Wednesday, September 17, 2003

I wanna travel and travel and then travel some more.

I wanna go camping in the High Sierra Meadows and hang out with Arnold’s ghost. Not Drummond (Jackson), not Schwarzenegger, not Palmer, but, you know, the one who started the meadow establishment that I must someday live at like Grizzly adams.

One time this bear came to our camp site and like was chomping on pretzels like right outside our tent right by my dad’s ear. He was freaking out. I slept right through it. ever since then we had a tire iron in the tent in order to beat the fuck out of any wildlife attempting to perpetrate.

Seriously, doe, I wanna like hang out in airports like that Iranian guy. Except not the same airport all the time with boxes stacked all over, I want to go from airport to airport on planes, trains, automobiles, whatever it takes, and see all the spots in between. I wanna win the lottery for like 80 mill and just go. Me and Mrs. P in the place to be, every place to be. Australia to Singapore, ya dig? Dig.

I wanna be a rock star, but like an alternative style one that just stands there and stares you down and like, there’s no music, just an attitude. People would come from miles, kilometers, tracts of land, from all around, just to see me, vibe with me, be in the same stadium with even my agent. I mean, even if I wasn’t even there, knowing that that guy on stage represented Alfred pennyworth’s interests would be enuff to drive the masses insane with insanity.

I wanna find like this sick demented artistic level deep in my gullet like HR Giger and like draw pictures of aliens cornholing each other except something totally different in both medium and subject matter. I wanna be like that schizophrenic guy in beautiful mind and come up with a totally new idea, and then like 50 years later when they present me with the nobel prize I’ll totally fuck with them and like run down the aisle cackling and spike that damn thing on the marble floor right by the fountain with like Artemis shooting her bow and arrow at the skylight, looking out at all those stars, all those planets, solar systems, galaxies, black holes, robots named furry horse brow johanssen, all that shit.

I want all that shit and more.

I don’t wanna tie this one up neatly. I don’t want there to be a little catch phrase that makes you smile and think “clever lad.” I want it to end with like this really annoying open-ended piece of shit that gets you pissed and want to punch your computer. Well, maybe not punch, per se, but maybe, I don’t know, jostle frenetically.