It's a small world anyway, so I'll just let the music play

(play like you're young Tom Petty. Little country, little rock)

I ain't trying to take very long,
But the past rolled in today.
One minute, it's better than fine
In the next, here comes the rain!

Sometimes I just don't understand
How that woman gets me so bad
Plays with my mind and makes me a friend
With the light of day

(break here, bridge)

Drinking whiskey from this damned old dirty glass
Making time stand still
As the time goes past

(and again, with filler)
(lead into solo)

And she might not of been my friend
And I know I didn't love her
So why did it hurt so bad
When she left with another

Just another day
In a life long dry,
But I lost some real good friends
When she walked out

(bridge)

Drinking whiskey from this damned old dirty glass
Making time stand still
Helps the time go past.

(slide out)




(lots of slide, very oldschool country)


For the last few weeks now
I've been running on empty
Passing from place to place
Where I don't want to be
Ain't seen no service station
That sells rejuvenation
None of these highway towns got anything for me

And someday, I'll settle down
But not right here,
maybe the next town
But until then, I'll just keep rolling
I don't even know where I'm going


But I've got it in
Mexican Overdrive
Keeping me alive
Taking it as it's coming
A downhill slide
Tell you where I wanna go
Somewhere south that's all I know
Just might make it all the way
To Mexico

Girl I loved somewhere behind me
She never even cried
She said I lost direction,
And to me, she never lied
She said she'd be waiting for me
If I ever get back
But from where I sit, this road I'm on
is looking like a one way track.

This road is a lonely old highway
There ain't nobody going my way
Low sun and I'm going fast
Cause I'm just about out of gas

But I've got it in
Mexican Overdrive
Keeping me alive
Taking it as a purpose
A downhill slide
Take me where I want to go
Somewhere south that's all I know
Just might make it all the way
To Mexico

The wind blew me down the road
Grabbed the wheel and took control
Just might take me all the way
To mexico

To Mexico.

(Slide out)



You ask me what I'm doing here,
In your perfect world
I walk around like I have no fear
And you think I'm a child

You say you like the smoke and mirrors
You'd like to think it's all real
Stepping out on a Saturday night
Only night time will tell


This ain't a perfect world just yet
You ain't satisfied until the end
You're a whole lot of trouble
That I'd love to regret

(solo)

We ain't looking for a sold out show
We're just making the best
Not rich, but we've got the flow
And it comes from the West

(guitar breakdown, yo)


This ain't a perfect world just yet
You ain't satisfied until the end
You're a whole lot of trouble
That I'd love to regret


Got to thinking about the job at hand
The future's looking bright
Love the change and the brand new thing,
And it feels so right.

This ain't a perfect world just yet
You ain't satisfied until the end
You're a whole lot of trouble
That I'd love to regret

(solo your fucking heart out. Really, do so for the whole song so long as the intro riff starts right and picks up after each verse)





Must have missed the warning
Yesterday morning
Sailor's sky rolls around again

Driving home from your place
I can still see the tears on her face
Falling like rain from that red sky

Looking back now I see
The message you were sending me
"never set sail into the storm"


But I know that I'd do it again
Because I know I can't resist
I don't want to look back
On the times that I've missed

Don't walk away,
Just give me one more day
Knowing that it will be okay
Feeling like I'd never
Forget about us together


Sitting on the edge of your bed
And trying not to think ahead
Listening to the rain fall coming down

Trying hard not to hold you tight
Not to let it go any further in the night
For when the morning breaks
I won't be around


But I know that I'd do it again
Because I know I can't resist
I don't want to look back
On and think about times that I've missed

Can't walk away,
Just give me one more day
No, it not "will be ok"
Never mind the weather
Forget about us together


One more bottle to wash us down
One more night of hell

Can't walk away
Just give me one more day
I know that tonight would be ok.
Never mind the weather
It's forgetting about us together


Must have missed the warning
Yesterday morning
Sailor's sky rolls around again




(intro)

You always liked it
When I used to say
"I can see this coming from a mile away"
Once meant to be
And never meant to last
It was a wild ride
That ended much too fast

Old River Station
Just west of the border
The pumps were soda'd
And the phone was out of order
Six hundred miles
And I can still see your face
As I started the car
And drove away

As I shake my head
I'm just realizing
The extra mile
Is just on the horizon
With 25 miles to go
To the place I'm dreaming of
Since long before I ever fell into this insane love

(outro)

No Steven timeline, because I'm too tired to think well right now. So there's... something else, anyway. I think I'd like to be in a band again someday.

I found these and others in a horrible, drunken journal from last year and the year before, what shall now be dubbed the "Bri Period" of my personal history. I'd like to say I wrote them because I actually think they'd make damn catchy songs, but I remember the music that goes with them and how they are supposed to be sung so vividly that they are probably actually already damn catchy songs by some really obscure band that I found, really enjoyed, and forgot about while hammered. Google tells me nothing unfortunately, the useless twat, because I think I'd very much like to rediscover this band. This is also supported by the fact that I KNOW these are kind of country-ish songs (except for the last, which is jazzy blues and was written as a really, really long sentence. I've put in breaks where I remember there being instrumentals), and it just seems implausible I would spawn a bunch of country music, because no matter how bad it gets, life is NEVER that bad, and by the fact that I don't have much of a singing voice.


Someday, when I'm really drunk and depressed, maybe I will sing you a song. I can just about guarantee it will be Irish, or a rap. And that you will be forced to accompany me on whatever objects in the nearby area seem like plausible instruments. Just a heads up.

There is an old chinese curse....

Back in the day, just before mainstream music lost really any sense of purpose or meaning beyond "I wanna fuck ya" or "I wish you wanted to fuck me", songs actually meant something.

In twilight of these times, a pretty clever and talented guy named Billy Joel wrote a lot of very corny 1980s anthems, and one incredibly catchy tune, which I'm sure you recognize:



Now, I don't know about you, but whenever I hear a song like this, which is obviously supposed to have some meaning to it, I HAVE to know what it's all about.

So, I googled it up, and found an interview in which he says that one of his friends was talking about how nothing exciting had happened in their lifetimes, and that they'd missed all the really interesting stuff. This got him thinking about all the shit that had happened in his lifetime, and how people kind of forget about it. So, he wrote a song detailing everything that was a big thing throughout the decades in his life. The second verse, for example, roughly details the 1950s, the third the 1960s, and so on.

Being me, I spent most of last night looking up these events, and I have to agree with Mr. Joel - a lot fucking happens all the time, even if you don't realize it.

So, I was going to write up a blog about shit that's happened in my life time. Unfortunately, I'm beginning to think I really hurt my hand the other night, and don't much feel like typing this all out right now. But it's still an interesting thought, and I'd like to maybe do something later. so this is more of a reminder than anything.


The old Chinese curse is "May you live in exciting times", the theory being that nothing negative happens if nothing is happening at all.

The T, it stands for treason. The D, it stands for doubt. But maybe I just use too much.

And don't even get me fucking started on steam. I paid like nine bucks for this shit and grew grey hairs waiting for it to download, so why is it not coming with updates all in? I should not have to wait like this to go mass murder photonic beings.

Bear, you smell like a pile of ass. Or maybe that's me. I haven't showered in a while and certain made a decent a mess as I could of last night.

This is one of those rare times when I really don't feel like writing and have nothing to say, but have nothing else to do, either. I can't play video games, or my steam updating will stop and I won't be able to play the one I want.

I could go for a walk, but it's six in the morning and walking back will be uphill no matter which direction I take.

I could maybe go over to Sally's if she's up and smoke a joint with her, but I don't really feel up to it, and I don't think Lisa would like me out or over there at this early an hour.

Anyway. What I will do is sit here and listen to Sublime and write stuff and maybe try to figure out what smells so bad.

I wish I were tired, but I spent most of the night on the couch, passed out in front of the TV. The other night really did exhaust me.

This is horribly boring. LeSigh and shit. Tonight (or this morning, rather) is going to be one of those crushingly depressing nights where I just feel like shit for no reason besides being able to. I need to get out of here and go distract myself somehow, but have no idea how or why or what to do about it.

I could get drunk, I guess. I mean, it's six in the morning, but it's not like anyone would know or judge. Except maybe Lisa, but I don't think she'd really care too much.

I'm surprised I didn't have the shakes today. I'm actually REALLY surprised how good I felt for the day.

Oh look, nearly done.

This Kaluha is fucking awful. Why do we have so much of it? Why is there not vodka? Am I really living in a house with no vodka?

I think I know what I really need here, and pot and shitty girl drinks are a poor substitute for it. substitutes for anything kind of suck, really - there is not much point to anything if it's not the real thing. I can gurantee that "it" is not at all what you are probably thinking here - I frankly don't know quite how to explain it, but it's not a person, place, or thing. Otherwise, I'd do there, do that, or see them, or whatever. No, it's far more intangible than that, and thus much much harder to go out and get.

Wow, that booze worked wayyy too good at cheering me up. I take it back. It's a fucking awesome substitute for whatever feeling or experience I'm craving right now. That was like a total three second change right there - when you read this later, then look back through our conversation, you should be able to see the exact second it happened pretty clearly. I'm still fucking bored, but now cheery bored and much easier to self-entertain. Yay!



I like that he^, myself, and nearly everyone I know has a coffee table exactly like that - littered with shit and ashes. Must be part of the "lifestyle".

I don't even know what lifestyle that would be. Bunch of lazy drunks and stoners, I guess.

I think it's a very unfulfilling but usually entertaining way to live, personally. What's more important in life, accomplishing great things, or just having an entertaining time? Are you stuck picking one or the other? I guess it kind of comes down to individual values and what you see as important.

I think my fundamental priority is to not drive myself nuts or let myself go crazy. To that end, I find it somewhat irrelevant as to how that's accomplished - sometimes, some ways will seem nicer than others, but I doubt more and more that it really has anything to do with those things being any inherently better than just smoking some pot or having a drink, I just do them less frequently and thus miss them.

I think a lot of people see that kind of stuff as bad because it prevents you from enjoying life and doing things. I would disagree with that. While it certainly prevents me from doing much with other people sometimes, I am pretty capable of doing a lot around the house. I've got lots of hobbies.

And as much as it never makes it into these blogs, there is lots of the unexpected and the good that happens here too. So yeah, kind of mixed feelings on that one.

I guess in the context of some of the more serious things you were talking about tonight, if it makes you feel any better, I can say this with certainty: I don't really ever have any idea what I really want, either.

C'est la vie, says Jerry Lee.

I'm pretty sure I made two new friends this week. Which is good, I know I pissed off some older ones a little bit. That's ok, one of the better things about people like them is that they have very short memories. Standup guys, even if we annoy eachother sometimes.

I keep seeing this reflection of someone standing behind me in my window out of the corner of my eye. It's just the shadow of my head working in concert with the window. Quite a good illusion, and I keep forgetting about it then startling myself.

You know what else I always forget about that blows my mind whenever I remember?

I have fish on this blog.

Anyway. This game is nearly done. By nearly, I mean I think I may go smoke a cigarette, put in the laundry, shower, smoke a bowl, finish the chapter of one of the cheaper pulp books I'm on, take a little nap because I feel pretty good, then fire it up.

Maybe once I close all these other webpages, shit will go faster too!

But lately I've been sleeping all alone.

I was supposed to have a nice night with the house to myself this evening.

Which is good. The week has been six kinds of shitshow. Seven or eight kinds, really, depending on how inheriently bad you take the events that term refers to to be - much of the week has just been really, really confusing.

I was going to put something else here, but let's maybe do that some other, cheerier day. Everyone is already having "fun" tonight I think.

I was supposed to have a nice night by myself, as it is Lisa's turn to go out with her version of the boys. Unfortunately, the girls are not as interesting as watching me sleep or play video games or something, because that lasted till like 1030.

Lisa is an amazing person, who I don't appreciate half as much as I should. But it's really, really nice to just be by yourself sometimes.

I wish I had some fresh pomegranates.

I'm lousy with advice. This is the wrong thing to be talking to me about, to be honest. My only knowledge of this particular topic is my interest in you, and while I feel safe in saying I'm not biased, it's pretty hard to tell you what I honestly think without seeming to be. I can also draw on my experiences and choices and tell you about them, but you've seen how my relationships turn out, right? And what would seem to be pretty obvious facts about you guys may not be at all the case - I really don't know.

You are more than welcome to, because hey, I'd like to think I could talk to you about that stuff too, and you'd listen. I just think it should be clear that I'm pretty bad at giving opinions on things like this.

Oh well.

I caught up with Mikey again today, and he says the party was all good and that I was in the right in the end. Seems pretty irrelevant when I think about it hard enough, but I did have a pile of fun running that show for a bit.

I'm surprised my head doesn't hurt. Actually, I feel pretty darn good right now, at least in terms of mental clarity. My lungs are killing me, but that's a different mess, really.

Well, that whole night took some very unexpected directions.

I find it just a little ironic who liked that status. From what little I know of them, they could stand to grow up a little too. One girl with no concept of how real life works and who really needs to come to terms with reality in oh so many ways. Another one who never has much of anything to say, but likes to act all emo and deep and make it seems like there is something more substantial underneath it all, all the while talking about how honesty is king.


I don't think I'm going to go out with the boys again, not for that kind of thing. Oh well, at least there were some fun parts.

I think I broke my middle knuckle on my index finger. It is sure strangely lumpy, anyway. But I can bend it just find, so I think it's ok.

Yesterday was a bunch of good example as to why I don't really like doing things with people anymore.

Ask me why I play myself, play myself for a fool.

Wow.
I am like fall over, can't type hammered.

I think it was a good night. I hung out with some cool people. I hung out with some shitty people.

Wow, yeah.

Despite tonight's bullshit, I think I feel pretty good about life.

I did a good thing tonight. It made someone who is very good to me very happy.

Or, at least, I think it did.

I also made a huige ass of myself. I know this was appreciated by certain people. Maybe some more than others.

I like the boys. In general, they are nice, good people who mean really well . In practice, I Have nothing in common with them, and really have trouble relating to them on in any way that seems important.

I don't like this. It all seems so clear right now.

What is wrong with me? Why am I even thinking about any of this.

I mean, I'm not stupid. I can see things for what they are. I KNOW what they are, and do not even try to delude myself.

Life is what it is, and that is what it has always been and always will be.

Fuck, I am in a cruel mood. I know it does not really show.

I am sick of looking after everyone. I am sick of being there to clean up and fix things and make everyone have happy endings. I don't even fucking like people, so why am I always so fucking worried and codependant? Why is it the minute I feel that I don't really have to be, and that everyone can just co-exist and have a good time, everything gets all fucked up?

I don't understand jack shit about things like this.

My best friend in the world right now is a fucking cat, who realizes how shitty I feel and who is nice and close and just fucking there and unconditional and not worried about anything. I don't even like fucking cats. They shit and shed and make a racket and are generally pains in the ass.

You know how I spent my fucking night?

i'll tell you.

I was woken up from a nice fucking sleep with my loving girlfriend on my comfortable couch while watching a show I like after smoking a nice, relaxing bowl.

"Hey dude, let's go pull this fucking douche out of the ditch. We're bringing some other person you really can't stand to be around. You can give me gas money and buy booze and it will be fun."

Well, ok. I am feeling off and shitty and could use a ride to the liquor atore. Yes, this douche is douchy, and I can't stand that other dude, and really, I had kind of a lousy day and would just like to sit with you, my friend, and play video games and not have to do what I know is inevitable.

But you know what? I'm fucking annoyed. I don't want to type all this shit out, because at the end of the day, this writing shit is really more for my benefit than yours, dear reader, and I have done this bullshit enough to know it by heart.

So let's just go to a little while ago. you promised some cokehaed motherfucker that they could come back and party with their douchbag brother, whom I was forced to awake from my nice comfy nap to go yank out of a ditch cause he's a shit driver. They, of course, had to show up with nine other fucking douche cokeheads.

Let's skip farther, because fuck this.

So, two lines and 80 ounces of booze later, here I fucking am. I spent all night looking after your fucking friends. I get to come home to a girl who thinks I'm fucking cheating on her because I can't come back until three or four in the morning because I was busy looking after your ongoing shitshow.

this is my fucking life. Sometimes, I am Ricky. But mostly, I am fucking Julian. For those who don't get what I'm saying here, I am the fucking mom. Everything I do is mpotivated by some outside bullshit source. I'm sick of it.

So while I was planning and hoping to just be a bit drunk and happy and sitting at home thinking sleepy, happy thoughts, instead, I am sitting here annoyed, feeling like shit from the inhuman amount of had liquor I've poured into my body, and wishing that I'd just walked to the liquor store and gotten drunk with the one someone I always feel I can actually relate to - myself.

it's not nearly as fucking depressing as it sounds. After I finished fixing the crackshack, bandaging my fucking knuckles, and clearing the riffraff out of my "best friend's" little shithole before they burned the house down, I got to sit and relax and watch trailer park boys and giggle to some immature shit and just be alone and by myself and enjoy being hammered.

And that was fucking GREAT. I felt like I was being rewarded for making myself act all sober and responsible and looking after a bunch of shit I don't really care about all night. And even that wasn't bad - I think I made a new friend with which I might actually have some profound conversations with sometime in the future. Provided, that is, that I didn't scare him right the fuck off by bombarding him with my best saleman tirade about how coke is bad, despite the fact I'd helped him "dispose of it earlier".

I fucking hate coke. I hate the down. I hate the up. But it will tire you the fuck out. There's something I bet you did not know about me - I used to really, really do DRUGS. Not like, nice drugs like pot of booze, where it's not really that big of deal. I am being completely honest when I say that type of shit is a complete last resort and I have massive regrets about doing it tonight. I have not done that in a long time.

I just knew that the minute shit started getting out of control that I'd either have to relate to these people or just fucking leave. I couldn't leave, because I just can't take another fucking night sitting here doing nothing but talking to myself and writing shit and hanging out wit the cats, and I just can't, can't relate to people.

I think this is pretty fucking evident if you look back through some of these posts. I think...

Well shit. I think I got distracted here. Sometimes you get a curveball.

I think it's just really time to realize that none of this shit really matters, and that it does not need tobe part of my life.

there is more to write, but there's also a worthy distraction. So, this time, I think it will go to the distraction.

No. No no no no no.

You are not seriously going to let yourself have this whiney, emo scenester bullshit conversation with HER, are you? DUDE. LIKE. You would throw rocks at her, what the fuck?

Dude, fuck off. yes, this night has been ridonkulous. Yes, you feel like this and that and all the other.

Yes, you've got that burning, desperate need for SOMETHING, ANYTHING, that fucking MEANS SOMETHING and feels real and solid and can be counted on. I get that. But you HAVE things that your sober self can count on. You HAVE good friends now, even if they cannot hold their liquor. Please don't fall back into this same old shit.

I think I am more sober now. What am I doing? Why does it matter?

blah.

Aliis si licet, tibi non licet

"Hi there, sailor!"

I can't believe I still had a picture of her, and a very flattering one at that. Note that despite the fact she is standing in this picture and is not much taller than the bed, and generally presents a pretty innocent air, the crazy eyes are quite evident.

I do not have the time to tell this story right now - the minute the boys get home, I'm heading over there and enacting my plan of getting "make mistakes" hammered. They are great guys to drink with. But more to come tonight.

In a little more direct response to your blog, I'm not sure why you always find yourself on the end of affections. I mean, I can speak for myself and feel that I could put forward a few good theories as to the others, and could maybe share why I think certain people find me somewhat appealing for perspective, but perhaps you're just a very likeable person. Sorry, I guess.


Netflix is so full of weird shows right now.



Smokin' crack cocaine make you crrrazy.

I think of far too much far too quickly at times like these. The worst part is, none of it is really important or relevant to life. It's just thoughts. Trivia and theories and hypothetical situations, each of which could be a blog of it's own and at speeds that don't really even allow much reflection on why I am thinking about whatever at any given time. Sometimes, I think I have these really deep epiphanies and interesting thoughts and it's actually kind of worthwhile. Other times, like now, it's just neverending goofiness and song lyrics stuck on repeat.

I would kill a nun for some sleeping pills right now. Or a drink that isn't more goddamn awful gingerbread Kahlua.

I miss always being drunk right now. I don't when I am, I didn't when I was. But right now, it would feel really nice and help me relax, and make it not matter how lame work is going to be tomorrow, dealing with a bunch of pissy people while even more tired and pissy myself. I want to just get fucking sloshed off of some really nice vodka, and go for a walk, and make an ass of myself. I want to stumble around and ramble to myself and feel all warm and fuzzy and happy with the world. And then, I want to go to sleep.

Unfortunately, gingerbread Kahlua tastes like regular, syrupy Kahlua with bits of gingerbread man asshole ground up in it, and is going to make me feel shitty. Obviously, I'm still going to drink it, and now that it's half done I'm starting to feel better.

Well, there's some good contradiction.

Writing slows everything down and makes me tired. The problem with it is that when I stop, then I start thinking.

I think what started all this was re-reading through some old blog posts because I was horribly bored and doing another director's cut. yay!

I got onto getting real nostalgic, and thinking about Tangerine. Fucking Plan A Alanna, who is possibly the most insane person I've ever been with. I did not stumble on the bulk of posts alluding to her, because I don't know that any have ever existed, but it got me remembering.

Thinking about it right this minute, I've reached a conclusion: Honestly, I think a lot of my nightmares could probably be traced back to that crazy motherfucker. I'm only partially joking about them. Just like a day with Tangerine, lots of my lighter dreams feature a short drive, some mildly disturbing shit I don't care to relive, and then some even more disturbing shit involving a little bit of blood. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking or how I got into that shitty place in the first place, but, with the exception of her last little facebook message to me before she gave up or lost interest or whatever motivated her to go away, my time with her was undeniably the most fucked up series of bizarre experiences in my whole life, and something I have never really told anyone about.

I probably should sometime, but it's too late now and I'd rather just sleep and forget about it.
Don't trust people who can know you in an instant, and don't trust really tiny women.

Right now, I can think of two or three things that would either help me tire out and collapse, or help me get to that point of perfect comfort where you fall asleep even if you don't want to.

This is frustrating. By the time I enact any of these plans, it will be much later than it is now, and I'll be worse off tomorrow.

I feel like I'm beating a dead horse with the sleep thing. I have not been getting much lately, and it's foremost on my mind. Blah. Blah blah blah. This is most unfortunate.

I forgot how much I liked this guy's music. I think the cats like it too - they joined me in dancing around the kitchen and making noises that could pass for singing all night to the oldies. I guess it's possible they were just trying to bite my feet and were making the I'M FUCKING CRAZY noises, but I'd rather take it as a nice sentiment, personally.

Gads, I'm bored. You'd think I'd be a bit tired by now. It feels like there is something I'm forgetting here that's rather important. I don't know if it's something I was supposed to do today, or something to do tomorrow, or something else entirely that doesn't matter a ton, but that is still driving me crazy because it won't come to mind.

Anxious. That's maybe a better word for it. I mean, I'm bored, in that I have nothing to do and am kinda just sitting here feeling off, but I'm also a little wound up and I don't know why.

I've been writing a lot about all sorts of stuff lately. There are many a page in my little den room full of ramblings and scribbles. Maybe I'm feeling the need to write, because I've been writing so much.

When I talk about the Incan Monkey God, this is kind of what I'm meaning. Why am I writing? Because I'm not tired. Why am I not tired? Well, duh, because there's things to write!

I think, fundamentally, I am really bored with life right now. I don't know why, because lots of absolutely, unthinkably insane shit is going on all around me right now. I just feel really detached from it.

Maybe I'll blame Sophie. Seems to be a common thing, and it would sort of make sense that that's why I'm feeling all reflective and annoyed.

Sure. That seems easy. Let's go with that.


You know who looks like they suffer from truly frightening dreams? Bear, my preferred cat. He goes into convulsions and screams in his sleep. I feel really bad for the little guy - he's my buddy and very affectionate with me. We did not used to get along very well, but that's changed over the last few years. He does not sleep a lot either, so when I go to bed, he will usually come with me and snuggle up under the blankets. He knows I'll keep him safe, and I always sleep better with him there - cats are supposed to ward off evil spirits, and as much as I really don't subscribe to that kind of thing, my subconscious probably does. At least that's my theory. It could also be because I know if I have a shitty enough time of it, I'll bump him, then he'll have a shitty time and claw me, then I'll wake up and we can both go have some nice warm milk.

Simon, the other cat, is stupid as a bag of fucking pretzles. All you have to do if you want to cuddle with him is hold him down for three of four seconds, after which he forgets whatever else is happening and that he wasn't already cuddling you in the first place. I have not bonded with him as much because of his malleability, despite the fact that he is a pretty loving cat.

There are a bunch of severed deer heads in a bucket behind the store right now. I'm not sure quite how I got here from "cats", as usually the associations there are "hairy", "smelly", or "tasty", but I suspect it has a lot to do with the Monkey God. Anyway, buckets of severed deer heads, still bloody and probably on the verge of rotting. No one knows what they are doing there. I spent the day asking if anyone knew what to do with them, and suggesting that maybe we should just give Johnny Fontaine a part in the movie.

No one got it, which is pretty fucking typically. I guess it helps confirm that not only are they not a staff member's or a customer's, they weren't put there by the Goddess for comic relief either.

I should go to bed. This whole week has been pretty shit in terms of getting well rested. I never sleep a lot, but it's not often I will not sleep at all for a day or two. I miss waking up all alert.

I don't know what the problem is tonight. I am a little high but not really stoned. It's late, and I'm relatively warm and comfortable. I can't see any solid reason why I should not be ready to go sleep well and calmly. I have my guesses I suppose, such as feeling like there's something off and so forth, but I don't see any real solutions.

Oh well. I think I will go make food, then watch some Lilyhammer and go to bed.

A tight, tight tight dress, she was a psychedelic mess.

Dear old Sophie is back in town, "this time for evas", and we had lunch today.

Here's how I think this is all going to go. Rather, he's how I know it's going to go, because this is how it happens every fucking time she decides we should hang out.

We will go over to her place, as Lisa doesn't want her over here. We'll sit and smoke and get fucking plastered, then go watch some movies.

She will fall over onto the couch, and slowly edge over to me, then be all cuddly. Sometimes this is an issue, sometimes it isn't.

Should I be in the mood to not find it an immense problem, either because I'm quite drunk and know that it's not really hurting anyone, or because I'm incredibly pissed off, we will cuddle up a little bit.

Then, she will make a move. Usually, it's pretty damn easy to see this coming - usually into the four bottle of wine, she will start giggling like a schoolgirl at everything.

I'm pretty happy to say that I'm very good at rebuking these moves.

Once or twice though, it has kind of gotten away from me, and suddenly she will be half naked and begging to go to bed.

Of course, this is where it all stops. I really, really have no interest or attraction to her. When I was attracted to her, way back when, it was because I couldn't have her, not because we have anything in common - I mean, I'm a mess, but she's a fucking shitshow and kind of a dick at the heart of it. I don't outright say that of course, but I do always make it really, really fucking clear that I'm just not interested, and even if I was, well hey. She certainly had ample chance for that kind of shit when we were kids, and I the whole concept of "now it happens, because now it's convenient for me" actually fucking irritates the hell out of me.

Don't get me wrong. I get the hypocrisy here, as most of my relationships have started out of something that was convenient for me, then elongated by guilt at the concept of breaking a heart or because it's a really secure place to be. I mean, look where I am now. Not all that different. BUT, it should be noted that with the present glaring exception, I don't keep people on a hook and am very, very final about things when the time comes. None of this prancy, maybe-maybe shit that has defined me and Soph's relationship. So I think it's cool to find it a little irritating even if I'm not much better.

After I make this clear, she will become immensely pissed off in that "I'm really mad but can't actually say anything because you're kind of right" Sophie way. I will leave, and within a few days she will be back off to Vancouver to smoke meth and hang out with homeless anarchists.

I am always left kind of drunk, which is nice, and really, really glad that I dodged that whole fucking bullet back in the day.

I think eventually, she will realize that all she really wants out of me is some self-affirmation and to have someone who's opinion she respects make her feel better by choosing to set aside their whole life for a bit and cater to her emotional and physical needs. I believe it also reminds her of an easier, simpler time, when this sort of shit was no big deal. I think she'll figure out that, hey, that is and almost always has been the basis of our friendship - she would give me something to chase after and be sad about, and I'd make her feel good by constantly letting myself get caught up in her life.

As of last year's debacle, I realized that all I'm really looking for out of her is free fucking booze and someone who can keep up ok.

So, I think after this time around, that maybe that will be that, messages will be gotten, friendships will likely be done, and the rest of the world who has to constantly watch this fucking train wreck will breath in a big sigh of relief.



I think I've posted this song like twice this week, and have plastered my facebook with lyrics from it and other sublime songs, but it kinda works out here. I wonder if I will ever out grow this band - it sometimes seems there's a lyric for everything in life.

I'm supposed to go over to Rocco's tomorrow. He wants to watch monty python and get baked. The guy is 44 years old and has spent a good chunk of his life in one of the most liberal countries on the face of the earth, and he's never tried weed. Must be the East German upbringing - the Reds don't like the Green. Should be fun, as Rocco is the shit - in fact, I have a strong that we will likely end up getting a place together eventually, as we are both excellent at getting kicked out of our houses by the women we are with and could really stand to have a crash pad. After all, he can't always be sleeping on my couch, and me on his, if neither of us own couches anymore.

Maybe no one really ever outgrows anything. Maybe I'll see if his guitar's in tune, and teach him sublime songs. Lulz.

I've decided that today's indicator of bedtime is when the general quality of the Anonymous blog site thing's posts starts to increase immensely.

When you start to actually enjoy the depressing little poems about accountants dying without fulfilling any of their dreams, it might be getting late.

I'm glad there is a weekend soon. On weekends, I can usually have a day to do whatever I want, which usually consists of catching up on all my sleep under the most comfortable, perfect conditions imaginable. Yay!

I had something rather amusing to put here, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Oh well, tomorrow!

I've been looking around the anonymous blog site. I'm having a little trouble understanding how that is really any more anonymous than this, really.

I mean, there is only one person who can access this. I've already told her what I'd probably consider the biggest secret I'd have to keep from her. Even if other people could read it, it turns out much of my readership was from Germany, where I know very, very few people.

But I have noticed a trend going through many of the Anonymous posts - they read like really bad soap operas. Someone's getting dumped by their two week boyfriend. There's women having affairs in the vaguest of terms, shy guys working out and wishing they could talk to pretty girls, and 14 year old kids making themselves puke to be skinny. I mean, there's blogging. Then there's blogging for an audience! This feels almost like the latter.

I refuse to believe I share the earth with people who are actually this stereotypical.

The guy's name is "Counce" for Christ'sake, why are you expecting much? I don't even know how to fucking pronounce that. It's probably a blessing he skipped out on supper with your parents, they wouldn't be able to say it right either.

If you actually talk to girls, you'll find most of the interesting ones don't lift weights either.

If you talked to you husband instead of fucking all his friends, you would not feel guilty all the time. Everyone makes mistakes and if you guys care about eachother, you should let eachother go off and be happy, maybe.

If you puke to get skinny, you'll lose all your teeth. You are not supposed to understand the world at 14.

Such terrible, terrible ennui, I tell ya.

So, I of course decided that such a clichéd group of personalities could only really be assembled for my entertainment.

I have started an experiment. Should it go as planned, I'm going to end up posting the link here. Should it go south, it will be entertaining for me. Should it not work out, it's not really worth looking at.



I was thinking about something someone said to me a long time ago. I can't quote them anymore, but the general idea was somewhere along the lines of "simplicity is bliss."

I've been more and more inclined to agree as of late, and am beginning to think I should spend the summer living in my van in the middle of a forest somewhere.

Oh well.

I want more liquor.

"Do you want to know what's really behind the painting in my living room?" she asked, those burning eyes drilling straight into the back of my skull.

I looked around the table at the other "guests", my cheeks tear stained and my hands still bloody.

These people terrified me. What they had done tonight, and what was going to happen terrified me, more than I have ever felt before. And they were terrified of It. That One was not spoken of, or invited, amongst this crowd of specters.

I knew that what ever happened next, no matter what, I did NOT ever, ever want to see what It really was. I never, ever wanted to know what was behind that picture. I had figured it out by now, and made peace with these other things that did not belong, as much as I could anyway, and I wanted to wake up.

"I think, now that we understand eachother a little better, that I'd rather go around the table and hear all your names again. It's hard to keep them straight because you haven't all picked the proper genders, you know."

Wake up.

"Fine. We will do that. But first, come with me."

Come on. This has lasted longer than they usually do, and it's about time. Wake up.

We went into the study, though it was miles and miles away in the real world. She looked at me, and smiled, though the rest of the room was pale. I could feel my eyes start to bleed as she slowly picked up the picture.

COME ON, FUCKING LET ME WAKE UP!

Seconds before I laid my eyes on the One that even THEY didn't invite for their night of fun, and before my growing sense of dread could find a release in whatever was about to happen, my alarm clock went off.


Sometimes, it's actually really nice waking up to a boring life and having a shitty day at work. Sometimes it's even nicer being the scariest thing in your dreams, especially when you consider the alternatives.

Either way, I don't work till noon tomorrow. I think I'm going to go see the boys, and not sleep until the sun comes up at least a little.













And because I can't remember if you actually watch the videos or what you find scary, here is something far opposite. I'm quite unsettled by remembering all of that and then watching that whole video in the dark while getting stoned before going over to the boys' on foot during this cold and windy night, to be quite fucking frank. So, this!

Dear Dairy Queen,

You gave me food poisoning. I now hate you with a passion.


Dear Lindsay,

When you are 50 and have fucked up your life, or whatever you think is going to happen, please go work at Dairy Queen again and teach them how to cook chicken.

Insomaniac, or I Really Actually Am My Own Favorite Person To Hang Out With Sometimes

And now, unrelated things!

In all seriousness, as much as I'd like to leave the evening off at what I think it's a pretty honest and pleasant thought, the simple truth is today's events have prevented me from getting my nightly bud. Not that this is a big complaint, as I'd say the trade off was a pretty good one, but still, weed is what lets me sleep without any overly fucked up dreams to keep waking me up.

I have a pretty bizarre form of insomnia. I get horrifically realistic and vivid dreams, which is great when you're just having a dream about a nice day at work or whatever, but really lame when you're having some kind of heart stopping lovecraftian shit going on in your head. For ever pleasant dream, there is a novel's worth of shitty ones.

So, rather than go to bed and spend the rest of the night scaring the everliving jeebus out of everyone and everything else in the house, I end up smoking a pile of weed and then immerse myself in something requiring output for a few hours, in order to make myself tired. I then fall asleep pretty exhausted, and usually have a dreamless sleep, or at least not remember them.

Usually, this works like a bloody charm, and I get a TON of stuff done. Mostly, I will clean the house, but sometimes I do something fun, like build bookshelves or read the Bible (lots of effort with the King James version), or learn rubberband tricks, or write an incredibly indepth dungeons and dragons tabletop RPG type campaign that I don't really have any interest in actually playing but was a GREAT timekiller, or whatever else can suck up a lot of mental energy and is remotely interesting. Generally, a few hours of straight on immersion in a task, coupled with a bit of bud, will put me right out. It also gives me the claim to be a rare productive stoner.

But some nights, like tonight, I'm a little late on the punch. And other nights, like tonight I do fun but stupid things like play 4X videogames, or give myself something to think about. Then I end up with far too much to do to sleep - I just NEED to play videogames, or sit and stare and scribble shit down furiatively as thoughts blaze past. Because, you know, I forget what the empire's doing when I save and the whole Selukid dynasty will fall turns after I load it up the next day, or because the thoughts will be long gone when it's not 3 am and I'm piping them straight from an Incan monkey god and I won't be able to translate his beautiful but simple language in the morning (usually a fuckton of scribbles and some leery drawings).

So, tonight's a doozy, boys!

As an aside here, I feel like I think wayyy too much at once some times. Sometimes I wonder if this is maybe what A.D.D. is, or if maybe I'm just wired really oddly. Everytime I tell some one I think to much, I think they kind of misunderstand what I'm saying. The response I usually get is "well, you're just smarter" or something similar. I'm 24 in a little bit, and have met all kinds of people. I would certainly not say I'm really above average in intelligence, but I do think I've got a really, really quick mind. It's like computers. Let's say I have a computer that runs twice as fast as yours. That computer isn't really any smarter, it's just quite a bit quicker. And I find that usually, this drives me nuts. When I'm in a good mood, or feeling well, or a little drunk or stoned, then I can organize everything and I think it's actually kind of useful, because I can usually do two or three things at once without going nuts. When I'm really drunk, or kinda stoned, everything slows down to what feels like is probably normal, and I can do a much better job of conveying myself and getting the general point of what I'm trying to say across. This is generally a great place to be during social occasions, because I'm actually pretty fucking charming in a "fuck you" kind of way, or at least am drunk enough by this point to think so.

Anyway, on most of these nights where I am thinking and scribbling (or, playing really interesting videogames), weed somehow stops putting me to sleep, and starts waking me the fuck up.

And then I start to get bored, but not tired. I can't express how shitty I start to feel when I get really bored, and there is nothing to do but just sit and think HARD. I honestly think I'm depressed some days, but maybe a post for some other time.

So I smoke a bunch more, which wakes me up more, which causes me to smoke more.

Once this happens, my little lizard brain pops over into addict for addict's sake mode, and I get stuck in a horrendous loop. Oh, things still get done, let me tell you, just not always good things. It's one thing to joke about the 3 am Incan monkey god. It's another thing entirely to start to take it seriously, and start to build little shrines and appoint your cats high priests before sacrificing a pomegranate to feed your gods, then like six more because YOU ARE THE INCAN MONKEY GOD, AND YOU ARE HUNGRY!.

Or, being stuck so awake that you develop a sport based around the buttload of empty cans your roomates have around the house, some dull toy katana swords, and some really conveniently positioned windows.

Or, you know becoming so bored with insomnia that you draw up intricate plans for survival and gradual rulership of every century from the year 0 onwards, because you never know. I'll give you a hint - avoid Poland, don't be Jewish, and live about as far west as you can, and you're likely to avoid anything really terrible happen to you. Then starting to think about gathering supplies to inact these plans, because you never know when you'll somehow get accidentally sent back through time and a bunch of shit and trival knowledge from 1231 might be useful (hint: seriously, avoid Poland).

Or, worst of all, you get so wired, burnt and foolish that you record yourself playing an assortment of instruments made from shit around the house to the classics of the 80s and 90s.

Really, as much as the whole thing is almost always a little immature, it's actually pretty amazingly fun to go to work in the mornings knowing you spent the evening lording over some cats and looking up really old maps and playing beerskeetball and generally just kind of fucking around in a way that you just can't when people are around watching.

There are a couple pretty big downsides, though. For one, beerskeetball is a sport of only the finest of gentlemen and is quite exertive, often leaving one tired and exhausted. Planning the ultimate chronological survival guide is ALOT of fucking reading, checking, and occasionally even crosschecking if I'm alert enough. It WEARS A GUY OUT!

So, usually, I will pass out on my nice, big couch, which is quite frankly far nicer than anything I've owned bedwise in quite a long time. I will wake up an hour or two later fucking exhausted, late for work, and previously, with one or more of my roomates asking me why I'm shirtless, wallowing in my large mammal-hood, and covered in red juice. The second question is usually why the cats have leaves and shit taped to them, and why RCR is on instrumental repeat. Or, where the fuck did all these latters come from? Or, etc. etc. This is of course not exactly always fun depending on what exactly I was doing at the moment I shut down, and leaves me exhausted all day.

So, thusly, rather than just do the smart thing, knowing full well that much had be thought out before I could sleep and that I should smoke the bowl and write or something for a bit, I decided to smoke a bowl and TAKE A FUCKING BATH.

Now, something you should know about me and baths, just so it doesn't surprise anyone when it turns out I've drowned someday. I do not take baths in the sense that a mere common mortal "takes" baths. No, my baths are the baths of men, nay, of great bearded men, nay OF GREAT BEARDED MEN OF YORE.

My baths are not baths. They are fucking events, with a full band, chocolate fountains, and three course meals. My baths are so fucking awesome, that one time, I shit you not, my neighbour's propane tank exploded and blew up a good chunk of forest, rocking the ground as though I was under the feet of titans, and still, I did not move, such was the glory of that bath.

In all honesty, my baths usually only have a one course meal, unless I really feel like TAKING the bath around the house and making a mess. But they certainly are epicly long baths in which I tend to lose track of time reading or thinking or sitting in the dark pretending I'm in a sensory deprivation chamber. There are indeed musics, as I have a mo-fo'ing speaker system in here, and there was both a vodka fountain, back when I drank steady and loved stinking like vodka, and a variety of tasty chocolates, until I realized that it's just a fucking terrible idea the minute you spill it into the tub a little.

Anyway. So here I am. Like six fucking hours later. And you know what I'm doing? No, goof, I'm not sitting on the couch or in bed writing this!

I'M STILL IN THE GODDAMN BATH, WRITING TO YOU STRAIGHT FROM THE MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN 3 AM INCAN MONKEY GOD!















So yeah, that plan fucking failed. At least my pot roast is nearly done!

You couldn't see foreshadowing, because there has never been any. So here, this one is for you.

Tonight was a really, really good night. I'm still left thinking maybe I'm misunderstanding something. Maybe it's just trained in there. Or maybe I'm still seeing what I want or don't want to see. Or maybe a pile of other stuff. In the end, I'd like to think that I'm not the only one going to bed with a pretty blown mind.

And in the end, it's a little sad. I'd like to show you some passion, because maybe you deserve it and it's been a fucking long time and I'm really a little tired of being so fucking jaded, and see where that all goes and so on, even if it turns out that nah, all a bad idea, etc.. Don't get me wrong, I think we're pretty clear on where things sit right now and agree it is good, for a whole whack of reasons that I quite honestly don't think need to be as clearly laid out as everything else, and I do think we're both pretty capable of maintaining that as it sits. Doesn't mean it can't be just a little unfortunate, or maybe even a little ironic.

But right now, in this minute, it feels like the snow's softly falling under a streetlamp somewhere a lifetime ago, and in this minute, life is good.

Anonyme sucks as bad as google

So, I've had a massively shit day today. I figured hey, I don't want to deal with any of my shit today, so maybe I'll go see what problems other people are having.

So, I pop on one of my favorite blogs (that isn't written by me), read up an interesting post on the nature of friendship, and then proceeded to type a very long, take-my-mind-off-it comment that I think actually had some relevant, decent insight, or was at least a little interesting.

When I went to post it, I was brought to a registration page asking I sign in to the "anonymous" blog site to leave my comment. I hit back, to find that my comment was now gone, and couldn't even be posted here.

*sigh*

So now, I'm really fucking frustrated with the day.

Sometimes, I wonder if I will always feel like this about life. I think there's pills I could get to make things happier, but I've finally got a group of friends who actually seem to kind of like the full range of "Steve" that they get, and I don't really feel like screwing that up.

Plus, I've found I can't smoke pot when I'm on pills, and while I may feel this sort of sedated peace in my chest, I just can't slow my brain down or make it lighter.

So I don't know. Maybe I just need to be happier with life, or toughen up, or simply make better life choices. Or maybe I am always right and the world's just really shitty and pointless to anyone with half a brain. Tough to say.

Wow. That matches the word count of my comment. Maybe I should have retyped that instead of bitching, who knows?



Anyway. ANYWAY.

Sometimes having cats is really, really fucking frustrating.

I think I have loving, awesome cats most of the time, but sometimes, I think they are vile, odorous little bastards.

For example, sometimes, my cool, loving kitties come cheer me up when I feel sick by doing cute things, coming for belly rubs, and just being awesome and mellow and cuddly.

Other times, like today, they only come within five feet of me to puke, shit, or wake me up after finally falling asleep after two days of to-the-wall insomnia. It's been a rough day, guys! I know it's hard being a cat - picking which couch to scratch up, puke on, then nap for 18 hours straight on is probably really HARD SERIOUS SHIT, but cut me a break.

I can't wait till the summer. I think I'll build a kitty plow and use them to till my massive backyard into a garden. Then they can contribute, and also have plants to eat that didn't cost me $100 and are supposed to be for my girlfriend to look at, not eat.

a little more guilt

Ok, one more addendum.

While I think I do live my life the best I can, sometimes you do need to say sorry when you meant to hurt someone. I've been maybe a little late in doing that, but have spent a lot of time recently trying to make amends - both Sam and Kristi have gotten sorry letters, though I would not have seen that coming when they were still in my lives. Sometimes, when you really mean to hurt someone badly, then you really do deserve to feel like shit, and should try to fix it. While those moments are pretty few and far between for me, I've found the best way to deal with it is to just lay it out openly and honestly. Do not expect a reply or forgiveness - in the end, you'll feel better, and that's why you're doing this.

I do not really know how reliable the sources for some of the things I've been reading lately are. They are talking about building a giant dome over Houston, Texas. Apparently no one in Houston, Texas has read The Dome. I wonder how much your property taxes go up when you now have to pay for a several-billion dollar dome. Must be fun to pay to live inside what amounts to a massive experiment. There is much talk about how it will be oh so excellent for the environment, because hey, hasn't the environment always wanted a giant dome in the center of it?

Of course, there probably is some truth to the statement that a controlled environment will save on electricity, as millions of Texans will shut off their A/C. Of course, there is that implication that comes with the words "controlled environment" that kinda makes one think that there is probably going to need to be a massive, cartoon-sized air conditioner around somewhere in order to keep the giant, three-mile wide dome from becoming a giant, three-mile wide magnifying glass in the middle of summer. Maybe it will run on happy, left-wing thoughts, and will infact save power. Or maybe one of the dome's many features is a self-contained nuclear reactor, which will not only be clean, but without sarcasm, also likely safer than a coal powered plant. Who knows?

And of course, at least according to the people presenting this idea, this will help Houston from maintaining the dubious honor of having the U.S.' second highest greenhouse gas emissions. They don't explain exactly how reduction this will happen, but this is likely because it seems pretty obvious: All the dangerous pollution will just stay in the dome, which I guess will be good for the outside environment. Imagine no wind, wouldn't it be nice?

One of the little docudrama things I watch actually did go into addressing what happens if the air in the dome heats up too much and acts as a hot air balloon, floating away and knocking over nice, tall buildings. Turns out, they have REALLY, REALLY big ropes to tie the thing into foundations, which seems somewhat more mickey mouse than placing a band around the base of the dome to me.

It should be noted that a band is indeed also placed around the base of the dome, but it doesn't appear to really be of a design to stop floating problems, at least in the concept art I've been able to find. In fact, at least as far as I can tell from various design descriptions, the base band is there to keep the dome from springing out and flattening the city.

In all honesty, I actually fucking love the concept behind this. These sort of things were originally thought up by the exceedingly brilliant Buckminster Fuller, who not only sounds like a totally fictional cartoon character, but developed some of the coolest concepts in modern architecture, design, and many other things. In fact, he is so awesome that he actually invented a word to brand all of his wicked inventions, habits, and concepts with: "Dymaxion". Of course, some ideas, like this dome, are maybe not quite solidly thought out, or perhaps were, but are not well presented. As some more examples, what happens to the birds? If the dome is easily visible, what happens to the sunlight? What about those who have to live in the shadow? And, back to birds, how exactly are you going to keep the inside and outside of the thing clean? Despite how inherently strong a geodesic dome is, it's not like you can use water bombers to clean off the birdshit.

I think what really bugs me are all the motivations presented for doing this. IT IS NOT GOOD FOR THE ENVIROMENT! It's really actually a terrible fucking idea on many many levels, at least as far as this implementation seems to be going. But it's certainly really, really cool, and a neat "what if". I think the world would be a much better place if we could admit that sometimes, we do things like building a giant, awesome, death dome big enough to have it's own atmosphere just be cause fuck you we can.


In other news, Salon magazine and several other similar rags are givin' props to that chick who played that rags-to-riches girl in that one movie that was adapted from a book based on a true story that someone made up. The tradepaper had a teal cover, originally, with the ipod sillouette of the aforementioned heroine. I want to say "Sapphire", but that may have been the author. I cannot for the life of me remember what it was called, but if you're the kind of person who reads Salon or Us, then you've probably seen the movie or read the book (I haven't), and know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, the whole story frustrated me to the point where I'm not going to look up the book for the sake of my potential readership despite having plenty of internets right in front of me. Essentially, she is morbidly obese, and, in the eyes of many, has a ridiculously terrible fashion sense. While at some awards show, she decided to stop for a photo op in some horrendously awful outfit. This of course, caused many "negative comments". From the very little I've looked deeper into this, it seems that many comments at least mention her being morbidly obese, but that far, far more of the "official" ones were bashing her shitty fashion choice.

In reply to the hatez, yo, she said something along the lines of "To the haters, I want you to know I spent the whole night crying about what you said while on my private jet on my way to my dream job".

So of course, all the peeps had to be like "OH NO SHE DI'NT!" and give her the mad props for being such a witty, offbeat girl who is rightly proud of her body.

Ok, so yeah, I think that's fair enough. As a fellow large mammal, there's nothing really socially wrong with being fat, and in this day and age, it doesn't really seem to limit your ability to experience many aspects of life in the day to day. I was a little horrified, however, at how many people in the comments section of the article seemed to think that being fat, really, truly fat, is somehow actually healthy, and that obesity-caused illness is a total myth. The general tone was consistently "she should be ok with weighing 350 pounds because it's good for you as long as you are happy with it". Maybe phys ed. has really just sunk in deep with me, but I find it really inconceivably stupid that anyone could actually think eating nothing but recycled cows and being large to the point that moving your arms makes you tired is somehow good for you just because you've accepted it. It's like saying smoking is good for you because it makes you cool, or that it's completely safe to light yourself on fire, as long as the heat doesn't bug you and you feel good about it.

I do also have a little problem with the comment itself, or rather, the incredibly overblow gleeful response the media has given it. Think about it this way: How would the media have reacted if it wasn't a fat black chick who said it?

Reporter: President Bush! Some of the people who voted for you twice now think you are infact a mentally retarded infant who is controlled by some larger conspiracy. How do you respond?

GW: Heh. I'mma cry on my private 747 all the way back to my airfield in the quarter of Texas I own. Heh.

I mean, yeah, she is obviously a little more defendable than ol' G.W., but it's really not the fantufuckotabluously amazing witty smart comeback that it's being portrayed as. It's a somewhat exaggerated "Who cares what you think?" (she is no way rich enough to actually own and operate a jet, and charter jets aren't that impressive when you see how cheap they can be), which is something her mom or friends should be congratulating her on, not the global media.


Bah, the world is a stupid and silly place.

It's taken me three days to write this - I started it, then Lisa got home (I don't like people reading over my shoulder), and then I forgot about it. But I think I was going to end this with a "People are goofy" thought.

Instead.


Hi Lindsay,

I don't know if you read this any more, but hey. I appears you are going through some fun stuff, and while I do actually have what I'd consider to be some valid input, I think I will refrain from giving it.

I really, really feel the need to say something here, as you've been trying to contact me recently, I just feel like perhaps some new parameters need to be established in our relationship.

Kinda hurts my feelings when you say "Oh gee I miss you how are you", when you haven't bothered to come see me in the numerous times you've been up to Dawson. I don't know if you realize this, but you never said thank you for driving you to Edmonton. You never really even tried to clean up the new years mess - I get Edward is weird, but he is a person too and that really destroyed his life for a while. Honestly, what I am getting at here is that I've really felt like maybe we have not been friends for a long time.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter or angry or anything. I would not count anyone from the old days, even Sophie, to be anything resembling a friend. And I'm aware I've made some mistakes too. Half-assed hitting on you all the time was probably annoying. Leaving my going away party for a while to go get stoned was kind of a dick move. And bringing Bri on the aforementioned Edmonton trip was likely not cool, though I would have loved to have been able to get rid of her at that point if I could redo it.

And I do appreciate the late night, cheer me up talks we had sometimes back then. I appreciate you bringing me Tim Horton's while I was too sick to find clothes and not minding my laying on the floor in a blanket. I remember thinking it was a pretty damned perfect day that time we snowmobiled to the rimrocks when we were dating, way back when. I really did and do fondly remember a lot of the more human, open moments we had.

So, I guess that's my thoughts. I don't know where I am trying to go with it, or what I am looking for by saying that. I guess in the end, I have some resentment I'd rather not have, and thusly feel the need to lay it out. I don't think resentment is quite the right word, but I am incapable of thinking of a better one. Don't take as a dismissal or a "hey, fuck you, we aren't friends" - it's not. I think that if I still knew you well, I'd likely find you as charming and interesting as I always have. But I don't think I really know anything about you that wasn't part of you half a decade ago, and I've just found as I've grown older that people aren't really worth it if you can't say these types of things to them and have it be a cause for dialog. So now that I have said them, I feel better about things, and perhaps we can be new old friends, or something.

Perhaps later I will put out my thoughts on your problem, though I don't think you'd find they help you come to any real conclusions beyond me being far slimier than you. But for now, I think that's really what I'd like to say, so we'll leave it at that.

Hope all is well elsewhere!

Steve



Aw, hey, one more thing, just cause. Guilt is tough. I think a lot of people who've known me for a long time think that I'm incapable of feeling it. Sometimes I've thought this too, and it's scared me - who wants to be a sociopath.

But I've come to a conclusion in the last few years. It's actually something a therapist told me many years ago, that I did not give much cred to until recently.

I am, as she described, an empath. I get these hugely overwhelming feelings from people, to the point where I have trouble telling the emotions behind statements apart from the statements themselves. For example, if someone is really mad at me, I do not hear them saying "Well, hey, that's not right", I hear them feeling "WELL FUCK YOU YOU LITTLE SHIT".

Thusly, when I cause someone pain, I am more than capable of realizing it.

Besides that, I am somewhat convinced that as long as you do not need dates or lengths of time, I have a frighteningly good memory. I can remember being in the womb, and hearing conversations my mother had before I was born. Hell, I can even tell you what she ate. I know this seems unlikely, but I have had the luck to actually collaborate this with her, having met her in the last few years.

I remember being born. I remember my new parents getting me. I remember pretty much everything from that point on, really. In fact, when I was a kid, I spent so much time talking about possesions I've never owned, and travelling to places I was too young to have even heard of with excellent clarity. And when I was really young, I would scare myself so badly that I'd get taken to emergency, because I remember suffocating to death with an umbilical cord around my throat, being killed during what I now believe could have been the firebombing of Dresden, and falling from a roof and impaling myself on a fence. I remember the last words I may or may not have been able to say to my family before I died as an old person with some illness. So I'd go on a limb and say I can even remember past lives, if such a thing exists and is or was not simply misfiring neurons or dreams confused with reality in my childhood brain.

And with that, I remember all the bad shit I've done. I can quite clearly recall kicking Kevin Derfler's baby sister (like, 4 or 5, not baby baby) in the head just cause when I was really little. I remember the first thing I actually did really really regret, which oddly enough was breaking a little laser-pen toy I had because I didn't work - you can always get the legomen who wouldn't stand up right back out of the vacuum cleaner, but it turns out you can't fix a laser reader after you throw it down the stairs. I remember making up a vicious rumor in order to try and get a teacher fired in elementary school. I remember going a little too far in an argument with someone I'd still like to be my best friend in grade 7 and losing that friendship. There are really, really very few things I think I've forgotten, at least in terms of the narration of the story of Steve.

So, I guess to me, not feeling too bad about things is just how it is and has to be. There are some things, like ditching someone on their prom night, that I will probably always feel bad for, but by and large, I simply cannot afford to let myself feel too bad about much of anything, or I will become even more depressed and unstable.

I know this is something that likely would not come easy to a more normal person, so here's three tips:

1. Remember: They would do it to you, given the chance. This applies to everything. What friends I have are good ones, but are more than happy to let me pick up the tab, or use my stuff without asking, or generally do stuff I'd consider to insensitive. No one is perfect, and forced into the choice, everyone is indeed looking out for number one in the end. Does this mean everyone out there is mean-spirited, hates you, and is spiteful? Not at all, see tip three.

2. Realize that in the end, it really doesn't matter. So something's fucked up. Or broken. Or whatever. Who cares? In 20 years, it would likely have fucked itself up, or broken, or whatever. In the end, there is really no point to anything in life. You live, you make some mistakes, and you die. Within 10 years of that, it's really likely that no one will have even remembered who you were or give a shit about your little life.

3. Realize that morality is not black, white, or grey. Right and wrong as infalliable concepts is kinda bullshit. Hitchiker's guide to the galaxy makes a good example - aliens want to destroy earth and all life on it to build a highway. Does this make them evil? Well, maybe, as they are killing billions of people. But at the same time, not really. They aren't doing it out of spite, they are doing it because they want a commuter lane. So when you really back up and look it, the concept of "bad" and "good" does not really apply to general life. I can do bad things with good intentions, and vise-versa. In the end, I feel this: Did you do it because you wanted to hurt someone, or because you thought it would make you feel better? If you aren't trying to hurt someone, then it's pretty hard to feel bad about it. I will let myself feel bad if my actions cause pain, but in the end, I can safely place that in the hands of the hurtee - I'm sorry I hurt you, but I didn't mean to, and frankly it's your problem, not mine, that you feel like this.

I think the other reason I find three to be very easy for me. Admittedly, it's not the way to win friends and influence people, but in reality, most people are unintentionally pretty rude and cruel, even without meaning to be. I will not take the time to delve into this right now, but it's somewhat proven that subconsciously, even the way humans have of talking to and interacting with eachother on a day-to-day basis is pretty harmful. While I think I'm pretty good at being much more aware of the feelings of others than a lot of people, I really don't see any need to CARE about those feelings - really, do other people care about mine, even if they aren't as obvious? No, not really.

I am tired. My hands hurt. I think that's really, really it, though I'd like to sort of explore this a little more sometime.

New Years Eve. It feels like it's been a long time since I've had one.

I only distinctly remember five new years celebrations.

The first was when I was very young. I went with my parents to the Happalas. We ate lots of crab. I drank a little wine and passed out on Anne-Marie and Pete's waterbed, to the original series of Star Trek on VHS.

There is a fuzzy memory in there of eating a horrible Finnish dish called lutefisk. I suspect many of these memories, horseshoes, and sand, and old polka music have all blended into one.

The second is of my grandfather, and a new-years spent in a comfortable chair built for the elderly. My grandmother was somewhere else. I ate lots of popcorn. I had a little bit of whiskey, and fell asleep to John Wayne. All I can think of when I remember this is how much more alive he seemed then. My grandmother is not well, and for every thing she forgets, he must remember, good or bad.

The third is Happala's again. I remember going there again when I was older, with a girl named Tylar. She was beautiful then, and things were happy. We ate a great feast, lit candles on the traditional fire-hazard tree, and drank some wine and passed out to Audrey Hepburn movies, on DVD.

Of course, I got bored. She told me once afterwards that her parents had thought we would get married. I wonder sometimes where things would be if that had happened. There is no lingering sentiment in this, just a curiosity that is driven by a current boredom.

Sometimes, I wonder this about many past relationships. I do not think I'd be happier. I wonder about many things, most of the time.


The fourth memory I have is of the first new years at my house. We were hammered, and naked, and in the hot tub and on the beds, and on the trampoline. It was the best kind of freedom. I think that when I am old and die, this is the place I want to revisit before I pass. Nothing was right or perfect, but for a few months, while my parents were gone, and the bank account was full, life was really, really just ok and happy.

The fifth is of a new years at my house again. I don't remember the night - I remember what happened after. I suppose that likely should have been a bit of a heads up. but hey, for some reason, I still write these. And I'd like to think it's not solely for my own perusal. So what do I know, anyway?

And that brings us to now. Where I am drunk, and very stoned, and smell and feel like shit. I have spent the night cleaning puke, and looking after the friends of the girl I like, and generally doing a bunch of absolute bullshit I had hoped to avoid having to do tonight.

I feel as though I have done my penance in life. Yes, I was a shitty person when I was younger. And now, my life is pretty darn shitty by the standards of today's living. There is certainly good, but I cannot help but look around and feel like this is just a cheap, terrible way to live. I do not like that I will never accomplish anything significant in my life. I do not like that I am now a pretty nice person for the most part, but still repel people. I do not like that the few people I find worth my time do not find me worth theirs. And I do not like going to stupid fucking new years parties, where I am not welcome until my previous alchoholism has rendered me the only one capable of standing, and a bunch of immature fucking pedants need my aide. And regardless of all that, I get it - fair enough, I guess.

So that's my thought for this new years - I hope all the best in the world to the people that want it. I don't, and haven't for a long time. Just let me die, already.