where'd you just spit that thing?
i'm hanging out on set on a pilot! #spittinchew #someonegethimabucket
reaching (i need to feel safe in here)
There's me, and there's this other guy. We're together—well, we're not together. Still reeling from the State of the Union slip, are we? So we're—sometimes I write something and wake up in the morning panicking with such anxiety that what sounded good at the time, is shit, it's shit. So there's me, and there's this other guy. We are walking together, approaching two other guys, who are together—well, they're not together. Look, if they're together, they're together. This is neither here nor there. It's not even worth a chuckle. It's something that's formerly been said, two times too many. He's here, on the left, and I on the right. We are on the concrete, together, well—such an idiot—approaching the other two, who are standing left and right, on concrete, as well, one step above us. We greet them. I know the guy on the left opposite us better than
I know the guy on the right opposite us. The guy on my left hugs the guy on the right opposite us calmly and confident, with a maneuver wherein both pull in their handshake to create a manly hug, a togetherness solid and brief. I move in on guy left opposite us as guy on my left embraces righty. They are on a step higher than us. Righty is tall. Probably, I'm not used to hugging lefty, so I opt for a routine, but warm, handshake; but the handshake comes as my lefty and tall righty hug it out like reformed felons. As we switch off in the cat's cradle tag team, dumbass brain decides to think but body ain't listening. It's time, here goes, here I come, righty, but my lefty knows righty well and I comparatively know handshake lefty far more comfortably than righty, who has spent time being tall. In that regard, me and lefty are more on the same plain—handshake lefty, who is one step above me, not my lefty, who relates better to righty. As me and righty go at it in the rubber band squared circle, the hand's out from my end, which would have been consistent—but would it be questioned? What? Lefty just hugged tall righty, how will it look just handshaking him—but I don't know him, a decade plus, way more than a term, I better go full circle into righty to be like my lefty and his righty, no need for a strained dynamic this early in the—but I only handshaked the one I know better, what's he, lefty opposite me friendly gonna think? Full term righty is cool with my hand, yet our clasp feels weak and him so distant, he don't know, oh how could he, what's my intention—I do it, I go in. But he's standing there, limp...I'm wrapped around his stomach lining. The moment lasted forever, waiting, waiting for him to realize I'm treehugging him. My love, I'm listening to your heart beat.
Do you think this one sucks? I kind of do, too. I woke up at 7am. Had two cups of coffee. Dreams of a common nature woke me a few times during the night. Sometimes I'd have a small bowl of cereal, or a smoke, then back to the couch In front of the tv, where I like to sleep. I had a busy day. In the morning, we participated in a feed the homeless event a girl we knew organized, and I was proud of her, though the field route could have been better organized, but I wasn't there to question them. In the midst of making the lunches, my mind started talking to me, providing evidence, while I tried to remember to remind me it's just coffee and sleep. There's a helicopter. Who's on his ear-phone? Why's he looking at me like that—does lefty know he's in here? In the morning, I asked to be divorced from fear and self-pity, and general self-absorption in favor of others. We walked around skid row in a group among all the trash and food on the ground; there was a young blond girl walking around; some people would say good things, some were offended and some would ramble. Many needed water and asked for our jackets. Someone in our group decided to take action shots of us. I looked to spot transactions. There was a church group, and another group, who were stationary on a corner, and I was just thinking about myself. They weren't on the corner; they were actually behind a table in the middle of a block but corner sounded easier to describe. I had to pee a lot because of coffee and extra water I had to control my appetite. I was worn out by evening from fear, walking, and driving; I wanted desperately to check on my dogs. I planned to restrict my day's food intake to balance out the previous night's sweets, straight-up fudge cake, snacks, and the late night cereal. But I felt my mental health needed food. I had a little protein powder with my water before the morning event. I stopped by a gas station, where someone needed to buy chewing tobacco, and I bought a turkey and cheddar sandwich. It sounds fancy, but it's just turkey and cheese. A little hershey's, a diet coke, and we're looking at 500 tops of caloric intake for the day. I needed some peace and quiet in the evening—I didn't even reach for my pageview machine or worry about recycled material—but my dogs were too excited to see me to let me sleep for more than 10 to 15 minutes. I said bye to my parents to go meet someone and thought I could take a small bite of some cheesecake in the fridge I had previously resisted. Each slice was 350 calories, which was enough reason for me to close the fridge the time before and feel good about myself. I felt good about myself, I had room for a couple small relaxed meals the rest of the night. One slice was half gone. There was an assortment of flavored cheesecake. I could just stick to that little half at most. I put the tray on the counter and grabbed a fork standing over it for a quick bite. By the four and a halfth slice I was afraid to stop, standing there, and was by now playing with the remnants of the last half of a slice. I had eaten all my parents' cheesecake, digging into the last bottom crust, by now sick of the creamy part. I couldn't understand how it happened again. I went to a meeting and hated everyone there. It was one of those cheesy hometown meetings—there was actually lots of cake—Beatles-loving beatnik goatees. NA would be too hardcore for them, but they got the black speaker so they can all laugh really loud and be seen laughing. Hopefully she says something sassy. They couldn't get one from south-central, I sat snickering. Old people have the nastiest cliques. I didn't care what I thought was true or not... 1800 in cheesecake. I had all the girls who didn't check me out figured out. Could've had a Whopper—they're the animals, not me. I was no longer worried about doomsday. My problem is gratitude, I heard a voice—oh, shut up! I had to go drink lots of water.
Letter from Leo (P.O. Box)
Khash, it's Messi. What are you doing? I know you're probably up at this hour. I'm a little dejected. I know you don't like me much. I'm not tall like him. People think I'm humble, so I got that going for me. The locker room was quiet after the PSG game. I've been sitting in the dark with the only light from my television, though I can see the entire city from a small window in my room. I feel more like you tonight. My wife is at home with my boys. I set them up with a couple blogs. She doesn't like you very much. I'd introduce you to one of her friends, but you seem to prefer my wife. How does it feel to be newly single? We got Atleti in a couple days. I figure you'll be rooting for them in this instance. We both can agree though that team is dirty. They don't even wash their hands before a game. Reading the press, it got me thinking of you. I felt dejected like you after a night of no reader activity. We all have our bad posts. Guess I should put the articles down. I put on a replay of the Valencia game with your boys to make me feel better. What do you think of his new haircut? I can see you with something similar. How's the exercise regiment? Hope interval isn't too much a strain on the legs. Are you doing it correctly, at least?
I just read a piece on your blog :
Congratulations on the press. Hope they don't come back to bite you.
- Leo
I have to field some questions tomorrow about players I'd include in my starting eleven. I'm just going to fill it with my countrymen and teammates, except Gonzalo. Hell no. Although ideally they'd all be me.
State of the Union Address
Pretty depressed. Blog's all cluttered. Quality's gone down. Process isn't smooth. Ideas are scarce. Same robotic views. After seeing it, I had chocolate pudding and a bag of small cookies someone left behind—I gotta check on him but I don't want to go out of my way—someone else's ice cream, some hershey's and soymilk. The cookies were dry and chocolate chip and I would chew them while drinking my milk. I did it all standing up. She's probably doing it standing up.
- boo!
Rating's plummeted. Stomach hurts. I called a black guy suga over the internet.
- (murmurs along the crowd, a distant voice) ah jeez!
Chess animosity. Morning News HD is too much. Guess altogether I can't complain. This post sucks. I woke up hating her. I remembered something real nasty I had said to her, and I wasn't sorry. She hung up on me, then called back to reply in kind. I caught her off-guard. She didn't know what to say, so she hung up. If you put together all the days we were physically together, it wouldn't even amount to a month. Guys around me are dropping due to their girlfriends. It makes me hate their girlfriends and see them as wicked. I didn't want to pray before bed because of the pageviews. So pathetic. So I didn't. I asked out someone's masseuse though. She said No, but I felt good, a little sleazy, after she realized I didn't want a massage. I didn't want. I feel gross just telling you. Some cereal, too. Cookie Crisps. My S'mores one was old and soft, the marshmallows, so out of spite I poured that on top of the cookie crisp. But at least I didn't kick no trash can today.
My approval rating's low. I can sense it. Cabinet says it's the same unresolved issues plaguing my platform. It's draining your personality, my Secretary of the Chair said. I acknowledged it, sure—America wants change! Sometimes I wish I never hired her. America wants change? People sitting in two feet of rain want change, while you're blowing guys and complaining about who she's blowing. Wait—that doesn't sound right. No, I said the first part, you see, and she—whatever, you get it. America wants prime-rib, sold out of the back freezer of a pick-up truck by some schmuck who'll buy your airbags. What does that even mean? I gave her a hand gesture and she walked out of the office. Blog's cluttered because of my mind, probably. Some days I feel like I'm slowly dying.
- That's pretty heavy.
Shut up.
do you have a stealing aisle?
i want to say one joke but i don't want the cashier to respond. I don't feel like engaging her. I just want to say my joke and leave.
and then listen to dreams by fleetwood mac
A new letter from the P.O Box
Dear EatKhash,
I understand you made a new post in remembering for the month of February. I also understand that you took it down. Baby, I don't understand! While scouring the web for current news about you, someone on a message board sent me a link to this article, and I'm concerned for your well-being.
You must have took a hit, the soft kind—that I can understand. But is there nothing to be done with that post? Surely, getting to the bottom of two gyros and a bucket of fries will yield little in the way of ideas. As a long time reader, let me say now, I'm not on the wavelength of those tired of Bayern Munich, as I understand from the chatter, your post was very telling and panaramic, but perhaps, falling short as merely a venn-diagram. I'd like to believe you're striving to expose the negative energy and emotional poison long clouding your perception, as ugly as it might be, rather than reverting back to childish imagery—which, at this point, is rather dull, love. Before, you may not have been aware of the layer underneath, and you proclaimed you would keep digging, foul stench and all. I've grown to admire a certain humbleness in you—now, don't get overblown, I know how you like those em dashes—in your clumsy earnestness to depict how obsession mechanically operates, parallels, deflects, or hijacks your world as a methodical terrorist. Perhaps now, that is the obstacle, an uncharted territory, with clear mind admist the sting of shortcomings, to know the place for the first time—but please, darling, no more pictures of pussy.
Margaret Dacher
P.S. Would Mr. Orwell frown upon my use of "uncharted territory," "in the way of," or "as a long time reader...?" That's right, someone sent me a copy of the draft before you took it down! I love you. Let's get married.
Best Being:
The EatKhash Story
The story of a thing, who—whom, is it?—after failing his last effort, went on a weekend long eating spree.
"You could see it in his eyes, he was gone. He was off in flavor country."
"All he talked about were samples. He just wanted more samples. Sample everything. There was no graciousness. You got that terrible sense he wasn't going to buy anything."
"I think he's hot...well, he was hot."
"He burned his palate. There was no need for soup. After everything, he still wanted the soup. There wasn't much we could do for him, once he said everything's fine, thank you. We all knew what that meant. We had to walk away at that point, unfortunately."
when i say something to a girl of a flirtatious nature or with sexual energy ienvision what my ugly smile and ugly face looks like with the ugly mouth and i cringe. and i don't want to ever say anything again. go away. where's alisha? maybe she got her phone stolen. it doesn't show when she read my texts anymore. poor thing, prolly got stolen
i hate the sound of my own voice. glad it sounds different in my head.
Isn't there something you should be doing right now?
Let me tell you something, when i was a kid i used to tape myself singing r&b songs from the radio and play it back and cringe. i remember lying on my stomach on the ground and whispering the songs into the microphone so my parents wouldn't hear me singing, i will never lie to you, again. Cause a friend like you...
i wonder if she's ever wished me dead. i wonder who has. so strange how close people can get into each other's existence, when it should be so easy to remain separate. who would have thought when i was a boy and she was a girl that some day some your lif—we really should have had a sit down with the big guy as mediator before we came into this world. what if i knew every thought she's ever had and he shows her mine, i don't know, i wonder what kind of conversation that would be
the new copy machines they sell at office depot have x-rays in them and a neureoscience feature option, but i can't afford it, it's like 3 4 hundred bucks. you can get them on layaway but you gotta sign up for the member services card, and who wants to fill out a form.
i read the reviews. prople still use it to make copies of their butts. rocky just beat appollo. remember those days
If she's been with anyone after me then she can forget it. I should've thrown that in before she blocked me. I saw a news story about a dog like mine being killed by another dog while i was pigging out, then they showed a pic of the dogs eyes under blankets. kinda sums up the day. I aint gettin i aint gettin out of bed today. what did she mean by " accepting jesus christ as a way of coming to terms with her past? what else didn't she tell me. or who knows after
don't read that one. in fact, stay away from that page. It's off limits. okay, you still go, but just walk past that one. you can read the others. there's free. i have sandwiches.
- Wait a minute, these are crackers.
- They're cheese crackers.
- You said there's sandwiches.
- They're sandwiched aren't they? Eat it—okay, give it back. Just give it back. There. No you have no sandwiches.
- There were never any sandwiches.
- Let me ask you something before you leave.
- What is it?
- Anyone ever love me, you think?
- Fornicators?
- No good?
- It's a nice place you got here, though. Too bad there's no sandwiches.
- Hey come on, who needs turkey in the afternoon.
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