ok, what in sam hill (does anyone actually say "sam hill?) is the deal-e-o with all the damn stupid writst bands? yeah yeah, livestrong/lance armstrong started it and it was cool, then every tom dick and skittletits mcgee started having them, and now i can't go into a gas station for some burnt crappy coffee and a little debbie licky-chewy snack(mmm, little debbie, you vixen, how i crave your overprocessed high saturated fat siren call) without a half dozen rubber wristbands for sale for a buck or five.

no, it's not the cure for cancer, but that is what is on my mind at 6:45 in the morning after getting a full 1 hour 42 minutes of sleep in a 36 hour period.


oh, and truman capote, that little drug abusing alcoholic fag, sure can write a good story.

onward to mayhem.

assfuck

goddammit i am cursed i swear. i am meant to stay frustrated and tormented as if by the hand of some vindictive spirit who deep down hates me but pretends to be a friend while secretly laughing and joyously celebrating when things go wrong for me.

i need to change the address on my credit card, but for some fucking reason, they have my birthdate wrong. how the fuck did that happen and how, after many many years in dog time did that not come up or get fixed? fine, fuck you, i will get another fucking credit card, but oh no, for some motherfucking cocksmoking assfuck reason the goddamn website isn't working and i can't access my motherfucking god damn bank account. i hate it and i feel like i am being played. i feel like i don't have control over my own god damned (and god did in fact personally damn me to a slavish hellish life on this god forsaken by everyone planet) life.

it's like swimming upstream when your aren't a salmon, or when you are a salmon but there is a bear waiting for you. it's like pushing a door that says pull, but you are too fucking retarded to notice. it's like every god damned motherfucking cocksmoking shitpisscuntfuck decision i make is the exact wrong one, cleverly designed to cause the most greif/stress/heartache/pain humanly and inhumanly possible. there is a preternatural force fucking with me, i am life's bitch and life is the heavy handed pimp and i apparently owe the mutherfucker some money for crack that i didn't even get to smoke.

why do i get put in the special ed class of life? why must i be alligned with the bucktoothed two inch thick glasses wearing overweight slow speeched motherfuckers who grasp thier fork with all the fingers wrapped around it like they are going to jerk it off and shovel food in thier maw evern though they are already chewing? that makes me one of them by association. what the fuck did i do in my past life to make me come back as "that guy"? what god or goddess or diety or supreme being did i piss off? did i walk into someone's temple and whiz on thier sacred altar? i swear it was that guy named jinx who worked in the voodoo shop in new orleans during mardi gras so many years ago. either that or some jealous evil woman (which if you think about it, the term jealous evil woman is pretty damn redundant, women are born jealous and evil and find an easy mark and snag them and force them into a life of pitiful servitude while all the time acting helpless) put some fucking curse on me.

it's like an invisible fucking wall that surrounds me, and i swear if i could just break out of it, or clear it, get the goddamn monkey off my back....i need a fucking exorcism. fuck, i tried one, but interestingly, the charm i was given to keep disappeared two days later and i havent found it since, as if someone didn't want me to be free of whatever demon i am enslaved to....

fuck i hope i die soon and get it over with

aposeopetic penguins with guns

i am still alive, i am really busy, i will get busier, i will start to blog for real and answer comments and read other blogs and all that by mid october, halloween at the latest.

do gay people use the term "Straight" as a pejoritve? dude, that is so straight.

in a horrible accident brought on by too much alcohol and a horniness that runs deeper than the imprint left by bam margera's dad on a bean bag chair, i stuck my dick into what i thought was a sex toy but turned out to be the gom jabbar. boy was i surprised. but i have to confess, i think i kind of liked it....

i went to get a tattoo last night, and buddah damnit all to iowa, they wanted to charge me one hundred bucks for a tattoo that shouldn't cost more than fifty bucks, tops. my other tattoos each cost a hundred or so, they are colored, larger, more intricate, and took more time than the one i want to get would be.

i guess it's cause tattoos are mainstream and almost expected and everyone has one or is going to get one, and so artitsts can charge whatever they want to. i remember when i could buy a cup of coffee for less than $4 dollors and no one cared if you drank coffee or not. now coffee is a religion with temples to the black bean on every corner. there is even a fucking coffee shop in safeway. SAFEWAY!

so i wonder if safeway, wanting to make your food buying experience the Best Ever!, will also have a litte tattoo shop in each store, so you can get a tattoo, a mocha heroin latte, and a box of frosted mini-scabs all in one convienient SUV trip.

anyway i didn't get the tattoo, but i will go up to tucson and see if i can find a reasonable artist who is willing to inject ink under my skin and stain my meat sack eternally in a decoritive pattern for a reasonable price.

LET'S PEE!!!!

So I got bit by a black widow. It was when I accidentally tipped over a casket at a southern baptist funeral.

I think marriage is an antiquated, outdated tradition, I don’t understand why people do it, it makes no sense to me. The only reason I can see for people to be married is if they want to have and raise children. Kids need two parents, and parents need someone who can help them, so other than training a human to be an adult, there is no need for marriage. In my opinion.

I have been pretty much alone for a good portion of my life on this spinning ball of dirt. I can cook for myself, I can do my own laundry, when I go to the movies I only have to pay for myself. why would i need someone else? Sex is awesome with another human, yes, but after years of marrying my bed (anne sexton, “the ballad of the lonely masturbator. Google it) I have pretty much come to be used to being lonely and alone.

Lonely. Ah yes, that is it, isn’t it? But sometimes, I think I would rather be lonely than be with someone who I don’t want to be with. It is Friday night as I write this, I am in my room with all my friends. Alone as usual. I would love some kind of companionship, and if that companionship came with a set of tits and female genitalia I could taste, well that would fucking rock. But you don’t need to be married for that. that aint gonna happen anyway, though. I would have to leave my room for that to happen, and even if I did leave my room, I could pretty much guarantee I would end up back in my room alone.

People used to marry for life, sure, but they also only used to live to be 40. We live longer now. Being with the same person for so long would get old and boring after awhile. How many people marry young, and realize after a few years they have changed and their tastes have changed and they no longer are interested in the person they are forever chained to? Our bodies regenerate after every seven years or so….every cell new, a complete new body, new person. Isn’t it possible our tastes change as well? Did you like the same foods as a kid as you do now? As stated earlier, other than an 18 year contract to raise another human, I can see no reason for staying together. Of course, I am weird and see things differently and I am a solipsistic little bastard, so there is that. As for infidelity….if I could get only the people who have cheated on their spouse to vote for me, I would be president without a doubt.

There is no perfect person, I know. No matter how perfect a person might seem, after a month, you see their flaws. I think the trick is to find the person who you are attracted to sooooooo much, their flaws are outweighed by your desire to be with them. Someone you can talk to, who you want to talk to, someone you want to listen to when they talk. I meet people and think “wow, why don’t I meet chicks like that?” and I know I would eventually get annoyed with them and their weird quirks, and I am pretty certain they would get sick of me in less time than it takes an avocado to get over ripe, but still…..if only…….

So I think it would be funny and/or cool if avogadro called up someone and got their machine with the message “leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you” and he said” yeah, this is avogadro, my number is six point zero two times ten to the twenty third. Thanks.”

demons are a gouls best fiend

The devil and I sat down for a drink
I had so many questions from all the time I had to think
about the way life works, or rather the way it don’t.
Do you think I’ll care that’s grammatically wrong?
Well, no. no, I won’t.

So I ask the unholy host of the netherworld if he has anything to do with art and the internet and all that, and he laughs derisively, making me feel even worse, and in a voice smoother than Mel Torme and more reassuring than a hug from someone with a soft fuzzy sweatshirt, Ol‘ Scratch says to me, “It’s retarded questions like that which cause me to marvel how cognitively simple animals like you ever figured out how to procreate and keep your worthless species alive. Do you have an extra chromosome or something?”
Then he went on to explain…

“I have nothing to do with artists and the internet. However, and see if you can follow me on this you failed abortion, the artists and internet do in fact work in my favor. Artists, the truly talented artists, the ones you aspire to be and will fail at miserably every time, they get that from, oh lets call him “the deadbeat dad.” However, the teeming masses of untalented fucks like yourself, well, you morons get all jealous, and are filled with self doubt and self hatred, and *THAT*, my useless animal, works for me. I don’t have to do anything, which gives me time to fuck your mother and grandmother in the ass…yes, your pious mother and her mother are both down with me, you‘ll see them soon. What? I would never lie to you . Anyway….

The internet…no I had nothing to do with that. You animals do most of the work for me really, I just sit back and reap the benefits. The easier it is to show unlovable refuse like you how smart and loved and revered others are, the quicker you go about trying to be something you are not, and that usually leads to me. You are never satisfied, you are never content, and the internet shows you what you are missing, and shows you how worthless you truly are. The beauty is, you think you are in some kind of competition, and you struggle to be something you are not, and you think you are missing out on something. You will try to reach that spectre of success, and in reaching, you will grab my hand. Here, let me get you another drink, ok?”

So he comes back with two fresh drinks and I ask him, “What about that guy I work with, the 25 year old whose bases his life on what he reads in MAXIM. The one with the perfect skin, perfect height, perfect set of muscles, and his buddy? They have a close friend ship, chicks dig them, guys dig them, they are living the life right now, and me? Well, anyway, I just want to know, do you have something to do with their success? It makes no sense. Forget the personal angle, what about all the stupid people who people have to work with and deal with, the dumb ones who get the kudos the ones who don't work but everyone thinks is so great? What about the idiots who have no clue yet seem to be the ones making the decisions? ”

“Look, you Special Ed dropout, I don’t. But as you should be able to see, their success works for me, even though it may be a gift from the deadbeat dad, which shows you how much he cares about you now, doesn’t it? Don’t you feel neglected? Don’t you hate the fact that those two perfect models for pro-wrestling seem to have more talent and success than you and the chicks flock to them and look at you like you are covered in vomit? Doesn’t it make your veins run with the sweet ochre of jealousy and rage? When you have the correct answer but they won’t listen to you and fuck shit up, and they are seen as doing things the right way, doesn’t that just bother you like an itch on the bottom of your foot when you are wearing thick soled boots? Well, there you go, I have nothing to do with it, and yet, it comes back to me. Do you know what I do? Do you know how you sit there, and it’s like a pimple right under the surface, you just *KNOW* you have something there, but you cant get to it, like when a pencil falls behind the desk and it is *JUST* out of reach of your fingers no matter how you scrape your arm to shove it a half millimeter farther? *THAT*, you stupid fuck , is me. So was the drunk driver who killed your father, and yes, your father sucks my dick after I fuck your mother in the ass. But as I was saying, it’s not too difficult really, I just keep it from you. As far as you know, you have nothing, I just make you *THINK* you have something that you can’t get to. Hahahah, what do you do? You get frustrated, etc etc, ad infinitum. This really bores me, you bore me, I hate you just like everyone who knows you hates you whether they say it or not to your face just know in your heart everyone hates you and suicide is an easy and quick solution. Ta.”

And he was gone. And yes, the motherfucker stiffed me with the bill.

dragonriders of porn

the "hotel" i am staying in is a room, it's an apartment type arangement. there is a hotel about two blocks from here that has a "continental breakfast." every now and again, i pop over there and get free coffee and a bagle. is that wrong? i dont' think so. i figure there is at least one person in that hotel that is not drinking the coffee or eating the bagel, and really, a lousy cup of coffee and the occasional bagel isn't going to bankrupt them. mmmm, free food.

if you are bored and hungry and have nothing better to do, go to a large hotel that has room service and walk up and down the halls and you can get some good stuff on the carts outside rooms waiting to be picked up. if you are feeling extra ballsy, go into a crowded restaurant at peak hours, and if you time it right, you can get the leftover food on people's plates when they get up and leave. mmmm, free cake.

so....it is done.... it is complete. i now have a no shit, true track bike. a fixed gear bicycle the way it is supposed to be. i took the brake that came with it off. i now have no brakes on the bicycle. to see the difference, go to the pics, they are there. you will notice a distinct lack of things like gears, cables, brakes, or any of those things you just dont need when riding a bicycle in traffic...

i rode a few laps around "the block" after removing the brakes. it was a smooth dream-like ride, the temperature was perfect, the road felt smooth and flat, and frankly, i think the bike rode itself, i was just a passenger. here are the thoughts that popped into my head as i glided along:

*sniff sniff* someone's grilling...

hey, a rabbit...

hello dog..., hey! stop barking at me dumbass, good thing you are fenced in...

that guy is watching sports on tv in his living room...

must be a wheelchair at that house, there is a ramp...hey, a house with a ramp, that might be fun...

oh crap, an intersection, hey, i don't have brakes....

i bet that driver thinks i can just stop whenver i want to...

"hey baby" or in this case "hola chica"...

holy shit, i forgot i am actually peddling...

god i love arizona....


it was better than looking at porn on the internet. i tried to stay at a controllable pace, but the bike was like "hey, lets go a bit faster, c'mon, we can go just a *bit* faster," and who am i to argue. it occurred to me just what having no brakes means when i got to the intersection and realized "hey, there might be some cars coming..."


but it was effortless, and i loved it. i had to be aware, i noticed things a bit more, but it is a great bike. next i must get me a track bike tattoo, possibly ringed in little devils and fire and skulls and such...

tomorrow, i shall take the bike on the highway and go a bit farther....just to be safe, i will only make right hand turns...

i'd like the "all you can eat ribs," but i won't eat them all

holy shit, i have just discovered the "local morning news show." wacky morning fun and witty banter with freinds i've never met; the kooky weatherman who does some shtick that makes jim carrey look like donald rumsfeld, and then tells me about rain with seriousness of a mortician; the hip and cool white male and female anchors with thier personal yet non-offensive opinions; and the smooth and sassy black national news chick who gets two minutes of airtime every 20 minutes and is off in the corner. great local stories like....new dog food, how to get out of a date, old people dating habits... things *I* need to know. it fucking rocks! seriuosly, i think it's possibly better than MTV News. does every town have this?

when i hear the term "hung jury" all i can think of is a porno movie.

so i finally did it, i got me a new girlfriend. she is thin, black, and i really think i love her. she makes me sweat, gets my heart pounding, but she also calms me down, and she makes me think, allows me to open my mind. she will (i am hoping) always be there for me when i need her, and what i really love about her is..she is simple. no fancy shmancy this and that. some people may think she is dangerous for me, cause she will let me go and won't stop me if i'm heading in the wrong direction, but i see it as good for me, she will help keep me focused on what i'm doing, and if i'm not careful, i know i could hurt us both.

anyway, i took four pictures of her, if you want to see her. one on the couch, one close up on the couch, one of her ass, and one where she is lying provocatively on the bed. no, i'm not in the pics. but trust me, she is mine. go on over to my cool pics and she is the top row.

we may go out tonight. or i might just stay in, and take her out tomorrow. i'm tired and may just go to bed early.

memories of things yet to happen

i gotta say, i kinda miss the snacktruck. i still think "SNACKTRUCK" would make a great tv show, if filmed in retro vision, with everyone wearing polyester and afros and the music would be all "starsky and hutch"-y. i was thinking how "SNACKTRUCK" would make a great radio play, and maybe i could have a series on the web. if, for no other reason, than to put on the internet for anyone to listen to, the phrase "well, jimmy, show me on this cheese danish where Coach Stedge touched you."

it would be cool to have a superhero whose super powers change every few days, without notice. one day he wakes up and he can be invisible, the next day he can fly, the next day he can walk through walls and bi-locate. i think a cool super power would be to always have the correct change. like, you can''t just reach into your pocket and pull out whatever money you need, thereby allowing you to be infinitely rich and buy whatever you want. but, as long as you can afford it and you were gonna buy it anyway, no matter what the price is, you reach into your pocket and automatically pull out exact change. no need for counting your change, or making sure you got the right amount of cash back. you walk up, they say how much it costs, BAM, you pull out the exact amount. it might not save the universe, but it may make it a slightly better place to live, and isn't that what it's all about? really?

anal beads of sweat

his eyes belied a sadness, perhaps hinting that the demons which reside in the dark depths of all our hearts are a bit closer to the surface in him. he was quiet, using words sparingly, like they were the last drops of water in his canteen and he was in the middle of a desert. perhaps his silence indicated his pensive, calculating chinese nature, or perhaps they hinted at a deep level of wisdom that is seen in only those with the longest, whitest beards. either that or he just didn't speak english that well.....(i found this written on a scrap of paper in an old notebook i was ripping pages out of, i wrote it a year or two ago...i think i posted it before, but i like it, so i put it up here again).

it's friday night, i'm hanging out with all my freinds. i am really really tired, perhaps i should sleep more than five hours a day, but then again, it's not that i want to be up before the sun...

i have ideas floating around my head...i want record a "radio show" and put it on my blog or the web or something. i want to have a weekly serial, something wierd and funny, that i can put on the web and people can listen to. two guys, Holden McGroyne and Phil McKraken and a chick, Anita Bonghit, and thier wacky adventures. the first thing i would need is a plot, a story, a script, something...i figure i could whip up something, given the right stimulus (no, i'm not talking about chemicals, i mean the right people who spark my creativity). next i would need the people. i know one guy, he would be good, but he is busy all the time. and i don't know any chicks. then i would need something to record our voices on. if i had those things, i could start a website and post weekly serials and stories and such. i would call it "the great 30 minute saturday adventure horror mystery variety hour" or some such kick ass name.

and now i shall read until i fall asleep, which shall take me about 47 seconds.

it feels like algorithms

i believe the term "piss flaps" or "meat curtains," when referring to the female labia, (as opposed to the male labia) can be a romantic term, if you just accept it as such. "oh darling, my heart, my love, how i long to suck on your meat curtains...."

it is 5:52 in the morning, i've been up since 4 in the morning. why? cause i am a freak, (on a leash-for all you old skool korn fans). i dont' know why. maybe my secret identity is.....

sleep disorder man!

anyway....thanks to system restore, i have fixed my computer. yeah, i lost whatever was on it, but it was mostly pictures that i don't even look at, and now my computer is back to when i first bought it, hooray for factory settings. i am now virus free.

i am currently living in an apartment/hotel/suite kind of deal. i have to do my laundry in the laundry room using quarters. now, most people would get change by going to a bank or breaking a dollor at a store or something. not me, oh no. how do i get my quarters so i can wear clean non-smelly clothes? there is a vending machine where i work, it sells various body poisoning substances of the chocolate and potato chip variety, usually for 75 cents. so every day, i buy a bag of chips or a candy bar using one dollor, so i can get a quarter change. one load of laundry costs me 1.75, 7 quarters. i spend 7 bucks on potato chips and candy bars just to do my laundry, cause that's the kinda guy i am....

fuck

my computer is phucked up like crazy, i'll be off line for a while. goddammit.

saw velvet revolver in tucson last night, kick ass show, they did guns and roses tunes, stone temple pilot tunes, a pink floyd song, and some velvet revolver tunes. sweet show. chevelle opened, they had to cut thier set short, but they rocked.

weather was beautiful, it was outside in an amphitheater, perhaps the heat and the small area and the chairs bolted to the floor kept things mellow, perhaps arizona crowds are just laid back, but there was no tension, energy, but not that buzz kind of energy. good show though.

what is rock and roll? a megaphone. scott wieland must have used the megapone (bullhorn, whatever) at least 5 times.

see you all in a few days, in shah allah

rachel ray is one sweet biscuit

i don't understand the whole "club card" thing. i know that if i go to safeway, and i want to buy four oranges, it will cost me USD $47.33. HOWEVER, with my safeway club card, it only costs me 58 cents. this is to encourage everyone to get the club card.

but what dragons must i slay to obtain this precious item and be allowed the priveleges of paying less than your average rube on the street? what herculean efforts must i give to earn the right to one of these symbols of the elite? what trials must i endure to be allowed into the sanctum sanctorum of the coveted "club card"? i have to ask the lady behind the counter for one. that is it.

i don't even have to take a test or wait for approval. and it cost's nothing. they give it to you.

so, i can either pay 5 dollars for something, or half of that for the exact same item if i have the club card. why can't you just sell me the goddamn 4 oz of cheese wihtout me using some token figurehead piece of plastic, another milimeter of thickness to my already overstuffed wallet that i must always have like a fucking albatross around my neck?

today i bought some corn (you know you can eat corn raw, right off the cob, right? no need to cook it, it's sweet and juicy just as it is) and the lady asked me for my card. all i bought was corn, and i didn't need the card for it, there was no special price. i asked why i needed the card and the lady gave me some bullshit excuse. i know she's been co-opted by "them."

the reason for the card..."they" (the ubiquitous "they" that start the rumors and control the world, you know, the illuminati "they") are tracking us. that can be the only excuse. they want to know our habits, what we eat and buy etc, so they know where to put the mind numbing brain killer drugs so they can break us down and control us easier.

so i found the joy and beauty of the dollar store. everything is a dollar. so, why would i want to pay $3.00 for a roll of aluminum foil when i can get that roll for $1.00? ok, so maybe the food is a bit sketchy, i'm not gonna buy the used sushi, but for things like soap and towels and such, hell yeah i'm gonna buy them for a dollar. and i don't need a club card either.

hey, does this look infected?

i added some pictures, they are not worth the energy it takes to move your mouse and click.


so i have this story rolling around in my head, about a guy who, at birth was burnt in a horrible accident (as opposed to a wonderful accident). he was allergic to shellfish and pennicillin and other stuff, and the doctors used him to test out a new fake skin, made entirely of vegetables.

so the docs grafted all this vegetable based fake skin on him, and it took and he was ok, lived fine, a normal life. when he was 15 or so, he lost his appetite, slowly but surely. he didn't get skinny, he wasn't weak or hungry, he just didn't eat.

it turns out his skin, plant based, retained it's photosynthesis properties, and he would get nourishment from the sun. he no longer needed to eat. this saves him time and money and he doesnt get all the bad crap from all the processed chemical foodstuff poisoning everyone else who has to suffer from KFC and wendy's and taco bell. comedy ensues.

hey, so tommy lee, the crazy famous drummer with the 32 inch penis who was one of the few thousand to have sex with pamela anderson, has his own show, about him going to college. OH BOY!!!! tommy lee is going to school. holy shit, call the presses. he definately deserves his own show. and i understand he made the drum team. must have been a stretch. and he gets his own tutor, who happens to be a hot chick. not a fat pimply guy, not a fat pimply girl, a hot chick. comedy ensues.

why is this such a big deal? why does he get his own show? i'd rather watch the funny guys who end up writing for the onion or the simpsons go to college. now that would be entertainment.

fuck that, i just wanna watch gary busey lose weight.

himba chicks have boss hair

how can they call it a desert when it rains every fucking day? yeah i know one has nothing to do with the other, but there it is.

i finsihed the book POPULATION: 485 BY MIKE PERRY, a bunch of essays about life in a small town as a volunteer fire guy. its my 29th book this year. i will again fail to reach my goal of reading 52 books a year, one a week. eh, i've failed bigger and more important things.

the book was good, it made me look at my own wierd existence. the guy is comfortable and happy, fitting in in his home town, a local, a thread in the fabric of the town's history, interwoven and integrated with the other lives and souls. living a transient life these many years i have no "home" to go to, i am not part of anywhere or anything. if i decide to settle and take root here, i guess i could integrate myself in the community, but all these years of breezing into a town, staying for a short while, then leaving, like the hulk, only without the green muscles, has left me a bit insulated from others. i'm an alien on my own damn planet, a foriegner in my own damn country, an interloper in my own damn town.

it's interesting how our lives come in contact and we click, and then move on, like billiard balls. fire needs three ingrediants to live; heat, oxygen, and fuel. without those, you can get a spark, a breif sputter, but nothing more. so how many, and what are the ingrediants needed to sustain the attraction/fire/whatever between humans?

the other thing the book made me think about, which isn't a new thougth for me, is how temporary it all is, how thin the strings on our marionette lives are and how easy and quickly those strings break and leave us a crumpled heap on the floor, disposable. here i sit, thinking about what i have to do tomorrow, and i have no guarantee i will need to worry about it.

there are two tattoo parlors in town. i have some ideas. i think it will be time to once again go under the gun....

cuatro, con yuca, para llevar

it is saturday morning, not even 6 in the a.m, why the hell am i up so early?

i was told or i read, i forget which, that ancient chinese soldiers (soldiers of ancient china, not really old guys in the chinese army who should have retired and died years ago, crazy english) used to sleep on the ground because they believed they would draw thier strenght from the ground and it made them hard like the earth. i would think they slept on the ground because carrying a boxspring mattress and headboard would just be cumbersome and ridiculous.

i want to write a story about twin sisters, named Flora and Fauna...they do something cool..that's as far as i got so far on that...

i'm bored and horny...i was thinking, is it toooooo much to ask to find the woman of my dreams? is it too much to ask to find a woman who:

*WANTS* to have crazy sex just for the sex, likes to be on top, on bottom, on side, and any other possible way she can get it, can lay on her back and touch her knees to her ears, likes art and literature and fine food and camping and dangerous adventure that may end up in loss of life or limb, might be interested in sharing another female every once in a while, can be comfortable enough with me to drop all inhibihtions and indulge in whatever twisted crap her mind came up with at that point during sex when your mind is in the groove and comes up with the most twisted possibly illegal in some states shit that you would never really mention to anyone, might yell out an obscenity or three while fucking me like she is trying to kill me, would use me as a fuck toy when she feel like it, would cum loud and hard, lay quiet for a few minutes, then say "hey, lets do that again, only this time i wanna do it like this"...., feels comfortable in jeans and t shirts and isnt' freaked out if she has to go a day or two without a shower, will let me go down on her all the time, can supply half of an interesting conversation, can pick what movie, restaurant, or event we are gonna do that day/night, can take control or relinquish it depending on what we both wanna do, is as perverted and darkly twisted as myself, can spend a whole day, morning to night, naked in a bed, playing, talking, teasing..., will be my fucktoy when i want, i feel comfortable with, doesn't care about my heinous grammatical and spelling errors, can take off with little more than a backpack, can be capricious and a bit careless and reckless but is still always dependable and solid, emits and radiates energy and life, and doesn't just take it in and drain those around her....

blah blah blah....anyway, i went camping, it rained a significant portion, but i got to not shower for five days so that was pretty cool, although i went light, which meant no stove, which meant no coffee...i got a cool picture of a snake, a rattler, he was angry and rattling (i'll post him and the pics tomorrow or after that), and the mountains were rather wonderful. it was so dark and quiet at night it was wonderful. i am a freak, i sleep better on the ground with a rock poking me in the side than i do on a bed with conditioned air. it was very....embryonic. in my tent, the rain tapping outside, dark, warm....if i could figure out how to get internet access in a tent in the middle of nowhere, so i could look at porn and order books from amazon.com, i think i would not live in a house. or i could get a house and live in a tent in the yard....

i think i shall go rub one out and see if i can fall back asleep for an hour....

What Would Jesus Blog?

i feel like a junkie. i feel like one of those unwashed scraggly smack addicts who live in one dank room, sleeping on a stained bare mattress, alienating himself from everyone by stealing from his freinds and being a complete jerk to everyone, including those who try to help him.

and i am not even close to that. i am showered and have a bed with sheets and a blanket. maybe it comes from staying in a hotelroom with bad lighting? maybe it comes from not sleeping so much, like reguarl people do? but i feel like i should be guilty of something, like i did something wrong last night that i can't remember, as if i'm going to call someone and they are going to tell me i peed in thier car and tried to have sex with thier poodle in front of thier 7 year old. luckily i don't have anyone to call.

but last night i didn't go out, i stayed in, hanging out with all my freinds. i watched crappy tv, surfed the web and went to sleep.

i did pick up a fucking trojan virus, goddammit. it's gone, but i swear once the malicious program fucks with your computer, even after you "fix" it it's never the same. like a scar, or the everlasting parasites you get when you go to india. you never really get rid of them, you just learn to peacefully co-exist with them, but they are always there, and you are never quite right again.

perhaps i have the whole "fight club" thing going on. maybe when i think i am sleeping, i am actually creating havoc and "breakin' the law, breakin' the law" (some judas priest for all you old skool metal heads). i have been extra freakin tired lately, and i'm a bit of an insomniac. if i am living another life, i wish i could be concious of the fun exiting life and leave my droll existence to my subconcious.

that would be a cool twist on the "fight club" thing. a wild rebellious anarchist who lives to destroy the current establishment and shake things up doesnt realize is he is schitzoid, and living a double life. when he thinks he is sleeping, he is actually organizing disaffected youth and creating a beuracratic juggernaut, restoring and enforcing order and a calm, practical, methodological way of accomplishing things that need to be done. his "army" all wear white shirts and ties, and have breifcases, and they go around and make businesses and services more efficiant and orderly.

i will not have internet access for a few days, so i will not be "online" as the kids call it, until saturday.

in space, no one can hear you fart

i am a three sided mobius strip, a submarine with screen windows. imagine if you walked into a crowded place, and looked at all the faces, and you couldn't tell if you knew any of the people or not. you can't tell if you recognize anyone, you dont recognize anyone, but some of the people may be your freinds. for some reason, you see them, but your brain just doesn't registger knowledge.

i wonder if i drank enough hot tea could i raise my body temperature high enough to simulate a fever, and cook my brain, get that pink floyd comfortably numb feeling while permanantly losing capabilites to read or think logically, if only just a little bit.

sometimes i think i cannot help but make the wrong decision, like i have some kind of limited free will. i can have *ANYTHING* i want off of side "A" of the menu, but all the winning choices are on side "B" and side "A" has all negetive outcome. sure, i feel like i have a free choice, like i can make my own destiny and all that crap, but really, in the larger sense, i do not.

or maybe i am just tragically doomed. god that always sounds so romantic and heroic when you read about it, but when you have to live it, it's not that great really.

sometimes i feel removed from humanity, like i just dont belong on this planet. sometimes it's like watching myself from outside myself, i can see me saying dumb things, doing dumb things, making the wrong choices, and all i can do is watch, knowing full well i am fucking up in triplicate.

i have been deja vu-ing like mad. i am either seriously fatigued (probably) or this life that i have lead is slowly coming back to me (cool thought, but...eh, not buying it) or as we all know, it's just a glitch in the matrix (yes!).

humans are reletively predictable, and i bet if you really really really studied hard, and used thousands of hours of research and ovservation, i am willing to bet you could talk to someone for about 15 minutes and tell them thier future. we seem to do it all the time. like when we see people at work, and we know they are going to end up fucking each other at the office party, and regretting it later, and becoming bitter, but they don't know it. and then it all happens. so, i bet you could do it on a wider scale.

i must be getting old. i keep fantasizing about a time machine, i *WANT* there to be evidence of a time machine, i entertain the childish fantasy that i might someday find one, stumble onto one, whatever. i want to go back in time, knowing what i know now. shit would be different.

i really really really need to sleep now. and i haven't even had anything to drink.

the oranges are ripe in valencia

i walk into the place. it's more like a "joint" than a place. three old people, with a collective age of at least 210, are smoking and drinking coffee at the semi-circular counter. their heads turn my way as i enter the one story cinderblock building painted red and yellow. each one gives me a hearty and, i do beleive, sincere "howdy."

the waitress is about 5 foot 7 and must be no more than 110 pounds, 10 of those pounds are her hair and makeup. if she had a coke habit or a meth habit, i would not be shocked. some people's lives are written right there on thier face, and this lady's life was written by bukowski, or whoever wrote "less than zero." she also gives me a "howdy" and i take a seat at the counter.

i am dining with "all my friends" (my euphamism for all alone). i ask what's good, i get the reply of "it's all good" but not in an "urban-youth-jerry springer" kind of way. no sarcasm, no wink, no feeble attempt at humor by refrencing modern culture. it was an honest reply. i get the buffalo burger. mmmmm, buffalo.

the old people are smoking like they are having an AA meeting, and they have obviously been smoking for years, as evidenced by the spectacular cough on the lady. they are happy, and are having a good conversation, and they are not embarrassed by it in the least. they are loud enough for all to enjoy, and i think join in, or at least feel included, but not so loud as to be intrusive. they glance my way as if to include me. i smile and nod.

living in japan, i was quite used to eating out alone. no big deal, most people are alone in that country, by choice or not. i was alone in a crowd of people, and that was natural, expected. in the states, however, in many places there is a wierd stigma attached to being alone. i used to be self concious about it, but now, i don't much care. sometimes being lonely is better than being with someone who grates on you like nails on a chalkboard.

the waitress throws out some one liners, comments with no *need* for reply, but a reply would not be out of place if you choose to speak up. perfectly crafted, whether she meant it or not. maybe she is being polite, maybe genuinely wanting to talk to someone closer to her age, maybe trying to make me feel less alone in her own way. is she pittying me?!?!?

hahaha, how full of hubris can i get? not everyone has an ulterior motive. (i'd like to believe that, i really would). i make a remark or two, based off her comment, a variation on a theme, turning her monologue into not so much a dialogue, but two monologues that dovetail nicely. she goes about her business. she isn't too busy, but keeps moving, earning her paycheck or whatever.

this place is a small, "locals" kind of place. i realize how far removed from humanity i have become. everyday people live like this. no movers or shakers, no business deals, no power lunches, no pretentions, none of that false crap that people mistake for something that matters.

the food...not so hot. i've had better, i've had worse. but what sells it is the atmosphere. and they didn't even try to have any. it was real. real life. with it's bad dyed hair, its tuberculean cough, it's conteded happiness on the inside, despite what it looks like on the outside.

"willy", another ancient, apparently known by all players on this stage but me, drove up with his RV, walked in with his wrinked tattooed arms and his tank of oxygen, with the tube up his nose. (the smokers commented how they went through a tank just today. willy didn't need oxygen while he ate, he just used it for walking around, emphysema does that to you i guess) willy sat down and had some dinner. as he ate, the smoking gang finshied their coffee and headed out. willy was left dining with "all his friends." i wished him a good night as i walked out the door.

i wonder if i was just granted a glimpse into my future?

marsha marsha marsha

an idea for a comic strip, i doodled it today during an important lecture that i was supposed to be listening to,

i call it "Frank and Stien" about a hot dog and a german beer mug who work together and hate each other, (yes, i am vaguely ripping off "milk and cheese") both vying for the love of some chick in thier office. i drew the beer mug kicking the hotdog in the nuts, it looked pretty funny, but then again any strike to the nuts is pretty damn funny, unless they are your nuts....

like the wierd kid in 7th grade you always was a bit off and suspected but weren't sure who grew up and went to college and tried to kiss you when he was drunk then later confessed about his true nature and now openly subscribes to "Advocate" magazine, i'm out...