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so, if you're a comment reader, you might be wondering, "'who is this guy, and why does he think he can know the word 'hypnopomic?'" well, let me post you all about it.

Christmas, 2004.

haha, what a tone that sets. let me break it by wrenching in a sentence full of the word wrenching and the word aboriginal which can refer to all sorts of things that were the first of their kind to occupy a certain realm. hence, i can say that my lower body is aboriginal to these new jeans. or maybe i can't.

but so i got 'The Dream Encyclopedia' as a present. i look through it now and then but every single thing about it bothers me. i don't quite know how to get across what it is so i'll just quote things it says and let you get the feeling if you do. something about how useless it is.

let's first take a glance at the back of this shiny, purple, softback, text-book sized book.

first, in a larger than the rest font it says, "unravels 700 dream symbols..."

ok, so i'm just going to flip around here and find random examples.

have you ever wondered what it meant when 'bait' showed up in your dream but just couldn't unravel this curious puzzle yourself? well, The Dream Encyclopedia is here to help. according to The Dream Encyclopedia (i keep capitalizing it in hopes that each time you read it you will give it humorous emphasis like a booming, echoing voice and not just because it is proper to capitalize it.) dreaming of bait is a fairly simple symbol to unravel. "As a lure, bait is usually associated with fishing, although in a dream fishing can symbolize anything from fishing for a deal to fishing for a compliment." period.

how about that night you dreamed about that 'beaver?' well, according to The Dream Encyclopedia, "Beavers have many different symbolic possibilities. In particular, our culture tends to associate beavers with industriousness, as in the expression "busy as a beaver." In slang usage, this animal also has sexual connotations. Finally, beavers build dams which, because emotions are often symbolized by water, can indicate building emotional barriers." ummhmm, ahuh...tell me more

yeah, sure, beavers, bait, those kinds of dreams are for pussies (if you have access to it in your memory, think of jedi master abe cernicks asking this question) but what if some dumb mother fucker drops a bomb on me during when i'm asleep? well, jedi master abe cernicks, you could just look up your query in The Dream Encyclopedia and find that, "A bomb is quite an attention-getter if it goes off in a dream. Perhaps a situation is becoming too explosive and the dreamer needs to tread carefully to avoid 'land mines.' Alternatively, perhaps the dreamer is so tightly wound because of some situation that he or she feels ready to explode."

i can't believe they quoted 'land mines.' or even said it, basically.

ok, so you're getting the drift and there are much much worse ones. but that's my problem. what is this. is this rediculous or is it really something. is this how our mind works. how is this something? i mean, after i read two of these i could probably write the rest of the fucking book.

but then again, there're ones that i'd've never been able to think up such as dreaming of losing your teeth may reflect a loss of your grasp of life's circumstances. ...what? because, you know...

i don't know. maybe i would appreciate the book more if i ever thought about my dreams in any portenting claivoyancing kind of way. basically, i just see my dreams as entertainment. oh well. that says a lot in a way, but doesn't say the one thing that matters.

i'll leave it all with a quasi-quote from sherlock holmes i just read in the curious dog book. 'the world is full of obvious things that nobody ever notices.'

oh, i won't leave you, because that takes me to what worries me when i get to a place in learning that shawn (it seemed) may also have an idea on and which comes into play when you learn classical ideas such as when i'm learning piano music or chess moves (which is why it's back in my head). if you look at a piano there is no reason to think that someone would come up with a chopin etude or whatever. what i mean is, there isn't only one way to conquer and conform the piano. the possibilities are endless but we all have a basic idea of what a song should sound like. i don't like that, but for music it's hard to escape. but in thinking...i don't know, maybe it's even harder to escape, or not, i don't know. but say in chess. i bought this chessmaster for xbox and these mega grandmasters analyze hundreds of games for me move by move and show what could have happened twenty moves down the road if instead the person moved here. this is great, but, i feel like i've picked up an odd, hardly tangeable pattern. something about how sometimes they seem to assume moves that would be traditional. they assume moves that would lead to classic attacks. i waver slightly when confronted with accepting things like this. i need to see for myself. constantly i get upset and wonder why they didn't show me what would have happened if they went here or there. but, when it comes to chess i can basically just believe them and i'm probably just overlooking something. but still, i waver. this gets me into trouble when it comes to learning. i want to spend a lot of time questioning the basic concepts and principles. i feel like i need to learn the reasons for them being the principles before i can accept them. but instead, first day of class, 'here are the principles, write these down,' second day - last day, 'here's what we can learn using those principles.' so, like, just because we've learned from those principles reinforces and gives authority or gives those principles a basic right to be one and only, even though, if someone else had come up with different principles we'd be living in and understanding a completely different world and way of life. not physically, maybe, but, i don't know, maybe when i'd dream of a beaver it might mean instead that i was in need of another nervous breakdown or that i now was supposed to marry a capricorn.

oh, this all worried me because maybe we don't see the otherwise-obvious things because they don't fit into our patterns of what matters.

espn2 and all that

so i can't compose it how i want (it's been many months since i saw this) but i have to say something about this guy that takes juggling items as seriously as terrell owens takes touchdown celebrations. ok, so i know that i don't know one person who reads this who would have any relation to that comparison, but i couldn't really think of any good simile there, and one was called for. but i will compare this guy to something, though. think of ben stiller in the royal tenenbaums.

so, anthony and i are flipping through the channels (surfing it could be called to those of you who are annoying) and come to espn2: Juggling Championship Tournament of the World. this guy, heheh, was good, but ehhh, oh man, obviously has never had the dimensions of his mind stretched beyond the art of juggling foreign items. he was impressive but he dropped the rings, torches, computer monitors, whatever, many many times. and every single time he did he threw a Royal fit. he'd start talking to himself, cursing himself, ridiculing himself under his breath but audible to us viewers and so you'd look to anthony and communicate to him via a bewildered look on your face 'what the fuck!! how could this be on tv?!'

it was so rediculous. i'm making this quote up but he'd say things to himself like, 'YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO GET THIS RIGHT,' and 'YEAH, THERE WE GO, NICE JOB SCUM BAG!' and so i couldn't believe how hilarious this program was, but then it got even funnier. this because next up on the juggling stage was this european juggling genius who was an all-out professional who made the incredible as easily as the other guy made the embarrassing. and basically, they were the only two competitors in their group classification (i guess something like: male, competition jugglers). so this second guy was totally worth having on tv but i feel so bad for him because the other guy completely made a joke out of his sport.

ah

and then this reminds me of these ping-pong tournaments anthony and i saw on there one time where this one guy, after every point, played to the crowd like a professional wrestler, running around in short shorts high-fiving the audience and double pumping his fists while up on one leg or bending over and flexing his chest muscles with a fierce scowl on his face. it was well-deserved actually though because he'd do horribly unneccessary spin move shots and jump slices. he'd be hopping over the barriers and into the crowd making saves and shit. heh. but anyway, yeah, espn2 and all that.

Barbells

remember sean kubat? i do. but hold on, it's not that amazing, i saw him last night. last night when people fell through screen doors. last night when arm wrestling was ripe for the pickings. last night when bluffing wasn't just something you watched people do on television poker but something people did right in front of your eyes during your own personal game of poker. also, i learned another meaning for 'erie canal' which now has at least three. well, i guess web's was 'panama canal,' but, anyway, stop ruining the flow of this post.

so, no one likes to talk about losing arm wrestling matches - or i mean, death, but it's going to happen and you'll just have to find ways to deal with it and maybe next time you'll just have to learn to come over the top - or i mean, have more faith. but all subtleties aside, i don't really feel bad about losing to sean kubat in arm wrestling last night.

see, i've been an arm wrestling junkie since about, at least, two - two and a half weeks ago when i beat steve and doug. yeah, i got pretty over-confident and even employed some of the 'look around and talk to people while the other guy struggles his shoulder off' techniques that i caught on espn 2 [known for its prowess in showing sports like championship darts and frisbee juggling tournaments (which, if could compose it, would be a post all on its own)] during the arm wrestling finals from the 'cockiest guy ever' (quotes agreed upon by me and everyone else i've ever mentioned the guy to, i.e. sean kubat, last night) who easily destroys everyone else. but, now i'm thinking about hangin' it up.

one more thing about sean kubat (other than that he suddenly seems fairly fucking intelligent). our one teacher in middle school (who i won't describe because you'll know exactly what kind of middle school teacher he was once you hear the rest of this) made sean write probably like one thousand times 'i will not masticate foreign objects in class,' and this meant that he was caught chewing gum.* what sean learned from all of this was the word masticate. heheh.

i wonder what kinds of stories kids will have from the wolfman's classes.

*phrasing taken from how the curious dog/night-time book is written

*silence*.......

'What's a jack horse?'
'It allows you to jump any other pony on the board unless someone uses a "stop action."'
'This sucks. My Little Ponies is gay. We should start a fantasy football leauge.'
'Yeah, that makes a ton more sense, Butch.'
'No fuckin' way, it's My Little Ponies or bust.'

And that, my friends, is the only possible progression in which to get to say that last sentence.



ok, so yeah, weird. well, here's what happened. last night around 5:30am i woke thinking i was at home. but, then, i heard a familiar yet unfamiliar tick of a clock. unfamiliar because no such tick exists in my bedroom yet familiar because i had fallen asleep drunk on steve's couch again last night. so, before wondering if i could stand up, i stood up and tried to make it out of his house and back to mine. right before i got into my car, 'damn, my cds,' so back into his house. grabbed them, but then, 'ehg, elliot smith is in his mac.' well, the way the mac's are, it seems, it fucking annoying if you didn't know, because no matter how long you feel around them for some button to get a cd out, you'll just feel their smooth, white modernness. finally, my wooziness thinks that i guess i have to move the mouse and see what i can do from the screen and commands monitor. yes, eventually, i find the itunes place and, finally, find the 'eject disk' icon. so, finally, i'm pulling into home in the pre-dawn dark as 'these coincidences happen amazingly too often' my dad's walking to the mailbox. we walk back to the house together, or i guess we did, because eventually i was in bed. but then in the wandering mind of pre-sleep and also can i call it the rediculous state, the far-above conversation repeated itself in my head so many times that i felt i had to find a pen by my bed and write it down on the back of an old sheetz receipt. actually, i didn't get the urge to write it down until my head said that sum-up line about the 'last line.'

so, inherent in the dreamlike conversation was probably, i can figure, chess, something like magic cards, the football league draft i'd just done for a friend, and this guy leonard's voice from a million little pieces when the person said, 'no fuckin way, it's my little ponies or bust.' but my little ponies???? beats me. my only clue is that it reminds me of carebears, which is less of a clue than a confusion.

forgive all this

Digest

so me, being my favorite comedian (or maybe tied with nathan), just picked up, to eat, this half of a hoagie* my mother turned over to me this morning. well, as it approaches my mouth my eyes see it and my mind rejects it thinking, 'eww, i didn't know it had gross mayonaise on it.' but then, to the hilarity of me i re-realize that, 'oh, wait, i like mayonaise now,' and i commence biting.

*or sub, which just didn't alliterate

i would love to be a mediator.

maybe i'd fly on the lollipop. she's a good ship. for those of you who, for some reason (shame!), don't get that reference, assume if you'd gotten it, you'd've smiled with reminiscence.

but anyway, i'm so satisfied with the curious dog book. as with the million little pieces book. they spare me all the trouble that other books give. now, i'm not saying their techniques make for better books, but i don't have to struggle through them at any points. especially i like it just because it is new. i don't care what these writers are saying - i just want their thought-flow in my head. their thoughts are clear and simple and when they walk into a room there's a table and three chairs and please thankyou just let me imagine the room myself. i know you're in jail and so you don't need to describe a cliched jail room. i don't need to see the jail - it's already appeared in my head in the background and if you try to describe it you take away from what matters and all i'll do is try to envision the cliff on the right and the plateau on the left and way after i'd already given the character the environment. but anyway, yes, the book is so good to me and i'm loving it.

this post has two parts:

almost invariably, people look like who they are. it's such an odd fact. the man looks a little different and scruffy - his responses are a little different and scruffy. we end up looking like who we are or we become who we look like. like we either conform to what society thinks a person that looks like us should act like. or we act how we wish to think and act and somehow miraculously (because i wouldn't know how this would work and neither does science, yet*) we look like how we look.

*so something about science and general thought. i think that whatever we choose to pursue in thought and study we will learn more about. i think that our minds collectively are starting to wonder about more miraculous things. if we make a few of these things more mainstream in my lifetime and if we make wide scientific progress in them in my lifetime then i'll die knowing a whole lot about life just because that would be how it works. people say science like it is now understood. nothing is understood, yet. simply we can predict how things will usually act. religion is losing to evolution because it doesn't allow for study. the human mind wants to study and learn but the christian faith, in ways, says there's no room for more - it is and always will be. and that's cool in a sense but it will lose our interest but is cool because it can be our rock it never changes and so when things in science go out of control we won't have to and now i almost have even less of any kind of idea about what the fuck in what am i talking about.

shawn. post something.

so, something james frey said. he feared an open mind was the same thing as an empty mind. the only way for me to get around hating that (and how true it could seem) is to dismiss it and ignore it, like i'm running a business and someone suggested an idea that i didn't like and i could just wave my hand and say, no, no, we won't be accepting that idea.

what's the feeling, what's the feeling. hop around that plant, ride the rocking pony, hair whipping in the wind. take that mirror and discus throw it out towards the ocean where green arms reach from the clouds and pull it to their face. the mirror explodes and a face like a grinning sun from the back of a cereal box comes close, close, closer.

awake with a fright.

like you just tripped.

roll over, fall back asleep.

fall awake again, heart pounding, your name whispered in your ear. blinds whirl up, bright light appears and your mother talks to you in voice that's been up and busy for many hours. a friend called or there're chores. wait till she leaves the room.

the radio keeps a consistent mood as phones ring and there's a new carpet smell. cordial talking. consistent emphasis. the business world. ...................3! 2! 1! AND THAT'S THE END OF THE SHOW!! SEE YA TOMORROW KIDS! EWW-GALUE-GUE-GUE-GALAGAGA!!

What's Funny

well, life's back to normal. normal being life four years ago or so. there're constantly good or better options for spending my time everywhere i look. the desperate, drastic, hanging-on i felt before used to spurn me on. my mind at least. i really feel i understand a lot of things i didn't even know about, ways my mind works, but i'll have to wait and see, such is life in this realm with all its arm-crossed need for patience.

so, normal. i went to the mall today. walked around. slowly. causually. without anxiety. ate with my friend. had conversation. no worry. no loss of focus or concentration. [actually there was one brief second where i realized that i hadn't become anxious. it went right away, too. such is this new (normal) state of mind.] noticed my car was slightly damaged. recognized more lengthy patterns in life. drove around the same block a few times. raised the alarm of some locals. sickened my stomach with a krispy kreme kind of original kreme milk creme or some shit. it still sits here next to me still with its whipped topping. wishing for the day to end. wishing i didn't have to work out. wondering why i wish that i didn't have to do things that make me feel better. wishing i could play chess and read books and make movies and listen to music and talk about steven A. smith and laugh about people. knowing that life's going to get harder and hardening myself so that i don't go back there again. back there where i say there was never anything but there was everything just differently. back there where house of leaves was a direct warning to me and not just a curious book. back where songs spoke of my own unconscious thus bringing it up in my attention. where i didn't understand how people could be normal. where normal seemed amazing and i couldn't understand how it couldn't seem so. but now, i'll spin in my seat and whistle to boredom deciding, maybe i should do my job, maybe

i made it into the woods yesterday; it was better than i expected

10, 20, 30, 40, 50 and more
the bloody red baron was rollin' up a score

heh. the more i think about that line from the snoopy song my middle school mates and i used to sing along with at the lunch cafeteria, the funnier it gets.

wonder if 80 men died tryin' to end that spree

Blog

the piano player noticed a man on the balcony level. the man had become suspicious. he moved too much when he was supposed to, too little when he wasn't. he looked relaxed, his limbs certainly seemed so, but his back was too straight. his neck would jerk for no reason, very slightly. the piano player noticed the man on the balcony level. he wasn't paid to play at Mercy's just because he was so good at the fingering and really knew his way around the keys.

the piano player's eyes moved toward the back of the room, searching their way past crystal chandeliers and glinting wine glasses. his employer sat back there in the darkness, his ankle on his knee under pink flourescent letters. his employer didn't own Mercy's, but he owned the man who did. he owned a lot. the piano player's eyes searched for his employer's, found them, looked to the man on the balcony, and then went back to his employer's. employer nodded. either he'd already seen the man and had plans or he'd planned that the man should be there. the piano player's fingers flung like piano string hammers as he gave the song a more bouncy shift.

wind and air swept through the Hall. from bug-sized cracks under windows and from doors opened and coats swished off and umbrellas shaken. it was cool and fresh. the bottoms of white tablecloths swung just above the floor. and people walked by, talked and laughed and sneezed and smoked. clattering and clangling and food and the piano singing itself right into the background. the piano player took charge of the mood. sometimes he felt like he owned it. but he'd never make that claim. he lifted his head and stopped to no applause. everyone changed but didn't notice it and the piano player walked back towards the darkness.

the piano player's eyes looked for his employer's table. he was also owned by that man, but in a different way than most others. the piano player owed him justice. he owed it to justice to be employed by the man right now. this is how he was owned and this was why he didn't call him master. he had to agree to and be paid for things that needed done, but mentally he was restricted to being there. the piano player longed for home. he'd have to live without it for now.

the piano player looked to his employer. two men had come up behind the man and the shorter one whispered in his ear. employer stood up and went out the private backdoor with the two men. the piano player quickly turned and casually leaned against the bar. noticing him, the bartender came over drying a glass and addressed him. 'what's up, sam?' apparently they'd been told his name was sam. the piano player recognized every person that worked at the Mercy's but didn't know any of them. he certainly had never told any of them his name. and his name was certainly never sam. 'a drink?' 'no. just wanted to lean against the bar here. sam.' the bartender looked at him sharply. what he saw in the piano player's face must have reassured him. he assumed his previous role of 'bartender' and shot the piano man his finger. 'alright, bud.' the bartender went off to attend a new group of middle-aged women with thick make-up and devious skirts.

the piano player's turned his back and propped his elbows on the bar behind him. his eyes went towards the door his employer had exited through. suddenly, the night's events rushed through his head and the whole Hall and everyone in it moved to the left a bit, over and over and over in a loop. he bent his head and clutched it in his right hand and reached his left hand towards his chest and clutched his - a hand touched his back. he jumped. so did the bartender. no one had ever seen the piano player without his composure. 'are you alright bud?' he regained his composure. people always seemed to have that affect on him. 'to play that last song takes more than all of my focus. afterwards i'm sometimes left in a daze.' this was all somewhat true and was much of the reason why the bartender immediately, instinctively believed him. he actually felt priveledged to be indulged by the piano player and asked him again if he could get him a drink. the piano player thought to himself for a moment. his eyes found the bartender's. 'maybe in a minute, sam.' 'ok.' the bartender smiled. 'hey,' he reached out with his voice for the piano player who had begun to walk away, 'my name's jake.' for the second time the piano player lost his composure. but no one noticed. not even jake who'd turned back to the women at the bar. that was how it usually happened. nobody usually noticed.

the piano player walked past the table his employer had been sitting at and turned towards the Hall and looked towards the balcony. the man was gone. the piano player reached his left hand towards his chest and opened the back door with his right. he slipped outside and then again right up against the outside wall. one bright light shone off to his left but it was mostly darkness settling in on the country club type environment. small carved pine trees and flowing vines. tiny garden lights ran along wet mulch. the piano player's eyes shot off to his right. a light had flashed. he listened but there was no noticable sound. he sidestepped along the side of the building staying in the darkness. he ducked under the light of a window and then stood again, now at the corner. now he heard a voice. his left hand reached towards his chest and he clutched his gun down through his tuxedo. the piano player snuck a slight slope down through the wet grass and leaned up his back against a tree. he craned his neck and searched for the voice that came through the clean, refreshed air.

so, i'm happy about things

amazingly so. and i could exaggerate this into a post. but it's really not appealing to me. i feel ashamed when i show off, and writing about how good i feel would feel like that. i don't like this about me. it helps keep my dreams suppressed. so, i don't like either option. but, it's good.

but, right, i still don't have a life, in the way that people look at having a life. but, i was certain it wasn't worth having, or would never come, if i wasn't first to this kind of point that i'm at now.

hahahaha, i'm exaggerating this into a post.

is it wrong somehow that i'm my funniest comedian. yes. somehow.

but, then, how else can you get through the boring parts.


definitely, more than three-fourths of the time that i tell someone my name, they hear it wrong. meaning i don't say it well enough. it's very weird. i usually get 'jack' or 'jed.' what i think this means about me, makes me think of my one co-worker and how she talks quickly and quietly. like no one ever listens to her, or more, maybe, like she only talks to her loved ones, and they understand her perfectly. but sometimes i just think 'chad' is a hard name to say.

oh, but since i'm happy about things (i've hit a point, where i measure that it's significant. and i've hit many in the last year or so. where my head stays pat in it's new condition for long enough that i know i can relax because it's become the norm) i see a change coming again in my posting habits. i hope i stay around here and evolve what and how i say, but it might take a while. i don't know what to say anymore.

but probably a little more today.

Definitely a weight off my shoulders

I bought a million little pieces, a biography of a drug addict getting clean and experiencing pain and suffering. it relaxed me, like a drug of its own. my heart pounded when he wrote of his pain. he wrote with quickness, immediacy, in definites. that's how pain is. he wrote just as quickly, just as immediately but with vagueness. that's how anxiety is. i'm not even a third of the way through, but, i don't know, it's exactly what i needed right then, that time of my life, yesterday. and this morning, too. and, for sure, tonight. my pain, of course, never'd matched up to his, but mentally, i foresaw that road. it's so odd, especially when you're getting much better, that you feel so strongly that you just want to get fucked up. but anyway, certain things he describes, *sigh* *weight off my shoulders* i feel like i can forget that part of my life now. i used to try to tell anyone that listened, but, at best, they could only shake their head and agree. what i needed was this (and the much more focused, calm mental state i've acquired). and james frey gave it to me. someone else has told me, now, and, many times, in my own exact words, that yes, that is how it is. that's what it is. nothing registers. the feeling i began to get when i looked at clocks i thought of as an omen. so many times i looked at them. but i'd forgotten why. they held no meaning. i'd see numbers and that was all. as days went by meaning faded more and more and more. when i looked at clocks, nothing registered. when i looked at tv, nothing registered. when i looked at people's heads in front of me in classes, nothing registered. i'd realize nothing registered. i'd start to sweat and for the last ten minutes of most classes i'd have to fight the urge to get up and casually walk out of the room. the only way i fought off the anxiety was that i'd realize that i could go, and to little fuss. so i'd calm slightly and be able to stay. but this is where my problems came in churches, during weddings, on theme park rides, etc. there was nowhere to go. i never had really thought of that before. what if i was on an airplane and i got the feeling. i don't know if i'll be able to go on one next time. even to this day, when i feel so much better. cars with people. that one sucks. sucks bad. pull over please, mom, i'm freaking out, you know. well, at least i can call it claustrophobia. if i can call any weak problem i have a disease, i might make it.

well, for the first time in years, i read last night. i stayed up later. i was absorbed. i could relate. i've not been able to relate to fiction anymore, because i don't really have any dreams anymore. i try to relate to philosophers or literary geniuses, but i can't focus enough anymore. but i can focus on this. now that i've found it i can get my fill. it's already a huge weight off my shoulders. and i mean this very literaly. old muscles that held my neck up were stimulated. if i moved my shoulders, as i read on my stomach in bed, they'd crack. my knees popped. my center of gravity shifted severely, just last night. now, a lot of this was facilitated and possibly catalyzed by my recent workout regimine. but not a lot of it. not my neck. my head weighs a million pounds and i swear it's filled with fluid and my nasal passages feel nearly blocked like an clogged artery. making myself better is to notice what's wrong. once i do, it's hard to believe that the problem is really there. how can a body dismiss it? but it does. anyway, i just hope i don't have to go to the dentist soon. apparently, that's lots worse than rehab or dying from an overdose.

He Started to Realize

i've heard that if you spend too much time in the desert you long for trees to push up the sky. i can imagine how your head would spin otherwise. i wish i didn't have to imagine.

I don't know why she swallowed that fly

i didn't used to understand that morbid rhyme. it's macabre, it would seem. i wish i still just passed over that question, that uncertainty, like i used to. back then, i used to go off lots of jumps and skid through shale.

this doesn't feel right. it's still self-sabotage. even my own writing. it's not mine.

i still don't know why she swallowed that fly, but i do know that i've begun swallowing them. and then do you know what? i had to swallow a spider. i guess i'll die.

it used to be funny to me, the circles i was spinning. everyone else went off to race when the gun sounded. it's far from funny now.


(

heheh. i like this book.


)


now i'm thinking these aren't things i wanted to do anyway. i just had to find them. bye

wicked, wicked, wicked, women

maybe it's just today, but attitudes and putting feelings on the line for trivial things. mustering up offences to take offence to. it's just been so much easier to just stay out of. don't get involved because what you do has effect and often you won't be able to control it. doesn't matter what you said or what you meant but how she felt. feelings drive us and those with the stronger feelings have the stronger case. so don't have any feelings, as a last resort, and watch as your heart sucks up inside of itself and then just dream about empty buildings and ghost schools where no one means anything. so we don't haggle, so what. i know so what. you thought, should i ask. you built up your courage by taking offence if we didn't. you lined up questions that only made sense. i told you no. you hoped to back up your question with your solid answers. you weren't ready for me not caring. i watched as your emotion boiled you over. your face got red and your jaw shuddered and you spit out your final proofs. but i wasn't even about to try to appease you and tell you my attempts at why we don't haggle. you were already too worked up. you were already prepared to win. i wasn't going to play. storm out of here, lady. you just broke yourself. and i let you. something wicked in me wanted to watch you. wanted you to feel that way. you of stubbornness. quick to anger, quicker to anger others. build up the tension in my shoulders with your emotions. draw me in and laugh as i suffer your fate. i wouldn't do that if i was you.

drafting

i await the day when all the excuses for why not? fail.

i can't figure my way around so much of this frustration. and it's all the same kind of things, too. and i keep doing them the same ways, and i sit and get angry at how i feel i'm doing them wrong, but i have no idea how to try to do them differently, and they aren't things that are yet, or may ever be, a very important part of my life, and so they never get the amount of time i really need to give them, but yet i waste so much time on things that, if i just gave them up, i would benefit as much as if i could do things i wasn't doing correctly, correctly, and i've always found it easier to restrain myself than apply myself. start there.

at least i've learned how to die when i need to.

a quick end

hangover, i don't recall your invitation.
there's nothing present that reminds me of prior associations
during which we'd encountered and agreed upon such terms.

hangover, where were you lurking?
deep down in that dark bottle?

There's a fire extinguisher in my shoes

and if that didn't make sense to you, my friends, then i never should have just said it to that old lady.

so, well, it's not quite that bad, but it feels like it. i drank last night and it's another day of going through the motions perfectly correctly but afterwards thinking, 'holy shit, what did i just say? i could have just said anything for all i can remember. but no, i guess it went smoothly. i guess i was normal.'

i just stared around for the last ten minutes. it sucks in my head. but that's me for you.

in continuation

2 Cherry Lamps

i don't think i understand the benefit of accepting that i don't understand something. ...i'm in for a long ride.

but, the real world's coming up in about 40 minutes, when i get off work. i call it the real world because i spend most of my time there. it's where i have habits that are all locked up like diamond molecules. (basically, it's all over unless i invent something stronger) i question these habits like crazy, but, as i said, diamond molecules. it's either, i question them or i go with them and enjoy myself for a bit, guilt-free. but i like to question them. feelings are not bound by morals. but we want them to be. we should feel this way and that. all because we know how dominating feelings can be. we're so proud when we go against what we feel like doing and do something that we think is better. funny, though, because we think it is better because we think it will make us feel better in the long run. it's all, all, all, about our feelings. do feelings fade as you get much older? there probably isn't much to do, then.

and i haven't been in the woods all year

i feel more than odd about that; awkward.

i guess i don't think about why i like to do things. i spend too much time thinking about why i don't like to do things. but, i remember my goal, when i was maybe 15, was to figure out why things make me happy. i don't know if i've been following that goal or not. i could easily say i have and then give examples. i could easily say i haven't. hmm, what examples do i have there.

i think being in the woods is the only time i'm standing and relaxed. what a novel thought for me. there's nowhere to go. there's only the woods, and you're in them. there's nothing to do but stand and look and walk.

hmm, i started to think further about why i like it, but then it all fell apart. i can't really use reasons for why i like it. logic backfires on me. it's like data talking to geordi. 'could you explain feeling angry without referring to other feelings?' 'no, i guess i can't'

why didn't i learn my lesson right then. i sleep and then forget all i was trying to retain.

so, let me tell you all about how great the woods are. haha. they're scary sometimes, and you can throw rocks wherever you like, and start fires and then throw rocks at them to put them out, or stand by a creek or walk down one, or look at a hill, and kick up dust, and it gets dark real early in there, and you can be ten miles in or two-tenths of a mile, and some things are familiar, right next to things that aren't, and you don't feel at home but you do, and the wind blows with more boister, and bark smells like worms in the moss, and there might just be leaves fossilizing some mud just beyond your footprints.

i almost never go in alone. i guess i'll have to.

not this post, no, not this post, prometheus

the constant whirring in my head has slowed down dramatically. this is definitely a measureable measurement. was there ever any benefit? i don't know. it must have been a coping tool. maybe a bad one. but not if it got the job done. did it? what did, i wonder. eventuality. this job. crying and complaining. a bit of hope. when did it come? before there was reason to hope or after?

yeah, so, i'm envisioning myself standing up, but transparent, because it's like i'm my spirit emerging like a dead soul from out of my other self who's still on one knee clenching his fists to his face. i'm surprised to still feel what he feels. i wonder if he'll give me trouble, like a hand that's been cut off but forever feels as if it's still there, clenched. a psychological mess.

but, no, i don't think so. well, maybe it will cause me problems, but never ones that weigh on my mind. more like ones where i won't see something obvious to other people, but i'll stand stubbornly and confidently by the fact that i don't see it. someone will be able to describe me as, well, sometimes he lacks this or that or can be overly that or this. i always wondered how anyone could get a way that could be continually explained. i thought, how wouldn't someone always be changing or able to change. well, maybe people all get into a psychological mess. whatever it takes to live. hey, these things can make us different. less definable. predictable. mechanical. commandable.

or i can just go ride around and honk my horn in my new car because it's my new car. it's like a new mustang without the glamorous name or dependable performance.

and then there's columbus and cortez and all those aliens that helped them conquer the new world. we should do something about that unjustice. perhaps, civil war. anyone? if you're having trouble, you could pray to me and just assume that i'm always right. you may as well. well, me or that speghetti monster. you could just skip me and pray straight to him.

but gee blogposter, isn't that kinda sacraligious?

sorry, what?

not this post, no, not this post prometheus

uh-oh, i'm terribly bored

being bored presupposes having energy. otherwise i'd just be terribly relaxed. excess energy feels rather new to me. stuff like this sentence happens.

mmmhmmm, should i think of something internal or external. if i go internal, it usually makes it hard to get out of it for the rest of the day. everything i'm exposed to turns into an inside story or joke with only myself. i never end up with anything much to say to anyone i'm with. but no one's here.

oh, holy shit, g.i. joe. most of us probably remember it vaguely. the name of that old cartoon might bring forth images of furious blue laser fire or maybe the 'joe knows' safety concerns at the end of the show, or the recent parodies of them. but what i want to focus on are those first images. those of (i'm laughing) furious blue laser fire. i always thought that that was all i could remember of the show because, one, i was very young, and two, because it makes sense to remember the most exciting parts. but if those japanese cartoons cause seizures because of constant, flashing colors, the Joe cartoons would have done so by stretching even a child's imagination past the tight point of tension. if i didn't watch it with three or four other appreciative people, and if i didn't laugh out loud hard every few seconds, i would go insane. and yet, the amount of times i laugh can hardly keep up with the amount of hand-spring gun pick-up-and-shoots there are in each episode.

no, no, no, no, no, it is so funny. for every piece of Cobra-crunching action there is a corresponding piece of so completely unnecessary action. and to make it even funnier, for each guy that back flips into action, there's a guy, or girl, that just simply winds up and punches. and i'll have you know, the Joe characters never miss with their hand-to-hand combat (unless they're fighting the ninja, Stormshadow) despite the fact that they often pause mid-fight to make humorous comments.

i can't stress enough the amount of action. five minutes into the first episode, fighter jets are (purposely) flying around using their jet wings to slice Cobra tanks in half. oftentimes, to add to excitement during road chases, brick walls will appear on the road from out of nowhere, just as something to crash through. this had me laughing forever, especially when i saw that after the brick wall, the road they were on before crashing through it, continued off into the horizon.

steve often says how he thinks the writers based the story line on how their kids played with their action figures. they'd sit there with their notepads writing ferociously as the kids would smash vehicles into each other or the wall.

the unnecessary is so funny. one time, the Joe characters had to disable all these bombs that Cobra had planted on top of the roofs of different local burger joints. one scene starts as a Joe member zooms on screen standing on his motorcycle. he jumps off, clinging to the gutter, as the motorcycle takes a wicked left turn all by itself and motors off screen somehow avoiding crashing into the building. There was no hurry. he could have parked his motorcycle and after deploying his kickstand, he could have easily reached the roof. but that totally would have ruined the vibe of the show.

and if you still can't believe me about the amount of rediculous action, just watch the opening credits. it's all about people jumping off of vehicles and punching people in their faces. and all in one motion. and the way that it's animated supports their moves. it always looks like they can kind of float around.

ok, and now to more about how rediculous their weapons can be. at one point, Cobra guys are teaching some new recruits out in the jungle. the instructors are showing off, trying to prove who's better at destroying a tank. well, the first guy, somehow, is really good at chainsawing tanks in half. that's tough to beat. the second guy seems lucky to find himself in possession of a flame-thrower that, within seconds, melts all tanks to the ground. the cobra-wannabes are in for a tough decision as to who they want to be their mentor. that is until the ninja, stormshadow, hops up on a fresh tank and, after a few swift, precise, karate-chops, he backflips onto the gun turret and gives one final blow. at first, nothing happens, and the other instructors being laughing at his futile attempts. but then, suddenly, all the bolts spring out of the tank and it collapses.

one time, an unimpressed Joe character is holding Stormshadow by pointing his gun at him. But, Stormshadow has other plans. he whips a chinese star at the guy and it slices up the gun. For some reason, the Joe character decides to take the ninja on hand-to-hand. well, after one chop to his neck the fight is over. he awakes a little later to his Joe comrades asking him what in the hell happened. he was like, 'i don't know. he pulled some kind of ninja hokus-pokus on me.' hahaha, he's in denial.

on and on and on

there's this tank that's called a bridge layer. it does what it's called. there's a bridge on top of it. well, once, they came to a cliffside. they were a little worried about whether it was safe or not to drive the bridgelayer tank up to the edge. that is, until one of the guys stomped his foot a bit to test if the cliff-top would hold. and the funniest thing is, is when he stomped his foot, roots and other debris broke off and fell down into the ravine. but they went ahead and drove the bridge layer up there anyway.

and if you thought that was daring, one time their fleet of tanks and motorcycles and jeeps emerged from the jungle to find another crevase. the only way to get across was this rickety, old, rope and wood bridge. someone said, 'we should check it first.' but instead, lady jane said, 'i was just about to,' and drove her troop filled jeep out onto it. the Joe guys looked to each other and shook their heads, saying, 'that gal's got guts.' well, what happened was that they were ambushed. lady jane, spirit and some other guys began to fall down into the crevase. at first, one guy was like, 'oh no!' but he was quickly consoled by his buddy, 'we're all worried about lady jane, but if there's one thing about her, she's a survivor.' and they proceeded to point at things and order troops.

oh, you have to understand how important the animals are, too. 90% of the most threatening enemies are taken out by this dog or this eagle named freedom. they are worth 50 cobra guys with laser guns.

this one time they came across these barbaric primordes. the funny thing here was the way that they were going to kill their captives. they had a huge rock and, above this huge rock they'd hung another huge rock. what a great way to sacrafice someone. well, they were all tied up to posts in the ground, and once lady jane got a look at this rock setup she thought to say, 'if any of you have anything against human sacrafices, now's the time to leave.' i think the eagle got them out of this jam.

if you want to be like me and have hours and hours of hilarious stories to tell on your bloghome, download or rent or otherwise acquire some of this classic cartoon.

Drink, Drink, Drink; Post, Post, Post

ntroduction

The clock strikes eight, while steve and chad find themsevles out of their fucking minds again.....


-Special Commenter,


Stephen G. T.


P.S. Enjoy the Rock Show



Thank you Stephen G. T.


An experiment in posting begins. Paper towel rolls are clenched between teeth instead of being spun correctly to be torn off to clean up spilled messes of hard liquor concoctions. end transmission.

Apparently wine, all it does, is make one terribly tired. however, if around 6 o'clock, one naps for an hour, then gets up and goes to the local mart and buys a redbull for himself and friend and some dr. pepper for his jack daniels, then mixes them all up inside himself, crazy, loud, wicked, wearing, rediculous things happen. sometimes for all night.

I don't like words like eventually or approximately, i like words like immediately and exactly

Peace to the Middle East,

Stephen G. T.

smoke break..................................

smart tony, smart smart tony, smart tony theme song tony...

end transmission operation save the middle east

oh well, post this

man, life

(hahaha, i'm reminded of, 'Today, huh?!!" -sundarkened man looks around at the warm blue day. shawn, if you're reading, you get it.)

this guy from new york. he was on a mission. can you say, direct. he stormed in with such intensity and focus it was as if if he didn't get his table and chairs in today, the man with the gun would kill his son at the warehouse. but, thing was, he only seemed that way. such a thick accent though. even the most trivial of things he said were propped up in importance by that paced, forceful way of communicating. he was telling me that his son plays hardball for state college and that's why they're here. hardball. ...hardball. well, anyway, it was fun talking to him. marie was in again. again i realize i want to be around people that are actively communicating, and with style. though there's nothing wrong with those old southern men on their outside rockers that just say, 'yep.' i'd feel like me and them could enjoy a good relaxing smoke now and then. and we could shoot at something. but some people are all work when you talk to them or when they talk at you rather. that's no fun at all.

i can't explain how funny steve just called me. in an old man cowboy/redneck scratchy long voweled voice, asks me some dang furnishiore queschion. says, i gots some ta bring ap teh yeh possibly and perhaps. haha, but i was ringing someone up.

so, back to chessmaster. after it all day yesterday, i couldn't help but think of people as pieces when they moved. as i walked betweeen steve and his sister i'd see images of me being a bishop and the like. like mario cart playing and then while driving home you think you see bananas on the road.

see you