- Ah, baby boy, take it easy. It's just heartburn.
faceless again
This is like the first post I've made on a real live computer in a public place, with a keyboard. Let me look around, see if it's safe. I feel like one of those screenwriters at a Starbucks in Toluca Lake.
- One big difference there, buddy.
Shut up. Anyway, my social experiment didn't work. All I'll say about that, in the words of a wise man, "Last thing I need is new material."
A real person once said to me, "I realized I had to protect her from my insanity." I guess that applies, too. Look, I thought maybe if someone from here looked over there, it would be like the pick of the day, a treat, a tribute to here! Anyway, I wanted to save a couple status updates.
Let me tell you something—sit down. No, sit over here. You have a set of three keys. Why the fuck would I mean, "Three sets of keys?" You don't even know what I'm about to say. No, sit over here. You have a set of three identical keys, see? For one lock, get it? No, they're not identical—they're identical. That's, what, your chances of getting it on the first try? Three to one? That's a fraction; I eat fractions. So, what, you have a—I don't need to download the app: it's .33. I got it memorized. No big deal. It's just a number. Well, guess what? That's bullshit. It means shit. Because when you put the first key in, it's going to be wrong. The second, wrong also. Fuck this world. And if you're lucky, and you don't mess up the order, you may finally get in the house before the icicle melts. Shut up! So I can throw it in my root beer, that's why. I don't need a calculator to show me the facts of life, Chief. Might as well not even try the first two keys, and just bang your head on the door for awhile. Try it, the same thing will happen every time; and—let me tell you something—if you get the right key on the first try, then you're a part of the conspiracy the Universe has against—Hey, where are you going? Hey! I'll kill you...
---
I've been having dreams about people who were in my life who are no longer in my life. I've grown disgruntled over my difficulty to sleep, an unconscious action most people take for granted. They don't realize they are at the mercy of their brain; they think as long as they remember their lottery numbers, they'll be all right. I went to the 7-11 to have some coffee, I had assumed, but there was no parking. The designated spots were all full. It was clear as day, that the... designated spots were all full. I pulled in front of the taco joint next door. There was no doubt in my mind that there were Mexicans inside. 30 minutes for parking—that should give me enough time. I walked in, real horrorshow; there were tacos all over the place. I said to the girl, give me beans and corn. She said do you want anything else? I said like what, a taco? She said how 'bout a sweet little taquito. I said you're sweet, give me my beans and corn. She charged me for two side dishes and I paid for it. It was no problem—I have it. After I ate it I had eaten it. I got up and asked for more beans and corn. She said you want more? I said if there are any flies on you, they're paying rent. She said I'm going to have to charge you for another two side dishes. I threw a crumpled ten dollar on the counter. Before she could act, I said beans and corn. She asked if I didn't even want my change—I said the beans and corn.
- One big difference there, buddy.
Shut up. Anyway, my social experiment didn't work. All I'll say about that, in the words of a wise man, "Last thing I need is new material."
A real person once said to me, "I realized I had to protect her from my insanity." I guess that applies, too. Look, I thought maybe if someone from here looked over there, it would be like the pick of the day, a treat, a tribute to here! Anyway, I wanted to save a couple status updates.
Let me tell you something—sit down. No, sit over here. You have a set of three keys. Why the fuck would I mean, "Three sets of keys?" You don't even know what I'm about to say. No, sit over here. You have a set of three identical keys, see? For one lock, get it? No, they're not identical—they're identical. That's, what, your chances of getting it on the first try? Three to one? That's a fraction; I eat fractions. So, what, you have a—I don't need to download the app: it's .33. I got it memorized. No big deal. It's just a number. Well, guess what? That's bullshit. It means shit. Because when you put the first key in, it's going to be wrong. The second, wrong also. Fuck this world. And if you're lucky, and you don't mess up the order, you may finally get in the house before the icicle melts. Shut up! So I can throw it in my root beer, that's why. I don't need a calculator to show me the facts of life, Chief. Might as well not even try the first two keys, and just bang your head on the door for awhile. Try it, the same thing will happen every time; and—let me tell you something—if you get the right key on the first try, then you're a part of the conspiracy the Universe has against—Hey, where are you going? Hey! I'll kill you...
---
I've been having dreams about people who were in my life who are no longer in my life. I've grown disgruntled over my difficulty to sleep, an unconscious action most people take for granted. They don't realize they are at the mercy of their brain; they think as long as they remember their lottery numbers, they'll be all right. I went to the 7-11 to have some coffee, I had assumed, but there was no parking. The designated spots were all full. It was clear as day, that the... designated spots were all full. I pulled in front of the taco joint next door. There was no doubt in my mind that there were Mexicans inside. 30 minutes for parking—that should give me enough time. I walked in, real horrorshow; there were tacos all over the place. I said to the girl, give me beans and corn. She said do you want anything else? I said like what, a taco? She said how 'bout a sweet little taquito. I said you're sweet, give me my beans and corn. She charged me for two side dishes and I paid for it. It was no problem—I have it. After I ate it I had eaten it. I got up and asked for more beans and corn. She said you want more? I said if there are any flies on you, they're paying rent. She said I'm going to have to charge you for another two side dishes. I threw a crumpled ten dollar on the counter. Before she could act, I said beans and corn. She asked if I didn't even want my change—I said the beans and corn.
The crumpled ten dollar bill sat on the counter like a petty, impotent, spiteful little man. She watched me devour my beans and corn. I would stare at her like a child while I wiped my mouth, then I would go back to ferociously consuming my dish. The corn needed salt but I didn't care; the beans had no flavor and I'm still there.
---
Look. Shut up. I'm talking now.
Don't you hate when people think they can keep talking when you want to interrupt them? I know, right? How many knives can I stick in you?
The people at the YMCA think I'm crazy. I'm not crazy; I'm just aware that they think I'm crazy.
Moreover, I know I haven't killed a million people. That is less people than someone who has killed a lot of people. I know about thirty-six people. The dumbest people are the ones who don't know that they're dumb. Come, let's meet on Victory and Lankershim for a couple tacos. Do you know what those are? I'm riding my bicycle. They're two flaps of corn tortilla—they're not big, I mean they're not the size of you're head—with meat atop. You put some onion on it, sell it for a dollar—faggedabodid. People will eat it. If they're hungry enough, they'll eat it, no question about that. Now, do you have a bicycle lock? I'm going to ride by your house. If you're not home, I'll just tell your dad you set aside a bicycle lock for me.
---
Hey guys, the accident's on the other side of the freeway. Just wanted to remind you. No need to get out and discuss it with your next door vehicle. Ah, don't offer him the gum! Ah, he's fumbling with it!
Yea, hi how are you? Yea, I sees it too. No, it's okay; I'll just stay in here.
If I relapse, I'll be back, you can bet. Someone's teaching me to be more careful with my words, how do you make an em-dash on this thing, oh can't talk too loud in here: for example, the importance of utilizing the past tense when speaking about things I've done in the past, the danger of speaking in absolutes, shit like that em dash I dunno, sometimes my mind would wander off.
Lastly, my loves, we have to part again. No more checking pageviews. I just can't handle it! Instead of charging emotions based on perceived reactions or indifference—or the indifference of the fuckin sea she has!—I think I can free up my subconscious to develop some new material.
---
Look. Shut up. I'm talking now.
Don't you hate when people think they can keep talking when you want to interrupt them? I know, right? How many knives can I stick in you?
The people at the YMCA think I'm crazy. I'm not crazy; I'm just aware that they think I'm crazy.
Moreover, I know I haven't killed a million people. That is less people than someone who has killed a lot of people. I know about thirty-six people. The dumbest people are the ones who don't know that they're dumb. Come, let's meet on Victory and Lankershim for a couple tacos. Do you know what those are? I'm riding my bicycle. They're two flaps of corn tortilla—they're not big, I mean they're not the size of you're head—with meat atop. You put some onion on it, sell it for a dollar—faggedabodid. People will eat it. If they're hungry enough, they'll eat it, no question about that. Now, do you have a bicycle lock? I'm going to ride by your house. If you're not home, I'll just tell your dad you set aside a bicycle lock for me.
---
Hey guys, the accident's on the other side of the freeway. Just wanted to remind you. No need to get out and discuss it with your next door vehicle. Ah, don't offer him the gum! Ah, he's fumbling with it!
Yea, hi how are you? Yea, I sees it too. No, it's okay; I'll just stay in here.
If I relapse, I'll be back, you can bet. Someone's teaching me to be more careful with my words, how do you make an em-dash on this thing, oh can't talk too loud in here: for example, the importance of utilizing the past tense when speaking about things I've done in the past, the danger of speaking in absolutes, shit like that em dash I dunno, sometimes my mind would wander off.
Lastly, my loves, we have to part again. No more checking pageviews. I just can't handle it! Instead of charging emotions based on perceived reactions or indifference—or the indifference of the fuckin sea she has!—I think I can free up my subconscious to develop some new material.
Some of the most absurd questions people have asked me
I only need mention one. This one takes the cake. Listen to this:
"Do you like to go camping?"
Are you freakin' crazy? People actually do that shit, too. I'll tell ya, people take that movie, Walden way too seriously. I mean, where are you going to bake a cake?
Join me next time, as I answer more fan mail from my P.O. Box—No, I don't. I have a bed.
My next door neighbors have guests over. I stepped out to sit in my patio. I wanted to look over Sexy Stare #9. They are in their backyard speaking Spanish. I hear laughter. What? No, no flamenco guitar—that's kinda racist, by the way. You should check yourself. Laughter again. I'm smoking my nighttime stooge. That's what Alan calls cigarettes. Why doesn't he just call it a puff stick? Or a suckmenow? Hey, buddy, you gotta a suckmenow? I got money. What are you, hard of hearing? Come on, I need a suckmenow. The laughter is building; two men and a woman—the two fellows are pitching a tent with the running joke. They are making noises, maybe grunting noises. I'm pretty sure they're talking about the pervert next door. Is that him? He just came out. The light came on. Now it's off.
Later he will wander the halls of the hospital, where both generations are currently admitted. He will wander, looking, looking for something, something to light, his suckmenow.
Should opening acts do encores?
Sur Une Plage
Minimum
Digits
Safe
Iskwe
Nobody Knows
"You've been searching everywhere for me, I know."
Her voice sounds so beautiful in that line.
Kalle mattson
A long time ago
Always
Party Police
Evening Hymns
All of my Life
Birds of Paradise
Baby Daughters
the fox and the heron
Gabrielle Papill
Brother, Throw D...
and anything by Kathleen Edwards
Dave Monks
Heartbeat Blues
Another shitty morning. No pageviews—just flush 'em all away. No likes. Another plague, O Masterful One. Can't even watch the game. Great, another one from the Bundesliga. I should do my prayers—let me check her page! Oh, good; she didn't change her picture. It means she's sitting at home, waiting for me. A girlfriend comes by once in awhile to bring her bread from the local market and news of the outside world. Today, her friend made her spaghetti, with a garlic yougurt sauce mixed into the spaghetti. They joke that she can't eat too much of the garlic sauce, to give her life the semblance of normalcy, and make her smile.
I gotta go buy Alan a birthday present: a carton of cigarettes.
Fine. Good. Stay there. I'm going to Denny's with my new like-minded friends. You think I need this blog? I eat blogs. This big, my P.O. Box, (big, like big, big) Now listen, I found a little ring of a key-chain on the floor while I was fidgeting around in my chair; I didn't know if I wanted to yawn or scratch my hair first. I held the ring for a while, but like all men, I wanted to stick my finger in the hole. Eventually, I decided the ring would go on my finger next to my pinky on my left hand. I'm going to wear it like that at the restaurant—see if I get some looks—and probably all day tomorrow, where I'll be at a picnic, then I gotta mop, then a dance. They are going to think I'm domesticated; it's going to make them hot. I don't want to be alone tonight.
I can't believe they're playing "Bird on a Wire" at Denny's!
I walked to the restroom to have it all, as I walked out and was admiring my hands, I looked up and there was Sid Haig at a table with other people, people who look like him and Rob Zombie—women were listening to him talk—and there was a moment where he looked at me. I know, right? Obviously he's a fan of my blog!
I'll know the week's forecast by heart
If I drink, I'll be drinking off to the 5AM local news.
I can't even look around. It's like freefall sometimes when I put two and two together, or the reality of what's transpired in all the years I don't know.
2+2 = leeft engnel
Scooch over. I can't stop posting my shit on facebook, my love. It's scary, I'm getting a lot of attention. The other day, I got like four likes on one of them. Yea, and two comments. I checked and one of the individual's behind the friendly comments didn't like like it, as well. That would have given me like five likes, which would equal like a record, and I would have beaten Raul's record, too. I waited about half an hour cause I figured she probably forgot to send in a credit card payment and it was the deadline, so I just started doing push-ups in the corner and immediately ate a chicken tender for the protein, my love. After the half-hour mark, I gave her another fifteen—a flimsy internet connection I figured, poor thing. She probably doesn't have much money, if she's tackling the waves of credit card debt so poorly. And then I was late for work, so I just confronted her about it. We ended up getting in this whole big fight because I had tried to guess her password a couple times and just do it for her—I mean, I don't have much time to toy around—and apparently that was what was keeping her off her account—I dunno I wasn't really listening... And she had the gall at the end to say she wasn't going to like it—I mean I don't care if she like likes it, but I figure if could just get that thumbs up from her, that could shoot my ego up to next Tuesday. She ended up deleting me; worse yet, I couldn't keep her original comment and now only have one comment, and a bunch of messages from some guy threatening me.
It's been so hot. I don't sit outside if it feels like something's breathing on me. The heat's obviously stifling; but I think maybe my ego's getting ahead of me. I've been listening to the same songs over and over when I run, because the sensations they evoke keep me running. I'm being patient, I guess.
My days have been going swimmingly. I've found that some of the sweetest feelings of the day—and I probably owe this to polishing my down-nod—are those little momentary interactions I have with other human beings, when I get over judging someone at first sight—those are little tests by the Big Guy, I fail them often but it's okay—and simply see them—or fuck that, when I don't even have time for the former and I'm in my car and he's in his car, and...and we're both trying to let each other go first, but end up conceding to each other at the same time and almost crash into each other, and we're both genuine and flabbergasted and it doesn't matter if it's imported or domestic and who's supporting what economy, and we try again and almost crash again—it's wonderful, and laughing, and feelings! ...Apologies, I like making apologies. If I don't see a pedestrian quick enough, it gives me a chance to interact with him...a wicked side of me wants to run over the next bloke—I mean, as far as he knows, it'll be an accident—and I can get out of the car and apologize to him standing up—well, I'd be standing up, but I'd help him up. I mean, it's just a love bump for christ sake; it's not like he's going to break a shoulder. I could throw him in the back of my car and take him home and feed him soup. And sometimes, when I'm in a line at a convenience mart, I'll ask a light-hearted question aloud to myself, and see if the lady in front of me turns around, and who knows maybe we could spark up some banter...
Dear God,
I know I haven't been the best person lately. I said I'd stop complaining about Alan smoking all my cigarettes, but I went ahead and started gossiping about him to another friend, and that one's kinda cheap—I mean he bought me a quesadilla, cause I drove, but he wasn't having any of it when I broached the idea of an horchata, too, to wash down the asada and chesse. He's kind of a jerk, oh Masterful One. And, my lottery numbers haven't come up—I mean, I know the world is a big place, what with all these fuckin refugees you have to deal with. I don't want to be selfish—but I mean, buy land assholes! I just want to get in a work out today. I don't know how the run will be, it sounds so boring, O Underlying Creative Spirit of the Universe. I've been smoking so many cigarettes trying to psych myself up, my stomach hurts. You can't even run and smoke on the treadmill without people near you getting angry. And you can't cuss in front of their kids. I hate them. Thank you. You are the Good in Everyone.
Yours Truly,
well, you know who I am, and that prayer—yea, that one.
Woke up depressed today. Smile at this, bozo. Can't recall any significant dreams. One she had a new profile pic and there were people in it, but I knew I was dreaming in that one. The last one, me and Jared were trying to decide which movie to watch, and I had already seen it before. The movie was playing, and we were talking over it. Probably my diet.
I told myself I'm hitting the gym first thing today. That's probably what's making me so depressed. I'm practically crying, weeping, mother, weeping. But at the same time, I know if I do it, my perspective for the day will most likely change.
I'm not psychotic—I'm well read!
It's 8am. I'm forced to watch the Bayern game, dear diary, instead of Real's thumping of Espanyol. They are another team based out of Barcelona, but I don't hate them, my love. With my cable, I don't have the channel that shows most of Real's games; plus Bayern is behind in this game, so you know it'll be interesting. Yesterday I popped in some place to have a torta—you bet I did!—and I saw the Real Madrid banner. I asked them if they showed all their games here as I was ordering, and I was talking to the owner, and he said, "Are you kidding? You're looking at a die hard fan." Bayern's up 2-1, I'm fuming cause it makes me think of Germany. Then he looked around and announced, "This guy's a true fan, too," and I started blushing and I went in to hug him but he pushed me away. And then I told him from now on, I'm going to come in here, pay you for a burrito, and watch the games here, and he agreed, and I tried to hug him again and he pushed me away. Then this morning, I woke up, the game had already started, and I was drowsy, and I said fuck him and his burrito—I was so tired, o diary! He's not paying for my gas, and I was so tired...
Now I have to go back to work, because when I was detoxing I thought I was dying, so I didn't need money anymore and God was showing me what was going to happen to my legacy after I had gone, and all the attention I'd be getting! Hmm, if there was only a way I could fake my own death...
See, I was confused, because they say before you pass your life flashes before your eyes, but life after I pass was flashing before my eyes as I was in the dressing room at YMCA. And I tried to tell the ambulance that, but they thought I was just a tweeker. I told them about my quack doctor and how he spoke to me through a computer and I was in an empty room and that was like the twilight zone.
I feel like smiling and saying hi to everyone I come across today.
lol, I thought I was dying, so I was quick to turn my fb pic into a metaphorical tomb. fuckin' me
change the things I can—Let's get back on the pogo stick of Life, gentlemen
...
...
...
- ...What? Oh! He talkin' to me? But he said gentlemen. Oh, that was like a compliment?
- Will you get a move on!
- Oh, sorry
I miss you guys. I thought you guys were trying to kill me in the two hours before I slept. I got really bad mentally, and then when I woke up, I was normal again. I'll tell you about it in time probably. I had some funny thoughts, that were just deathly at first, but funny now, and it all made sense. I thought you had had enough of me and it was time. And the faces I'd make as I'd pace around the room and come to a conclusion about what you were doing to me, and try to hint that I knew it all, the cookie was spiked!...again, funny now
Germany has the coolest looking flag
Something happens to me everytime I see it, especially if it's in someone's window in the center of a Downtown LA skyscraper loft. Something very emotional always happens real quickly, then dissipates.
Used to, i would—no, not i would, it would: i'd! id!—elicit a lot of anger, underneath which was bitterness, resentment, but mainly a frail, insecure little man.
Now it's still like that, too—cause it's an impulse, you know—but inside that, too, now, there's something new and sweet, like a cooked little chlor (i dunno how to say it in english, and there's no way of making that letter through phonetics also) thrown in with dolma, cooked apples, cabbage, and grape-leaves, a big pepper, stuffed with meat and rice—and seeing the colors on the flag—or when Germany completes like 26 passes before a goal, or takes in a fuckin refugee—it just makes me sad, and it feels a lot better than anger.
...wait a minute! It could be chlor or shlor, one of which there is a way to make the first letter out of phonetics...but one word also means shriveled little dick! And that's not what I mean, babe! Well, I mean, I guess it could work, yea I guess it could work, symbolically, but not in the food. Definitely not in the food to make it a little sweet. I'm talking about the fruit. Maybe it's a prune. But no, it has a seed in and not much thick surrounding it
and it is orange
I don't want to jinx it, but I've started pacing around in the backyard again. I just need to practice my patience. I know it was working before.
Want to know a secret? I figured recently that you guys wanted to give me the nobel peace prize, and then that I screwed it up—not after the first relapse, but because how I responded to your support that night and in the last two weeks kept dipping in—and that you were gone,
or that it was the real test recently to see what you were really going to do with me—I mean really—if the progress was real or if I'm doomed.
You mean muchly to me. The reason for my days.
and also, I'm so scatterbrained today, I can't finish a single task today—I love you guys!
But what I've come to realize, what you made me realize, is that I've been writing for a pretty long time, and I got a little confidence—a lot of ego, sure—but mainly a little confidence now.
That's 282! Number 282
I got an idea for a Seinfeld episode. Elaine goes on a date with a guy to a fast food place, and after the server annouces each number that's ready, he also announces it too from their table!
Now the 282, I got that idea from my recepit, see? But on my drive back, I looked again to see what my order number was, and it was a different number. So that's where the genius creative aspect lies. And this racing stripe I feel is pretty sharp. Agreed. First prize.
Lol, I should have waved goodbye
Want to hear something gross? The flaps of my fan have a lot of lint and dirt in them, so as the fan goes around, flap hits lint, and it sounds like...nevermind
...they're doing it.
I keep hearing sex, like from an indistinct humming in the air. It's from the fan again, but now it has a murmuring pleading tone. Jeez, no thanks, please.
When I close my eyes, it's a film reel of positions and organs.
I'm hearing voices, and it's all right, because I know I'm hearing them, and tonight I'll go to sleep.
things about sex!
(just memories now)
One time I thought she was behind the green card lottery, for their group, where everyone involved in the youtube videos that would parody me, they had it planned to humiliate me, you know why, even juan carlos made videos explaining things to me, things about sex! in another language, basically how he could give me tips but threw in some good things about me that he had heard from her about me which was more humilating i guess i brought them back together—like them, and all the other girls got together, had it going on as a running revenge plot until I caught on translating Portuguese, and they had been raising the money for everyone to come out and watch the grand spectale, the money was somehow connected to framing my family with help from relatives of ours that are enemies, i guess, and, i even stumbled upon their youtube channels too—i was pretty sure i could tell which character meant which real person— and heard them plotting, and I tried to warn my parents based on what inside information i discerned from their videos—like asking my dad if this many years ago this incident may have happened, that you were in but don't recall, and this person holds a grudge and mentioned that incident, and I tried to be precise in that state, like was there an incident with someone talking a shit somewhere, and there was some ugliness to that issue which was blown out of porportion or it humilated someone, someone complaining about the smell, or blaming it on his wife, or maybe you were lying and have secrets that you need to admit or know that they know—i dunno, can't recall now, i was talking so much in the car while trying to tell him make sure that motorcyclist courier doesn't get ahead of us he's trying to plant something in the house, they thought i had gone crazy agai, and i kept throwing so much evidence at them rambling that they completely stopped listening and just imprisoned me. And while I was doing that, I was also trying to hide what all those conspiracies really came from, playtime—people had found out and they were so beyond pissed that they had been planning all this so intricately all along. I'd run out of motel earlier that morning, and I could spot everybody involved throughout the neighborhood in their places. I don't know, maybe it was actors, but they each looked like how I thought they were individually—It's pretty hilarious now. I didn't know how I was going to get out of that motel, and what awaited me. But at the same time I also thought I was being framed for something else because there was a guy in the lobby checking in who looked and dressed exactly like me but with a baseball cap hanging over his face so I ran in the lobby and stood shoulder to shoulder with him and looked up so the camera would catch that but then the clerk wanted me to change something on my sign in sheet and my room key so I knew someone had paid off the motel—so I ran back in to my room to regroup. I was being framed and attacked at the same time, I wasn't innocent, but I knew I was going to be the victim like i wouldn't experience again.
Then, a few hours later, I thought it was safe, and dipped in again, but you noticed! Then angry Joe was screaming at me, and his cohorts in their comments brought up the 12 mil or the pictures, I'm not sure if the exact figure came up definately there—When I tried to turn off the computer finally but the CNN articles popped about your special forces, then they were literally on my doorstep all night. Changed the color of my walls from green to purple or the opposite I dunno, gassed some of my pens, stole my phone and switched the room key, made me step in dogshit, trashed my parent's room—he wouldn't admit it—Cheseal walked in with a credit card sticker on her bottom I had to watch the dogs, I tried to run out and someone waved at me down the street so I knew I had to watch the house, I hadn't slept for days
I tried to warn them again in the morning and they kept screaming at me and threatening me and dad was late for work and hated his life abd I tried to tell him there's going to be no more work if you don't believe. Later I escaped from the house without them know and was going to turn myself in and there was a cop at the park with a cohort old lady, and I chickened out for a moment then tried to walk back to him but my dad drove up and made me get in the car. So at home, when they weren't looking for a moment, I grabbed the house phone and ran into the back and called 911 to turn myself in, but cleverly, or so I thought I only told them about half of the crime.
And then the cops came...
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