Why was he so mean to me???

I was talking to my boyfriend yesterday, and I was so excited to see him because last week there was no room in the Knap-sack making class, and then there was room so I was so happy I could enroll because all my girls from the Ferngully Dancers Squire were in it and I was so BOMBED to tell him, and he just said

"So you died yesterday!" and laughed while I was telling him, and it was so mean I wanted to stick my fist in a powder of arsenic and swallow it right there!

Then when I told him how he made me feel so awful, he said

"So your head falls off!" and he laughed again!

Why are boys so mean to me? I mean I try to be so so nice and fun to be around and be Voted Most Funnest to Be Around, but now he makes me feel like maybe my head did fall off and this whole time I've been walking around without a head like a chicken!

Well, he's the chicken. I'm going to go scam with Brad today behind the bungelows when classes get out!

Why is my teacher acting so strangely?

So like every morning at first period our teacher comes in late with messed up hair and wrinkled clothes and closes up the blinds and drinks 2 aquafinas! and sits down on his chair and doesn't move for a while.

Anwayz, his eyes were all RED! and he always smells like Kitty's nail polish. That cheap kind, CAUSE Kitty's parents are poor and one time she tried to use food stamps to buy a burrito from the Taco Bell cart.

What's up with THAT!

I walked with the Lord of Grace across his seedy concrete palace.

"Cha chong-chang! Cha china chong chang!"  Meta Peace soldiers were arguing with a donut shop owner.

"Ey, whatcha' got? Listen here, I can get that for you, I'll hook you up.  What I'm sayin, is if you put more action in where there is action, you get more action, feel me?  Now I can do that for you, I got you! But you put more, you get a lot more, is all I'm trying to say.  This here, listen, this here, it ain't much.  Now I can get it for you, but we can get a lot more, feel me?  

Listen...now hold up now.  Bitch, c'mere a minute, Bitch.  This my Bitch.  Now we get a room, got my Bitch--Bitch meet...what's your name again? Mr. Weiner?  Bitch meet Mr. Weiner.  Now we get my Bitch, hit the crib, break off some of that--but we ain't got shit!  That there ain't shit!   It's going to last us what, when we got all night.  Alls I'm sayin is, I got my Bitch, we got the crib--I'm gonna take care of you.  I got you!  So what we need to do, is you gotta add some more flow on top of that, and we get that big chunk.   Yea, that's right, a return on our investment, feel me?  It's economical.  It's business, baby.  Yea, I know you on top of that!  You can see that nice chunk--we get back to the crib, we got my Bitch.  Bitch, say hi to Mr. Weiner.  We business partners.  Now all we gotta do, is you gotta top off that flow--we get the wholesale price, and we flip that shit retail. And I tell ya what, she gonna break you off a piece tonight, and then some, feel me?  Ain't no bitch like my bitch.  Bitch say hi to Mr Weiner.  Ain't no thang--there's an ATM right there.  Yup, right there."

This is the age of making things happen.
This is the age of taking action.

You pay your taxes,
Enjoy your domestic beer
and appreciate a Good Deal.

You take things head on.
So why should you suffer from erectile dysfunction?

We here appreciate your right to a Good Bulge.

And after an honest conversation with your doctor,
you can enjoy all the perks of the little league park,
from your window.

After all, you've earned it!

I've been on this earth
20 years more than 20 years ago,
and technology's come a long way.

I recall, as a child
wondering whether RuPaul was a boy or a girl.

Now I can ask Google
and quickly know.

He could be your soul mate.
But first, see if he has dandruff.

Use our product,
because you are a sweaty hog,
and approach him with Confidence.

I had a couple teaspoons of peanut butter while I was standing over the sink.  Better jot it down. I think it was more of a regulation-size teaspoon.  Not so much homestyle, but like it came from a late-night diner, or the Soviet Union--straight out of Yugoslavia--and found its way into my kitchen drawer.  It looked crude and unappealing.

 I think I'm getting too much fiber.

Instead of a plain chicken breast, I've been grounding my chicken.  That way I can add cilantro and spices into it.  I've been getting good results with cilantro; and pistachios are preferred over peanuts.

Tilapia is tasty, but I should look into more fish. Cod, herring maybe, or mackerel.  I've never thought of myself as a salmon type of guy.  But if that's what you want me to be, I'll do it.

Maybe some catfish.

I got a paper-cut a few days ago, maybe two weeks ago, I don't know. I can't stop thinking about it. I have a mammogram in the morning. No, an ultra-sound. It's become something somewhat disconcerting, my thoughts about my paper-cut, and the accompanying sensations it brings have begun seeping into my consciousness, as it were. I may be trying to rest or going through an unremarkable motion of my day, and I'll remember the sound and texture of someone's nails along a folded paper, next to me, over and over again. I don't know if it's the sound or texture, or something intangible I've failed to describe, but that passing thought sends a fervent shiver down my spine, and seems to wrap around my neck; and with my nerves wound tight, my head shakes like it took a one-two punch of adrenaline, if any of that makes sense. I'm not sure how to describe it. Such a sensation I believe is common and akin to how others fear the chalkboard--but lately, you see, I feel almost compelled to indulge that unpleasant sensation all too often, especially when Im lying in bed. Once my mind catches that thought, the physical repercussions inevitably follow, and I start imaging what if those sensations never cease and continually run through my body. Imagine a person next to you, your son or your sister, one day just starts screaming. At first you're annoyed by their petulance and untimely whim of spontaneity, but the screaming doesn't cease and the situation takes a sinister turn. Not knowing what to do, you might decide to take them to the emergency room. And while every patient is waiting for their turn, your patient is in the room screaming, and eventually that horrific holler starts playing upon their nerves, and your nerves, and the nurses' nerves....eh, I digress. That can't just happen, can it? I can't just start screaming one day and never stop until I'm sedated, can I?  If I don't cover my ears and make some noises in time before I experience someone folding a paper, I'm a goner, man.  A fuckin goner.

Sleep won't come. I'm hungry. I have to fast. I smoke too much.  I wish I socialized more.  I think of funny things in my head I could do.  For instance, any tim e I would leave a room, every room, I would say, "Eatkhash, out!"  And everybody would laugh and clap and hoist me above their heads--at this point they would have gathered in a crowd so I would be like bodysurfing, or crowdsurfing, as it were.

And so crumbles the unfortunate cookie

My father likes to feed the birds in the mornings, before he begins his day's work. He mashes up some dry cookies and sprinkles the crumbs onto the concrete. Every morning a crowd of birds gather around the parking lot, waiting for him.  This, I imagine, must irk the other tenants, and more so any unknowing or unfortunate civilian.

One particular afternoon, and particular it was, upon entering his workplace--his mud, if you will--I spotted a small little bird lingering in the middle of the business floor. Obviously, he was hungry, but more, he took a direct proactive approach in seeking my father's attention. I thought this was cute, and a bit heartwarming.

"There's a stupid bird in here." I told him.

The little bird caught my father's eye, and before he could get sentimental, the small thing started fluttering about the room, and through an opening and into another room as my father followed it. He tried waiting for it to settle down, but the bird flew around until it hit the windowpane and dropped to the ground, on its side, kicking his feet.

My father cupped the bird in his hands, whereupon the bird flew out and into the inevitable window.

"Why haven't you opened the door yet?" I exclaimed in hapless frustration.  "The whole wall is just glass!"

"Look at him; he's dazed. If I let him go out now, he's going to run into something high and die."

"What do you know, old man? Once you hit the other side of 40, that's it! It's all over."

I opened the door and he walked out nursing the bird in his hands, probably whispering. He let the bird go, and the bird flew into the other side of the window.

"Didn't I tell you?" he spoke.

"Well, what should we do? I got a football game to watch."

He sat the bird down on a slab of concrete. It was wheezing heavily and did not move. The little bird sat perched on the brick for a little while, and when my father went back to check on him, the bird was gone.

reduce

reuse

and close the loop

...you can close the loop!

i set my first alarm a couple hours early,
then an hour,
then long minutes
then the moment of drowsy epiphany

and upon awakening
my mind and body
will cherish and yearn for that scent
of sweet sweet slumber
that those fuckin bastards wouldn't give me all night long

Kickboxer

I'm a big fan of the Kickboxer trilogy plus one. In the first, Van Damme learns to kickbox to avenge his brother's defeat at the hands of Tong Po in Bangkok. This was an instant classic because it featured Van Damme dancing at a bar with every other mans' (?) girlfriend, then beating up all the patrons at the bar.

At the beginning of Kickboxer 2, we find out that after losing in Bangkok, Tong Po shoots dead Van Damme (who is not Van Damme, but a different actor) and his paralyzed brother. From there steps in a new brother, a younger brother never mentioned before, the funny dude from Step-by-Step - the tv show with the Magic Mountain opening credits. He also beats up Tong Po, who interestingly, seems to forget how to fight at the end of both movies.

In Kickboxer 3, Step-by-Step, is a kickboxing champion who travels to Brazil to defend his title, while he also saves Brazilian orphaned teens from the sex trade.

In Kickboxer 4, Tong Po has become a Mexican drug lord, and Step-by-Step now uses automatic weapons.

In the mountains,
the treacherous mountains,
pristine and befallen by snow;

where the Lord of the Rings crew
made their trek to Morador.

In the mountains,
my glorious mountains.

                        - Jim Poetry

Bring what you can to the table, and maybe we'll feast. Try to forget the past. Don't judge me. That's just something slutty girls say. My neighbor's name is Mrs. Featherbottom. That's rather ironic. An off-duty paramedic saved the life of a man who sawed off his arms at Home Depot. I'm surprised there weren't more off-duty cops and paramedics shopping at the Home Depot. A blank slate, blank stare, blank thoughts. Stuck, and dry, and dull...lull my mind. My eyes could nestle, if I allowed them. If I let them; it feels like practice, and practice makes you drowsy, or stuck, like seeing numbers, eight and seven, nine and seven, and a blank, and count with your fingers to meet the time, count with your fingers if you dare, but hurry, Panic. Blankness, dull black blankness, dumbness feels like a slight pain or hole. I have to take a shit. It makes me crave a cigarette.

Subtract a one from the seven or add it to the nine, then what becomes- but hurry! People are watching

Come August!

saw a good movie tonight

good finds on pandora

guster - satellite
phoenix - north
edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros - home
2 door cinema - something good can work
the Xx - crystalized (or anything by them)

Smokes, let's go

milk

sweet mustard

kosher pickles

bananas

(you magnificent sonuvabitch!)

avocados

rye bread

red lettuce

sprouts
grapefruitjuice

Things to do Tonight

- Do my Squats
- Be Fabulous

Motivation: To have vicious legs and be able to crush skulls with my thighs at WrestleMania while filing my nails with my nailgrinder.

listening to thomas newman - any other name

What became of subtlety?

rh

.

I had a chance to swipe some pills from someone's house the other day, but I didn't. I guess that's progress. Instead, I swiped some of their melatonin. Melatonin helps with sleep, but too much gives you nightmares. That's also interesting. In the mornings I take fish oil, tyrosine, vitamins, and some russian meds for my liver. I haven't had red meat for like five days, and with my new exercise and happy health regimen, that double teriyaki cheeseburger and fries (at the chinaman's joint) will be set aside for occasions, like when I take a lady-friend somewhere special.

Speaking of which, it was recently disclosed to me that my estranged wife was seeing a man, a below-the-mark type of fellow. As sure as jest, I rang him over the chord, and the following transcription conspired:

- Ahoy hoy?
- Yea I got something to say-
- Who is this?
- Yea, listen to this, I paid two sheep and a goat for that slut sow. As such, she is my property.
- Who do you think you are, Princess? You're nothing but a joke, a jester, a cheesecake. 
- Say what?
- A Jack-In-the-Box cheesecake!
- But soft! You go anywheres near her I'll sue your ass for trespassing.
- Vile scaremongering! Rare vulture of the forgotten! Chickenfeed for the peasants, is what you are.
- Chickenlicker! Chickenlicker!

From there the conversation degenerated into something brash, with the word, "Peckerwood," tossed aside along both ends.

Two Lovers

Some drawings of mine

- House on the Hill
- Two Lovers
- Mercedes-Benz

I am the angel of death

...the time of purification is at hand.

I'm trying to reinvent myself.  Denim jackets are coming back in a big way, I intend to be ahead of the crowd.