"who knows"

I woke up a few nights ago in a room with 3 other guys. We were rooming together. It was for school, so don't get the wrong idea. It was about 3 am and it was the incessant bang of hail against the walls and roof that set off the alarm for me. It wasn't the noise that kept me up though; it was the fear. I'm not afraid of hail, or weather in general (any more) but I am afraid of broken glass falling on my sleeping neck. See, our residence was an odd place. It was a 50 foot pyramid of panels joined invisibly every few meters. Inside the pyramid was a 2nd ceiling, this one running parallel to the ground—also glass. It was very much like the pyramid at the Louvre, had it been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. I figure it to be roughly a billion kilograms or so of very breakable glass just waiting to be shattered. The three of us watched out the walls as the hail reached cantaloupe size and began to destroy automobiles in the distance. The girls who lived up stairs came down and calmed our nerves with extra alcohol they had stashed for such an occasion. Drunkenness did little but confuse the situation for a few moments before our fear intensified. Glass began to explode, faces began to bleed, and it was all over. I was done, with this place, with this class, with the dangers, and ventured outside to find a more suitable experience. None such experience was to be found. I tried to take in a musical, but couldn't get a ticket. I tried to rent a hotel room, but forgot my wallet. I tried to return home but there was no home to return to…

Every car driven....yeah from hard living
Hang with Mariah, spent the night with Vivica
Every tabloid asking Cam "what you did with her"?
Just friends dog, "word to eveerything"?
YES, word to everything now focus on this heavy bling
Eat at Reyo's....Fettucini, Spaghetti things
Cheddy heavy so fuck being some petty king
Can't be nice right? Can't be arrogant
I stab a bitch over ice, "Nancy Kerrigan"
Slash Tonya Harding, see the mobster's mobbing
You don't like us right? We got ya momma boppin'
She look like Amy Fisher, "don't the Range be bigger"?
That's a baby mama car you can't game me nigga
My Royce a quarter mill, chain a half a mill
Earrings another 3 quarter mill, you ought to chill

I quote this not because of the profoundness of the lyrical content, which of course i totally admire and hold on an almost Christ-like pedestal. Its here because last night I went to a store that sold only Diplomats shirts. It was incredible. I've never ever thought that I would have a dream about DipSet clothing. Anyone that can figure this one out will get a burned copy of the latest Killa Cam Mixtape.

I left the store and went to see converge with 2 friends. I havent listened to the band in forever or had a dream about them ever. I think my brain is eating itself or something.

Easy Diver

its been a while. a lot has happened.
this following story too place a few weeks ago, but i've been thinking about it enough to repeat it now.

it was a nice day out, but i was broke and couldn't enjoy it. i really wanted to play street hockey at a school parking lot, but didnt have a mode of transportation. easy solution i guess? find the money to buy a motorcycle.

But where would i find that kind of money? i guess i could check couch cushions and hit up the coin star, but what i really need is treasure. And the only way to really find treasure is with a friend, a snorkel, and flippers. Lucky for me and "N217" we had all those supplies and easy access to a beach.

We swam out past the pier, where the water was still clear enough to see the sharks and alligators that were guarding what we were searching for. We filled up our pockets with coins, jewelry, and other artifacts long lost to the sea. It was surreal. We were mastering this so quickly. We've found what nobody else had in the past hundreds of years of recreational sea-searching and dreaming.

We walked out of the ocean like swamp thing, with our flippers flapping and the sun burning our backs. Straight to the internet where i bought a 50 year old red rusted motorcycle on ebay for the even amount we found. It was on my doorstep in seconds and Fonda and I were riding into the sunset with our hockey bags on our backs, ready to play all night.

"no title necessary"

laugh at this, watch it again, repeat.
______________________________________________________



watch this, take a deep breath, watch the first video again, forget this happened.

“If you aren't rich you should always look useful.”

On Christmas, 2 years ago, I was given a ticket to visit a recently uncovered, yet untouched, pyramid just a few miles outside of Hiawadolastor, Egypt. I had misplaced it during a move, then found it only after it had expired. I set it on a shelf and used it to remind me of the opportunity I had missed thanks to poor organization skills. I recently took a chance and called the travel agency. They understood my dilemma, apparently tickets to Hiawadolastor, Egypt are misplaced on a regular basis. I was allowed to go; no questions asked. When I got there I took on the task of excavating the site. I was allowed to keep the findings.

Heres a time-lapse account of my work. You can click to enlarge, or just break out your monocle.



It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and the treasure I found will be... uh... treasured... forever.

"I don't give a damn for a man that can only spell a word one way."

I don't know what it is with me and jobs. I got an internship the other night, along with everyone else in my class. It was about an hour from my house, and an hour and a half from school. I rode my bike there one day, and completed my shift. The shift was pretty much just orientation, and everyone remained very disoriented throughout. I washed some screens, and cut some construction paper out, all the while wondering what the point was.

As I left, I rode my bike over a curb to cut through a elementary school parking lot. I was accosted by a busty but weathered middle aged teacher. She stopped me in my tracks, like a gatekeeper. She kept yelling. I couldn't understand a word she was saying, she threatened to call the cops. I still had no clue why. Then out of nowhere, the words cleared up. "Blah Blah Blah (30 seconds of silence...) FUCK". Did she really threaten to call the cops on me and then say "FUCK" in an elementary school parking lot in the presence of innocent ears? That was it. I was going to get this broad fired. I pounded on the locked door, demanding the security guard let me speak to the Principal. All-the-while she sat on the curb crying and begging for my forgiveness.

Eventually the front door opened, like the doors Xanadu for Charles Foster Kane, minus the theatrical lighting and sculptural collections. I was led down a long hall and told to go in "that door" where the principal was waiting to hear my indictment. He was in his late 30s, Ben Affleck's blow-bingeing twin brother I presume. He was short on time, it was casual friday and he had a happy hour to go to... and judging by the reminder scrawled up in left arm, he had a date. I make the assumption about the reminder being for a date because, honestly, why else would "blow me" be the sole entry in his epidermal calendar for this evening?

"Fuck" Screamer got fired. I had made a difference today. Not at work, but on the way home. Thanks to my act of good citizen-ish-ness the untainted ears of an entire generation of future leaders would not be subjected to such filth.

After all this is still managed to fit in some math problems. After a long period of working on it... I finally figured out that "If you work an 8 hour day, and you start at 5:15 am, (what time will you get off?)" you will get off at 1:15 pm. I was pretty shocked that after my long day i still had the reasoning skills to figure that one out.

5:15 tomorrow will find me tired from an hour bike ride and preparing to cut out more construction paper nonsense I presume. Saving the children can wait 'til a quarter after 1.

“Bad taste creates many more millionaires than good taste.”

I got another job the other day. This time it wasn't a dream job, it was completely out of the blue.

A few months ago I told people I was going to London for class this summer. At the time I wasn't excited and I just told people so that someone would be excited about my opportunity. And they were. My mom also through the idea out there that she may be able to hook me up with a job/internship across the pond when the class was over. It sounded good on the surface, but there were several underlying factors that led me to the quick conclusion that I could not take it. There was too much here to leave behind for that much time. There were friends I wasn't hanging out with, a girl that wasn't talking to me, and a lot of other things I wasnt doing; how could I leave?

Those people I told, the people that were excited for me, scolded me for not taking such a chance. What do they know? They don't know the people I'm not talking to, the ones who don't talk to me anymore, or the things I'm not doing. They couldn't understand what would be good or bad for me.

The job, the one I recently got, was pretty mysterious. Again, I didn't know what the job entailed. I did know it was in Japan… or Eastern Europe… or London; one of those. I took it. I packed my computer bag with everything that was important to me and set sail. When I got there a co-worker was to pick me up for the airport. He didn't. I was supposed to get a company car when I got to my new residence. I didn't. It was a nice residence. Some 80 stories tall, steel and glass, ultra-modern in an ultra-hip city. It doesn't get better than this. Only a big shot lived like this.

I spent some time getting to know the city. I ate at the restaurants with the most stars, I met the people with the nicest clothes, and drank the drinks for the top shelf. This is it. (Maybe they were right.)

I went to hop in my hot silver lexus and drive home, instead my coworker was parked in his hot silver lexus where my car was parked and told me he had been instructed to drive me home, and that from now on I would only be allowed to leave my residence for work or when I was given explicit written permission by the all mighty higher-ups. Uhhhhhh… this isn't what I signed up for. Wheres my car? Wheres my job? Wheres my check? My once apartment, now cell, had been moved my co-worker added. Just up the stairs. I was on the 41st floor, now I was on top. That couldn't be bad, right?

I grabbed my single bag of belongings and a half full warm beer and began the hike up the stairwell, the elevator was broken. I kept going; 67th floor, 68th, 69 (get it?)… keep going. 78th, 79th, 80. Home? No… one more floor on this supposed "80 story building" I was ordered. I opened my door and climbed a cold rusted ladder straight up about 8 feet. I entered my room from the inside of a rooftop HVAC vent at the top of the ladder. A stainless steal hipped roof. Seriously? My room was the roof? I set down my bag and scoped out my space. It was cold, windy and obviously very "open". Now I'm not interior designer, but "open" is "in" right? Post-modern, ultra chic, feng shui shit I guess. No, fact remains, I was moved to the fucking roof. I couldn't quit. I was locked there. Who knows when I would finally be given my work schedule, or explicit permission to go out again. This is it. (Maybe I was right.)

“Fear to let fall a drop and you will spill a lot”

The other night I remember looking for my new Nike's. I've only had them since christmas timezzz and haven't really been given the opportunity to ruin them yet. They're basically white. Next thing I know, I'm sitting there trying to figure out how to get all this black sticky shit off them. No clue what the hell it was. It was somewhat like when a soda spills in the summer and you ignore it for too long. It plasticizes into a not liquid, but not solid, used-to-be-puddle of gunk and ants. I spent forever trying new techniques. Toothbrushes scrubbed, screwdrivers scraped, and my nails were worn down to the cuticle. I just for the life of me could not get them clean. It seemed to be a lost cause.

Luckily when I woke up they had managed to clean themselves. Must have been ants.

Fast forward to today. I woke up for one hell of a ceramics I class. Learned sooooo much. Enjoyed myself more than I think I probably ever have in my life. FYI: italics in this post designate sarcasm. The longest 2 and half hours of my life ended at noon. I was dreading the rest of today, our Senior Show goes up tomorrow and I basically have to do all 3 projects for it tonight, including printing and binding 2 books. I decided a little McDonalds would provide me with the comfort and sustenance I required to make it though my next class. I ordered my snack wrap, small fries, and soft drink and received them promptly. As I walked out, I fumbled through my pocket for my keys with my left hand while holding the bag and soda in my right.

SUDDENLY.....

The bag slips (dun dun dun). As I grasped a bit tighter to prevent my precious 3 dollar snack from falling to the floor, I squeezed a bit too tight. The lid shot off my cup followed by an eruption of diet coke. All over my face, all over my sweatshirt, my pants ..... and my shoes.

"Aw god bless you brotha, Aw god bless you brotha, Aw thats just terrible, god bless you man" was the consolation I received from one patron. And although that almost made the experience worthwhile, I dreaded even more this day. As now I would have to find those toothbrushes, screwdrivers, and sharpen my nails for the long night of shoe cleaning ahead.

"Time to dance with the universe. I could never handle a jail cell."

I haven't had much access to the world wide web lately, so I'm going to take this opportunity and run with it.

I don't remember too much about what I've done since the superbowl. I do know that last night I visited my parents house, they got another dog. Like Lucy, but smaller and a male. His name was Beast. I played with him for a while, then he started harassing the other dogs, so my parents decided to get rid of him. I then noticed that they had decided to take in a pet pig. It was the most hideous beast I could ever imagine. The idea of a pet pig, in thought, could be kind of cute. Not this one. Apparently it was pregnant when my parents took it in. They didn't know this, and didn't tell me about it until i asked about the 9 baby pigs riding on the mother pigs back. They looked at me like I was crazy. Apparently my dad had taken the babies to work the week prior and "put them in the trash". The parents knew nothing about these 9 babies. Somehow Mother Pig must have managed to get pregnant again and push them out in the past week. "What are you going to do with these?"... "take them to work and throw them in the trash". I was horrified.

Not sure what became of Beast.

Did I mention I went cliff diving last week? It was crazy bro! The cliff was like 300 feet high. The water below was treacherous. From the coastline out about 30 feet, there was a infinitely deep trench which had to be cleared when jumping. Should I not clear this trench I would be sucked down infinitely deep. Seems like a pretty stupid place to be jumping from. Amongst other people I was with, I was being schooled on technique by a total dude who was a hybrid of Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves characters from the 1991 classic tale of "a rookie FBI agent, hoping to break a bank robbery ring, infiltrates a colony of surfers in Southern California"...... POINT BREAK. I think I survived, thankfully, otherwise the world would never know.

Feb. 14

tomorrow is valentines day. instead of bitching or ranting about anything, I'm just going to post the best Valentine I've ever received.

Futurismo

in reality....

I went to the most boring lecture of my life thursday night. I was drunk, which tends to make the boring lectures at least tolerable. Not this time. The only thing I remember from it was the following points, taken from the Futurist Manifesto. Shits crazzzzyyyyy maa-aan.

MANIFESTO OF FUTURISM

1. We want to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and rashness.
2. The essential elements of our poetry will be courage, audacity and revolt.
3. Literature has up to now magnified pensive immobility, ecstasy and slumber. We want to exalt movements of aggression, feverish sleeplessness, the double march, the perilous leap, the slap and the blow with the fist.
4. We declare that the splendor of the world has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed. A racing automobile with its bonnet adorned with great tubes like serpents with explosive breath ... a roaring motor car which seems to run on machine-gun fire, is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace.
5. We want to sing the man at the wheel, the ideal axis of which crosses the earth, itself hurled along its orbit.
6. The poet must spend himself with warmth, glamour and prodigality to increase the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements.
7. Beauty exists only in struggle. There is no masterpiece that has not an aggressive character. Poetry must be a violent assault on the forces of the unknown, to force them to bow before man.
8. We are on the extreme promontory of the centuries! What is the use of looking behind at the moment when we must open the mysterious shutters of the impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We are already living in the absolute, since we have already created eternal, omnipresent speed.
9. We want to glorify war - the only cure for the world - militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of the anarchists, the beautiful ideas which kill, and contempt for woman.
10. We want to demolish museums and libraries, fight morality, feminism and all opportunist and utilitarian cowardice.
11. We will sing of the great crowds agitated by work, pleasure and revolt; the multi-colored and polyphonic surf of revolutions in modern capitals: the nocturnal vibration of the arsenals and the workshops beneath their violent electric moons: the gluttonous railway stations devouring smoking serpents; factories suspended from the clouds by the thread of their smoke; bridges with the leap of gymnasts flung across the diabolic cutlery of sunny rivers: adventurous steamers sniffing the horizon; great-breasted locomotives, puffing on the rails like enormous steel horses with long tubes for bridle, and the gliding flight of aeroplanes whose propeller sounds like the flapping of a flag and the applause of enthusiastic crowds.

puppy bowl IV!!!

Its back.

Thats about all I have to say about that. Get ready, place your bets, I got 20 on "Cali" but I'm sure "Mrs. Roper" is at least a 3:1 favorite.

click for starting lineup


this should be the halftime show....

"girl my momma aint gotta screen no calls for me, REAL TALK"

I got to my parents house today and skimmed an issue of Spin that came for my sister but has yet to be claimed. It told me of Pete Doherty's genius and Lenny Kravitz's virginity. Then I got to the last page and found this. Kinda cool at the beginning, then kinda creepy as it goes on, then closes off with an R. Kelly quote... so yeah, that sealed the deal.

click the photo to enlarge ... or something.

"I have tried to do what is true and not ideal."

I went to work last night. I vaguely remember applying via telephone for a position that I never expected to get. Days went by and just when I felt like all hope was lost, there was a message on my machine. The woman on the phone sounded somewhat ambiguous. Just left a name, a number, and said that I needed to call back at my convenience regarding a "personal business matter'. Now, I know enough about these "personal business matters". Thats the code word for "pay off your fucking debts", I guess somehow they decided that "regarding personal business matters" would be a more successful phrase to use to get debtors to call back than, say, "you're a flake". However, I don't think I quite understand that. Its not like I somehow believe that when I call that number someone is going to be offering me money, or capital for an investment, or any kind of Ed McMahon deal. I know its a bill collector. But I always call back. I don't own shit. So I speak to them in full confidence that, in all actuality, they have absolutely no leverage in an argument against me.

ANYWAY…

I called this ambiguous woman back regarding "a personal business matter". And to my surprise, it really was about an actual business matter. She was representing a theatre, similar to The Fabulous Fox Theatre. She just called to inform me that they received my resume and that I was being advanced to their next stage in the application process. What position I had applied isn't clear at this point. I'd assume something rather important, more than a ticket taker, more than an usher, more than a stagehand. It must have been important, I'd been losing sleep over wanting this job so badly. I hung up happy, just taking pride that I had made it past the first round.

Some time went by
No word.
More time went by.
maybe its just a long process
they must be thinking hard
i'm not going to get this job
i'll get this job.
they just got a lot to think over.
think positively.

I've had a lot of jobs. I've mowed grass, I've painted houses, I've baby sat, I've trimmed bushes, I've run errands. I've bagged groceries, pushed carts, made sandwiches, delivered sandwiches, bossed people around who made sandwiches, bossed people around who delivered sandwiches. I've sold cds, sold movies, taken out the trash, and taken money to the bank. I've tapped kegs, carried kegs, poured beer, mixed drinks, and the like. I've sold more cds, movies, tvs, cameras, and pushed just about every product you could imagine in a big box store past the point of purchase. All these were just jobs. None of them deserved loyalty. There was always something more. I've always heard that you couldn't be happy with your situation if you couldn't be happy with yourself. This was never the case. I was always happy with myself, but never really happy with where I was. I was just doing what I had to do. Nothing less, and sure as hell nothing more. It was never a case of me being unhappy with myself. None of them were my dream job. I wasn't going to be happy with my situation until I had that. This job I was thinking positively about was just that. All I wanted and all I needed.

I got another message on my machine. I got a job. They needed me to work tonight. Big performance tonight. Still not sure on the position. But I was happy. I imagined myself amongst the high class, doing what I wanted to do under the ornate gold leaved ceilings surrounded by the well-to-do in top hats and keys to their luxury cars jingling in their well pleated pants. I was to show up tonight.

I put on my black coat, my white shirt, my black tie, and my black shoes, brushed my hair, sprayed some cologne, and headed to work. I parked at a meter around the corner and walked in like I owned the place. I never called them back about the message so I was still clueless as to what was going on, and what I was to do. I walked in and somehow assigned myself the job of usher. This isn't what I applied for. This position was at the bottom of the ladder and far below what I expected to do. But its what I was going to do.

I escorted a few people to their seats and sat quietly in the front of the crowd, blocking some views, waiting for my next duty. The singer, who was a Sinatra meets Ricky Martin type clued me into that next duty. He left the stage and began to croon in the crowd. I moved barricades, and anything blocking his way. I was the only one doing this, and had never done it before, I just assumed that it was my job to do. Soon I moved to the steps to flanked the crowd, they were positioned as the entrance to an auditorium at a movie theatre would be. But consisted of long gently sloping steps from the stage to the exit. I sat there for a while and decided my shift was over. I walked towards the exit and their was a ticket taker fully clad in a tuxedo, very sharp. He looked at me as if i were attempting to assassinate a head-of-state. According to him I didn't belong there. I don't know how he knew anything about that. But I soon realized I did, in fact, not belong there. He attempted to throw me out. I insisted on returning to where I was last stationed, on the stairs, to retrieve my shoes, which I assumed I decided to remove for some reason. I retrieved them. Imagine my surprise when I realized I had not worn black shoes at all, but those shitty brown leather slip on birkenstocks (which I hope anyone would know, I would never own).

I left.

I got outside and then realized that while I had been wearing a snazzy black coat, white, shirt, and black tie... I had been wearing black gym-shorts and not the black pants I had previously assumed. I realllllllllly didn't belong there. I walked around the building past the rest of the ushers who were playing a basketball game in the back of the theatre and only paused to laugh at me as I left. I took the ticket for an expired meter off my car, and headed home; ending my first and only night at my dream job.

“He ran a gas station down in St. Louis... No, Mahatma Gandhi was a great leader of the 20th century.”

Chelsea Clinton was at my school today. I was to be in class during the time she was to appear. Luckily the class, which relies heavily on computer/projector slides had technical difficulties. This gave me the opportunity of a lifetime, to see a real presidential candidate's offspring give me her mom's spiel.
Nah, thats a lie. I don't care so much what she has to say and I've grown rather bored and irritated by what her mother has to say, so odds are I wasn't going to be attending. Don't get me wrong, I'm not completely ignorant to politics. I watched the first 5 minutes of tonight's "state of the union address" while constantly gasping "this guy is bat shit crazy" just like any rational American was doing at the time. I'm also pretty sure who's getting my vote. I doubt this would have had any effect on that.
Now last election I took a similar opportunity. I saw Al Sharpton at school at a press conference/rally. It was intense. I've never been so confused in my life (on second thought, I saw The Ultimate Warrior, of WWF fame, at a Young Republicans sponsored lecture, that was the most confusing/craziest thing I've seen). How the hell did anything he (Rev. Al Sharpton) ever said get him a single vote? And its not the controversial/race issues I speak of. It was just simply ridiculous. He was asked a couple questions from the audience (his audience, the same 12 people that got autographs after the bullshitting was over) about local issues, then answered like he was concerned and that it was somehow going to be his goal as President to change them for the better. Maybe that is his genius. I suppose he knows how completely clueless his .002 percent is and knows exactly how to keep them writing him in.
Oh yeah, this is supposed to be about Chelsea. Kind of a babe. Actually, total political babe I guess. That was the one reason I was down with the idea of going to this so-special event. I went home and took a nap instead. If I wanted to hear some hot rich broad blow smoke I'd spend more time in Clayton. Which I came to find out is where she rounded out her day.

“I've got news for them, ... We're not simply going to maintain, we're going to exceed what we've done. Our best days are ahead of us.”

A couple years ago i had a pet sugarglider. His name was bubbles. Through a series of tragic occurrences and failed operations, he passed. it was pretty shitty. It was especailly rough on my mother, who had nursed him (not 'milk' 'nurse', of course) in his final days.

late wednesday night/thursday morning I met him again.

I was walking around the block, near that old house I mentioned a few days ago. I've been meaning to go for more walks, just to think about things, but until now, the weather hasn't permitted it. sitting on top of a dumpster around the corner was a large cage. Not the kind he lived in in my house, but more like something you'd see at the zoo, or caging a lion in a kansas truck stop parking lot between stops at county fairs. He was much larger, if I had not recognized him, I may have mistaken him for a medium size monkey. He really wanted to get the hell out of there. So I took him. And just like when I'd get him out of the cage in the living world, he went ape-shit. Jumping all over the place, and trying to get back into the safety of his cage, where he had an old oven mitt he would sleep/hide in. For as bad as he didn't want to live on top of this dumpster,
he sure was pissed off to be taken way from it. Last thing I remember, he lunged at me, and bit down onto my glasses. He hung on, squirming, and screaming, 'til I finally realized I could get him off by simply taking my glasses off. So I guess thats where he resides now; around the corner from that old place, in a carnivalesque cage atop a dumpster. Waiting for old faces to walk by, and collecting eye glasses.


...and now, an intermission. broads falling.



I spent the rest of that night at a giant Best Buy which was located in a mall I almost recognize. I was there with two friends (who we will abbreviate as N217 and aDZ). They weren't the only people I knew there, of course it IS best buy, why wouldn't I run into random hordes of girls I knew? Long story short, N217 and aDZ were way into stealing dvds. It was warm out, again, but they were wearing large coats, thinking nothing of possibly looking suspicious.They were loading them up with the dumbest fucking movies you could ever think of. I think one of them was most excited about Erin Brokovich (sp?). I knew they were going to get caught, so I just messed around with some plasma screens waiting for them to get out. Then as I went to tell them I knew the Best Buy private security forces were onto them- they were ambushed. They were interrogated and unwillingly searched. Somehow neither had anything on them. They accepted snide apologies and we left, with very hazy recollection of why we were even there in the first place.

"we've all got our demons"

Casual conversations have lately been beginning more and more with the question "how ya doin?" Seems average/causal enough. However, whenever I'm asked, it feels like I'm supposed to over think my answer, as if someone is really looking for my story.

Lately, I find myself ending my pause- my moment of deep consideration of what to say and what to leave out - with 2 and a half words... "Eh, I'm alive". Some times I take out the colloquial interjection (assuming thats what "eh" really is) and just leave it at "i'm alive". Both work I suppose. I mean, its obviously not a lie. I never really mean it to sound as apathetic as I'm sure it does. In fact, though I don't necessarily mean it in this way either, its a relatively positive answer. It may just be a simple way of saying "okay" or "not too bad". It also has the power to say that though things could certainly be better, they could most definitely be a whole hell of a lot worse.

Although, it could just be an excuse. If the answer isn't "really good" I always just figure nobody is really looking to get bummed out with a more thoughtful answer. It started out, of course, as just another way of saying "hi".

"no lotions gonna unclog these pores"

the long awaited NowLieInIt #2
http://www.sendspace.com/file/wfx0ai
this ones 24 songs. which of course, like the last one, nobody will really hear.

I put little, or... actually NO thought into the order. Its simply the order in which they played tonight.

XLII

Around 5 am this morning I went to a school. I assume it was one I attend, or have attended in the past (as there have been more than a handful). I went to pick up a portfolio of papers I had written for an unknown class. Now, I've never really tried when it comes to writing papers. I usually wait 'til the night before and just BS my way through the minimum number of pages. These papers I had written however were impeccable. They varied in length from maybe 10 pages to, say, 20 pages. No clue what they were about; I never really know much about what I'm writing anyway. Some started with indented quotes, some just got down to the heart of the matter. Regardless, these papers were top-notch. For some reason I wasn't surprised to see an "A" at the top of each but one. The "B" paper must have reallly required some effort.

Next I found myself playing a 30 second football game against both Eli Manning and Tom Brady. Needless to say, I won.

I've found myself hanging out more and more with long lost friends and acquaintances. We never really do anything memorable. The acquaintances however become closer than I would have ever been with them in my previous encounters. I guess they're just into my extraordinary writing and football talents.

"Nobody leave this place without singin the blues"

or more likely....

“A doctor can bury his mistakes but an architect can only advise his client to plant vines.”

The other night I was watching a video, or a lecture, or in a class, or something. Whatever it may have been it was about great architectural achievements in the Greater St. Louis Area. There were several neoclassical examples, post modern structures, the Richardsonian monuments strewn throughout downtown, and at least one that kind of caught me off guard. It was a single-level, 3 bedroom, 1 and a half bath, ranch. It had a finished basement and a driveway with 4 hand prints outlined in the driveway which, at one time (20ish years ago) was simply freshly-poured wet cement. It was somewhat nondescript. The roof slightly hipped, the wood siding an almost hideous shade of blue. The blinds were dusty yellow and the same color they had been for the past 20ish years. Adjacent to the driveway was a basketball pole which, since its erection, had been shortened by 9 feet. Now, using the foundation for the basketball set-up which was an 8 yr olds birthday present, stands a haggard American flag. It obviously represents the current caretakers disregard for architectural and social history. They know nothing about the people that live in their attic, and absolutely nothing about the perfect hiding place they probably use as a coat closet.

What could they know about the hand prints in their garage? Probably about as much as the initials carved in their trees. I wonder if they ever hear the echos of the life that ended in their master bedroom or the youthful laughter of lives blooming in their middle "play room". Its may be all theirs now; the happiness, the pain, the nightmares, the dreams, the people in the attic, the long-gone pets 2 feet under their backyard, and the supreme hiding places. But to me; they're just tourists. Tourists without a guide or any clue about the 15 year tour they've taken.





editors note: sometime before or after this I encounterd a giant penguin. Not like "a really big king penguin" or anything. It was a GIANT penguin, in cartoon form. I cannot for the life of me remember the context, or believe me, you'd be getting an ear full.

"joan of arc had style, jesus had style"

I just went for a ride. It took me past familiar roads, familiar walks, and familiar fuck ups. I shuffled through a soundtrack of familiar bore and thought as though "familiar" just meant "times up". It was a 45 minute drive. Nothing impressive. Nothing compared to the 6 hour solo journeys I'd embark on when gas prices were reasonable and my energy levels were adequate. But it got me where I was going. I skipped past the familiar... er... "times gone by" tracks and found myself tapping my toe to sounds I never imagined my self choosing to hear. Last I remember was "They can fire everything they've got. What do you think? I'm sunk? I will float on. I have burned that bush that covered my light, and now I'm scared I won't burn that bright".

I used to live my life by song lyrics. I used to pretend I could relate to things I really had no clue about. Now, you may think things aint changed all that much. Thing is, they have. Now I don't put myself in the situation of the song, I put the song in the situation of me. For me, that previous quote is what the past month of my life has been all about. What it meant when it was written, I could give a fuck less. What he felt when he was writing it? I'm just a voyeur, I'll never relate to the writer, I'm just trying to relate more to myself.

I shut my eyes and dredged on. Down those familiar roads; muscle memory. I shut my eyes and round a familiar turn, and imagined myself shooting over the curb ahead. I drove through 20 some yards of well-manicured grass and then down a 40 degree embankment surrounding the neighborhood pond. Next thing I know, I'm finding out that my car doesn't float. Well, now I know.

"A candy-colored clown they call the sandman..."

A week and a half ago I went to a huge wrestling event, I'm not sure where it was, who was wrestling, how I got there, or even who I was with. I suppose my "date" was a concoction of various acquaintances I've had throughout the years. The venue was reminiscent of the blue note in columbia and the thunderdome's sideshow-lovechild. I had a bit to drink, and really remember nothing besides DDP coming out and being really psyched to join in on screaming along to a chant with no words in celebration of his arrival. All of a sudden- a split second of silence- and my concoction of acquaintances sidekick screamed out something he had been waiting his whole life to scream. Everyone heard (I dont remember the words). It made his life, he jumped up and down, shaking, and smiling with a smile bigger than I had when I got to meet my wrestling idol (who I didn't recognize) after the show. Odd thing is, my IDOL was alot more excited to meet me than I was to meet him.

Two days later I went to the dentist. They showed me an x-ray. It seems that behind some of my teeth lurked other full grown teeth. Kind of like a shark I guess. I have no idea how it took an x-ray to show me that this is how my smile had grown so misshapen over the years. They took care of it; carefully picking and choosing which to pull with pliers and which they would leave. All fixed.

When I woke the next morning and tried to smile at myself in the mirror I knew they had made some sort of mistake.

...you don't even want to know what I did last night

"If we sweat all these debts then we're sure to drown"

"Who do you carry the torch for, my young man?
Do you believe in anything?
Do you carry it around just to burn things to the ground?"


I wonder when the last time anyone looked at this was?

NowLieInIt #1

12 tracks that I think YOU (and since nobody is reading this… MYSELF) should hear.

click to download
track listing:
1. Really good song
2. Pretty awesome song
3. Better than mediocre
4. This ones good too
5. See 4
6. see 5
7. "
8. "
9. "
10. "
11. "
12. "

1 day into 2008

The art of throwing a bottle rocket is one of the few holiday related things I believe I have mastered. You can't just light it and throw it. You have to wait. Wait until you think you may be getting the glowing shots from the fuse burning through your new coat, or jeans, or shirt (depending on the holiday, of course). Then in one moment of completely masculine glory, you throw it. A perfect arc upwards; and its gone. Exploding further over head than possible by shooting it out of a bottle, a pipe, or even the time honored chain link fence. And is soon as its exploded you know you have 143 more moments of glory to go.

At the strike of midnight, I failed. It seemed to be going perfect. I took the Black Cat from the hand of a friend in a way to almost scream "let me show you how this is done". Lit it with a cigarette. Took a few steps forward. Watched the fuse burn down and in that one previously mentioned moment of completely masculine glory, I threw it. Its arc: upward, and then back around, landing on the table just in front of me. What seemed like 5 minutes of "oh shit!" went by and the next thing I know, there it is. Exploding on my new jeans, my new coat, and my new shirt. How fitting.

Chalk up another "bad" new years. I did get to spend it with those I care about, and care about me; for the most part. And I've really started to get a kick out of everyone saying "fuck, its about time that years over… peace out 2007", as if the change of 1 second in time somehow magically changes their lives. You wake up the next day, a little sicker at best, and possibly, just possibly, with a few naive hopes.

It has been 8 years since I graduated high school. I'm still not certain when my college career will be completed. Maybe that's for the best; something about graduating to the "real world" at a time the "experts" are predictinga recession just seems like shitty luck. I've worked retail before and I'm sure my degree could at least get me a sweet overnight warehouse job. Landscaping maybe? Of course I'm not over qualified, in fact I hate manuallabor. Or waking up before noon. Warehouse it is.

I never know whether the time has gone by "so quick" or "so damn slow", but one things for sure: it sure is gone. And that's basically all there is to "celebrating" this new year's arrival. I've had the highest highs, and the lowest of lows. But that's all gone. What I choose to carry with me to the next year is my choice. Of course I'm taking all the highs. I have so many great memories of the 365 days before. So many things I never thought I'd do, things I'd never thought could happen, and words I never thought I'd hear or say.

As for the lows? Of course there are some. And I hope that when 2009 rings in, it will be knowing, they're not going any further, and that I knew I did my best to work on them, and turn them into either new highs, or distant memories.

…(not finished)