a memory without remorse.

click.

i'll carry your name with me to the end.

the poor keep their lies moving. fingers sweeping across dusty counter tops wrapping crustily around anything more than miniscule. they cry that heaven's found a way for them. she done got that stone veil propped across her nosebridge. she's calling us in all the way. the children she bore and we misunderstood. we all just misunderstood. don't look at them now because they're hungry and they've been sleeping alone these nights. mouths curled up at the corners because there ain't no safety here. cities cities cities. just more blood oil to burn down. they've been walking to get here, leaving piles of clothes they've shrunk out of. burnt out into last night's home. children born into grown men. disoriented irises that speak in networks of tongues.

the derelicts follow these train tracks from the coal mines to the oil fields: down down down. they live to live some more. they're never going back the way they came. it's only tales of other years. the mothers the fathers stopped calling them home. jazz children and copper kings. here where it's safe to drag your bones down the windblown plains across the reddened clayhordes. the past is the collapse of today and this is why these people are dangerous things. they're cupping raw souls in their raked chests. a heart with eyes wide open. a mile isn't a mile when it's home and you'll never need to mourn if they're laying in your dust trails. "i'll replant this soil, drive harvest home harvest rain. the sky just ain't what she used to be, and this is why to you we supplicate." from the shore to the borderlands, through fog haze mist, it's a chant that goes silent in their throats but resounds in their knuckles.

through me, you'll know them as they know ghosts.

only i can stop this.

... it's because she can't look me in the eyes. as bad as i want to. when she's ready to be silent and still in the small of my palms, intricate like a whisper, she'll press up against me like she can [only] she can.

me and all my little records.
violence where no one gets hurt.
just the worst of intentions; the subtleties of raw skin.

the dream terrorist: laying sideways. only open for oxygen at that point. and i'm feeling the pressure applied from my incisors to my canines. escape shouts. gravity melts. evac. she just couldn't wait.

i kept my jacket in my car tonight.
on the jacket are pockets, and in the pockets are razors.
i've got the keys to my car.

i saw you tonight without color. your portrait moving our door frames. you spoke rounded, like they did in the 20s. i see you in every soft beauty. i found you. i found you. i knew what i saw when i saw you. we once had. we once had. i don't think i've ever seen you on a wednesday. let's blend into the daytime hours again.

i deserve this head of mine.

could have gone away.

it's actually really funny, but not.
everything is wrong.
mandibles upon the choke screen.

i'm calling on you to save me and you've been here.
i know it.

i'm repeating where we've been. never together only separately. i know this feeling.

say what you have to say to me.

i'm sorry.
so damn sorry.

show me a sight. how can these two hands and ten fingers?
allornothingallornothingallornothing
i'm sorry.
so damn sorry.
i..
we both know....

x

i'm trying to disappear.
it's all the same shakedown.





































you & i.

i can't tell from the size of it.

i saw two hand tattoos today.
one was a peace sign, one was a happy face.
.
one step forward, two steps back.

growing.

used to be easy to run here,
and now my feet don't touch the ground.
no!






time goes too slow.


/tx

sleeves.

unwitting.

reign.

pirouette.

the new generation of crime.

take one eighth!!!

i'm glad there are telephones and not just stage coaches.

i'd work at 9am if nine am weren't less than 5 hours away.

so much for the light show.

it's insane that silversun pickups, the band that i found, goddamnit, judging a book by its cover, is on mtv commercials now. oh blast.

sunday, as cities burn + olympia in NYC w/ kimi, +++?

i've recently discovered problems.

i left my shoes in the car. don't be so surprised when you see them today.

in a clean room, you can think more directionally.

when people ask her, "so, how's old boy?" i'm sure she just says, "he's good." yeah, they call me old boy down there. i'm not sure if it's some sort of knock on my age, and the fact that she's twenty and i'm twenty five, or if their country voices can only carry the proper things to say about as far as they can stand to improve themselves. but i know that's what i say when anyone who cares to ask me asks. "she's good." i mean, what can i throw in for detail?

"she's good, man! she goes to her sister's volleyball games, and has this weird thing going on with her manager where he's sort of in love with her, but you know, she's in denial. um, her best friend, a male here ya know, left her a voicemail that says he wants to kiss her on the forehead and tell her how much he loves her. yeah, like, she's just working for gamestop, and chillin' out. i make her cry sometimes, i'm so scared over here and i project the fear directly onto her canvas! can you believe it?"

but again, there's that whole bottleneck effect. i mean, when they ask her about old boy, i'm sure she says, "he's good." if she wanted to really roll on about her end, it'd be something like, "yeah! he's good, i think. he just got offered his own store, but turned it down. yeah, something about wanting to work for two more months doing the same sorts of things, just with more people in the store. he plays a lot of games, and watches a lot of movies, for the most part alone. wonders why i don't listen to the cds he sends down here. talks way too much about sports, and is weird, i guess. says weird things. talks to himself out loud to me."

but i think about how little that defines me, yeah? i think a more accurate description of old boy as me would be:

"he's probably the best he's been in a very long time! listens to a lot of music that means a lot to him, more than it would if he had been through less. finds a lot of one liners in and out of those songs of his that mean more than they were intended. something about specific unintentions. he's found two of his best friends again, doesn't want to leave them, but wants to be with me, and is so confused about the whole situation. and we're getting married. we'll see as much as we can see for the dollar that we can spend. a vagabond life. drinks a little bit alone. drinks with his sister who's not really his sister a little bit, laughs/thinks more than he thought he was capable of. my baby he's beautiful because he's alive, thinks he's ugly because he's still living in that world of bodies."

or something.

found someone in her who i thought i'd never find. got the Little Lover and the Baby Talker in there, the one who says how much she loves me in twenty one different ways, each one progressively decreasing in age and maturity level. got the creator, the one who paints for herself and for me, and writes on a random whim; makes me think "what does that have to do with US," then remember if everything i wrote was about us, she'd probably be dead or armless by now. she thinks, and if i would just unleash a thought tornado at her just once, she might just have something to say about it.

my baby, i think she'd be so disappointed in me on some days.
on others, i think she's be so in love with me.
for the same reasons, yeah?

just move here and live life with me and do things with me, and live with me somewhere new. i'll keep you here, right next to me. and we'll be so happy.

<3

this is my life.

a nonrequitable pacifist.

knowing full well how the job works, i fully anticipated waking up, waiting until gamestop opened, and going in to pickup my copy of the phantom hourglass. again, knowing FULL well that the damn shipment doesn't come until at least 11:30. idiot.

-
i saw across the universe for the second time last night. still don't feel like i need to see another movie ever again.

-
i'm not generally a night time dreamer. if there are any fantasies, voluntary or not, they come to me while i'm awake. performing processes, etc. but last night, as i slept on carissa's couch, praying in my shallow sleep for the cat to not start his rumored biting, i had THREE dreams. and maybe, i do dream often, i just can't remember them. this time, though, i wrote them on my hand. well, the "titles" of them anyway. and each dream, however short its description, is labeled as the one i dream-scribed on my palm.

ryan mcgregor & vegas
for whatever reason, ryan mcgregor and i were at a hotel in las vegas. it didn't outwardly feel like any conference, or anything, but as the entire thing panned out, it seemed that there were people there from all throughout my life. division avenue high school, FYE #1783, gamestop 2605, loews, nassau community college, family gatherings... everyone who was there was somehow tethered to my life. not necessarily negatively, just was somewhere in my glossary of faces. and we started obliterating them with bottles and chairs and tables and guns and grenades. it was like a street brawling video game, but no one saw it coming. people would see us and get psyched, or happy, or at least salutatious, but we would then begin to bring the pain. it was violent. vicious. we were really throwing down on these folks. it was unnecessary. but the overall feeling of the dream was positive. i was having FUN doing this.

mantis
this was one of those dreams that appears as a relevant documentary. most of the imagery was of grasshoppers, mantises in old film stock footage. eating some form of acorn or grain. and as i was seeing all of this, i had the distinct feeling that what it was that they were eating was in plentiful supply around where i was at the time. i never saw me or my surroundings. and as i was watching and realizing this, i started to get the stinging realization that they were coming.

soul team
a female friend of mine and i were laying on a couch, reading a magazine. laughing and talking and being our random selves. at some point, she rolled on top of me, and pushed me on my back, and wiped my lips with her fingers and smiled down at me. we kept talking about the magazine, and moving in together. i rolled her down and lay on top of her, and sort of looked into her eyes and continued talking, and she was doing the same. it was almost like we were having this intense makeout session but our lips never touched, not once. a few times, we came close, and we kept touching each others faces, and lips while we were talking. but it never actually happened.

-

manning a successful campaign.

Pen to Pearl
2005

4:38am
00 "The Hutch"

Spasms. A Timepiece. Heartbeat a tuxedolapse. feel the bloodgate? loathe further than another hemisphere. lost your wick. flame match marriage stasis. frozen nerve cell mind bath. killed a man effortless. cupped hands, water poured through fingerlegends. a cinnamon love. you left me when the tongue told collapse, no elbow stretch, a march bridge sky plane. proximity, make me love you pore to pore, the ins the outs, lose track for hours. these are your minutes. believe me: you're just fine.

my fresh skin, a blessing.

with me aside.

i'm sorry.
so,
damn sorry.

-

i just want to say sometimes that i feel so much more than any of you. nothing i write, nothing i read, nothing i listen to, nothing i watch means anything unless you are me. it will never be the same.like i'm this vulnerable emotional cortex unribbed from the cage. i had a breakdown at a diner table mid falling in love pace before it had even started to get dark. i'll never get to use these words in a skyline.

writhing in the dark
on a bed frame like
some sex starved servant
on an ecstacy campaign.

subdermal drowning. but i want it darker than this. and i want it closer than this. an interswimming collideoscope. a tidal kaleidogram from when you screamed it on through me.

a foolish potion, this. there is only time, the illusion of which is gone. but what could be worse than the glitch vermin, she lives all up on the insides of me. coughed her up this morning, the blackest of wireorgans, sapped up the colors deep down in the dregs of me. a true sight to behold: the osmosis of self.

writhing in the light
on a porcelain frame like
some lust charged junkie
pioneering the skyspace.

"don't be afraid, just keep it all in your head." languages of deep afternoon dreams, embraces that have just latched the miles. "i've been gone once i'll be gone again and the bold bold nights amount to the shaken down shaken down days." voices a lush carpet of the purples and oranges found on the fringelace of galaxies (ours, theirs, the unclaimed, the departed).

she still looks the way that she did back then.
swallowed her down, peristalsis clutching, growing hands and fingers tearing my jaw open cracking my lips. that whole gum feature, showing off the garden of the teeth, roots deep like redwoods, roots sunk deep in my brainstem.

and so often, this place is paralyzed regardless of weather. i am an aimless child SwThAoY's gWiIvTeHn uMpE..

i don't think i can explain this to you.
missing someone so horribly that you sta
rt to think it's just a funhouse, or a r
ole you're playing. you miss them becaus
e you know you should. but really, you'r
e just used to this intention. the voice
has become the portrait. i want to be w
ith her so badly but i've grown patient
and lost an expectancy. everything is
alright. i've gone down that path,
the one with me waiting for her to show
up here, or the one for me to start driv
ing, but it's not coming. i'm too suited
for this kind of lifestyle for that. an
d she's probably on the same page. the f
ear of falling out of love is based enti
rely on the subject. you find yourself f
alling apart when nothing is wrong. xxxx

it's like i never went anywhere. i want to leave and be overdramatic. i don't want to live at home anymore, i just think it's best. i want to pay rent, and be poor, and spend some money on beer and "never" do drugs. i don't want my mother or father or birthsister to walk in here and think i'm a weird kid for listening to music a little louder and typing into a bright white box, because i'm not weird, i'm just feeling something.

i want dave, rahul, carissa, new guy, old guy, stranger, to peak in and say
"it's one of those nights."

i've lost a little bit of focus here.
((and i literally thought that i was just typing about having a porch.))

i feel exactly like i did six or seven
months after a serious break up. it's b
een six or seven months since i've move
d. i'm fine, though. just fine. i'm ser
ious.

dear BONEMARROW:
made me want to feel something again, something big and indirect. large quantities of it. inexorbitant amounts. "over the top; absurd; ridiculous" even. it's not so much you it's what you represent, you fucking cliché. but it is you, and a collective compound of where you've been (the dust on your marks) and how you've handled those places (the scars you wield). one of those things that's less words, more the way the words work. [it's hard to untranslate] i have got something going on over here, with a specific purpose and direction. something is wrong with me.

illiterate bass drum.

i will be nothing but a legend of memory.
and i am full of fear.

-
"before this one night stand becomes an eternity"
VS
"one night doesn't mean the rest of my life"

-
basking in the wake of a hundred idols' creations.

-








meant every word.
just never said it.
don't listen to what he says.

saarsgard.

even though i don't think i'd ever forget,
i think i'd be okay.
it just doesn't feel like devastation.

they're only words.

i don't even know where to go from here, because there's only so much that one person can take, and trust can only go so far. it's not really the trust that's an issue, but the curiosity.

someone sent me a myspace message a couple of days ago, and i shouldn't have deleted it, but i kept coming back to it, and reading it and it needed to be gone.

the username was +, and the hometown was ", Alabama" and they were a Male, 101 Years Old. one of those.

so, the message said something along these lines:

I WOULD CHECK URSELF AND ASK UR GIRL WHATS BEEN GOING ON WITH HER AND A CERTAIN JEREMIAH AKA MOSES. IF U DONT BELIEVE ME U CAN GIVE HIM A CALL AT 3047845566 AND ASK HIM URSELF. THERES NOTHING FOR ME TO GAIN BY TELLING U THIS I JUST THOUGHT U SHOULD NO.

there was a lot more, eh, not a lot... but it was all in caps and had more of a tone that seemed helpful than angry. but that was about the jist of it. i remember the number because i wrote it down, because i was going to call, but called her instead. she seems pretty upset about the whole thing. she says she doesn't even talk to that kid, etc. then i get this tonight:

"DID UR GIRL TELL YOU THE TRUTH?? DONT WORRY IF SHE WONT WEVE GOT SOMETHING TO SHOW U UR CUTE UR SMART U DONT DESERVE THIS"

this shit is so fucked.
is it sabotage? is it a bluff? do i wait to get said information?


either way, whatever they've done, or whatever they're doing, the damage has been done. i'm just so fucked and i want to give up because of some textual words someone has written with little to no information to back it up. yet.


i don't want to do this anymore.

coming back into myself.
could be that i'm faking it well enough to get myself back in line.

sing for your lover like blood for the sun.

-
dear odd dynamic,
i keep you so close and i love you way too much to do that. you're my new achilles' heel. i don't remember what you look like when you're freezing but i know that's how i knew you when i knew you. i could have loved you when we went swimming in the fog and in the lights, but i just loved you way too much to do that.

for one year i wrote every word for you.

here's to The Future.

-

these songs do them no justice.

-

me&you,
b a b y.

as much as you could.

i'm seeing things, thinking, "what the FUCK is that??"
i hate those dirty fucks.
i just don't want to hear it.

-

i was in the middle of sending a text message that started "i still think one of the funniest damn things you said was----;" i got cut off by a phone call from some guy who wanted me to be an extra in real movies. he works for those companies that draw you in to do head shots. when he called the first time, i played a character of my editor. i told the guy on the other end of the phone that, "steve is pursuing a massive lead right now. can he call you back tonight, around midnight?" when i felt that the guy really just wanted to hangup and give up, i went on to say, "if he's really not that important to you guys, i'd probably give up now. he's a hard man to reach." all the phone voice could muster was the scripted, "well, we'll try back tomorrow morning, and hopefully get a hold of him."

and damnit, i forgot the rest of the message i was sending.

as i said earlier, i'm in a constant state of feeling that i'm going to forget what i'm going to say.

-

i wanted this weekend to change the way that i thought.
and it didn't.

i did figure out that i am addicted to this and i need to get a better grip on myself again. i'm not sure when i started completely slipping back into that. i think it might have been when i started digging too deep. seeing the kinds of things that if you say them out loud, they sound so much more inconsequential than if you let them run laps on the inside.

i did figure out that i am the reason that every romantic relationship that i've ever been in has deteriorated because of me. i am never the only victim.

i did figure out that i would like to be more committed in a healthy fashion to this relationship without a complete and total reliance on the availability of a connected voice.

i want to relearn trust.
i want to relearn the ability to be acutely aware without being completely on edge.
all the little things, the subtleties, i want them to come back.

i have some release valves. i need more.

i think if i looked back on the game day tapes of this past month, i would probably just laugh and laugh. that whole hand over the mouth, eyes wide, head shaking back and forth, "what was i thinking look." looking over to friends being like, "really?"

the response, throwing their hands out in front of them, shoulders popping up, half smirking. in my words, it'd be something like, "...happens."

it used to be i could keep myself motivated because if i felt it about myself, i generally believed it. now, it's been taking this disgusting amount of reassurance. the kind that gets you unattracted, and unmagnetised.

i think about hearing her say the things i've said to her,
being asked the questions that i've been asking her,
and i'm pretty appalled.

-

it's such a god damned shame that all this mistrust, and the belief in a sudden depressing reveal comes from a relationship that i've been out of for a year and a half. and after all that i've been through, and all that i've recovered from, all that i've built back from the ground up, i still can't shake that one bit of damage. that one possibility.

the typical story of being hurt before:
the learned defense.

-

i want to be so good.

pen pals.

i think i almost wrote two or three fictional things this week. instead i wrote nothing. that can be said for about 10 of the past 52 weeks.

this weekend didn't make anything better.
but i think maybe i got a little better at ignoring it.

barter weakness for vice.

i think i'm chemically depressed.
i'm glad i have the awareness to know that nothing's really wrong.

i have major trust issues
that i can only specifically describe as an addiction.
if i'm not worrying, i go into withdrawal and then that's when i really start to worry.

i wish i were beautiful for a day.
"do you think being attractive is a burden?"

i love words and numbers.
these are the only ways we can communicate on paper.

i'm deficient somewhere and i have a hole to fill somewhere.
this is how i ALWAYS feel.
that, and the CONSTANT feeling that i'm about to forget what i am going to say.

count twenty two minutes, and she will be here in twenty nine hours.
there has never been a trembling like this.

i've engineered the construction of a sexual monument.
now to make this something organic.
something best described as tender and genuine.
now to make this something real.

i have a hard time believing that anyone could miss me.

i caught him. the moses tart.

-- Stabilize; stabilize.

- james, we need to get this kid a new cannon. one with a longer fuse, slow as a goddamned wick. less firing on the city, little more time to detract his statements.

-- One less building destroyed, one less life refiled.

- i'm glad you're with me on this one, james. i'm glad you're with me. one week at a time, the eyes roll back. one week at a time, the kid gets the chamber. and one week at a time, he reevaluates the values he's made.

- Body count's too high, serotonin levels off the charts. A tactical nightmare.

-- you said it. what kind of progenitors would we be without this kind of self awareness? what this kid needs is a direct line of self assurance. if only such a thing could be extracted, pasteurized, liquefied, and vein-sipped through the iv. then we'd have a machine on our hands.

- The like's of which she has never seen before.

-- you've got that right, buddy.

god, if you exist
please steady my limbs.

i don't want to rend this man asunder.
his face is already bad enough.

by voice or shining light,
show me that fists is not the way to destroy what has already been destroyed.

i don't believe in a god that could steady me.
but i to draw on something sort of ethereal to not unleash on this one kid.

and thinking back, there have been people i've known to cross my path, even on a frequent basis that i have needed to functionally draw myself back from. richard gill, my arch nemesis, for example.

but i have never been around someone as frequently who brings me to such a point as consistently and without humor as he does. and having known an entire life time of not so good to average looks, i'm not one to point out "the ugly factor". but, his face is gnarled into a twist to match the way he's lived his life. and the events unfolding in his life right now show that there is some form of higher justice taking place.

but on a day to day basis, at least once, i need to remind myself to breathe easy.

looking back on this day.

got new plans to make. the big build up for the small let down. the future you were riding... the "there's always this..." - it's just not happening anymore. and nothing even had to happen.

"he just went crazy."

sad isn't even the word. it's just showing my face around here again that's the hard part. another six to eight months of life threatening balcony walking. being the weird kid. "i am so out of here."

The West War Ours.
Where do i go from here?

it is. it's learning to breathe again. hard and long. full lungs expanding and stretching, capillaries bursting.

starting to think about where i'll be sleeping for months... because you know me.

the dialogue goes, "no, i'm not worried."

there's no going back the way i came.

all spent up.

when i went and saw as cities burn in philadelphia, it was almost exactly like seeing them the night before on long island. except this time with a little less crowd participation.

but the thing that made this show a million times better, and unlike any other show i'd been to before was that the lead singer of as cities burn had his mother standing off to the side of the stage, and performed this song, solo, and dedicated it to her.

this is the kind of thing that shakes you on and on.


Dead man, were you ever alive?
Or was I just a seed you buried deep inside
Some woman you wed
Right before you crawled out of her bed and crept down the hall?
Did you think of me?
Did you even for a second hesitate in the doorway?
It's just something that I'd like to know
Though I'd still love you if told me
You just walked away

My God, what a world you love
Where men bury their sons
And without thought just walk away

And my mother's heart breaks
Like the water inside of her
[x2]

Dead man, is it being high that makes you alive?
It makes you leave behind three boys and a wife in '89
As the track marks inched their way up your arm
My mother taught my brothers and I not to call you daddy
But to call you father

But I believe there is something here to be learnt of grace
'Cause I can't help but love you
Even with a heart that breaks
Like the promises that you made
Like the promises that you made
The promises that you made

My God, what a world you love

you can hear this song, "the widow", over on their myspace.

i let my children go.

thanks to brian for the link.

i'm a loner dottie... a rebel.

as much as it is not a desirable trait, i have a hard time leading the married life. and i'm not saying that i am married, because really, i don't want to belittle the huge sacraments that three (or six, actually) of my best friends have undergone. but, as i mentioned in a livejournal post this past week, "i know a new brand of love that feels exponentially stronger and longer lasting than i have ever felt in any previous relationship." i go on these runs where i want to be left alone and do my own thing or on other nights, i want to go out all night and not need to check in.

i know i'm not alone in this. guys, in general, i'm sure are always like this. there's always that sort of desire to 'just go.' there's always something in guys that always calls us out to the clubhouse. we always want to be he-man woman haters. do stupid shit. watch action movies. laugh at farts. and, really, girls aren't allowed to see this side of us. because that breaks the veneer.

if females really knew the secret lives of males, oh dear god, forget the species.
i have a feeling, though, the same can be said if the roles were reversed.

-

i'm typing in my dining room. i never took advantage of the fact that my computer is actually a laptop. entirely meant for being mobile. when i unplugged it, i got an insane shock. the kind where i was forced to say, "ahhHhHhHhH" while it was happening. in actuality, it probably lasted only a second and a half, but that's quite a bit of time to be directly mainlined to open electricity. my arm is still tingling. and there was a little bit of twitching. stupid mistakes. live like that long enough, and any day now, i could be a dead man.

-

fuse called me saturday with news that if i wanted it, he had a ticket with my name on it to see underoath, poison the well, and as i lay dying at the nokia theater. i was completely signed up; so stoked. went to look up any flyers or anything of that nature, and saw that, in fact, as i lay dying was not on the bill. it was fucking EVERY TIME I DIE.

absolutely one of those bands that i want to be sure that i see every time they're in the area. there are few bands that are on that list anymore. mostly because they all break up. but i would say that the list looks something like dredg, circa survive, alexisonfire, misery signals, olympia, every time i die, the honorary title and the deftones, and ambulette. i might be forgetting some. i'm sure that i am. possibly silversun pickups, though i'm terrified of the hipster presence there.

speaking of appearances, mark z. danielewski is heading through the area this october. 10/4 he'll be at the barnes & noble in astor place.

-

rahul said that he hadn't heard a band shittier than this one.



there i was, defending them, and saying that their last album sounded like a fairweather album from time to time and that even that song could hang with their old stuff, etc. and now, since i hadn't given their other album a chance, i am listening to it, and it's basically garbage. man, i hate bands.

-

today i was off and i did nothing. i woke up, ate cinnamon harvest cereal, watched an hour of what not to wear, and an hour of ten years younger while holding hands over the phone, showered, watched rush hour 2, came home, fixed the forum, fucked around on the internet for two hours, ate dinner, and now here i am.

i talked about this last week. when i have my days off, and i'm not doing anything, usually i love doing nothing and just chilling out. when football season comes around, FORGET IT. i'm totally going to do everything in my power to get off on sundays. but then, once the end of the night comes around (mostly around the sundown time) i regret every minute and wish that i'd accomplished something. it's horrible.

tonight, after a long useless day off, i have to work at eleven to man a huge midnight release of john madden football 08. i'm on the fence about picking it up. because, i mean, what can it hurt. i have the ncaa game that i've been playing the shit out of. we're talking three hour offseasons. what a ridiculous child my parents have spawned.

the 360 thing is still hanging in the balance. i'm only $1000 in debt after being as far as $8000. so, really, all material possessions seem completely moot when it comes to the fact that i can be in the clear for the first time in six long years. i've been paying $300-$400 every two weeks on just bills lately. just trying to alleviate that demon. and i'm so close. i fear that if i get that system, i'll only head further down into that hole. it's scary, i guess. but there are games that i want for it.

but there's also a room i want to furnish. and a moving fund i'd like to start.

-

speaking of moving, arizona was a HUGE candidate for a long, long time. but after the past two weeks reminded me of the extreme love that i have for rainy nights and thunderstorms, i really had to reconsider. there is almost NO rain in arizona. so we're up in the air again. portland or seattle are right up top on the lists. of course, i'd love to live in the midwest, too. but i think the west coast, especially the pacific northwest is such a cool area. i have heard nothing but GREAT things about it.

moving is all entirely based upon whether or not they get me my own store. once the holiday season is over, i'm asking what the deal is with that. something along the lines of, "hey, neil. i'm definitely interested in looking into becoming an MIT [manager in training]. how do you feel about my potential as a store manager, and if there are any specific areas you think i need to focus on, please train me more on those so that i can then move on in that direction." if things aren't moving after that, then the look to move is completely on. for now, it's just checking the craigslist every so often just to keep an eye on prices.

-

Come tomorrow I’ll be on my way back home.
In the morning call from a roadside telephone.
One night doesn’t mean the rest of my life.
If I go it’s not impossible; possible is probably wrong.
So, let go cause I’m afraid to try.

Keep my hands by my side.
You won’t come back.
I hope some day you’ll understand.
I wanna try, make it right;
Don’t know if I can.

Last night everything was right.
The rain was gone.
One summer night’s the only time we’ve known.
So, shut your eyes:
When you wake up I’ll be gone.
When you wake up I’ll be gone.

unexpectedly riding a horse.

virgin readers of chuck klosterman's work more than likely begin their reviews exactly the same. whether it be spoken, or written, they will tell you that they "rarely laugh out loud at books, but this time, it was different."

klosterman is a regular writer for esquire, gq, spin, the new york times, the washington post, and even espn. you may also recognize him as the writer of the more popular book, sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs. what this means is, the man has a way with words that's appreciated in many, many circles. in no small way, this other chuck has made me a fan and follower of his writing simply by talking about what he's thinking exactly when and how he is thinking it.

this book is a blog on paper.

within these particular pages, we're with klosterman on a nationwide journey in which he is visiting the places of death of rock icons such as the allman brothers, kurt cobain, robert johnson, and layne staley, amongst others. and while we do hear about these locales in some way or fashion, mostly what we're reading about is how he relates just about every single facet of his life with pop culture references, psychoses, and rock bands. most of the internal dialogue we'll hear from him is, actually, about the women who are or were, in some shape or another, in his life.

if you were to go on livejournal.com, blogspot.com, or some other popular freeblog site, you might actually find other accounts very similar to the ones found in this book. but, unless the blogger is as charismatic, savvy, trivia infused, and likeable as this guy, you won't come anywhere near the enjoyment i received from this book. and while it was borrowed, i will definitely, at some point, be adding this (and his others) to my collection.

it's not like the post op.

Y: the Last Man was suggested to me by dave, and i expected really good things. dave's opinion is generally one that i trust and one that carries a lot of weight in my eyes. this time around, though, i got through all hundred some odd pages of this trade and just didn't really care what happened from there.

the premise here is that yorick and his pet monkey ampersand are both the last existing males on the planet. this presents a TON of problems for them, not just socially, but scientifically, sexually, etc. plus, this changes the face of the world as humanity once knew it. in fact, it even brings into question the term 'mankind.' i mean, yes, i did like the fact that it raised a bunch of questions, but it wasn't exactly quizzical enough for me to need to know what happened from there.

the style of drawing just didn't draw me in, which, as a graphic novel plays about 33% of a role of the overall picture. and while the other large majority of this work is about story, and plot, and writing style, with all of that thrown in, it just didn't seem to reel me in the way i had expected.

i may pick up the second trade somewhere down the line, once there's a lot less going on in the "to be read" department, and see if it gets me more excited about it. but as of right now, it's just not my thing.

it happens.

oh lord.

what a great tuesday it will be.

-






&:
september 7th to september 9th

sucking in a smoke screen.

i just finished reading this book somewhere around 3:30. it took me forever to get through the damn thing. it wasn't so much for the length, i guess, though it was pretty tightly packed text, small size. around four hundred twenty some odd pages. i just have had a job. i love reading, and now that i have all these books, i figured i should get my ass in gear and try to at least whittle down the number to single digits. it won't happen. but it's worth putting effort into.

a lot of times, the title doesn't ring a bell, but the author does. and it's for hilarious reasons. this guy and this book is the one that went on the oprah-coaster. first, she puts it on her list, and it gets insane acclaim, and then the book ends up being debunked, leaving oprah sort of discredited.

now, if i were following this whole thing a little bit more as it happened, i might be able to fine tune this story a little bit more but as i understand it, this book is supposedly a memoir which isn't entirely true. some of it is embellished, and some of it may not have happened at all. now, for a nation of middle aged women, maybe that bothers them. but me, i'm a fiction reader. so even if this entire thing is ENTIRELY false, i'm still down with it. but some of it, there's no way it didn't happen to him on some scale. some of it is just too fierce.

i didn't underline any quotes or any passages to really pass along to you guys as a guide. it's written in a chuck-esque tone, but without those one liners that tear you down. it's just honest, and brutal. it's actually one of those books that makes sense to describe as 'raw.' this guy has no writing background, and it shows. he's just recounting his experience. and it works. the entire book just works. which is another reason i don't think it's entirely made up. things don't all wrap up nicely, and things don't really end SO badly... the experience just gets tied up. in fact, the most climactic moment in the entire book, in my experience, comes after the actual narrative is completed.

-

sometimes i just want to strip my entire album collection down to just albums that need to be heard front to back. maybe just put the rest into storage. that kind of thing.

-

i haven't been sleeping as well as i was.
i also stopped writing as much as i was.
i wonder if there is a direct relation.

here is where we tend to go overboard.

'where we are going, there may be giants...'

if you're the kind who needs more...

yes!

so psyched for this game.
more info here.

-

an attachment.

i can't wait for september.
i can't wait for you.

i went bookshopping at three different places tonight. there's always that endless need for more and more words. i have a queue very literally twenty two books deep. oh, lord. this is definitely something i need to start focusing on, because none of them are books that i just happened upon. each of these are ones that i have a genuine interest in and i am psyched to dive into.

i was trying to explain today how i don't even know what i do with my time. i get home from work, maybe eat dinner, head up here, and then it's a blur. i spend SOME time on the internet, but i'm not abusing it. i'm not myspacing out. it's really not that big of a deal. i'd know. i don't watch tv. i haven't played ncaa. it's been insane. i haven't even been talking on the phone that much. it's just constant kinetics. and i just want to settle down.

there's some decent music coming out lately. the new portugal was great, the emmure is insane. common's album came out today, and i'm so iffy about even listening to it. the last album, Be, was perfection. and since, common has been in movies, has guest spotted on a bunch of albums. it's worrisome to see what this guy has been up to for a couple years. i've just hit play on the record, and we'll see where it leaves me at the end of it.

-

knuckleduster.

murderfucking on an expensive italian leather couch in an enormous living room. every corner fixed with an industrial vice. hallucinogen chandeliers hanging every ten feet, disco ball light colonies recurring a thousand times on the two inch thick carpet. your singing voice gone to complete waste, your face buried in my hands. i think there are systems in place to prevent this from happening. i think there are drugs in this place to enchance this fleshparty. just shut up already so i can make you someone else. and you didn't wear the boots like i told you to, and you left the gasmask upstairs like i knew you would. god i'm learning to hate you, so don't you fucking stop. i don't even know why you bothered walking through that door in the first place. think about the wars being fought, and think about small loving families who will never get out of abject poverty. no, you're not going to drown here, baby. i've got way too much in mind for tonight. there's life in these walls yet.

-

and we'd make a fortune.

i intend to be the manager of a damn gamestop by the end of the year. come october, around holiday season, or so, i'm going to ask what my odds of being an MIT is. i've heard on two occasions that this DM is really liking me. he's actually even said in my presence that he's sure the only reason they hired me is because they knew i had the potential to become a store manager. now, i understand that by december, six months into my tenure, it might be asking much. but this is a big world. and i'll be turning 26 in half a year. i don't have time to waste. i haven't had the same drive in any other job ever. and i've only been here for a couple of months.

the only thing i've ever really known that i wanted to do for any amount of time is write. and, realistically, that's not a career move. that's something i do on the side. that's something that i want to have as an "ALSO" kind of thing. because i'm not going to get famous on that. i don't have the concentration for self-promotion and all of that. i can hardly even read other people's books for long periods of time. how am i going to delve into my own little worlds.

i saw the simpsons movie tonight which was OUTstanding. i loved it.

it's hilarious what a turnaround a year and a half has made. wrankmusic.com is apparently down right now, and my first concern is, aw MAN... now i wonder what site is going to host my pictures. and, i'm downloading a ton of music lately. just to see what's around. and i'm just not sure WHY i don't update that site anymore. i think it's just the lack of a local scene gives that lack of a feeling of centripetal force. there is no world to relate to, without going to those shows and seeing those kids and having things to talk about. and the forum became this HUGE joke. well, no, not REALLY. what it did boil down to was just a place where i could go and talk about things with my friends on a mass basis. that's not horrible, so to speak. it just became a little too specialized. kind of, but not really. i think the fact that we went there so much and the fact that it felt like we all knew each other so well may have alienated other people from wanting to say anything. well, that, and the fact that these kids who were going to shows had no real opinion on these bands or music in general... their friends were in bands so they went to the shows. these little fuckers would show up when their friends played, and left when their friends were done. hilarious. musically, this place has become so irrelevant. i'm okay with that. there are more places to be, more excuses to hit the road and catch shows, and more reasons to head into manhattan, a place that i most likely will never learn. i can't even remember how to get to union square.

my intent tonight was to write on my electronic typewriter. i'm going to do it and try not to get eaten alive by my sister. the clack clacking might disturb her whatever.

tonight, sharks. my words.
tomorrow night, ncaa, others' words.

i got so much distaste for the efforts of others.


-
the purchases:

at least i have a job again.

for them, and them.

&

stand!

RISE!

this shit will fuck you up.

a pretty amazing documentary about scopolamine, a drug which eliminates free will, and from what it seems to entail in this documentary, your memory of several hours. the kind of drug that has you "waking up in a bathtub missing an organ, with a sign that says you have five hours to get to a hospital."










check it out and browse the site to find a bunch of other shows/docs that are worth watching. i'm so down.

no point.

i just like these guys.



and, uh, i bought some stuff today.






-

and check out my boy mike knoll's new band, Agent right over here.

my only crime is living without you.

thank god for the dredg/ours show.

the speechless.

i forgot myself one day. i'm trying my best to get back to the point where there is a me that i remember. now, i know that there have been times where i haven't exactly reacted or responded to things the way you might expect. but at twenty five (jesus christ, we aren't irrelevany anymore, are we?) i'm trying to be the one true person that i was meant to be. natural sayings and natural facial expressions. and i've really never felt so at home. maybe i had to leave to realize this.

it's weird, though, you know? being in a relationship (an official one... the one that we really count to everyone...) changes you. it's going to, no matter how we try to cut through it. it's funny. i'm serious. it's funny when we see someone we really know react differently to something when they're around their lover or their love interest. it's fine, though. we know who they are, still. they're just trying to react within a parabola. is that the right word? i don't know, i don't care. whatever. they're just trying to react in a way that will keep them in a safe place with their lover. and we get on their case, but for what.

i was thinking about this tonight while bill and i got crushed in three of four games in ncaa. i really don't care anymore if someone wants to be someone else in a relationship, because i get it. it's finally to the point where i see that there really is a split in who we are as a married/engaged/sanctioned human as opposed to just a single dude. and we can't expect someone to be a single dude while they are married/engaged/sanctioned. it's just a rule of life. it happens. whatevzz. as rahul says.

ps, good luck, man.

thoughts on ncaa when i clear up a little bit. and when i finish either dynasty or campus legend. as of right n0w? great game. just more of the same.

actions over the course of the past 20 minutes? i'm a piece of shit. but i know what i'm doing.

i hate mirrors. i'm an ugly kid. circles around the eyes. whenever possible, i hide behind glasses, and hoodies, and angular hair cuts.

a fractured christ.

twitter.
i still think this could be awesome, but it really needs to get some people with the right idea behind it. i hate when people write about real things and even when they write about fake things (or i should say real things in a fictional way) i hate when they update more than once an hour or so. really, i'm just a complete horror.

i wonder what i was born for.

while chris gasparri remains one of the most shady characters i've known, he still has one of the most honest characters i've ever come across. he is what he is. i think honesty scares me away. when i know what i'm getting into, i step back i step back.

it's july 23rd. ALMOST august. and i'm still sitting outside FREEZING. i've been really hot maybe twice. this is pathetic. summer is here, it's true. but it's not the kind of summer that it's ever been before. i'm sleeping in a hoodie tonight. i'm serious.

she should come over. she should draw me so many things i can't see the paint on my walls. she should run away. she shouldn't be here. she should be better than someone like me. she should be seeing clay colored things. she should fulfill the outlasting potential of her hands. she should stop being so goddamn pretty. she should hold me for hours and stop watching the clock. she could remember just how far away i was and laugh at how close. she should be famous. she should come over. she should come over. she should know i can't sleep.

$.

do what your mother tells you.

i am such a piece of shit, and that's how i ended up slumped down against this wood backed chair. the small of my back is holding all my weight; my ass hanging off the end of the curves meant for your posterior. my shirt's a wrinkled horror, mostly at the collar where i was chokehandled around the room. i couldn't give less of a fuck. i don't listen anymore, not to anyone really. in this go around, i just tried to watch what he was watching which was me just watching him. i tried to see him as he saw himself in the mirror this morning. i thought about how he would tell his friends about this tomorrow, and that's really the only time i ever felt anything about this.

i'd never been punched before.
it's quieter than i thought it could be.
it has the same effect of a loud noise, though. all the senses kind of blindshot out.
as if he was some friend of mine, i almost said to him, "you got me all deaf, mate," on his way out the room.

i barely know this guy. i've only got what she's told me about him. well, what she's told me, and what i've found out through the internet. but that's mostly inferences, assumptions, and lies. i only know the idea of this guy.

but i like to think i have a pretty good idea of who he is.

i am so not going to do anything to him when i come around. i'm not so sure if it was the kissy face or the smile that put him over. well, that, or the whole, "your girlfriend ain't so much your girlfriend anymore" thing. the barbarian. i bet he'll be all layin' in bed rubbin' his knuckles tonight, thinking this is the last he'll ever feel anything about this problem again. i want to tell him, "baby, this will be your whole goddamn life." get the fireworks again, but at least i got in another last word. behind his eyes, all i saw was industry. puts up the big boy literary fatigues when he leaves the door. but back at the dark apartment, homeboy got the UFC channel tivo'd and a maxim collection to thumbfist through.

ah, shit, i got nowhere to stay tonight.

battle axe between the eyes.

i don't dream often.
i had a fairly vivid dream involving tons of bugs.

Insects
To see insects in your dream, signifies minor obstacles that you must overcome. There are small problems and annoyances that need to be dealt with. Something or someone may be "bugging" or "pestering" you. Alternatively, insects are also said to be symbolic of precision, alertness, and sensitivity. You may need to organize your thoughts and sort out your values. Sometimes they are seen as divine messengers.

Flies
To see flies in your dream, symbolizes feelings of guilt or a breakdown of a plan. Flies may also forewarn of a contagious sickness or a surrounding of enemies.

To dream that you kill or exterminate the flies, signifies that you will regain your honor after you fell from grace and will be recapture the heart of your intended.

Fleas
To see fleas in your dream, signifies that you will be provoked into anger and manipulated into retaliation by someone close to you.

To dream that fleas bite you, signifies that vicious rumors by false friends will slander your character.

Lice
To see lice in your dream, signifies frustrations, distress and feelings of guilt. You may also be feeling emotionally or physically unclean. Alternatively, the lice my represent a person, situation, or relationship that you want to distance yourself from. You may be feeling used or taken advantage of.

the possibility of people.

i wish that, even if i had to reduce my speed by (at most) 33%, i could read in the dark. not just read signs, but read books and interpret and store data. i wonder if they'll ever release backlit books.

i lived in florida for a year. i will never forget that. at jade winds, almost every night was capped with a cold beer out on our balcony. our little moment of zen.

i love finding people who i'd love to meet.
i love meeting people who i want to ask questions.

i'm trying to figure out what to do with my room. i was in this same mode when i was about to leave the first time. i want to make sure that whatever i get to add here, the things that i have are things i'll want to bring with me to my next home.

i've found the summer. i lived through them my entire life, and have known that warm weather, and that open ended feeling. but i've finally found something amazing in it. i can't bring those words to life anymore than asking you to live it with me. i don't know exactly what my backyard is capable of, because i've never thought of it as mine to live in. since we were kids, we always demolished it with our little sneakers. and with dogs living here my entire life, we've always let them wander around back there instead of taking them for walks. but since we started really taking care of it, with a decent sized deck, a good sized patio, actual green grass, a coy pond, etc., i think it might have all the makings for a nice little hangout spot. it's to the point where i'm seriously considering heading to home depot or lowe's or something of the sort to get some tiki torches. or something less tacky. something so that, on nights that we're here, we can bring a conversation and some refreshments to the outdoors. i want to get a medium sized ipod dock/stereo to bring outside with me/us.

when i get a house, i want a porch. i want to watch thunderstorms from it with my wife [and kids]. in silence, sometimes; in laughter, sometimes.

i have this odd syndrome. i feel my best when i'm single, because i feel like i really get to be myself. but what the people who love me have always fallen in love with is that person. being so far away from justine right now has been such an odd dynamic. i feel that calm, peace of being single. but i feel that terrible stretching and reaching of being far from her. it's not that i'm not myself when i'm around her, but i feel more stressed out about being silent. i think that while i'm around her, i can be happy, but i can never get that solid, brilliant line of contentment.

i'm scared of drugs, not because of the damage they could do, but because of how true the things they say they are might be. and i believe in their potential to make certain things great.

when i'm unemployed i get so stressed out that i'm unemployed. there's always something i could be doing. those silent moments that i could be using for out of presence and mind wandering are always spent overexamining myself, the now, the later, the tomorrow, and the way past next week. i forget that, eventually, when things start to come together again, there will be nights like this where i can twist my bottom lip in my fingers and squint off into the slats of the fence. i forget that i'll be okay.



from: +1516205XXXX
Hey hey! i got your msg!
thank god you hav it!
hehe. whats up with
you? things good?i hear
u got a job at gamestop?
is that where?

this in a response to a myspace message. it's not bad, per say. i just think to properly respond, it would take about 30 txts.

i was sitting on a curb when i called you and i said, "i don't hate you." please come here. where have you been.

-

the ark!

i found these pages torn out of a small notebook. i don't remember writing them.

naked lunch is a book; not a work, not a hissing commentary.

its genius came in its fluidity.

if any of it was on purpose, it instantly loses its appeal.

God, I'm Tired.

\\\the door's not really a door

i've written this way. (the way naked lunch is written)

just vocabulary bleeding from my hands and mouth, coming together just barely. saying things you're jealous you hadn't thought of sooner.

you find 3 or 4 lines as cornerstones.
and you move on,
never removing a thing.

i know this style, is what i'm saying.

in this version, Terry Southern includes an introduction which claims that Burroughs' social, political, and ethical commentary
"AS IN ALL GENUINE ART,
IS MORE INSTINCTIVE
THAN
DELIBERATE."

bullshit.
i swear.

just call it what it is.

an addict talking like an addict about addicts, addiction, and its implications while being addicted.

he just happens to have the right tools in his mind and his his mouth. word after word after word.

i've said this time and again about music. but with this book, it just makes sense:

instead of giving you this book, and asking you to read it, i'd rather just give you the emotions i felt while reading it.

i'd rather impart its impact onto you.

i guess this is pretention. surrounded by addicts.

7700
0359
21200
12800
history.com/starwars
jj abrams
paradise lost
paradise lost!

th
fr
sa -- 11p-7a
su
mo

-

next.

i am the god of war.
who the FUCK are you?

finished it. took ~14 hours.

sick game, if not a little bit too short. a lot of relying on the replay value which i'm not going to go for at all. new costumes are cool and all, but i'm just here for the story. which, all in all, was just more kratos having it out with the gods.

there will be another installment of this game, and will most likely be solely on the ps3. hm.

call it travel, but we were there.

sometimes, i feel like i didn't move to florida at all. sometimes i feel like it was all a cover up for a suicide attempt. some days i feel like i'm being handled with care. people not wanting to let the wrong thing slip out. a fact here or a hint there. keeping the charade in place. come to think of it, there hasn't been an uncomfortable silence since i've been back. so you're all locked and loaded, then? well that's all just fine.

i think about who might have found me; put the whole thing in place. maybe i laid down one night, while i was drying clothes and decided not to get up again. got caught up in a fever, decided to take the whole thing apart. i'm no immune. i crack like we all crack. and sometimes, it's dying or killing. constructing an ending in someone. writing someone out. it comes not a lot, but just to be sure.

the twitter phenomenon.

i want to encapsulate my thoughts on this whole twitter movement that's happening in such a terse statement, that it will make perfect sense appearing on the site itself, but it's near impossible. i think the best way to put it is:

no one gives a shit.

just like those livejournal posts where people discuss what they've been doing for the past few days (i could see a transcript of a vacation, but c'mon); just like those myspace blogs that talk about myspace blogs. just like those flickr pages of everything you've eaten today.

no one gives a shit.

there's a link up top on the site called "public timeline" which seems to post the last twenty or so posts in the past ten seconds or something along those lines. and i read it sometimes, in hopes that someone will go outside the box a little bit; maybe express a brief clarity, maybe create a tiny universe, maybe say something intriguing. because these things are really possible. i'm 'following' four twitters which do just that. in one hundred and forty characters or less, they give me something to read and at least absorb. some of rah's are a little on the X-D side for me, but i'm sure some of mine register on the 8-| scale for him as well. but in the middle of those extremes of our posts, there are bits of things that interest each other with what we write in there.

+ stephifty sandwich was worth the wait!
+ jwatkins debating whether i'll keep this feed going
+ legirl leaving in a few, and i still don't know how to get there.

no one gives a shit.

and i'm not saying that my feeds are any more on the side of revolution. my flickr had been a blind dash at throwing whatever i could point my camera at and capture. my livejournal hit its moments of self-importance. but even clicking in, and reading some of these 'tweets' that folks post is like fucking a blow up doll.

and i'm probably being a major elitist right now. but the thing is, i have no problem with each and every one of these users having an account. on any and all fronts. but i just wish there was a little bit more soul behind those dead eye[con]s. it's hard trying to point this out, without saying, "they should be more like us. the way we do it is right." because, in essence, that's what i'm saying. but some of this information doesn't need to be out there. it's that gabby bullshit that prevents a streamlined society.

and there i was sitting in die hard,
loving the tricked out explosions
which costs multimillions.

okay. okay.
i guess it's just frustrating to know the potential of a system being put to waste. i've looked at those limited character allowances as a challenge. just another new media to create within. i'm not saying my twitter is great. but i'm proud that at least it's different. and i'd love to find more just like mine.

+ zero606 I am trying to come up with a new logo for my blog and for my shopping log. I need an inspiration!
+ razzie I think imma take a shower right now

because, jesus.

-

antenna.

today is my first real day off since i started working again, it feels like. every other day that i've had no hours at a job, wedged between two other days that i DID have hours have been monopolized from morning til night. that's not a bad thing, necessarily. in fact, today is just like one of those days where i was unemployed forever. except today, i got to appreciate it, guilt free. i wasn't worrying or tap-tapping.

it finally felt like things were okay.
because they are.

a majority of today has already been spent plopped in front of my ps2 and television playing more god of war. I have been having such a good time with the game, exactly like i had with the first one. it's just one huge movie, essentially, that i get to help along. there are a few parts where i've died, literally, twenty or more times. stuff like that is frustrating, as in any video game. mostly, this kind of thing would come up in earlier NES games where the pits were placed just too far apart. or enemies just did NOT make sense in certain places for the skill level that your character was ready for at that time. but the BIGGEST thing that made games very difficult were the lack or sparse placement of save/check points. and that's what keeps this game on. the people in charge of god of war must have had very similar experiences with games, and have put markers after pretty much EVERY thing that you do. and that helps out a WHOLE lot. so, i've got the barbarian's hammer, the spear of destiny, and icarus' wings, i've spoken to the titan atlas, and have freed a phoenix from its ashen prison.

i'm down with that.

i also finally started to read a million little pieces by james frey.
there was such a HUGE hype behind this book due to the oprah machine, and that, to me, waters down a book SO much. it's like the whole davinci code thing. when that book was getting insane acclaim, and stayed on the best seller chart for who knows HOW long, i had to ignore it, just at least for the first chunk of that. there's just an element of tag-along that goes with those HUGE hype trains. like the wii right now. i'm sure that a lot of people who are looking forward to getting those hard-to-get wii systems are going to be selling them back within the year. not a majority, or anything, i don't think. but a good amount of people are going to be disappointed that they bought into the whole "grassy knoll" mentality. either way, the book's first twenty pages are legit. and while that can't necessarily mean the entire book is going to be good, so far it's exceeded my expectations.

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