What Are You Looking For?

Dream # 23 last night (05/26/10)
I’m on some flimsy wooden raft in the middle of this rough waterway. I can see land on each side of me. Waves are reaching twenty feet high. The horrifying nature of the ordeal knocks me out in the dream.

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One time in the 80’s I would put cologne on when I went out for the night. Like Polo cologne. What a fucking loser. The second I stepped outside someone should have smashed me in the face with a pink aluminum softball bat six times. I wonder if wearing cologne has ever worked for anyone. We were just going to the ice cream shop and then home.

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If I try and think back to around ages 6-10 it is kind of blank. We lived in Los Angeles, I seemed pretty occupied with Kiss records, dirt bikes and Suzanne Somers. I don’t remember what a day was like. What time did I wake up? When did I eat? What did my voice sound like? All shit I really don’t want to know, but it seems odd to think of yourself that young and how you were. I think with me it would freak me out as it would be me before I was a fuck up.



Dream # 11 (“a few months ago”)
I’m in some weird canyon. It’s dry and tanned everywhere. Everything is sunny bright yellow and light dirt. One hundred yards away or so I see a group of people standing around talking. A loud chuckle erupts every few minutes. I try and move towards them but every time I do one of the people in the group does some odd motion with their hand and a bolt of electricity comes shooting out of their hand, striking me on the leg so I can no longer move.



Her name was Stacie. She worked in some office downtown or something. Theodore knew her from Popeye’s Fried Chicken. At night she would drink wine until she passed out in the living room. One time Theodore took her to see some Robin Williams movie and she threw up all over his cock behind a Cracker Barrel out on Rt 6.



I can remember plenty of things from my teenage years, and some from my twenties. Other than that, everything gets blurry. Same with being a teenager, why would I ever want to know what that kid was like? Sometimes I talk to friends from that era now, ex-girlfriends from when I was like fourteen and the terms boyfriend and girlfriend didn’t really mean much anyway. Their last impression of me is of a fifteen year old kid or something, How odd. I imagine if I was even remotely the same as I was then I wouldn’t have a single friend. I was pretty awkward and quiet and introverted and angry and whatever else unfortunate word you can think of.



Dream # 20 (05/24/10)
Some guys voice saying “the rooms are fifty dollars each, and no you can’t play that guitar in here and the cat has to stay in the car”

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His name was Ian, he worked for the Public Works Department. In the summers as you tip toed back home from the beach to avoid burning your already half charred feet you would see Ian driving around in one of those orange trucks. He was happy to pick up other people’s trash. At one point he bought a lottery ticket and told everyone he was going to win enough money to finally leave town. On the night of the drawing he was killed by a car walking his dog (the dog also died). His numbers did not come out. All of those orange trucks have those numbers he played painted on the side of them now. The numbers have never been drawn.



This man is always in here. He kind of makes me nervous. You will see him here in the afternoon and if you drive by or stop in later at night he’ll still be here. Some days he will take his shoes off while he is sitting there, Other days he has all of these items with him, drinks, three or four of them. It appears he orders probably the cheapest drink and then just sits here all day. Some days he makes phone calls on his cell and is louder than he needs to be. The main deal though, his eyes. He has that look in his eyes that just says “I’m crazy”. He just sat down and two women got up in left. Imagine having that power? You sit down and people just leave because you are weirding people out. I would jump off a bridge if that happened.

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I feel disconnected all over the place now. These last couple of years, losing touch with people, getting back in touch with them but then feeling like everything is different. I feel like an intruder sometimes. Like I have no place in any new circle of friends. This is why it was tough in California. Who wants to be the new guy ever? I’d rather wallow in nothing and be this person instead. Everyone I know already is fine, and unless it’s via them, her, etc I can’t imagine getting into some new group of people. Wait, I don’t think I’m actually being serious here. Strange how sometimes words just come out of you because they feel good to say or type out. Sometimes shit can just come out of me like this that holds no bearing on reality. I feel like I wrote lyrics like this quite a bit.



Speaking of lyrics I recently started putting an entry together from my old band’s lyrics...particularly our last album as I enjoyed writing them, performing them, recording them and ultimately coming up with the final product which would have been our fourth album but was never released. I’m still thinking of releasing it though as I feel like it needs to be put out, even if only like sixteen people buy it.



Dream # 8 (“a long time ago”)
On this long highway that has been seemingly going on for hours and hours. The sky is huge, biggest sky I have ever seen in my life. Everything is bright and almost hurts my eyes. I finally reach the horizon and just fly off into nowhere.

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I can’t imagine another version of her than the one I know and have grown to love. Different feelings getting tugged in every direction. Different emotions and ways to go about each day. When I think of every last good memory we have, winding roads, old baseball parks, Disneyland, towers and monuments and gorgeous blue skies and gorgeous smiles and hair to make me feel warmer than anyone else will feel. When I think of everything invented in my brain though, I don’t trust myself, I don’t trust anyone else. I don’t want to have to listen to what anyone else tells me about my feelings and life aside from her and I. I don’t want to worry about strangers and long lost friends who think they know how I am. Nobody knows how I am, what is best for me or where I need to be. The only thing that matters to me right now is her smile.



Dream # 1 ("a couple of years ago")
Not dangerously high above the ocean, but high enough that it would hurt to fall. She approaches me and I grab her face inside her hooded sweatshirt and kiss her. I fall asleep to this every night for a year.

Fo(u)r More of It

Went to sleep a while back but then as I often do, woke up and felt like I needed to type this.

Like a loser, hit a bar by myself to watch a friend from way back play some music. Band was pretty good, not what I was expecting. Going to the bar though, it’s hard as fuck now. I can’t imagine ever going to one without something else attached like food or music. My social anxiety was at an all time high as I kind of hid in the back and eventually snuck out for a late dinner by myself. I feel like I am living the same exact life I was living in California.

This time of night I hear voices that tell me, well, they keep hitting me and waking me up. I get here and had some things to say and now realize I can’t say them.

Past 5:00 AM and they still have no clue. Why do I come here? Give people information they don’t need to know? I look and see who looked at me and wonder why anyone would ever, and then realize why. The conspiracy.

The Ten Before I Got To Twenty-Six

16.
When I used to drive home late at night I couldn’t tell how high the mountains that surrounded me were. Often I would notice lights way high above me floating there on top of the invisible mountains. I imagined that this is where some signal was being sent to me to notify me of the codes I needed for, well forget that.

15.
The first time I showed up there I noticed the smell. This dank, dark basement smelled of mildew and piss. I always hated going over there after that. We did the same thing over and over, talked sports, played pool, drank, smoked cigarettes and basically hated life. Fast forward to tonight, last night, the night before, the night before, the night before, the weekend before, etc. Scores of people who hate their lives or hate reality. Stuck in a routine for all eternity, stuck having a mirror that has room for two faces. Stuck fucking the same pussy forever. Stuck listening to some annoying voice every day forever. All this time later doing the same exact thing. I can’t get myself caught up into that. Life is awesome and intense. Even when I complain about it, it’s not because something isn’t happening. I want shit to happen all the time, good things and bad things. They all get into this routine, this long straight line and enjoy sitting on it. As long as escape vehicles are available to them at a low low price, they are willing to take that fate. I need to distance myself from all of these escape vehicles. I can feel myself getting into them, enjoying them. I know deep down I don’t enjoy them. Who enjoys having no control and spitting out complaints of headaches all morning the next day? Weaklings, that’s who.

14.
The last time I came, I guess because I had done it so many times already it looked like I was just balancing a Mento on the head of my cock.

13.
Watch these guys working the place, missing with jokes all the time, but people feed them and laugh anyway. Boosting egos and cocks for no other reason but one. Attention. I think I know a thing or two about this.

12.
There is no common ground with most of them ever is there? I feel like I can tailor my ideas and opinions only a tiny bit. I can pretend and play ignorant just to avoid any kind of disarray and feeling of things going down for long periods of time. When I dig myself into places I don’t have any business being though. Bizarre anonymous messages sent to strangers halfway across the universe with no intention other than to just make it a tiny bit harder for other strangers; how intense is this? I can manipulate people and situations I have absolutely nothing to do with because of the internet.

11.
Men wearing wacky hats, how awesome is this? Y/N

10.
For a long time I enjoyed listening to strangers tell me their stories. Telling them mine. I have grown weary of the stranger nowadays though. The friend is usually more of a better ear to bend. It doesn’t really matter what you tell them, either of them, but it’s much easier with the ones you know. It used to be the opposite for me. On the train for hours and hours and you have to hear this person’s story of triumph over tragedy and you get to either make one up, embellish yours, or not say a thing. The not say a thing method, that’s who you are accused of being a social misfit or some sort of weirdo. “Social anxiety is a myth” is what they must say and feel. It isn’t though. I feel sick to my stomach thinking I have to go through with something like walking into a room of people. I also get sick to my stomach just thinking about stuff.

9.
“Don’t Break the Silence” how awesome is this little piece of advice?

8.
One day I was thinking of trying to write down literally every single thought that comes into my head, like as it happens. Maybe take a four hour period of time and do this? I imagine I would have to do this numerous times to see any kind of interesting results. I would of course be self conscious of it and it would be tainted. Hmm, how do I do this?

7.
I'm told by someone what to do every day. Someone tells me what I'm supposed to feel like every day. Someone makes me say "yes" to every favor asked of me. Someone dictates my every move from day to day. Wait, this is a lie, this is the opposite of what happens every day. Where is my guide? Don't we all have some sort of spiritual guide that takes us through life? I tell myself I've made the right decision from time to time. Most of the time it's the wrong decision to someone, but I feel like it's the right one. So today I took a ride to some ocean areas, as it was sunny, warm, and I had nothing to do (not true) and was thinking "yes, this is it". The "okay alcohol and drugs are definitely not helping me escape anything, they're actually bringing more on me" feelings. The way I see things from day to day is not real. The marijuana, it's not real. I don't get high anymore. I smoke it, but I don't get high. I drink, I feel drunk...I think. Is this what it feels like: your mouth feels a little strange, you have to piss constantly, you have no sense of balance, and you will say anything that comes to mind? Yes? Well, I don't really think that's a way I can conduct the daily business I need to conduct here. On the other hand, I talk to people that are feeling like that every time I see them, how am I supposed to think of them? I don't remember what a lot of my friends are like when they're sober. The daytime versions of them are so better, yet again.

6.
I think I love this girl. She gets to me once a day at least. Her eyes and smile and laugh and interest in my interest in the Rolling Stones. She makes the color blue better than it is. I’d take her to the Regal Begal and buy her a soda. We could sit at one of those uncomfortably small tables and I could make her laugh her soda all over my t-shirt. I hate drunk women and don’t want to see her like that. I told her the first time we hung out I never wanted to get fucked up around her as I wanted to remember all of the moments. I know there is something there between us as whenever something intense happens during the day I wish she were there to experience it with me. There are good and horrible moments some times. Horrible can’t win this time please, it always does.

5.
Adolf Hitler, completely covered in blood, feathers and smashed up little shards of Sarah Palin’s copy of Morrison Hotel on CD.

4.
Oh how I enjoy that crisp wind that blows brown and bright blue air all over the world in the fall here in New England. Right now, the tail end of a winter I didn’t experience and it feels fresh and nice outside. I need to move myself somewhere good. Yeah I said this and did this already. Wait what?

3.
I have a whole story written out, letters and that kind of thing. I try and work on them once or twice a week, just to keep everything that has happened fresh in my head. I have some sort of listing of statistics and plot points and ideas. I started writing the story early last November, late at night. I worked on it all this time and nobody will ever get to read it. I wrote myself a story for my birthday and will do nothing with it.

2.
Fiction from October of 2000:
You fucked up. You know you did. It was so fucking long ago now. It was probably ten years ago now. You can’t look anyone in the face anymore. Everyone knew about it. You knew you fucked up the next day. For a moment did you use your brain? Did the light go on above your head? Shame. You don’t even have any. You have nothing now. You are filled with guilt, no shame, just guilt. Plain and simple as pie. Your phone hasn’t rang in three years now. Your spiral started ten years ago, and continues to this day. You spiral so far down every week you don'’ know what to do with yourself. Karma. You always doubted it. Now look at you, a sorry son of a bitch staring at the dusty nightstand wondering when it will just end for you. You're to scared to just end it yourself/ Nobody would miss you at this point. Hell they might have tried to help you at one point in your life. I would never wish harm on anyone, I wouldn’t even wish it upon you, but you fucked up. Somewhere down the line you fucked up. Everything was going by quickly; there were long nights of jokes and aliens and drugs. Now your Friday nights are reduced to lonely chicken and rice dinners in that kitchen. That table nobody has sat at in for years now. Go ahead, switch your seat up every other night. You try to liven it up all the time with that chair swapping game. Musical chairs you play with the weekends. Duck, Duck, Duck, Goose! How many times can you stare at that floor and remember that phone call.(fuck, now I remember). I remember making that phone call. I remember having to tell you everything. Spilling my guts out on the floor like that. I see them there every time I sit in that fucking kitchen. That kitchen is so dark in there without your face. It’s cold in there. My weekends yes, my weekends playing solitaire in that kitchen. Eating alone again. Staring at that floor remembering that phone call. I fucked up, yeah. I’m really sorry though. I never wanted to make that phone call, but I had to be honest. To be honest with you right now, I really don’t know what I would have done if I had never told you. I don’t think I can sit in that kitchen without you talking to me. Crying. My dinner every Friday night is with you. It’s by myself. I haven’t picked up the phone to hear your voice. I haven’t checked the mail in a while. Is there a letter from you there? I fucked up. Now I have nobody. I have my little space I live in by myself. I have my dusty nightstand, and I have guilt inside me. I have more guilt than you will ever know. I couldn’t let you take me back. You have the heart of a giant. You have the biggest heart in the world, and I ripped it out and crushed it. (wait, it was you) How will another winter be? Your ninth winter like this. Your ninth winter of those dinners. Try and spice it up a little, maybe eat in the living room one night. Loneliness really sucks doesn’t it? Just when you think you don’t need anyone in your life, loneliness finally crushes you, and there you are not even remembering what a telephone ring sounds like. Remember that time a few weeks back when those people from the magazine company called? You wanted to stay on the phone with them all night. You loved that conversation. Your first conversation in months, years maybe. “Yeah, I’ll take another survey, sure” How many magazines are you getting delivered to you now? Those magazines, those magazines you read, they’re never going to be able to replace the warmth and companionship of another human being are they? You know that as well as I do. You know that you are going to spend the rest of your life sitting in that lonely little world of yours. You are now the victim of yourself. Too weak to stay above water, and too much guilt to go out and face the world. How long before this ends though? How long before you can just stop lying to yourself and put it in front of you? (it’s not your problem). I wish it was just like it was before. Jokes, kisses, stories, etc. I wish I could have dinner with someone, and I wish I could face the outside world for just one more day before this comes to a halt. Is anyone even listening anymore?

1.
People get down this time of year. I always get down this time of year, but it’s a good get down.

It's Colder in California

I've been in a pretty good mood lately, or since I got here. I am still pretty sure there is a vast conspiracy against me and I'm being lied to on a daily basis though, so yeah. This takes place all day indoors outdoors here there on long winding roads I don't know exist and in outer space if you catch my drift. I have secret codes figured out where I am actually...well I'm not going to reveal anything here.

Back From There

...? I have these visions when I fall in and out of sleep of me falling to my knees on a beach and someone without a face saying “Oh God, there is light pouring out of your pockets” and then I see it and black out. The person is terrified. I see the light though and it's intense. A big gray rocky beach with menacing cliffs and waves.

Sometimes, I sleepwalk and sometimes sleepwrite.

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“The Minute We Hit Kentucky”

Whatever it is I ever see in them

Whatever it is that ever takes control of me and my head when I am with them

It’s invisible and hopefully gone by the time I am five minutes out of town

I have never wanted to run away from a place and idea more than I do right now

I lie to myself and tell myself I enjoy this and enjoy that

I can yes myself to death when I know every single thing that goes on

I read and spy on these weak ass men and their fat scorned wives home alone every other night weeping into their coffee mug with the horse on it

Broken boned and broken willed

Relying on friends to pick them up and tell them how much he sucks

These poor dumb women have no idea

I sit on roofs and watch them all, sinners and people I should never rub shoulders with

I tempt myself to write songs and letters

I realize I never need any of that

I have eyes, ears, and a nose

I have a steady history of just being too nice for my own good

Getting shit on and whatever else the next morning

I can sit and lie about how I feel

That’s the only thing I can lie about really

I can’t put these elaborate stories together like women do

Well I can, I just don’t

I can tell them all that I am doing well and there’s nothing to worry about but really

I’ll never fully get to sleep tonight

I’m beyond any point of caring if I burn a trillion bridges from here to the next galaxy

I want to go home

Never come back to this fucking place my head is at again

When I truly wish bad luck upon my true enemies

The ones who got in my way

The ones who fucked me up from the other side of the world

When I wish pain with the power of a trillion suns upon them and their loved ones

I hope it comes quick and with a fury so intense they never smile again

To Catch a Thief

I wrote this a long time ago, updated it where it needed to be updated. I always wonder if this dude is still out there.

So there I am, stoned. How many stories can I tell that start like that? Every one that’s how many. So there I am stoned, approaching the Charlie Parker section when out of the corner of my eye I see him. “Shit” I say to myself, there’s no way that guy will recognize me at this point, it was….over 15 years ago now. “Fuck, he’s listening to jazz now?” Perhaps he always was though. I would assume that he would only listen to Led Zeppelin and Ozzy if he was doing what he was doing when I first encountered him. Looks like he gained a little weight. Has the glasses on, looks sort of like a computer programmer, or maybe someone who works at Radio Shack ( let me just say that Radio Shack is the worst thing in the history of things that have existed in the world. You go in there and first of all, they don’t have anything good whatsoever. There is not one good thing. And if you say they are different now like Sears, because they carry all these top name products now, I’ll tell you to shove a box of 9 volt [my favorite member of the battery family] batteries up your ass, as Radio Shack is not good now. I don’t care who they have doing their television ads now, I don’t care if the logo is hip now. I don’t care if when you think of Radio Shack you think of Radiohead. It’s 2 things that stink Radio’s and Shack’s. When I think of the radio I think of noisy static and shittier music. When I think of a shack, I think of an old run down fucking shack, not somewhere I want to buy stereo equipment. Anyone who buys anything from Radio Shack other than a fucking LED light or something is an asshole, and should not be allowed to listen to music or use anything electronic. You go in there to buy something, and first off they ask you for all this shit…name, address, phone number, social security number, the last time you listened to Vampire Weekend{this obviously is probably more often than not answered “yes” in the Radio Shack environment if you catch my drift}, mothers maiden name, all to buy a fucking fuse for 29 cents. Fuck that, I’ll take my business elsewhere.) or some geek like that. So I quickly make my way out of the jazz section, as the guy is there, and secondly, there’s nothing there I need right now anyway. I guess I should back up a little.

So years ago when I had a skateboard and my prom would be a couple years later where we would hear all sorts of 80’s songs because it was the 80’s, not because it was an “80’s themed prom” (I tell you, being in junior high, and high school in the 80’s was not fun. It wasn’t like those John Hughes movies. It wasn’t like Saved By the Bell, it sucked. The clothes people wore were so god-awful it wasn’t even funny. Ronald Reagan was in office, there were no punk rockers around where I lived, the pot wasn’t what it is today, if you hooked up with a girl you spent half the time trying to figure out if something was a strap or a ribbon or a belt or whatever, and then of course you were fifteen so when you did finally get the baggy outfit off you had no idea what to even do with the “stuff” So when you start thinking that you want to go back to the 80’s because it seemed cool, think again, as it really wasn’t that great of a time for anyone. Let’s let it rest.). I looked like a dork, I was a teenage punk rock kid with a skateboard, how original.

My friend Peter and I used to hang out at this shopping mall literally every day of our lives. It was a small shopping mall with maybe a dozen stores, anchored by a big pharmacy (pharmacies are out of fucking control nowadays, people don’t think about it, but you go into a pharmacy and the days of just getting a prescription and a card for your sister are long fucking gone now you can get anything you want in there…at any time of the day. They have 24 hour pharmacies here, perfect for a guy like myself who sometimes will wake up in the middle of the night and go out to the car to take a ride and cool myself down. Sometimes I need a bag of licorice in the middle of the night, and sometimes I need to buy a box of blank DVD’s, or maybe I am coming back from a keg party on a golf course at like 4 million o’clock in the morning and I need a copy of the new Michael Crichton novel [paperback edition], either way, it’s now all there. Pharmacies do not get the much deserved respect they have built over the past few years now), and a department store. The details of this are sketchy at this point, but from what I remember Peter may have said some bad words about some girl. For a week or so after that we kept seeing these two sort of scary looking guys in the mall. We thought they were after us for saying what we did. So one night, I’m sitting in the mall leaning against this wall with my skateboard, I have a clear view of one of the entrances (I can still picture the big brick pillars outside at each entrance), so anyone pulling up in a car, you can see. This would be where you waited in the winter for your mother to pick you up after a long day of mall shopping, if you weren’t a nerd like me who just hung out there. So I’m sitting there, presumably waiting for my friend to get out of work when I see this motorcycle pull up, okay, well a “chopper”. I notice it’s our two friends who we thought were going to kick our ass, they look a little different though. The taller, blonde one is wearing mirrored sunglasses, and a bandana on his head, and overalls; he gets off the chopper and enters the mall. The shorter dark haired one stays on the chopper and is looking in at me. I’m thinking he’s going to come in and kick my ass. I hadn’t had much experience with getting my ass kicked at this point (although, a few years before or so, I was down at the movie theatre and there was this nerdy “new kid” eating a sandwich, for some reason I decided I wanted to eat the sandwich, so I took it away from him. Me and my long hair, and my Ozzy Diary of a Madman tour shirt [which was the first concert my mother let my brother and I go to without parental guidance, and I was right after all these years with the date thanks to the new reissue of this classic record which shows a flyer which indicates Ozzy would be in the New York are on April 4th, 5th of 1982. I always remembered the show being April 2nd, 1982. Which now that I think of it, me buying the reissue of Diary of a Madman back in 2002 was the 20th anniversary of that gig. Shit. Fuck. I wish I knew, I would have celebrated by going to the Boston Garden that night, or rather where the Garden was. UFO opened for Ozzy at that show, without Michael Schenker, who had already started making waves with his solo career, we also missed Randy Rhoads who was killed right before the gig, instead we got that guy Brad Gillis who ended up on the underrated Speak of the Devil live record, and eventually to Night Ranger] took the poor kids dinner away from him. Big mistake, it turned out the kid was the younger brother of “that black belt crazy kid Bill Ward {we’ll call him Bill Ward for the sake of anonymity}” So now the rumors were that Bill Ward wanted to fight me. I couldn’t fight him however; I was a long-haired freak who couldn’t hurt a fly. I avoided Bill Ward for weeks when finally he caught up with me. He was definitely the Mike Tyson of the town, not really a big guy, just crazy, and could fight and knew karate and loved ninjas and shit. So one day, I’m leaving school, about to cut through some backyards when he runs up. Mind you, he’s running, not walking. “Let’s go man, why’d you fuck with my brother??!?” “I didn’t know it was your brother” “Well, you have to fight me” “Bill Ward, I’m not gonna fight you” He then says “Then I have to hit you”, and he punches me in the face and says “Don’t fuck with my brother”.), so I was getting more or less ready to run away from the crazy biker guys who wanted to kick my ass for having a skateboard and gallivanting around with the kid that said that shit about his sister. (Un)Fortunately, it wasn’t that at all, as while I was standing there with my skateboard and punk rockness I heard this door being flung open loudly and a woman yelling. The tall blonde mirrored sunglasses and bandana guy was running out with a box in his hand, coming from the jewelry store. He hopped on to the motorcycle, or chopper rather, and they drove off into the sunset. The police came down and I gave them a report.

A month later, I get on a bus and look in the back, and there’s mister tall blonde guy with the bandana and mirrored sunglasses, this time he’s wearing a baseball hat though. I avoided eye contact with him and hid my face for the bus ride.
So now, years later I see the guy at the record shop looking through the jazz and blues CD’s, before I disappeared from his sight I wanted to see what he was buying. BB King – Live at Cook County Jail. Ha (?)

Okay I'll go back to writing about how miserable I am and that kind of thing later on. This was fun for a minute.

Most Things Haven't Worked Out

a) I think she was crazy. I know her mom was crazy, and her ex-husband was crazy, and I was crazy, but all of us were like this in a good way.

b) At Lynch Park we sat and drank wine coolers, and I think you threw up. At that age, it was easy to throw up. If you throw up from wine coolers nowadays, you’re considered a pussy.

c) Ted fucked Vicki about 25 minutes after their shift ended at the video store; on the way back to her car he mentioned that he thought the most efficient way to get things done is if they are MILITANT with making people drop the videos in the box, rather than leaving them on the counter. When Vicki got in the house she drank half a bottle of Robutussin and fell asleep in her blue company shirt.

d) At one point on the train ride, I think it was in Nebraska, I came out of the bathroom and there was a woman waiting, the window between the cars was open, and it was dark. I smiled at her. Upon returning to my seat I imagined how intense it would have been if I had thrown her out of the window and returned to my seat to read another fucking tired Jack Kerouac novel with my stupid fucking goatee and cardigan.

e) On our way to the carnival, everyone in the car is a little drunk except for me, I’m trying to give Candace directions, and mix her drinks for her. We arrive at the carnival, and just as we are walking in, Tim looks at me and says “there’s that dude from McNeil’s house last week”

f) I ran out of things to say, so I started allowing people to walk all over me.

g) I may have stopped breathing that one time. Ambulance shows up and I keep picturing those gross piercing blue eyes she had. I hated them, these tiny little eyes of hers. I should have known what was up right off the bat.

h) Children, being eaten by a gigantic woman with no eyes.

i) Isaac Hayes + Billy Crystal + John Coltrane = Luke Perry

j) She ordered the wrong thing, so when the waitress came back, I told her that we would need the check, and if she could call my date a cab, she obviously didn’t read my rules.

k)I had such a good idea or so I thought. I could type this true sentence every five minutes forever.

l)In the basement, I felt insecure and out of place. Every fucking basement. I have a long history of feeling insecure in basements. Make sure, no, MAKE FUCKING SURE, you never take me to your basement. I am vulnerable there. I will listen to everything you say, I will think every remark is a criticism of how I am seen. I’ve never had sexual relations with any person I’ve met in a basement. I’m like the guy who throws up from wine coolers nowadays, a fucking pussy. I’m a fucking pussy in the basement, go ahead, make fun of me.

m) My phone never fucking rings anymore, all of the fuckers who said they would call months ago, they never call. I don’t call, they don’t call, nobody gives a shit anymore. Soon we’ll have those conversations “hey, did you hear so and so got shot?”.

n) Annette Funicello walks into my fantasy and asks where the nearest Starbucks is. I tell her I loved her in “that one you did with the black guy and Don Rickles”

o) The one time I decided to start shaving my head myself was a week after my barber told me I shouldn’t go into the city because there were a lot of n***ers there. I think I read that piece of racist shit had a heart attack in the middle of a haircut once. Who do you tip when your barber dies in the middle of a haircut?

p) To pass the time we would argue about which was more important film or music. You would always win with your fucking film school knowledge, and my short term memory lapses coming on strong in the face of confrontation.

q) The night Steven Spielberg fucked my wife.

r) 1-800-ECSTASY

s) It seems that when I drink this red wine, I decide I don’t mind drinking after all. Don’t call me a hypocrite you fuck. If people didn’t change their opinions daily, and grow and learn different things daily how boring would we be? I like the wine right now, tomorrow I will say I think my friends are fucking losers because they looked at a glass of beer.

t) We got this woman fired one day. She was out of line, and out of hand, so we had her fired. I am a fucking pussy, but I looked her right in the eye and said to her, well I said some shit that you normally wouldn’t say. I fucking told her some shit.

u) Imagine not knowing all of the lyrics to every single Black Sabbath song by heart?

v) A man watched us fuck in the car. We saw him and you started freaking out. Plus, you were late and your dad would be waiting for you. I thought that your dad would probably be more upset at what I had called you while I was fucking you, as it’s impossible to have two fathers.

w) He sent them a card and told them he was sorry for what he did at the dinner party but “the next time that faggot wants to tell me Zack Wylde sucks I will do more than throw a fucking bottle of Michelob at him and his crippled fucking wife. See you guys at Easter - Tommy”

x) She did so much cocaine in one night that the next time I saw her I punched her in the nose so many fucking times she wouldn’t be able to snort anything for at least two weeks. I broke up with her a week later.

y) The unfortunate experience of having to tell your friends you are getting your wisdom teeth out.

z) People who actually enjoy things at this point

Sign Language

(written a long time ago on Diaryland)

Sitting at home alone with John Lee Hooker on the stereo: You got your aftertaste of some cheap beer, and maybe a shot or two. You’ve smoked who knows how many cigarettes, and may have smoked pot, you can’t remember. “That phone hasn’t rang in 2 years” you think to yourself. Do you remember when she would wear that one thing you loved? She always had that one outfit that made you smile. That one outfit that also made you a little possessive too. You knew she looked good, and every guy in the world wanted to fuck your girl. She looked great in this outfit, the boys all noticed.. You were going home with her though. You couldn’t tell yourself this though. You couldn’t accept that she loved you, the guys looking at her were not obstacles. They were guys, with cocks in their pants. Yeah, they wanted to fuck your girlfriend, because of that outfit that you loved. The irony was unbearable for you. You sealed your own fate when you accepted her into your life. You knew you would never forget her. You knew it would end eventually, but you did nothing. You let it happen. Why was it so easy when it first ended? You thought it was going to be a breeze. “She left me, it’s okay, it was pretty much over anyway”. Is that really what you think though? Do you think it’s over? It’s not over, if it were truly over, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now like this. Remember what she looked like when she laughed at one of your jokes? Remember what she looked like when you would kiss her? Remember what she looked like when she was on top of you fucking you? Remember that? You can picture her as clear as the sky. You can see her face right in front of you. The few things that are vividly engraved in your head, among them, her face. There’s some guy out there memorizing that face right now. There’s some guy that is falling in love with that face she made when you were fucking her. You invented that face for her. She only made that face for you. It’s easy to think that she invented that whole look for you. There is a group of men out there right now that will enjoy that face she made. They’ll enjoy the way she looked at you after getting off you asking you “did you like that?”. It’s now 3AM, you’re still awake. “She’s probably in bed right now” you think to yourself. From 1AM to 3AM has been the hardest time for you. This is most likely when she has sex with the new guy. Unfortunately, that’s not true. Your girl is now having sex all night, long after you go to sleep. Hours after you fell asleep to some random Shannon Tweed movie on cable. She’s not safely in bed with nothing inside of her at 3AM, she’s getting ready to fuck this new guy again. She was tied down with you for so long, the sex got routine. She needs to get it out of her now, she needs to fuck this new guy like she’s never fucked before. She needs to stay up way later than you ever wanted to. She doesn’t mention you to the new guy, but she thinks about you. “He never used to fuck me like this”. She’s ready to try those things with this new guy she wouldn’t try with you. Maybe she’ll finally get around to trying ecstasy, something you never let her do. Now that you don’t have her hand, she will try ecstasy with this new guy. She didn’t think things weren’t working anymore between you. She wanted to fuck more men. She wanted to feel free. She wanted the option to stay out all night on a Friday night to fuck that guy she worked with she always told you about that made you jealous. She’s wanted to fuck that guy since the day she met him. All of her girlfriends knew this, they told her to go for it once “you get rid of your boyfriend” She fucked him 5 days after you two broke up. You broke up on a Monday, Friday night she was introducing the guy from work to her face. The face you thought she just made for you. While you had a lonely Friday night piece of pizza in your apartment with no music on, she was getting some drinks in her, and had already decided on Wednesday that she would fuck this guy from work. You’re home, late on a Friday night. A night out with the guys. Down to the bar, grab something to eat. Talk about science fiction and hardware tools, and football. She was at some bar in the city you would never go to with that guy from work. It’s been less than a week, and she’s already over you it seems. Why was she crying when she broke up with you then? Because she feels bad for you, she pities you, because she’s depressed she wasted all that time with you. She wasn’t crying with you, she was crying at you. Your tears will fill up a bathtub, her tears will fill up a Dixie cup. She’s not going to remember your phone number in three months. Imagine that, she’ll need to call you at one point to get something back from you, and she’ll have to look up your number. Her new friend may even drive her by to pick it up. What are you going to say to her when you finally see her? That first time you see her after she dumps you is always the worst. Your stomach fills up with butterflies and air. You were just getting used to eating solid food again when you had to run into her finally. You had to get yourself back into this. You thought you were starting to get over her when you ran into her. Sorry, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars, she’s back in your head. Wow, she looks really good too. Are there any hickeys on her neck? Did she have sex last night? What happens if I touch her right now. You give her the hug. The “I miss you so fucking much” hug. This hug lasts 5 minutes or so, your hands are moving a whole lot more than hers. She keeps patting you on the back during the hug. You forgot the rule that if your lover ever hugs you and pats you on the back lightly, the relationship is over, done. This means “thanks for the hug, here you go” She’s giving you this hug right now, but you have no idea, you’re being overwhelmed with how amazing her body feels up against yours. You are being filled up with all of those emotions again. When this hug is over, that’s it, you’re in it again. You’re done for at least another month. More lonely kitchens, more lonely movies on the television. Shopping isn’t as fun as it was. It’s so fucking over the fat lady’s voice is hoarse by now. It’s been signed and filed away in some file cabinet somewhere. That hug may have been the last time you touched her, or it could have been the first in a series of relapses that you will experience over the next year or so. No girl is going to come around like her again. There’s no girl out there that can do what she did for me. What did she do for you? Your life is now being taken over by her. You got involved with her, and your prize is having her invade your emotions and head until you can’t stop it. You start up old habits, you fall apart, you cry more than you ever have. You’re scared to go home at night, you’re scared to check your voice mail. You are now more in love with her than you were when she was in love with you. Funny how things work out.


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