Saturday, March 12, 2005

A couple hours later he turned the key to the door of the shabby little hotel room and those piles were still in bed. Awake, but lounging. The tv on, they barely acknowledged his existence as he sauntered in.

Ben just stood there looking at them. “so, uh, you guys planning on getting out of those beds sometime today?”

“Look, Miss Manners,” Don replied saltily. “Just cuz you got some crack flickin through your mental, and I ain’t talking the chemical, you know whut the fuck I mean, don’t come around trying to get us on board of your hang out wandering the town thinking about how deep everything is trip.” Then the asshole gave him that look. The one that knew he’d hit it, the point, the one Ben hated, er, well, fuck it, it was nice when your homies knew you.

“ah, fuck you,” Ben politely responded. Then he plopped down in the comfy chair by the window and got wrapped up in whatever dogshit they were watching. Price is right. “you guys hungry?”

that got them going. “yeah, I’m down to chomp on something, fer shure,” Eddie opined.

“cool. I already ate. But I’ll kick it with you guys. There’s a good coffee shop down the way.”

Don nodded his head, they got ready, shit, brush, zoom, and the three friends were out the door, on the street, on their way.

“This is like the really lame part of the story,” Ben said quietly, not thinking either of them heard.

Don apparently had though, and quipped, “Hey buddy, sometimes the lamest shit gets the biggest laughs.”

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Blah blah blah blah fukn blah blah. I’m mr. blah blah. I live in blah blah, the state of blah blah, blah blah county, my favorite interests are sitting and looking at the goldang computer & listening to rhesus monkeys mate with one another in wild abandon while eating bananas & rice cakes. If you think that I’m a big pile of donkey shit, well, you might have something there, monsignor.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

I’m in between getting demented & balancing my checkbook. Listening to some person named sasha spin records. I presume? Nonessential. I’ve gotta clean the writing up, it’s beginning to resemble a real bric-a-brac, pieces of refuse brought in from the shore with the attempt to coalesce together some kind of menagerie (collage?) of unintentional regrets and joys and sorrows and excitements and disappointments. And hope.

There really is only one life, isn’t there, and this just may be it, and thereby being, there’s something to be said with treating it with a sense of urgency, much as our inner nature attempts to thwart this instinct. Or outstinct(s). it’s really all much more important, not the opposite, as we suspected. Although I still have my doubts.

Am I what I want to be. Struggle takes on comfort takes on dreams takes on responsibility. Throw it all into a salad, the glove does not fit, thereby we acquit? But what. Acquit what. which thread of the quilt is the one that’s rotting away at the seams? And is it the one holding everything together? Will we ever know. “did I take this job for a quick buck?” is that any better/worse than taking it for a long buck? should it really be about “fuck security” or is that an outdated mode of thinking, impossible with the speed of the transmission of information ruling prevalent in our society.

Goddammit, I want to corner it & run away from it at the same time. My guts are gravy. I’m the mouse hiding under the eave cuz he won’t go after that bit of cheese. Trap? Not a trap? At least take a scribble? Nononono. Dammitt, I’ve lost my way again. Hold up.

And of course all prequalifications and eventualities of meaning taking effect ie actual denominations of pertinency, refer to code 7.34 of the rule handbook officiale of the confederate association and you’ll see what I mean, ie, just to check identity I’m gonna need to hold onto your backpack, hippie.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Yo & yo. To you & uh, you. Fuck. What the fuck ever. Checking in. why? Why the fuck not. Why do I type stuff to myself and the jurk storr resident ape trainer when all I know & all you know is that which we read and hear and imbibe on the daily & weekly? And if you think that makes any fukn sense whatsoever even in the eyes of the author I’ve gotta bridge in muthafuckin Madison county for ya for only 5 bills. Dollahs, huns, g-notes, don’t mattah cuz that shit don’t exist not no way.

Yah, yah, deep. Mmm hmmm, atlantis style. Wasn’t the trend supposed to be pump up the shit & not bury the bone on a “beach of nonchalance” and don’t think the quotemarks mean I lifted that, I’m quoting from another shit I wrote. “wafting on a beach of nonchalance,” I said. Now what the fuck was I talking about? Oh yah, political issue(s) of which I made up to carry a story about some frustrated guy sitting by the Potomac staring at the Washington monument & thinking about what a goddamm fucking waste of time it all was.

Then he went & got drunk, fyi.

The Grand Comic Book Database

The Shame Game

Walking on Scorpions

Monday, March 07, 2005

“ok there’s like the slightest lull in the day except there isn’t. there were many yet none. Lulls. You know whut I’m talking about. How do I know this? Just trust me I know it. Get in the goddamm car. What? Shit. Get out of the muthafuckin car. Who the fuck you think you are, comin in my car uninvited & shit. Whut? I invited you? Well fuck you motherfucker. I’ll kick your ass all the way over the grapevine.”

Theodore wallingsworth, in a speech he made while acting as a mediator in the case of ahab vs. queekweg, on the rights of a 1st mate to mutiny when certain levels of various scanned data have reached certain, um, levels.

It was in a twilight zone episode, but never aired. Lost in the files. Do you want a confession? It wasn’t really Theodore. It was ahab. But only when he realized the white whale was himself. To this day I can still see him stabbing his own ass with that harpoon. Wandering around the kitchen, sweating.