Notes on pulling the sky down.

In celebration of my achievement today I ate an entire chicken. I sat down and feasted, there was so much grease and chicken juices that my fingers got all pruny like when you stay in the bath tub too long. I feel awesome. The circle of life and all that shit. What achievment would warrent such a glutonous celebration, you ask?

What achievment, indeed.

I'm leaving the internet behind for I while, I have some focusing to do, but fret not! I shall return and I will be much more interesting for the holiday.

end transmission.

Come back to me, please, or I'll kill myself.

Jerry Hatcher worked part time in a grocery store. While none of us could get jobs he could always get one. He had his little movie star face and his mother had a great body. With his face and her body he didn't have any trouble finding employment.
"Why don't you come up to the apartment after dinner tonight?" he asked me one day.
"What for?"
"I steal all the beer I want. I take it out back. We can drink the beer."
"Where you got it?"
"In the refrigerator."
"Show me."
We were about a block away from his place. We walked over. In the hallway Jimmy said,
"Wait a minute, I've got to check the mail." He took out his key and opened the lock box. It was empty. He locked it again.
"My key opens this woman's box. Watch."
Jimmy opened the box and pulled out a letter and opened it. He read the letter to me. "Dear Betty: I know that this check is late and that you've been waiting for it. I lost my job. I have found another one, but it put me behind. Here's the check, finally. I hope that everything is all right with you. Love, Dan." Jimmy took the check and looked at it. He tore up and he tore the letter up and he put the pieces in his coat pocket. Then he locked the mailbox.
"Come on."
He went into his apartment and into the kitchen and he opened the refrigerator. It was
packed with cans of beer.
"does your mother know?"
"Sure. She drinks it."
He closed the refrigerator.
"Jim, did your father really blow his brains out because of your mother?"
"Yeah. He was on the phone. He told her he had a gun. He said, "If you don't come back
to me I'm going to kill myself. Will you come back to me?" And my mother said, "No." There was
a shot, and that was that."
"What did your mother do?"
"She hung up."
"Alright, I'll see you tonight."

end transmission.

Another Dead end story.

Well, I guess I've been running myself too thin, four different blogs are too many to keep original. This one has definitely been suffering the worst and it isn't fair since it was my original soap box to bitch loudly into the quiet abyss of the interweb. My original idea was that I didn't want to have any of the blogs be the same....but In the end I only live 4 or 5 different lives, which, sadly, only amount to enough interesting blog material for .356 blogs.

I don't know if I'm gonna break that streak today...uh...

Let's see, some of the stuff not covered here....uh, I fucked my 2nd drunk Vegas stripper....I went three days without booze, um....I don't know..uh Ian went to jail....he's still there at press time...uh a mexican bathroom custodian busted in on me while I shat at the gym....I saw pirates of the carribean 2, which was awesome.

I broke a condom a few weeks ago, but did not recieve an STD or a baby.

end transmission.

Vanilla Sex.

I can't sleeep, what else is new, right? I tried all the normal remedies, I jerked off twice, read some of my own writing, went to CNN.com, all tried and true methods foe unconsciousness! But to no avail!

That, of course, led me to start drinking, which led to listening to Fugazi, which led me to think about dogs, which led to weiner dogs, which moved me to think of love and then a steady course straight to death, then I came right back up to guitar, which brought me to Slash and Guns 'n Roses, and then I restrung my acoustic guitar, and then I played it, then I realized I suck and made another drink, which led me here.


Albert CAmus said, "Yes, man is his own end. And he is his only end. If he aims to be something, it is in this life."

What, then, are my aims? Let's ponder this at the moment. There are, of course, both, short, medium, and long term goals (Did you catch that, I said both but I listed three antecedants(sp)). Short term....vodka, carne asada, vitamins, sex, money.
Medium Term...better job, vodka, carne asada, sex, money.
Long Term...Kids and family, death.

Alright, so maybe I have no idea what I want in the long term, but I sure know what I don't want.

Herepes.

end transmission.

Made up dreams.

Today I decided not to run for mayor of Las Vegas, though I did enjoy the limited kickbacks just for being nominated.

Yesterday a mexican lady got arrested for shoplifting at Albertsonson's.

end transmission.

No man's friend.

Jean-Paul Satre said, "hell is other people"

The french existentialists are really spot on, usually. This idea was cemented for me in Clerks with the line, "I hate peole, but I love gatherings."

I've been thinking about this a lot, and I feel it, but don't really understand it. that is always a dangerous place to be, always. It leads to all sorts of problems, not the least of which being genocide or mass immolation.

Why I am I so misanthropic, but at the same time so drawn to large social gatherings?

The answer? i am facinated by what it is like to be like you. I have never been one of you, I have always seen this world from an outsider's perspective, and that belies a certain ego, I know, but it's true.

You are not me. We have a lot in common, but the way you are is a foreign to me as Russian script. I am, and have always bee, different. SOme of you know what I mean, and that is why we have become friends...otherwise, I just don't get you fuckers. The way you think is a mystery to me and I hate you for it.

end transmssion.

Pictures of You.

No one ever looks at some dried up, loser ad says, that will probably be me someday. But those people never thought that either, and now they are...well, dried up losers.

Someone spiked my drink.

end transmission.