Friday, July 23, 2004

It’s stanley kubrick’s birthday on Monday.

I’m like antsy about something, or maybe some things and I can’t quite nail it on the head as to what it is. Well, there’s a small subset of items it could be, but I thought, or I think, that I have, or had, those all well in hand at least in my conscious mind.

I thought def leppard would soothe the anxiety, and, well, as a matter of fact, they are.

The internet is kind of annoying me right now. Not that there are actual things on there that I don’t like, although there probably are, or rather, most definitely I’m sure there are, as in that there is so much shit therein, but, well, the degree to which I look at it too much, I like, sit there, my browser about to click somewhere, and I’m like, where? I’ve looked at everything already, and even though I haven’t, and I know there are 82 million better things to do than clickety clickety I yet still click.

Well I haven’t for at least a good hour now. Maybe more. Actually like 2.5 hours. Pretty good. Especially since I’ve just been sitting here. But I’ve been reading. A book. An actual paper physical book. Bret Easton ellis. Boy, or should I say man, is a genius. Bona fide. Don’t trust me on it. Pick up something he wrote and show it to yourself.

Bah. You already know this. And if you don’t, why am I helping the career of someone who is already like super famous, and I ain’t talking about Pringles backup dancer famous. Actually, though, why not? He deserves everything he’s gotten and more.

Hmmm. Bleh. I gotta go home & clean house. Like, clean a lot of house. Like, get shit clean. Like, cuz we’re gonna have visitors. Dignitaries, even. And the state of the casa at this moment, is like acceptable only to me. And the degree of acceptability in my frame of acceptance is not accepted by many others, in fact none. Well, scratch that. I am not the ultimate slob. No, there are much worse I’m sure, including me 10 years ago. And this other guy. And that one chick. Yup.

God I could write this crap forever. And I do have shit to do. Peace.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

Okey dokey I’mma take a break from the semi-madness and say waddup to you, the contingent, of two, three, one, whatevs, that read this crap ass slapsterpiece kine shizzle, hmmm, yah, well, you get the drift, it’s like that, otay.

So my days since returning from the almighty em ee ex have consisted of waking up, making coffee, feeding my dog, eating oatmeal, putting my dog downstairs, rushing out the door, starting my car, driving to work, working, eating lunch, working, coming home, drinking diet pepsi and crown royal, watching dvd’s, cleaning house, talking to mi amor on el telefono, setting up big deals with the Chilean conquistadors, and then usually passing out while reading American psycho.

I know, it’s all so fascinating that you likely just defecated all over yourself. Oh & I forgot to mention that somewhere in that mix I usually take a shower. Oh, and walk the dog. Not metaphorically, whatever that means.

Hmmm. There was gonna be some meaningful ponderances herein, but they allude me now. Something about the state of being, and mindsets, and how you can change the place in which your mental aptitude resides, with slight little adjustments of lifestyle, but, well, it all sounds like such a, for lack of a better word, cliché, at this time. I was also considering if whether or not we do anything in this life for less than or more than selfish reasons, and sometimes I think no, but at this moment I think yes, we do, well I think I do, I mean, in that the basis in the origins of said actions or inactions are prolly selfish, but in some cases the selfishness that comes from the fact that causing pain or discomfort to those you love & cherish would likely cause YOU pain & discomfort, therefore you don’t allow that to happen, and thereby, is that selfish or non selfish? It’s a fine line.

Hope all is well with you. Yes, you. Aloha.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

He drove aimlessly, yet he knew exactly where he was going. Funny how the mind chooses ignorance over self-understanding during moments of desperation. Sometimes you just don’t want to know why you’re doing what you’re doing. Or tell yourself it’s all somehow just the hands of fate.

But no. Brendan knew exactly where his meanderings would eventually end. Her house. He had to just drive by. Check it out. Then he’d split.

About seven minutes later, he cruised slowly by Brenda’s apartment building. Her light was still on, and there were two shadows moving about that he could see from his angle down on the street. Brenda’s apartment was on the fifth of eight floors, and the window wasn’t that big, so there could easily be more people in there than just the two. Was she throwing a party to celebrate his dismissal from her life? He cursed himself for being such a self-pitying pansy.

Suddenly Brendan didn’t care what she was doing. Or at least told himself so. Either way, he had to get drunk.

He revved the gas on his ‘83 Toyota Celica and shifted into third. The Lucky Shoe was about two blocks north and then three blocks east. The Shoe had shitty service, ugly waitresses, but the stiffest drinks this side of the Palantas Rail tracks. And Brendan had investigated the competition.

He pulled the hatchback into a spot about twenty feet from the front door of the tavern, got out, locked the door, and started trudging toward his next drink. Beam and Coke tonight, he mused.

The scene inside the Shoe was as it typically was on a weeknight. Almost full but strangely quiet. A real drinkers’ bar. Not too much bullshit blowing through the breeze, just the sweet fumes of whiskey and beer. There were a few college kids, two guys and three girls, hanging out by the foosball table, but for the most part the crowd was forty years and older, though most carried an air of exhaustion beyond their age. The years of liver abuse and inhalation of cigarette smoke had taken their toll on most of these sorry souls. After years of being led down the yellow brick road of happiness and fulfillment, they had come to realize, incorrectly or not, that it was all a bunch of bullshit. So they came to the Shoe and drank it away.

The Shoe was real, no sweet taffy exterior to hide the true natures of its customers and employees. And that was what Brendan liked about it. Especially on a night like tonight, when he intended to get completely and utterly blasted.

He’d trusted her as he’d trusted no other. His whole life he’d kept himself guarded, protected, never let anyone or anything get to him. Women had come and gone like the wind, never meaning more than a few weeks or months of sex, be it good or not. Sure, he’d cared about them, the way you care for a buddy at the office, or a pet. Brendan had never understood why guys got sprung on girls. Until her.

It was almost a joke. Brenda. How lame of a couple was that? Brendan and Brenda. Just the amount of shit he’d gotten for that alone had him almost dumping her after the first month. But then she got in his head. And his heart. Where he never realized someone could get.

All those times that he’d done the hurting. He never imagined…

Fuck her. Just concentrate on getting as much Jim Beam as possible into your body before closing time, Brendan me boy. And piece it together tomorrow, by golly. Probably not the best attitude, but it would just have to work tonight.

“Look like ya got something on your mind, buddy.” It was the bartender. Brendan had never got his name, and vice versa, but they’d interacted enough that they knew who each other were. The man was fairly large, about 6’3”, 250 pounds probably, with thoughtful, knowing eyes that always made you think there was some kind of serious thought going on behind them.

“Yup. Women, man. Like I’ve never got it before.” What was the use of hiding it? Brendan’s intention was to get so fucked up he would be talking about it to the street lamps by 3 AM.

“Figgered that. Well, if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em, eh?” said the bartender, with a perfect deadpan expression on his face.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Wait a minute, what…” Brendan looked up, and saw a smile slowly creep across the man’s face, more in the eyes than anywhere else.

And then suddenly, as if it had been choreographed, these two friends that didn’t know each other’s names proceeded to have a nice long laugh.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Well I’m still waking up. Crawled into bed around 9 last nite after dining on some thai food from down the street which I thought would be closed but was graciously open. Peeped some of army of darkness & sipped on diet pepsi. Yup it’s that horror core. Dillio.

Time seems to be in an inescapable vortex of slowness here en la oficina. But that goes with the territory. I pondered this ponderance below, and it holds true. Time is a fickle etcetera.

Not that I have any problem with that whatsoever. I mean, hey, if it didn’t slow down for the not so exciting excitables, than it wouldn’t flip the other way and speed up through some dogshit acre ass shit which you need to flyby with a you know what.

You don’t? sorry. Neither do I.

The thought sink is back. Or, rather, was.

Hmmm. That’s it for now.

Monday, July 19, 2004

Anyhoooooo. So, yah, the ball hit the ceiling once again and the island that you all know as the opposite of gilligan ville is officially occupied by yours truly once again, be it ever so humble, etcetera.

Just took some Nyquil, cuz of course I went to mex and it is essential that I come down with some form of cold type sickness whenever those environs are breached, but never for the whole time, and nunca to a degree, becuz I’m just tuff like that, that my good times and those of which may or may not depend on said issues shall not in this day nor age be invaded upon and thus it was written.

Chuuuuch. So, yah, the whole nightime sleepy so you can rest dogshit is to prevail upon thee that I am passing out as this chuggalugg gets chugged. But not drank. You get the picture. Two flights total of about 10 hours airtime and 4 hours in the real h-town, fuck, peeped a stature of george bush senior, with like this funky jacket over the shoulder thing and like the jacket’s frozen in this flying motion like he’s in the gale force wind or either that he’s flipping it nonchalantly and going and taking on the day whether or not he says fuck dr. laura.

Um, so, the vaycay was way shay ray, and that’s all there is to be said about it, cuz it’s so jinx bathroom but with 5 astromedallions in the negative to like write about “what la dee dah did on his trip to blankety blank” I mean, c’mon, you didn’t honestly expect me to go out like that did you?

Not that that there’s anything wrong with that.

Oh yah, happy belated b-day to S & M (and no, not sado masochism, not there’s anything necessarily wrong with that either, as long as, I guess, it’s practiced with safety and public welfare in mind). I’ll be giving you a call (or rather, calls) here shortly. Yay, verily. Aloha.