it's growing to be 5am and i have work tomorrow and i don't care when i go in but if i am up i'll go on time but if i don't i'll get there when i can and they can call if they want but i'll be tending to things like self maintenance and a quantifying of worth. i've just had so much i've wanted to do and i'm finally unwinding after three straight full days there. the past 30+ hours of that store have been me. i've been that store. but.
i wanted to talk a little about this new job prospect but it makes me too nervous to put words to it. i'm not qualified for it, or excited about it, nor do i see myself in it for a long time and i assume this will pose a large problem considering it's going to be in an office with my father which could prove to be a whole new sort of chapter in and of itself. what i'm already hoping is that it doesn't work out but i have too much ethic to sabotage myself consciously.
i wanted to dedicate march to getting through all of my video games that i'd had sitting on my shelf but then all this work stuff started to happen all the way through. just nonstop. who could even breathe. i just beat god of war for psp tonight. such good things, just not enough of them. not really a complaint, though. size doesn't matter.
i need to stretch tantrically, and extend all of these compacted upper body units. this is one of the reasons i so badly want a high school desk when i finally finalize where i live.
i was going to mention something about it, but then stopped, but then thought about how stupid it is to NOT mention it. i checked out the new nine inch nails album's first disc and couldn't even formulate an opinion on it. for my definition and format, those weren't even songs. they were just musicians starting playing together on the same wavelength and then stopping. rahul sent me the rest of the discs which i am i am going to give an honest chance to. told rahul and brian the same deal. what i'd like is for one of those discs to be somewhere between sigur ros, explosions in the sky, and beside you in time with no drums, just electronics and lo-fi sounds. it's not going to happen, i don't think. but.
there's a book of artwork that comes with this new album which contains about 40 photographs taken by Phillip Graybill and Rob Sheridan which make me think they were taken for me. i don't know another way to put it beyond the fact that these are the places that i want to be to take on the largeness of the world and of the life. apparently, the only way to get this book is to buy the record package and i don't want to buy the record package. what i'd like is the book and i'd pay probably no more than $27 for it, unless it was bigger and(/slightly or) had words to accompany it. either way, these are perfect photos, the kind that i would want enlarged on glossy photo paper and framed in a new white apartment of mine. maybe numbered with silver pen.
i'm currently unhappy at my job situation, and it's due to money and i never thought it would come down to that. i've never been into money. i'm not "into" it now. that's not what i'm saying. the thing is, i'm finally able to quantify the way that i've been stiffed this time around.
it started with another employee badgering me about my lack of video game knowledge and wholly different approach at retail, life, video games, entertainment, media, dress, etc. then the optionless calling on my days off. then the manager not showing up for a week. two weeks. now two months. that was all just things that you could complain about, but in a way you were doing your job as part of what you'd signed on to do.
but this time around, it's finally to the point where something is on paper that the hours that i've worked don't add up to the compensation i've received. numerically. i worked 50 hours each of these last two weeks. i got paid for 80 hours. that's twenty hours that i was in the store, that i wasn't at home, that i was keeping their store going that i won't get back or get compensated for.
see, they moved me to a salaried position without telling me. and it's not like i didn't have options here. they asked if i wanted coverage. but it's our store. i like the feeling of knowing everything that's going on in those walls. we had someone fill in yesterday, and it's just weird trying to explain a certain different way of doing things. it's not my thing. but i took on these extra hours and days thinking that i'd be getting overtime. and you know what, forget overtime, just PAY in general.
i'm scheduled to work 54 hours next week. i don't think that's going to happen. i'm out. i've gone on an interview and it went well, and i hope it went well enough to be taken on as an associate and begin to make money doing those things.
this was all useless to say and point out. it's pouring.
i haven't had a lot to say in the past month. the joy of life hasn't left me but i almost typed that it did.
i'm trying to evaluate what i want to do and how i want to do it. i like writing more than i can express through words, which i guess would be an ideal job in a sense. but i don't think i have the style or skill to get noticed to the extent of a remarkable or lived-on paycheck. at best, if at all, my words will be noticed by a niche crowd and enjoyed by a percentage of them. and i wonder if i'll even ever get there.
i don't think i make very much sense anywhere. i can't sell things because i don't want to be too pushy, i can't build things because i don't have the hands or the mind for it. i can't cook. i can't draw. i wish there was a way to take an accurate and updated aptitude test so it can plop me in the right place and i can continue walking onward and make enough for a meal or two a day, transportation, and a home. that'd be nice.
i often say that i wasted my life by not going to or continuing school. but i think that i might not need it sometimes, and i think that it's the only thing i need sometimes. i see people in paid positions doing things they're not so qualified or excited to do and it's all because they spent four years in classes getting approved for such a position. i think i need to harness some sort of potential that i have somewhere, and utilize it to the best of my ability and beyond and get recognition and compensation for it.
i've got an apartment in harlem that i can move into once i secure a job somewhere in the city/queens limits and i have an interview tomorrow morning at nine which i hope i can land at which point i will give my resignation in at gamestop which should get me a lot of scorn which makes me nervous. we'll see.
while trying to find the tracklisting for my last mix cd (11, not 12) i came upon this. it's not good, but it exists.
it's hard to be ashamed of someone else.
--
Everytime I walk through a dark room I can hear them. I can smell them. I can feel their eyes rolling across the length of my body. I don't know why I was the lucky one to be able to see these foul things. Why I was the pick of the litter. But I was born with it, and therefore I have to live with it. Everyday from now on, as far as I know. But I always have the hope that I can wakeup feeling free of this burden. Yet everyday for the past year, it has gotten progressively worse.
That first day was most likely the worst. I woke up feeling normal, until I looked out the window and saw it raining. It was that hard kind of rain. the kind that you think is going to dent the hood of your car. I was on my own at that point, so I made that comment outloud, although no one was there to hear it. What a great feeling that was. Living without wondering who or what is hearing what you say, or knowing what you think. I went into the bathroom to shower and shave and get ready for work. I stood over the sink looking at my sorry face and then smiled and laughed. Today was the day that I was going to be interviewed for my promotion. Fuck, I was nervous. I went into the shower, and washed every part of my body with my mind running through things which have absolutely nothing to do with anything. Like making up new lyrics for songs which already existed.
Have you ever slipped in the shower? Have you ever had the hopeless feeling of sailing across the tub and trying to grip for anything to stop you from falling, but the only thing you can touch are the wet, slippery walls, or toppling shower bottles. I hadn't fell in tub in years is the first thing i thought. Ouch was the next. I got up clumsily and as I was doing this i caught a glimpse of the blood running down into the drain. That's what I started to panic. I tried to wash the gaping wound above my eye brow as best I could, but it just kept bleeding. I turned off the shower and looked in the mirror.
Fuck. It was right above my eyebrow. I grabbed the washcloth and applied pressure. Why waste time? I started brushing my teeth. I went over the interview over and over in my head as I stared at myself in the mirror. In the mirror, I could see the closed bathroom door. Here I am, living alone, and I still close the door to my own bathroom. I rinsed, spit, and put the toothbrush back in its home, and then turned nonchalantly to go back to my bedroom.
What I saw as I looked up was about as tall as my father but twice as wide. And it stunk like death. I dropped the washcloth as a sting and a shiver went through my entire body. As the bloodied rag hit the ground, he... it was gone. It had been nothing short of a second, yet I knew I saw it, and I knew I smelled it. And apparently, so was the gash above my eyebrow. But the cloth was still bloody and my head still stung where the wound had once been. Not having done drugs throughout my entire life, I knew that this wasn't some sick flashback. This had happened.
...COMMENTED YOUR MYSPACE WITH A BROKEN .JPG ...CAN REALLY RELATE TO ZIGGY. ...CAN'T SYNC HER WIRELESS GUITAR. ...SAYS OKEY DOKE. ...HAS NO LOVE TO GIVE.
the old spill canvas album reminds me of her so much. and i guess the thing is i haven't seen a mind completely independent since the first time i heard her listening to this album on her own, completely. i remember how sexy i found her being entirely and silently overwhelmed by something i knew nothing about.
that was the kind of thing that completely intoxicated me. i can think of her at a distance, in silence, singing along, eyes closed, to a single line of the entire fifty five minutes.
she was downstairs. and i didn't even know this band.
i have nothing to claim to her. my mind is on a long, long leash. i love another time over. i'm a little mad. i have a trust issue that i ignore.
i want to run but i want to stay. apply this to her and to me.
i sort of know she has a passion that she's having a hard time evaluating. putting into words or pictures or sounds. i was this way at 20. fucking 20. what in the world was i at 20? in a relationship that wasn't suited to my lifestyle, with certain friends that couldn't keep up, without a solidified dream/goal, and pre-anything, and pre-growth stage.
i don't think i'd seen anything i'd wanted to see that would really touch me. i thought i loved but didn't know what love was.
i was a youth and these things are going to happen. it took another half decade (maybe more) before i realized what it was and what i was. i still don't think i know what i want to be, but i know what i want to see and how i want to see it.
the thing is, i don't generally remember my dreams. in fact, for years now i've been saying that i don't dream. occasionally, i'll have to backpedal and say that yes, i know i dream i just don't remember them.
in the middle of january, i started writing down my dreams, no matter how small, in a pad i'm keeping next to my bed. i don't want to say that it's become important to me, but i'd like to definitely stick to it.
coming back to a dream that i had even just TWO days ago has been an almost rewarding experience.
before i go to sleep, i can usually hear voices. useless conversations. i'm not saying they're ghosts or anything. just scenarios, in a way.
maybe you're just not in the habit of it anymore! three straight children. // my parents aren't still divorced.. - kim-voice
it hurts to text message. that's where i'm at right now. my fingertips feel dense. my knees feel rusted. my teeth feel uprooted. my back feels freezedried. what happened here. i feel like i'm going through withdrawal. i can't stand loud noises.
i started writing my dreams down. i don't remember them, and i don't want to read them for a long, long time.
portioned falling. so much collapse, 35mm stillframes, momentum building. UGLIEST OF FACES. hollow skeleton partitioned for the sake of flight. overcoming a solo meeting place. she writes forever, face plastered on hologram posters, shouting "REBELLION." i will. i will. i was told i was jaded because i was world weary. what's next? i can't meditate anymore. slothing through death, like i sloth through death. too many lines. oh, she screams and speaks like she's with me on the road about nobody but everybody. "that which is not, IS." aspects of one person that you come to face. one brain, two rules. my body is far too happy as she mumbles so i hear it, "i want to take you somewhere beautiful." a fear of botany. i want to kiss her in front of everybody and just have it be what it is. And this machine needs fuel. SO WE FUEL IT!
pachefsky gave me a heads up about this anime last night over drinks at friday's. i know he's talked about it a little bit since he's been back on break, but usually, i take nothing he says seriously. there are only a few people whose opinion i can take to heart, and only about certain things. recomendations can only really come when you not only know and like what you're pitching, but also knowing the person you're pitching it to. i would never recommend look, mexico to rahul, for example.
but this time, he's come through in the clutch. i've only seen the first episode, but it's pretty solid so far.
we both took things from him. hers are just a bit more worn on the outside. the alcoholism the blind fury.
i've got little bits of his hidden psychoses. the ones that are there for minutes at a time when he talks to himself, circling the kitchen. the ones that make him thrash in his sleep. whatever it was inside him that made him say, "the family that kills together, dies together. and they all get into their little black moods."
it'd make me fear him if i didn't go there myself, sometimes.
and i know when She passes, most likely from lung cancer or emphysema, he is going to go into a fierce plummet. there will be darkness and there will be blindness. we're all going to go down.
ALL FOOLS, we try terrible hard to make them hear our voices but we're saying nothing. we are bored with ourselves. daring in LIFE AS WE ARE IN DEATH, or sleeping still. i'll call you back tomorrow when i think of what i meant. i really don't even remember that night and i almost got so sick, but i went to work instead. and shit... we have to keep living this year. xo
someone random. insert picture. ummm. dave. there is a damnit [in] the place of the [despicable]. feel me. when u don't know [what's] hitting u its [going] to be [calamity]. muscle memory intermittently. it's silence. no [music] a silence. and [the] ones I love are the ones that make [my] [voice hit]. and the ones that oh my [god].
we wouldn't know what to do with each other. and eventually, we'd have nothing to talk about. there's nothing that you want to do that amounts to much more than stories of the other night. and there's nothing that i want to do that amounts to much more than plans i think i'm trying to make. i wish i wasn't addicted to falling in love. at least then, i could take this as far as i knew it would go. but i still stick to the belief that guilt beats hate. you just won't do; you're the kind of person that asks why. we could do this if i got beautiful and dirty. we could do this if i got beautiful and dirty. and it's not really tearing me up.
i didn't know who you were before i met you but i swallowed hard every time i saw you.
i could probably never turn you around. you just don't have the right kind of eyes. and i bet you still don't touch pen to paper. i actually don't even believe in you.
i'd have to be the kind of man that would fight the kind of man that i am. my canvas jacket would be worn thin everywhere. i'd wear filthy boots caked with mud. i'd wear hats.
the movie for which the above poster was printed for was slow, and long but amazing. the most i can say for anyone with nearly three hours to spend watching turn-of-the-century oil drilling is JUST WATCH DANIEL DAY LEWIS. get the DVD and fast forward if need-be. the man made art of a character.
there are many things that i want to do, in some level of priority listed hereafter.
- watch the game - respond to that e-mail - finish reading water for elephants (& on the road & wastelands) - finish half life 2 - watch the cell (& ghostbusters & bloodsport & fido & pit fighter & shutter) - watch gangs of new york (& the pursuit of happyness & it's a wonderful life) - watch constantine on HD (& children of men) - play more NY TIMES CROSSWORD PUZZLE on DS (& finish new super mario bros.) - listen to the gaslight anthem's album parker had recommended (& the tegan and sara album kimi recommended) - start reading junky (& only revelations & romannitarian & dermaphoria) - get rollins tickets - get through the series gungrave (& battlestar galactica & the grim adventures of billy and mandy & lost season 2 & foster's home for imaginary children & firefly again & malcolm in the middle) - be well - make shirts (or A shirt) - get new shoes - get a cable box so i can watch television in HD - shower - finish bioshock (& mass effect) - start condemned (& assassin's creed & fear files & gears of war & dead rising & crackdown & lego star wars) - write this blog.
what would it be like if jared leto had a tail? the talented, beautiful, versatile lead singer/actor/walking portrait with another extremity. and i'm not talking about an easily manicured tiger striped three foot exotic tail, as we've seen in sci-fi movies used as an additional layer of attraction. i'm talking about a nasty, hard to maintain, impossible to remove freak of nature tail. the kind that looks like a skin tag that wouldn't quit.
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.
... 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
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.
i'm seeing things, thinking, "what the FUCK is that??" i hate those dirty fucks. i just don't want to hear it.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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.
- 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.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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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.
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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.
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.
