go anywhere that I cannot remove myself from. Why argue, why fight, why bother explaining what and how you are feeling when you can simply leave? This works fantastically. When I am finished with you, I leave. When I have had enough of you, I leave. When I am bored, tired, happy, have other things to do, errands to run, when I feel like you've mislead me as to what we set out to do, don't like the venue, whatever may come up, I can quite easily say a pleasant goodbye to you and remove myself to my home and it's wonderful.
I'm not forced to be someone that I'm not, you're not forced to try to peer into what is going on behind my eyes and everyone is happy or at least content with the entirety of the interaction. I'm back home safe in my cocoon, your life goes on, nice and simple. When you come into my home, that dynamic is destroyed. When I am relying on you to get me back home or back to my car, that dynamic is destroyed. When you are in my home I am relying on you to leave in a timely fashion. When I am out with you, I am relying on you to not continue extending the day farther and farther away from an end point we agreed upon. Just because I keep acquiescing to your saying "hey, why don't we..." with the promise that we'll relax a little bit and have a little fun before taking me back to my car, doesn't mean that I'm not screaming inside every single time the "relax and have fun" part is pushed back another half hour and another half hour and another half hour. Eventually I will break.
You must take me home. You must get out of my house. And I've been trampled again. So which one is it? Are the people that do it not friends? Have they not known me long enough? Have they assumed that I've changed over the years? Do they not care? Do I put on a pleasant enough facade such that they don't notice until the entire thing breaks down in pieces and my grimace and crying eyes show? Why do they keep doing it? Because they can? I don't know. What are they not comprehending?
I've spoken to them a few times about it. What do they keep forgetting about me? It's strange. With people I'm not friends with, people I've only just met, circumstances unfamiliar, people I've known and can't trust, I leave nothing up to them to figure out. I rely on them for nothing. I believe very little of what they say. I come prepared for most any possibility and mode of extraction to protect myself from unintentional outside harm. You are supposed to be my friend, please don't step on me.
And on that note, what I cannot deal with is the friend whose comprehension skills are so incredibly underdeveloped I couldn't have an argument or disagreement with them if I tried with all of the tact, diplomacy, conscientiousness, and kindness I can muster.
We all have that friend who immediately flies off of the handle when you tell them they've done something wrong. That friend who will tell you that in the subjective world of right and wrong to you is something that they can dictate. That friend who tells you when they've helped you, regardless of what the actual result of their misguided effort was. That friend who you specifically instruct not to come over without an invitation from you, who takes it upon themselves to come to your house and scare all of your neighbors into believing something horrible has happened to you to get someone to open your door and enter your apartment because you fell asleep on the phone with them after staying up for 40 hours. That friend who says they came over to check on you without an invitation because they were not going to let a friend die on their watch, who immediately asks you upon arrival if you have anything to drink, who happens to have brought an overnight bag and their video game remote and parts, and their tiny bottle of liquor, when all you wanted to do and did was fall asleep. What the hell are you doing here? No, it's not funny. No, it's not heroic. No, it's not friendly. I was sleeping with my phone on silent because I am tired. That friend who mooches all of your food and beer over the next two days and destroys what sleep you were hoping to get while managing to leave your place trashed, who you tell not to come over again without an explicit invitation because "you fell asleep while I was talking to you and I had to make sure you weren't dead" is not a reason to invite yourself over to crash at someone's house for two and a half days and make your neighbors think you may die at any moment to trick your way in, that just do not understand that what they did was patently wrong. Regardless of how they contort their actions to fit some larger narrative of "I helped you."
No comprehension skills. The funniest part is when, as an introvert, giving yourself time to think the events over, you let them know what they did must not be done again. You explain to them it is hugely disruptive to your life and takes days of cleaning and rest to recover from and days of explaining and apologizing and discomfort with neighbors who now have no idea if this idiot will pop up on some random day demanding entry because I may be in some ambiguous danger and they've thrown on their hero cape (or just fucking sleeping or maybe just awake with my phone off or not even home) and their response is to get angry at you. Not only get angry at you, but insist that they will continue to ignore your wishes, disrespect your house, and treat you like a five-year-old who may slip and fall while running with scissors who must be constantly monitored. No comprehension skills.
You try to lay down very basic information, very basic tenets of how you would like friends to treat you and the space you want them to respect and they scream and yell at you about how wrong you are and how right they were to violate your space and how you'll live to regret and rue the day you told them how you felt and how you want to live your life and then go on to tell you they aren't going to respect your wishes or your space regardless.
So what do you do? Do you just scream and shout back at them? No, you're an introvert and they'll out yell you at every turn and out outrage you too. Do you try to restate your point and your needs? Nope, they've already shown they are not going to listen. Don't sweat it. Leave. Watch them from afar for a while. Feel free to leave them alone altogether for some time. Maybe they need time to understand better. They can't trample you and your introverted heart and mind if they can't interact with you. There is no fix for introversion. There is no fix for introversion. There is no fix for introversion.
There is no need to fix introversion. Take care with who you befriend. It is important to understand that, as an introvert, you can be liable to get hurt pretty badly, whether friends mean to or not. Relying on other people to learn how to treat you is a losing game. It's up to you as you grow older and more experienced in navigating introversion, to learn how to maintain proper distance from the people you do call friends. When it becomes too close, don't drive yourself to death trying to keep it together. Open up some space and go from there. You won't be sorry. You may feel like an awful person who is abandoning people that thought they were your friend. You may feel like something is wrong with you. You may feel, at first, that you're hurting people trying to help, but that subsides quickly once you see their blindness to your being for what it is.
///Richard Wagner - "Das Rheingold Prelude" aloneness still means the world to me.
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
Showing posts with label fail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fail. Show all posts
1/30/13
The Year End Look (part two)
Two thousand twelve was a banger. A lot of truly excellent things happened. Some truly awful things happened. Mistakes were made and successes enjoyed. I thought after the debacle of 2010 I would not be surprised by whatever could come next and 2011 actually ended up being fairly swell. 2012 was jam packed with more change than I could see coming. I'm pretty sure I didn't write any fiction in 2012. I don't know why. 2012 was a war with the clock. I think that's why. I did sort of rediscover a pair of old friendships that I thought were pretty much blown to flaming kingdom come and that was nice. My memory fails me pretty regularly. Too many blows to the head (chemical and otherwise). Speaking of chemicals, I still haven't gone to get help. I don't know that I ever will. I don't know that I'll ever be able to on my own.
I'm trying to think of what the overarching lesson of 2012 was. Nothing particular comes up. 2012 was very much a blur. I became a car owner. That's nice. I also became quite broke keeping that car on the road and functioning. I became a paper towel owner. That was pretty huge. Do you know how hard it is to justify paper towels? Pretty damn hard. Mostly I was using my dirty laundry to clean up floor spills. Dish rags to clean up counter top spills. Worked perfectly, really. It's not like I was going to wipe up spilled floor milk and then put the shirt right back on. I also became a soap and toilet paper stockpiler. I used to buy it in four packs and then string it out as far as it would go and then find alternatives already in my apartment when they ran out. That's not what grown ups do. I got car insurance for the first time. My car is better insured than I am now. I think I did that one wrong.
You know what? I've got it. Twenty twelve was about taking steps toward being an adult. Meshing with other adults. Not that I succeeded with the meshing at all. I tried to pay for cat litter with sex. That didn't work out too well. Especially when I found out there was no cat litter to begin with. I have to stop being so easily convinced in twenty thirteen. I am on the tail end of my twenty seventh iteration. Can't make rookie mistakes like that or I'll end up smoking bath salts and living in the woods. Which doesn't sound particularly bad on the surface, but try finding a hot shower off of an interstate and you'll end up with a hobo pissing on your back while you sing Disney anthems in the pre dawn light of another Thursday, wondering if the pair of pants you named after your dead dog will ever find their way back to your cardboard shanty town. That's what 2012 was. A lot of learning how to do grown up things.
Not just that. My literary voice changed so much through 2012. My whimsical spirit did not die well and I think I want to make the effort to rediscover it. So much of my life became brutally concrete. There was no time to write down extensive dream logs and what explorations I could do and enjoy across the dream bridge were lost. There was a massive task lock. Huge gridlock between where I was and where I was going mentally that suffocated and snuffed out so much of what I wanted to achieve. Obviously, everyone wants to be loved. On some level. A lot of that need was torn out of me. It's still there, latent and active by turns and expressed and expressible and not in different forms.
I had a final falling out with my birth parents. Good riddance. Things were going quite well until they demanded a response and I gave them the one I'd been holding back for years (which was a fairly simple death threat). Which spiraled out of control and had to be reigned back in to an even simpler "Hi, you've hurt me for the last time and I'm not going to give you the opportunity to ever hurt me again." Which went over slightly better. So I do have that peace of mind to look forward to. The emails have stopped and that's what I wanted. BKB (bitches know better) than to ever try to contact me again. Some things can be forgiven. Some things can only be atoned for. Some things can only be paid for, and the checks they wrote on my skin in bruises and welts and blood and on my mind in so many lines of unforgettable screams and shouts can only be paid for. It was good though. A link so thoroughly destroyed that I will never have to worry about it threading itself around my neck again.
I did find love again, briefly, in twenty twelve. Online. I also found that most of the people in BDSM chat rooms are full of themselves and fake. But I don't even have to go to any other online dating sites to know that it's probably not unique to my bag. Back to love and friendships. I'm fairly certain I may have lost a friend I really wanted to keep, but who knows, maybe it'll come back around in thirteen. 2012 saw a pretty severe drop in production in general. Adult problems. Remember that three banger I put out of its misery early last year? That came back to haunt me when one of them got a job at a store I used to frequent (they had good prices, can't argue with that). Well, that cut my neighborhood in half. Can't go to that side of town anymore without looking over my shoulder, or occasionally ducking down in my car at red lights. Like I said, mistakes were made.
My only new years resolution this year is to not get concussed. I think that might be aiming too high. Too many bar fights happened last year. Between the life drama and tracking myself down rage blew off me like sunspot flares. Yes, you can punch anything with a face, but can and should are two very different things. I'm not saying I'm going to be a saint, but I am saying the world is only so big and eventually someone is going to recognize you when you least expect it and remember that thing you did the weekend before to one of their friends and they'll even the score and then it's all bad news bears from there.
Style wise, I was lost as 2012 tailed out. Spun out. Ate the guardrail and burned it's way to the bottom of a ravine. Shifting identity. Events and exchanges, human exchanges external to my brain pan, brought up so many questions I hope to answer to myself in the coming year. The identity I believed I had was drastically revised. Am I still a writer? Am I a poet? Am I a songstress? Maybe just a bard? I don't know. I've given up on trying to calculate how many hours I've gone in and what mastery means. Mastery means nothing. Exposure means nothing. The new foundation is framed quite simply as passion. I have a passion for words on paper. Whatever that makes me to you, I'm down. To me, I'm a kid with a pen. That's all. Calling yourself a writer or not, calling someone else by the same, is like having embossed ink on a business card. Doesn't mean a damn thing beyond image. Do I still want a house in the middle of nowhere to invite people to that I might cut them up, eat the good parts, and burn the rest of their remains? Yeah. That's kind of the ultimate goal. That and having a place to write that I only have to pay taxes on. That'll work. A wonderful desert compound. Somewhere near the border.
Twenty twelve taught me that I'm nowhere close to where a lot of my peers are fiscally, mentally, and emotionally. My concerns are still fringe. My furniture still sparse. My needs are still fairly small and my dreams equal and as difficult to access. I always thought I'd die in Pittsburgh, but maybe that's not good enough. Last year made me question my capabilities, but not in the way some people down grade themselves. I'm not a smart cookie. I'm not brilliant. I'm not particularly resourceful. I can, however, create to no end, my only limitation being the cards I have to play with..
It was a strange year. There were many tears in 2012. Some earned, many not. Many involuntary and inappropriate to the subject. That's not going to change. I'm crying right now typing this and it's silly. My weight keeps fluctuating wildly between 155 and 185. Every month. It makes no sense.
Gather. Fads go out of style. I've had a few of my own. I realized through the year that they were constructs to help me express concepts that come to me and help me live from week to week and month to month, but also help me relate. Junior psychologist over here. There was some real damage in 2012 and I don't know that 2013 will be that much better, but I like to believe it will be. Maybe we'll get back on the pills this year. Just to see. Just to see and stop talking about talking about doing it. Twelve was also a year of addictions. I don't know how to fix that. They were all, largely, necessary. But at least I know the side effects will or won't do what they do. Maybe that's the big thing standing guard these days. This turned pretty dark in a flash. I used to think I would be a great candidate for surviving the zombie apocalypse, and then I realized I would probably risk everything for a pack of smokes and dozen cans of spray paint. Unless I have my desert compound by then (I'll pass the time writing poetry and taking head shot breaks with a .50 cal and whiskey on the rocks).
The major issue I want to resolve this year, given last year, is my writing. Let's do better. Let's be better for us. Shooting for late forties. I want to at least make it to being a weird uncle.
What did 2012 teach me? What was the takeaway? Christmas lights are awesome. People can't be programmed. My morals and principles don't translate by default and no one else's do either. God is still a work of fiction. I am still figuring myself out and trying not to implode. At least not completely. Still so far away, only because I have to be. I am my own best company and my own worst friend. The things I don't own are things I should not have yet. The relationships I don't have are relationships I'm not and may never be ready for. The spaces I occupy, I am grateful for and will continue to be. The spaces I do not are spaces I have given back to the ones who belong there and will use beyond my ability to and that's okay. Twenty twelve was strange. Twenty thirteen is a big old bag of TBD, but I wish it was a big old bag of LSD. You can't go through life asleep, but a boy can dream.
///TRACK NOT FOUND - year end playlist up next
defining moments of a finest hour? yeah, something like that.
I'm trying to think of what the overarching lesson of 2012 was. Nothing particular comes up. 2012 was very much a blur. I became a car owner. That's nice. I also became quite broke keeping that car on the road and functioning. I became a paper towel owner. That was pretty huge. Do you know how hard it is to justify paper towels? Pretty damn hard. Mostly I was using my dirty laundry to clean up floor spills. Dish rags to clean up counter top spills. Worked perfectly, really. It's not like I was going to wipe up spilled floor milk and then put the shirt right back on. I also became a soap and toilet paper stockpiler. I used to buy it in four packs and then string it out as far as it would go and then find alternatives already in my apartment when they ran out. That's not what grown ups do. I got car insurance for the first time. My car is better insured than I am now. I think I did that one wrong.
You know what? I've got it. Twenty twelve was about taking steps toward being an adult. Meshing with other adults. Not that I succeeded with the meshing at all. I tried to pay for cat litter with sex. That didn't work out too well. Especially when I found out there was no cat litter to begin with. I have to stop being so easily convinced in twenty thirteen. I am on the tail end of my twenty seventh iteration. Can't make rookie mistakes like that or I'll end up smoking bath salts and living in the woods. Which doesn't sound particularly bad on the surface, but try finding a hot shower off of an interstate and you'll end up with a hobo pissing on your back while you sing Disney anthems in the pre dawn light of another Thursday, wondering if the pair of pants you named after your dead dog will ever find their way back to your cardboard shanty town. That's what 2012 was. A lot of learning how to do grown up things.
Not just that. My literary voice changed so much through 2012. My whimsical spirit did not die well and I think I want to make the effort to rediscover it. So much of my life became brutally concrete. There was no time to write down extensive dream logs and what explorations I could do and enjoy across the dream bridge were lost. There was a massive task lock. Huge gridlock between where I was and where I was going mentally that suffocated and snuffed out so much of what I wanted to achieve. Obviously, everyone wants to be loved. On some level. A lot of that need was torn out of me. It's still there, latent and active by turns and expressed and expressible and not in different forms.
I had a final falling out with my birth parents. Good riddance. Things were going quite well until they demanded a response and I gave them the one I'd been holding back for years (which was a fairly simple death threat). Which spiraled out of control and had to be reigned back in to an even simpler "Hi, you've hurt me for the last time and I'm not going to give you the opportunity to ever hurt me again." Which went over slightly better. So I do have that peace of mind to look forward to. The emails have stopped and that's what I wanted. BKB (bitches know better) than to ever try to contact me again. Some things can be forgiven. Some things can only be atoned for. Some things can only be paid for, and the checks they wrote on my skin in bruises and welts and blood and on my mind in so many lines of unforgettable screams and shouts can only be paid for. It was good though. A link so thoroughly destroyed that I will never have to worry about it threading itself around my neck again.
I did find love again, briefly, in twenty twelve. Online. I also found that most of the people in BDSM chat rooms are full of themselves and fake. But I don't even have to go to any other online dating sites to know that it's probably not unique to my bag. Back to love and friendships. I'm fairly certain I may have lost a friend I really wanted to keep, but who knows, maybe it'll come back around in thirteen. 2012 saw a pretty severe drop in production in general. Adult problems. Remember that three banger I put out of its misery early last year? That came back to haunt me when one of them got a job at a store I used to frequent (they had good prices, can't argue with that). Well, that cut my neighborhood in half. Can't go to that side of town anymore without looking over my shoulder, or occasionally ducking down in my car at red lights. Like I said, mistakes were made.
My only new years resolution this year is to not get concussed. I think that might be aiming too high. Too many bar fights happened last year. Between the life drama and tracking myself down rage blew off me like sunspot flares. Yes, you can punch anything with a face, but can and should are two very different things. I'm not saying I'm going to be a saint, but I am saying the world is only so big and eventually someone is going to recognize you when you least expect it and remember that thing you did the weekend before to one of their friends and they'll even the score and then it's all bad news bears from there.
Style wise, I was lost as 2012 tailed out. Spun out. Ate the guardrail and burned it's way to the bottom of a ravine. Shifting identity. Events and exchanges, human exchanges external to my brain pan, brought up so many questions I hope to answer to myself in the coming year. The identity I believed I had was drastically revised. Am I still a writer? Am I a poet? Am I a songstress? Maybe just a bard? I don't know. I've given up on trying to calculate how many hours I've gone in and what mastery means. Mastery means nothing. Exposure means nothing. The new foundation is framed quite simply as passion. I have a passion for words on paper. Whatever that makes me to you, I'm down. To me, I'm a kid with a pen. That's all. Calling yourself a writer or not, calling someone else by the same, is like having embossed ink on a business card. Doesn't mean a damn thing beyond image. Do I still want a house in the middle of nowhere to invite people to that I might cut them up, eat the good parts, and burn the rest of their remains? Yeah. That's kind of the ultimate goal. That and having a place to write that I only have to pay taxes on. That'll work. A wonderful desert compound. Somewhere near the border.
Twenty twelve taught me that I'm nowhere close to where a lot of my peers are fiscally, mentally, and emotionally. My concerns are still fringe. My furniture still sparse. My needs are still fairly small and my dreams equal and as difficult to access. I always thought I'd die in Pittsburgh, but maybe that's not good enough. Last year made me question my capabilities, but not in the way some people down grade themselves. I'm not a smart cookie. I'm not brilliant. I'm not particularly resourceful. I can, however, create to no end, my only limitation being the cards I have to play with..
It was a strange year. There were many tears in 2012. Some earned, many not. Many involuntary and inappropriate to the subject. That's not going to change. I'm crying right now typing this and it's silly. My weight keeps fluctuating wildly between 155 and 185. Every month. It makes no sense.
Gather. Fads go out of style. I've had a few of my own. I realized through the year that they were constructs to help me express concepts that come to me and help me live from week to week and month to month, but also help me relate. Junior psychologist over here. There was some real damage in 2012 and I don't know that 2013 will be that much better, but I like to believe it will be. Maybe we'll get back on the pills this year. Just to see. Just to see and stop talking about talking about doing it. Twelve was also a year of addictions. I don't know how to fix that. They were all, largely, necessary. But at least I know the side effects will or won't do what they do. Maybe that's the big thing standing guard these days. This turned pretty dark in a flash. I used to think I would be a great candidate for surviving the zombie apocalypse, and then I realized I would probably risk everything for a pack of smokes and dozen cans of spray paint. Unless I have my desert compound by then (I'll pass the time writing poetry and taking head shot breaks with a .50 cal and whiskey on the rocks).
The major issue I want to resolve this year, given last year, is my writing. Let's do better. Let's be better for us. Shooting for late forties. I want to at least make it to being a weird uncle.
What did 2012 teach me? What was the takeaway? Christmas lights are awesome. People can't be programmed. My morals and principles don't translate by default and no one else's do either. God is still a work of fiction. I am still figuring myself out and trying not to implode. At least not completely. Still so far away, only because I have to be. I am my own best company and my own worst friend. The things I don't own are things I should not have yet. The relationships I don't have are relationships I'm not and may never be ready for. The spaces I occupy, I am grateful for and will continue to be. The spaces I do not are spaces I have given back to the ones who belong there and will use beyond my ability to and that's okay. Twenty twelve was strange. Twenty thirteen is a big old bag of TBD, but I wish it was a big old bag of LSD. You can't go through life asleep, but a boy can dream.
///TRACK NOT FOUND - year end playlist up next
defining moments of a finest hour? yeah, something like that.
9/3/11
End of the World, so Plan For It
I have a unique problem. It's a lot like when you run into the end of the internet regarding a particularly niche topic. You expect it to go on forever. Porn doesn't just end. What do you mean there are a fixed number of videos circulating that feature fisting and prolapsed orifices and cake sitting. But thats how it is. There's a finite anoint of magic out there and eventually you end up with a paid subscription to stuff you saw years ago.
Thats pretty much impossible to plan for. I have done more planning for the end of the world, in all it's glorious senarios, than I have for the eventuality of getting to the end of sub neighborhoods and niches of the web. What do you mean the supply of singing dogs can't meet my continuous demand for watching dogs sing songs to cats playing pianos! What do you mean there's only one video detailing how to break down and reassemble I bicycle cassette using household tools?!
It happens. My problem is more of the pornographic type. I have run out of ways to masturbate. Flat out run out of ways to do it. Maybe it's just that its overdone, but I think it's more along the line of there are only so many ways to pleasure yourself and I've pretty much exhausted them all. I've gotten to the end of my intranet and there's nothing else there, but white space. Of course I could begin inventing. I am about as creative a blue collar mind as anyone is likely to encounter in their life time. I could do it. However, I am very much concerned that things might get dangerously elaborate. Dangerously elaborate masturbation leads to candidacy for the list of one thousand exceptionally embarrassing ways to die. That is something, I think, I don't want. Not yet anyway, as I plan to die in a so grand a fashion that there is literally nothing left of me to bury or put in the ground. Something fast and fiery and adventurous... something that is not auto-erotic asphyxiation<- which is totally played out anyway.
It's something I never planned for. Mainly because, like the internet, I never really thought I would traverse all the available avenues and find myself right back where I started. Figured those streets would and could go on forever. So I guess I will invent, and plan for the eventually of running out of ways to invent. Every world ends. Plan for it. Would be my advice. Yet another life lesson learned.
Thats pretty much impossible to plan for. I have done more planning for the end of the world, in all it's glorious senarios, than I have for the eventuality of getting to the end of sub neighborhoods and niches of the web. What do you mean the supply of singing dogs can't meet my continuous demand for watching dogs sing songs to cats playing pianos! What do you mean there's only one video detailing how to break down and reassemble I bicycle cassette using household tools?!
It happens. My problem is more of the pornographic type. I have run out of ways to masturbate. Flat out run out of ways to do it. Maybe it's just that its overdone, but I think it's more along the line of there are only so many ways to pleasure yourself and I've pretty much exhausted them all. I've gotten to the end of my intranet and there's nothing else there, but white space. Of course I could begin inventing. I am about as creative a blue collar mind as anyone is likely to encounter in their life time. I could do it. However, I am very much concerned that things might get dangerously elaborate. Dangerously elaborate masturbation leads to candidacy for the list of one thousand exceptionally embarrassing ways to die. That is something, I think, I don't want. Not yet anyway, as I plan to die in a so grand a fashion that there is literally nothing left of me to bury or put in the ground. Something fast and fiery and adventurous... something that is not auto-erotic asphyxiation<- which is totally played out anyway.
It's something I never planned for. Mainly because, like the internet, I never really thought I would traverse all the available avenues and find myself right back where I started. Figured those streets would and could go on forever. So I guess I will invent, and plan for the eventually of running out of ways to invent. Every world ends. Plan for it. Would be my advice. Yet another life lesson learned.
6/21/10
one more day [fail]
i couldnt do it tonight. its 3.20 in the morning. ill be back tomorrow though. by god, ill have an rss feed reader if it severely inconveniences me (or kills me. unlikely but ill throw it out there anyway.)
///danger mouse & sparklehorse - "insane lullaby" beautiful song to pass out to.
///danger mouse & sparklehorse - "insane lullaby" beautiful song to pass out to.
4/12/10
this is why everyone at your job hates you
yes. ive narrowed it down:
you're a nagger.
and you're so used to sighs of exasperation that it is now how you actually breath regardless of the situational context.
case in point: you rebuffed me for my kitchen practices. i told you that its a bit ridiculous to do so being that ive been washing other peoples dishes since i could reach a sink and could understand that getting beaten was worse than washing dishes every night. then i told you no one has gotten sick from anything ive done in the kitchen. then i told you i would do it your way anyway, and aside i finished the thought with: since i really have no say in this niggling matter anyway.
you, two days later, come up to me on my way to the kitchen where i spend large chunks of my days making your meals and still washing your dishes say that you spoke to my father about the washing thing and handling meat and he said that i dont know when people have been sick. and he was sick just recently on his day off.
of course you dont understand that PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO EAT METAMUCIL EVERYDAY are probably going to have issues with their shitting. and people WHO DONT EAT VEGETABLES ON A REGULAR BASIS will be prone to getting the shits from all the fats and meat by products and processed meats and sugars and greasy sauces THEY SUCK DOWN CONSTANTLY.
but now in your mind clearly my kitchen practices are to blame and you just wanted to take me aside and tell me that after i already told you i would change how i was doing things to accomodate your concerns.
really now.
and then you expect me to believe that every single day when you come home whining about how everyone at work seems out to get you fired its because that some how your nagging, last-wording, exasper-sighing, mole-hill-mountaining, just-cant-sleep-at-night-knowing-someone-thinks-im-wrong self that haunts the house is somehow different from the person showing up at work?
no. not possible. that is why everyone at your job hates you. you've done it so much you dont even realize your doing it anymore.
no one wants to work with the equivalent of marge simpson crossed with the analytical skills of al bundy and the ego of tim the toolman tailor.
///amon tobin - "big furry head" listening to her talk, i can feel my mind trying to bend itself into understanding what is motivating her to say and do the things she is saying and doing and it bends and bends until it cracks in two and clumps of my brain gush out of the side of my head like wet cotton candy, pureed spam, and chewed gum and then the world spins like a top at the edge of a table before flinging itself down around me.
you're a nagger.
and you're so used to sighs of exasperation that it is now how you actually breath regardless of the situational context.
case in point: you rebuffed me for my kitchen practices. i told you that its a bit ridiculous to do so being that ive been washing other peoples dishes since i could reach a sink and could understand that getting beaten was worse than washing dishes every night. then i told you no one has gotten sick from anything ive done in the kitchen. then i told you i would do it your way anyway, and aside i finished the thought with: since i really have no say in this niggling matter anyway.
you, two days later, come up to me on my way to the kitchen where i spend large chunks of my days making your meals and still washing your dishes say that you spoke to my father about the washing thing and handling meat and he said that i dont know when people have been sick. and he was sick just recently on his day off.
of course you dont understand that PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO EAT METAMUCIL EVERYDAY are probably going to have issues with their shitting. and people WHO DONT EAT VEGETABLES ON A REGULAR BASIS will be prone to getting the shits from all the fats and meat by products and processed meats and sugars and greasy sauces THEY SUCK DOWN CONSTANTLY.
but now in your mind clearly my kitchen practices are to blame and you just wanted to take me aside and tell me that after i already told you i would change how i was doing things to accomodate your concerns.
really now.
and then you expect me to believe that every single day when you come home whining about how everyone at work seems out to get you fired its because that some how your nagging, last-wording, exasper-sighing, mole-hill-mountaining, just-cant-sleep-at-night-knowing-someone-thinks-im-wrong self that haunts the house is somehow different from the person showing up at work?
no. not possible. that is why everyone at your job hates you. you've done it so much you dont even realize your doing it anymore.
no one wants to work with the equivalent of marge simpson crossed with the analytical skills of al bundy and the ego of tim the toolman tailor.
///amon tobin - "big furry head" listening to her talk, i can feel my mind trying to bend itself into understanding what is motivating her to say and do the things she is saying and doing and it bends and bends until it cracks in two and clumps of my brain gush out of the side of my head like wet cotton candy, pureed spam, and chewed gum and then the world spins like a top at the edge of a table before flinging itself down around me.
4/3/10
useful information and the other chris davis
so we all like useful information. are we in agreement? sure we are. so maybe i should make an effort to post useful information. maybe. maybe. thinking about it. considering it. useful information to me? or you? to us? to us!
no i dont think so. well maybe. its tempting. i could put ads on it and stuff to links of things that are useful. but when you think about it people are simply obsessed with useful things. like really super useful ultra niche things. pointlessly useful things, like a shoe horn on a stick. or... hmmm.
heres some useful information... or not.... its hard to think. my wonderful neighbors are having some sort of reunion or gathering and they parked their buicks and dodge chargers, 20 inch crome rims and all, in everyone elses driveways and theyre smoking black and milds and blasting gospel music and generally driving me insane. i hate south bowie. its times like these i wish i was 10 people.
but if you had the power to divide yourself into 10 people and then sent them off to do 10 different things then you could have the potential to feel an infinite mix of emotions at any given moment. if one person could feel mixed emotions about anything it must then be like feeling nothing to feel an infinite mix of emotions. like mixing a bunch of colors of paint together ... eventually it always makes black. so i guess being the core of a collective mind is like being the most level headed person ever... but then if things settle down it would become like one or several of many mental disorders. speculation is sometimes not useful. maybe this is one of those times.
useful information is good. entertainment is better? maybe. a blog full of speculation is better for me. and useful. useful information is good for you, but not here. well maybe once in a while. maybe not. im on the fence.
suuuuck it belgium. maybe. yeah. suck it belgium.
in other news... i found another christopher davis with a blog about optimism and self starting and other strange things. in short its another business man trying to spread his businessmanly old guy wisdom by way of shitty plugs to things he didnt create. i guess thats why i hate the idea of useful information. im just not going to fill my pages with "useful information" you would find elsewhere anyway. im not going to be a middle man for your bullshit. i have my own bullshit to peddle thank you very much. and you can suuuuck it too chris davis on other blog. suuuck a fat ... hmmm whats something original that hasnt been said before.... suuuuck a fat stick of old spice, prick!!! then go blog about how smelling good makes for better business deals or something. i mean come the fuck on.... slivers of goodness? thats what you call it? slivers of razors blades in my wrists. rage. but not enough rage to actually... well maybe. we'll just have to wait and see.
///aphex twin - "next heap with" get some of that peace in your brain before you do something crazy like sick german shepards on people while beating them with batons and hoses cuz it doesnt matter how many of you there are god damn it, this is a quiet nieghborhood and you cant just park where ever the hell you want to in the middle of the day when people are coming and going from their personal business that does not involve asking you to move your god damn car while you stand in a row with your arms crossed trying to intimidate strangers. kthnx.
no i dont think so. well maybe. its tempting. i could put ads on it and stuff to links of things that are useful. but when you think about it people are simply obsessed with useful things. like really super useful ultra niche things. pointlessly useful things, like a shoe horn on a stick. or... hmmm.
heres some useful information... or not.... its hard to think. my wonderful neighbors are having some sort of reunion or gathering and they parked their buicks and dodge chargers, 20 inch crome rims and all, in everyone elses driveways and theyre smoking black and milds and blasting gospel music and generally driving me insane. i hate south bowie. its times like these i wish i was 10 people.
but if you had the power to divide yourself into 10 people and then sent them off to do 10 different things then you could have the potential to feel an infinite mix of emotions at any given moment. if one person could feel mixed emotions about anything it must then be like feeling nothing to feel an infinite mix of emotions. like mixing a bunch of colors of paint together ... eventually it always makes black. so i guess being the core of a collective mind is like being the most level headed person ever... but then if things settle down it would become like one or several of many mental disorders. speculation is sometimes not useful. maybe this is one of those times.
useful information is good. entertainment is better? maybe. a blog full of speculation is better for me. and useful. useful information is good for you, but not here. well maybe once in a while. maybe not. im on the fence.
suuuuck it belgium. maybe. yeah. suck it belgium.
in other news... i found another christopher davis with a blog about optimism and self starting and other strange things. in short its another business man trying to spread his businessmanly old guy wisdom by way of shitty plugs to things he didnt create. i guess thats why i hate the idea of useful information. im just not going to fill my pages with "useful information" you would find elsewhere anyway. im not going to be a middle man for your bullshit. i have my own bullshit to peddle thank you very much. and you can suuuuck it too chris davis on other blog. suuuck a fat ... hmmm whats something original that hasnt been said before.... suuuuck a fat stick of old spice, prick!!! then go blog about how smelling good makes for better business deals or something. i mean come the fuck on.... slivers of goodness? thats what you call it? slivers of razors blades in my wrists. rage. but not enough rage to actually... well maybe. we'll just have to wait and see.
///aphex twin - "next heap with" get some of that peace in your brain before you do something crazy like sick german shepards on people while beating them with batons and hoses cuz it doesnt matter how many of you there are god damn it, this is a quiet nieghborhood and you cant just park where ever the hell you want to in the middle of the day when people are coming and going from their personal business that does not involve asking you to move your god damn car while you stand in a row with your arms crossed trying to intimidate strangers. kthnx.
3/30/10
fucking god damn fucking fuck
okay, micro rant. not a good way to start anything besides a drunken conversation with someone who may or may not be homeless and or addicted to amphetamines and or a person old enough to have fought in a war but whose only motivation for claiming to have done so is to to get free drinks exemplified by the fact that your knowledge of the claimants supposed theater of conflict and parties involved far exceeds said imaginary veterans own (okay i was in a shouting match with a guy in chicago not long ago and finally we got to citizenship and war and voting rights and the guy says "i was in fucking Nam, man" so i asked him what year and he said "the 70s" so i asked him where he was stationed and he said "Nam, man" so i asked him which years in the 70s aaaand it basically went vaguely on and on... what ever fuck it... i dont even know why im still mad about that. hmmm. what was i mad about.... i dont fucking ohhhh yeah.... god damn it... fucking family.
so these fucking ass wipes sit around not doing shit for each other. the food goes bad. rots in the fridge. everyone waiting for someone else to do something. FUCK THEM. fuck them. fuck them. the dirt just piles up and piles up until its unbearable to walk around barefoot in their own fucking house. the bathrooms become unusable. the kitchen sink fills up with dirty shit until you cant even pour yourself a glass of water. all the plates get used until there is nothing to eat off of. what the fuck is wrong with these MORONS. they treat their home like they dont even fucking live there. GOD DAMN IT. i cant kill them. i cant reform them. meanwhile they fucking freak out about the shit they cant control and they fucking stab their god damn noses into every inch of my fucking life and what the hell i wish i could force them to look at the two inches in front of their god damn noses. i mean... what the hell ass damn hell bitch fuck fuck fuck fuck.
theyre like three people clinging to each other and using each other to stay afloat and so are all going to drown eventually. the little sister needs both parents for absolutely everything and gives nothing back. the dad needs the mom for food, and clean clothing,and gives nothing back. the mom needs the dad for shelter and money and gives nothing back. everyone is taking. seeing people fucking behave like this makes me want to shoot myself in the fucking head. its like watching cannibals eat each other every day and somehow the following day the torn away flesh returns to be eaten again. fuck. its disgusting. none of them realizes their parasitic nature. living here is like pouring my heart and brain and time and energy into a fucking black hole.
so these fucking ass wipes sit around not doing shit for each other. the food goes bad. rots in the fridge. everyone waiting for someone else to do something. FUCK THEM. fuck them. fuck them. the dirt just piles up and piles up until its unbearable to walk around barefoot in their own fucking house. the bathrooms become unusable. the kitchen sink fills up with dirty shit until you cant even pour yourself a glass of water. all the plates get used until there is nothing to eat off of. what the fuck is wrong with these MORONS. they treat their home like they dont even fucking live there. GOD DAMN IT. i cant kill them. i cant reform them. meanwhile they fucking freak out about the shit they cant control and they fucking stab their god damn noses into every inch of my fucking life and what the hell i wish i could force them to look at the two inches in front of their god damn noses. i mean... what the hell ass damn hell bitch fuck fuck fuck fuck.
theyre like three people clinging to each other and using each other to stay afloat and so are all going to drown eventually. the little sister needs both parents for absolutely everything and gives nothing back. the dad needs the mom for food, and clean clothing,and gives nothing back. the mom needs the dad for shelter and money and gives nothing back. everyone is taking. seeing people fucking behave like this makes me want to shoot myself in the fucking head. its like watching cannibals eat each other every day and somehow the following day the torn away flesh returns to be eaten again. fuck. its disgusting. none of them realizes their parasitic nature. living here is like pouring my heart and brain and time and energy into a fucking black hole.
3/16/10
...and a shave
the showering thing ive gotten used to. i can accept that as necessary enough. i mean i dont like it when i stink either. it gets annoying. i suspect mostly because im used to being clean at this point in my life and if i did just smell bad all day i would eventually stop noticing, but thats not the point. the point is there is a definite reason for showering. it hurts our olfactory nerves when people dont.
the shitting thing ive gotten used to as well. i can accept that as necessary too. in fact ive come to enjoy flushing my body of, well, shit on a regular basis. better to do it than not do it and wish to god you could. you know. those lonely mornings. youre about to be late for work. you know youve got a 45 minute car or train ride ahead of you. do you do it. do you take the chance. you do. and you regret it. because all you made was a rabbit turd but the pressure is still there isnt it. oh yes it is. youre not going anywhere for the next 15, maybe even 20, minutes. you are going to be late. bet you wish you ate that bran muffin instead of cold triple cheese pizza for breakfast yesterday. bet you wish you had vegetables with your dinner instead of another slice of double thick cream pie. but yeah. ive gotten used to enjoying regular shits.
the shaving thing i have not gotten used to. why does america hate people that dont shave. why do i have to be either A) famous B) infamous C) a pro athlete D) an award winner or E) ridiculously rich to wear a beard??? that makes no god damn sense. who am i hurting by wearing a beard? why is it that the guy with the beard has a worse chance of being hired, befriended, or whatever if he has a beard. i love my beard. i would never stop wearing my beard ever if it wasnt ripped off of my face but ridiculous policies. my beard is awesome. its comfortable, its clean, its groomed. men have hair on their faces! okay america!!! i cant fucking help it!!! i am a guy!!! i grow hair on my body. its part of being manly and awesome. when did that stop being the case. when did it become more manly to shampoo with delicate fragrances and wax your fucking back. what the @#$%@ i hate you america. i hate you so much for that reason. me having a beard doesnt affect how i do my job or how i interact with other people. it doesnt catch food or strain my soups. all it does is make my life a little brighter and you have to fucking take it away from me. hate you. whatever. there's one part of my body that i shave consistently and that is my pubes. the one place where hair is gross cuz it well if you're a guy and you sweat AT ALL and your prick isnt the size of a thimble you know what kind of strange smells and general unpleasantness can accumulate down there. but whatever. fine. ill shave my face. ill fall in line. cuz at the end of the day a job pays me money and my beard doesnt (yet, but if anyone wants to do some old school hairy manly man bangs hot chick with afro pubes on a shag rug with lava lamps in the background and a "huge" 24 inch color tube set in the foreground while her boyfriend calls her on her curly cord rotary phone and it rings and rings cuz answering machines werent within the budget cuz they were fucking expensive back then... we'll see who has the last laugh).
///Air - "Radian" that song you refused to listen to because it sounded like one of those dumb atmospheric "electronica" techno whatever tracks mushroom eating idiots who swear by pink floyd love to listen to when their high or whatever, except you forgot to turn it off and two and a half minutes in the atmosphere broke into some kind of jazz that you love to listen but never told anyone about because you thought they would criticize you for criticizing its functional synonym in a different medium but now you can understand why somebody might like that other stuff you hate but it doesnt really matter cuz youre still going to pretend to hate it anyway for appearances sake.
the shitting thing ive gotten used to as well. i can accept that as necessary too. in fact ive come to enjoy flushing my body of, well, shit on a regular basis. better to do it than not do it and wish to god you could. you know. those lonely mornings. youre about to be late for work. you know youve got a 45 minute car or train ride ahead of you. do you do it. do you take the chance. you do. and you regret it. because all you made was a rabbit turd but the pressure is still there isnt it. oh yes it is. youre not going anywhere for the next 15, maybe even 20, minutes. you are going to be late. bet you wish you ate that bran muffin instead of cold triple cheese pizza for breakfast yesterday. bet you wish you had vegetables with your dinner instead of another slice of double thick cream pie. but yeah. ive gotten used to enjoying regular shits.
the shaving thing i have not gotten used to. why does america hate people that dont shave. why do i have to be either A) famous B) infamous C) a pro athlete D) an award winner or E) ridiculously rich to wear a beard??? that makes no god damn sense. who am i hurting by wearing a beard? why is it that the guy with the beard has a worse chance of being hired, befriended, or whatever if he has a beard. i love my beard. i would never stop wearing my beard ever if it wasnt ripped off of my face but ridiculous policies. my beard is awesome. its comfortable, its clean, its groomed. men have hair on their faces! okay america!!! i cant fucking help it!!! i am a guy!!! i grow hair on my body. its part of being manly and awesome. when did that stop being the case. when did it become more manly to shampoo with delicate fragrances and wax your fucking back. what the @#$%@ i hate you america. i hate you so much for that reason. me having a beard doesnt affect how i do my job or how i interact with other people. it doesnt catch food or strain my soups. all it does is make my life a little brighter and you have to fucking take it away from me. hate you. whatever. there's one part of my body that i shave consistently and that is my pubes. the one place where hair is gross cuz it well if you're a guy and you sweat AT ALL and your prick isnt the size of a thimble you know what kind of strange smells and general unpleasantness can accumulate down there. but whatever. fine. ill shave my face. ill fall in line. cuz at the end of the day a job pays me money and my beard doesnt (yet, but if anyone wants to do some old school hairy manly man bangs hot chick with afro pubes on a shag rug with lava lamps in the background and a "huge" 24 inch color tube set in the foreground while her boyfriend calls her on her curly cord rotary phone and it rings and rings cuz answering machines werent within the budget cuz they were fucking expensive back then... we'll see who has the last laugh).
///Air - "Radian" that song you refused to listen to because it sounded like one of those dumb atmospheric "electronica" techno whatever tracks mushroom eating idiots who swear by pink floyd love to listen to when their high or whatever, except you forgot to turn it off and two and a half minutes in the atmosphere broke into some kind of jazz that you love to listen but never told anyone about because you thought they would criticize you for criticizing its functional synonym in a different medium but now you can understand why somebody might like that other stuff you hate but it doesnt really matter cuz youre still going to pretend to hate it anyway for appearances sake.
8/21/08
the big 101 (p2)
Subject : the big 101 part 2
Posted Date: : Aug 21, 2008 9:00 AM
achievements... teh greatest hits of all time, so check it...
cut down part of a forty foot tall tree.
drank a thirty pack in one night.
drank a forty in less than ten minutes.
crowned take down champ on high school wrestling team, once.
wrote a seven page paper in two hours, got an A.
got a perfect score on final paper in highschool.
smoked half a pack in three hours.
beat off 9 times in one day.
slept for 22 hours.
dead lifted 315 pounds.
got published 4 times.
won 3rd place in mlk writing contest with poem about dr. king being racist.
had a love story published.
stayed awake for more than fifty hours.
finished a three hundred cig tub of tobacco.
wrote more than 220 poems.
almost finished a 400 page story.
beat super mario 2 in one sitting.
ate an entire can of spam in less than five minutes.
ran a mile in five minutes twenty one seconds.
did 75 push ups at once.
doggy paddled the length of a pool once.
accumulated over 100 gigs of porn.
read the bible cover to cover.
drew a 12 issue run of a 20 page original comic book.
jumped through the cieling twice.
sigh what else...
you know what, these achievements suck. just listing them makes me wanna say, well what the hell have you done that actually mattered? and the answer for now i guess is nothing. thats depressing. this was supposed to be a super happy time... but i guess ive just been down pretty much 24/7 for the past five days. its difficult to find meaning in the daily commercial inundated crap fest. its like trying to walk around in a shit storm with a clean cup of tea. every sip gets worse than last.
then again maybe im just being too hard on everyone and everything. maybe these are pretty awesome things... at least in the right context. the right context can make anything awesome. kind of.
whatever
phat ass track list coming, eventually.
do a shot for me. make it a double.
Posted Date: : Aug 21, 2008 9:00 AM
achievements... teh greatest hits of all time, so check it...
cut down part of a forty foot tall tree.
drank a thirty pack in one night.
drank a forty in less than ten minutes.
crowned take down champ on high school wrestling team, once.
wrote a seven page paper in two hours, got an A.
got a perfect score on final paper in highschool.
smoked half a pack in three hours.
beat off 9 times in one day.
slept for 22 hours.
dead lifted 315 pounds.
got published 4 times.
won 3rd place in mlk writing contest with poem about dr. king being racist.
had a love story published.
stayed awake for more than fifty hours.
finished a three hundred cig tub of tobacco.
wrote more than 220 poems.
almost finished a 400 page story.
beat super mario 2 in one sitting.
ate an entire can of spam in less than five minutes.
ran a mile in five minutes twenty one seconds.
did 75 push ups at once.
doggy paddled the length of a pool once.
accumulated over 100 gigs of porn.
read the bible cover to cover.
drew a 12 issue run of a 20 page original comic book.
jumped through the cieling twice.
sigh what else...
you know what, these achievements suck. just listing them makes me wanna say, well what the hell have you done that actually mattered? and the answer for now i guess is nothing. thats depressing. this was supposed to be a super happy time... but i guess ive just been down pretty much 24/7 for the past five days. its difficult to find meaning in the daily commercial inundated crap fest. its like trying to walk around in a shit storm with a clean cup of tea. every sip gets worse than last.
then again maybe im just being too hard on everyone and everything. maybe these are pretty awesome things... at least in the right context. the right context can make anything awesome. kind of.
whatever
phat ass track list coming, eventually.
do a shot for me. make it a double.
3/11/07
starside 03/11/07
Subject : starside
Posted Date: : Mar 11, 2007 4:04 PM
heading out to the maryland colony to visit my little sister and make some cash.
the only thing that makes riding the greyhound interesting is just thinking about it as a space shuttle. a really crappy, really square, really smelly, but moderately inexpensive, space shuttle, and you are the intrepid... uhm... business man being sent out to the stars to double check some standards and regulations issue for your company that didnt have the loose change to send you first class. now thats interesting. like that jetsons movie.
so here's the plan. disembark monday morning. cut down some trees. chill out.... play some games... maybe watch a movie.... eat... sleep... and repeat until friday afternoon.
embarassing moment of the week: i had so much trouble having an orgasm today that i ended up masterbating from around 4 am till like 7.30. either i really suck at masterbating or something is wrong. i probably just need to give the nerve endings a break.
happy/sad moment of the week: anne's spiraling success. its getting out of control. the only way for things to continue at this pace is if she just started finding thousand dollar bills laying around on the sidewalk. its happy because she's worked hard and is already getting to see some benefits... but its also sad... because im not seeing any returns on my efforts yet... and probably wont for another year. ah well. i can wait. im a patient person. and if it takes too long i can at least learn how to cheat the game a little from watching it so long from the sidelines. hopefully cheating wont end up meaning acquiring a drug problem.
funny moment of the week: i was typing some drunken text messages and i dont know how many of them even got sent... but the thing was that i've been missing anne while shes in florida and at the time i was typing the messages i couldnt think of the words i was trying to say. i knew how i felt but there was a tangle of non responsive brain matter between feelings and typing fingertips. so i eventually just admitted i couldnt find the words... and for some reason i felt ashamed. but god damn it, did i try. there are six or seven saved messages that look like a two year old got their hands on refrigerator magnet letters and spilled the box... on a jigsaw puzzle.
///meat beat manifesto - "what does it all mean" a pretty cool song to listen to when youre gettin 'r done. you know moves are never fake. society is a drag so why not drop it?
Posted Date: : Mar 11, 2007 4:04 PM
heading out to the maryland colony to visit my little sister and make some cash.
the only thing that makes riding the greyhound interesting is just thinking about it as a space shuttle. a really crappy, really square, really smelly, but moderately inexpensive, space shuttle, and you are the intrepid... uhm... business man being sent out to the stars to double check some standards and regulations issue for your company that didnt have the loose change to send you first class. now thats interesting. like that jetsons movie.
so here's the plan. disembark monday morning. cut down some trees. chill out.... play some games... maybe watch a movie.... eat... sleep... and repeat until friday afternoon.
embarassing moment of the week: i had so much trouble having an orgasm today that i ended up masterbating from around 4 am till like 7.30. either i really suck at masterbating or something is wrong. i probably just need to give the nerve endings a break.
happy/sad moment of the week: anne's spiraling success. its getting out of control. the only way for things to continue at this pace is if she just started finding thousand dollar bills laying around on the sidewalk. its happy because she's worked hard and is already getting to see some benefits... but its also sad... because im not seeing any returns on my efforts yet... and probably wont for another year. ah well. i can wait. im a patient person. and if it takes too long i can at least learn how to cheat the game a little from watching it so long from the sidelines. hopefully cheating wont end up meaning acquiring a drug problem.
funny moment of the week: i was typing some drunken text messages and i dont know how many of them even got sent... but the thing was that i've been missing anne while shes in florida and at the time i was typing the messages i couldnt think of the words i was trying to say. i knew how i felt but there was a tangle of non responsive brain matter between feelings and typing fingertips. so i eventually just admitted i couldnt find the words... and for some reason i felt ashamed. but god damn it, did i try. there are six or seven saved messages that look like a two year old got their hands on refrigerator magnet letters and spilled the box... on a jigsaw puzzle.
///meat beat manifesto - "what does it all mean" a pretty cool song to listen to when youre gettin 'r done. you know moves are never fake. society is a drag so why not drop it?
1/2/07
karma 01/02/07
Subject : karma
Posted Date: : Jan 2, 2007 11:58 PM
you owe me one. hardcore. this was supposed to be a happy entry. i had the worst field trip of my life. it was a good adventure, but good adventures have hurty endings sometimes...
.... ugh.
more later. go blow yourselves.
and smile. because just when you think you've had the worst day of your life someone actually does. (not that the someone is me, what im trying to say is im still smiling anyway and you should too cuz i know for a fact there is someone out there who had it worse than i did and it pretty much put my troubles into sharp relief)
Posted Date: : Jan 2, 2007 11:58 PM
you owe me one. hardcore. this was supposed to be a happy entry. i had the worst field trip of my life. it was a good adventure, but good adventures have hurty endings sometimes...
.... ugh.
more later. go blow yourselves.
and smile. because just when you think you've had the worst day of your life someone actually does. (not that the someone is me, what im trying to say is im still smiling anyway and you should too cuz i know for a fact there is someone out there who had it worse than i did and it pretty much put my troubles into sharp relief)
12/26/06
home for the hole days 12/26/06
Subject : home for the hole days
Posted Date: : Dec 26, 2006 10:18 AM
thats what they are really. they are days that represent holes; holes in your otherwise "busy" life, holes in your pay checks, holes in your souring days, holes in your routine, just lots and lots of holes. its not all bad.
sometimes its nice to crawl into a hole for a while and watch the world whirl by. im glad that this has been the least superficial christmas ive had the pleasure of living through. we didnt pretend to be super rich. we didnt pretend to have big dreams for big gifts. we didnt make dumb ass christmas lists. and we didnt have to sit through a sermon delivered by my overly pious and ultra conservative father. we just had some time to sit in a hole just big enough for the six of us in my family (mommy daddy sister brother me and sister) and enjoy the close company. its been good.
i like to think im gonna write another book of poetry someday. i want to call it "from the bottom of my well" because i dont have enough perspective to pretend i write for the "everyman." my life as it stands right now is sitting at the bottom of a 60 foot well. every now and then i manage to pull some bricks out and stack them up under me; i get a little closer to daylight, but the trick has been keeping the whole thing from collapsing. the funny thing is that until i get out the clouds over head, the shaft of sunlight, could be anything from a hurricane to a sunrise and im too closed up to know the difference.
im planning on going to new york for new years, but it wont happen. i can feel it already. im just going to go home to pittsburgh. im feelin home sick anyway. its an odd place to feel homesick for three different locations at the same time. hopefully my eventual graduation from college will fix that.
speaking of growing up. i thought i would do so while i was at home. i thought i would be able to say "yeah pop i smoke now and then" or "yes i drink in the afternoon, sometimes a beer goes well with lunch (or breakfast depending on what day it is)," but i didnt. there are a couple of things i fear in this world and one of them is my father's disgust. that's why i dont show him writing. that's why i dont talk about my real life when he's around or even in ear shot. that's why i still have to hide who i am from him. maybe when i can fully support my own god damn weight ill finally be able to tell him that this is what im made of. maybe not.
four more days and it wont matter again because ill be on the greyhound with a fresh pack and limitless potential. or at least potential that can rise to the threshold of possessing a bachelor's degree, cuz i still dont have one yet. << its thoughts like that... they make me angry that everyone will be getting on with their lives come may. angry... but also... heart broken.
Posted Date: : Dec 26, 2006 10:18 AM
thats what they are really. they are days that represent holes; holes in your otherwise "busy" life, holes in your pay checks, holes in your souring days, holes in your routine, just lots and lots of holes. its not all bad.
sometimes its nice to crawl into a hole for a while and watch the world whirl by. im glad that this has been the least superficial christmas ive had the pleasure of living through. we didnt pretend to be super rich. we didnt pretend to have big dreams for big gifts. we didnt make dumb ass christmas lists. and we didnt have to sit through a sermon delivered by my overly pious and ultra conservative father. we just had some time to sit in a hole just big enough for the six of us in my family (mommy daddy sister brother me and sister) and enjoy the close company. its been good.
i like to think im gonna write another book of poetry someday. i want to call it "from the bottom of my well" because i dont have enough perspective to pretend i write for the "everyman." my life as it stands right now is sitting at the bottom of a 60 foot well. every now and then i manage to pull some bricks out and stack them up under me; i get a little closer to daylight, but the trick has been keeping the whole thing from collapsing. the funny thing is that until i get out the clouds over head, the shaft of sunlight, could be anything from a hurricane to a sunrise and im too closed up to know the difference.
im planning on going to new york for new years, but it wont happen. i can feel it already. im just going to go home to pittsburgh. im feelin home sick anyway. its an odd place to feel homesick for three different locations at the same time. hopefully my eventual graduation from college will fix that.
speaking of growing up. i thought i would do so while i was at home. i thought i would be able to say "yeah pop i smoke now and then" or "yes i drink in the afternoon, sometimes a beer goes well with lunch (or breakfast depending on what day it is)," but i didnt. there are a couple of things i fear in this world and one of them is my father's disgust. that's why i dont show him writing. that's why i dont talk about my real life when he's around or even in ear shot. that's why i still have to hide who i am from him. maybe when i can fully support my own god damn weight ill finally be able to tell him that this is what im made of. maybe not.
four more days and it wont matter again because ill be on the greyhound with a fresh pack and limitless potential. or at least potential that can rise to the threshold of possessing a bachelor's degree, cuz i still dont have one yet. << its thoughts like that... they make me angry that everyone will be getting on with their lives come may. angry... but also... heart broken.
11/30/06
fear of wanting 11/30/06
Subject : fear of wanting
Posted Date: : Nov 30, 2006 10:40 AM
so what happend many eves ago: was probably nomal. probably not so weird as i thought it was. ive always been confused to a degree. confused sexually. essentially a late night of drinking left two boys passed out on my couch. and i wanted to give them both blow jobs. really badly at the time. other strange things happend that night, at least they felt strange.
ultimately i didnt, which was probably for the best. i think i have a fear of wanting. wanting to know that the people i love are cared for. i dont think i want to be trash. i want to be loved and to love as much as the next person. im just also very passionate and there isnt much place for that where ive tried to jam it in. anxiety. grappling with what is and what i want. i have an overwhelming desire to do things right, but also to do things my way, and my way never seems to be the right way. i keep screwing up. so much so that it gets hard to feel which way is down. so much so that it gets hard to feel. to know.
when that happens its nice to have someone to point the way for you. but sometimes there's no one who knows the way any better than you do. and then confusion sets in.
Posted Date: : Nov 30, 2006 10:40 AM
so what happend many eves ago: was probably nomal. probably not so weird as i thought it was. ive always been confused to a degree. confused sexually. essentially a late night of drinking left two boys passed out on my couch. and i wanted to give them both blow jobs. really badly at the time. other strange things happend that night, at least they felt strange.
ultimately i didnt, which was probably for the best. i think i have a fear of wanting. wanting to know that the people i love are cared for. i dont think i want to be trash. i want to be loved and to love as much as the next person. im just also very passionate and there isnt much place for that where ive tried to jam it in. anxiety. grappling with what is and what i want. i have an overwhelming desire to do things right, but also to do things my way, and my way never seems to be the right way. i keep screwing up. so much so that it gets hard to feel which way is down. so much so that it gets hard to feel. to know.
when that happens its nice to have someone to point the way for you. but sometimes there's no one who knows the way any better than you do. and then confusion sets in.
11/15/06
moving on 11/15/06
Subject : moving on [also: why omalara will fuck her gardener]
Posted Date: : Nov 15, 2006 8:17 PM
so i think ive moved on. i think ill always vasilate on how much i love her, but i know there is a basic unit of love there, im just not sure of the units numeric value. chalk it up to a last year of college and a first real college relationship.
anyway... moving on from what was [its been nearly a half year process including the two and a half weeks of withdrawal] it recently occured to me on a trip home this past weekend why a girl i knew in high school even spoke to me at all.
omalara. she was carribean, big boobies, nice twists in her hair, nice lines, all that and/or a bag of chips. she never seemed to notice me unless it was a monday. on the bus rides home on mondays she'd give me blow jobs. no not really, but it woulda been awesome if she had. she did chat me up pretty hard until she had to get off the bus. so this one monday i was sitting next to her and i was pissed off because there was still some gasoline in my back pack (i was a lawnmower in the spring to make money) and it stank up my books. The minute i pulled out my texts for my class there she was on the back of my chair saying whats up. i told her about how fuckin pissed i was cuz my shit smelled like gasoline and she just completed threw her arms around me.
she said she loved the smell of gasoline. that explained it all. thats why she only talked to me on mondays after a weekend of riding my bike to gas stations with a gas can in my bag to fill up my little lawn mower. i wish i could have mowed her lawn. that woulda been nice. but anyway. i think that little fact is why she will definitely be one of those people who fucks her gardener. all that fuel in the air... rippling muscles... probably no shirt on... she wont be able to resist. at this point in my life my only chance of ever getting in her pants will probably be to literally mow her lawn. hopefully itll work out nicely.
otherwise ill have to stick to my other plan of attending doctorate parties and picking up phone numbers of soon to be very wealthy and career minded women. that way i can call them up later on in life when im still sprye and they're too burnt out to find a man to ring their bells. call it an investment strategy. i couple of purchase cosmopolitans now may very well equal set-for-life later.
i think im gonna redo my front page too. eventually. its nice to move on. its been a long war.
Posted Date: : Nov 15, 2006 8:17 PM
so i think ive moved on. i think ill always vasilate on how much i love her, but i know there is a basic unit of love there, im just not sure of the units numeric value. chalk it up to a last year of college and a first real college relationship.
anyway... moving on from what was [its been nearly a half year process including the two and a half weeks of withdrawal] it recently occured to me on a trip home this past weekend why a girl i knew in high school even spoke to me at all.
omalara. she was carribean, big boobies, nice twists in her hair, nice lines, all that and/or a bag of chips. she never seemed to notice me unless it was a monday. on the bus rides home on mondays she'd give me blow jobs. no not really, but it woulda been awesome if she had. she did chat me up pretty hard until she had to get off the bus. so this one monday i was sitting next to her and i was pissed off because there was still some gasoline in my back pack (i was a lawnmower in the spring to make money) and it stank up my books. The minute i pulled out my texts for my class there she was on the back of my chair saying whats up. i told her about how fuckin pissed i was cuz my shit smelled like gasoline and she just completed threw her arms around me.
she said she loved the smell of gasoline. that explained it all. thats why she only talked to me on mondays after a weekend of riding my bike to gas stations with a gas can in my bag to fill up my little lawn mower. i wish i could have mowed her lawn. that woulda been nice. but anyway. i think that little fact is why she will definitely be one of those people who fucks her gardener. all that fuel in the air... rippling muscles... probably no shirt on... she wont be able to resist. at this point in my life my only chance of ever getting in her pants will probably be to literally mow her lawn. hopefully itll work out nicely.
otherwise ill have to stick to my other plan of attending doctorate parties and picking up phone numbers of soon to be very wealthy and career minded women. that way i can call them up later on in life when im still sprye and they're too burnt out to find a man to ring their bells. call it an investment strategy. i couple of purchase cosmopolitans now may very well equal set-for-life later.
i think im gonna redo my front page too. eventually. its nice to move on. its been a long war.
7/8/06
facebook no more 07/08/06
Subject : facebook no more and other paranoias
Posted Date: : Jul 8, 2006 3:34 PM
i am a paranoid person. i am a very paranoid person.
in light of the facts that i try to keep no secrets and am racked periodically with undeniably powerful bouts of paranoia and am incessantly talking to myself (the only times im not talking to myself are during sexual activities {including masterbation}, during video games, and while im writing) i have cancelled my facebook.com account.
i hated it for many reasons.... damn it i just paused for a minute and i started talking to myself again. sometimes i wonder where the voices come from to begin with because it says things i wouldnt say... or at least i dont think i would say. but then ... ugh... i just did it again. fuck this.
Posted Date: : Jul 8, 2006 3:34 PM
i am a paranoid person. i am a very paranoid person.
in light of the facts that i try to keep no secrets and am racked periodically with undeniably powerful bouts of paranoia and am incessantly talking to myself (the only times im not talking to myself are during sexual activities {including masterbation}, during video games, and while im writing) i have cancelled my facebook.com account.
i hated it for many reasons.... damn it i just paused for a minute and i started talking to myself again. sometimes i wonder where the voices come from to begin with because it says things i wouldnt say... or at least i dont think i would say. but then ... ugh... i just did it again. fuck this.
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