So, it turns out that drinking a bunch of coffee in order to sober up is a far worse idea than just being a little drunk when you go to sleep.

It also turns out that drinking a bunch of whiskey does not counteract the coffee and make you sleepy, but instead wakes you up more and also makes you even more drunk.

Drinking makes me blog.

Not smoking weed makes me blog.

Having really shitty days does not often make me blog, for some reason.

Having really good days makes me blog about shitty things, for some reason.

Talking to you makes me blog. I'm not sure if it's because I'd like to continue our conversations or because it reminds me that I can ramble and ramble and ramble, and eventually someone not directly involved in whatever I am rambling about and generally non-judgemental will come along and read it, thusly making me feel like I don't spend all of my time just talking to myself.

Staying up past midnight almost always makes me blog. I'm not too sure why this is, but suspect that my brain just gives up on giving me tired signals. Then, as you may have noticed over the last few hundred posts, I get bored, and here we are.

Being depressed makes me blog. I'm moderately sure depression and intense boredom are the same thing, actually.

Being manic also makes me blog. Sometimes it seems like there's just too much going on in my head and I need to deposit some of it somewhere. I've heard some interesting theories on the ability of male brains to compartmentalize pretty much anything as the need be, but I do not appear to have this ability, either because I have a little ADD, or, more likely, because the redonkculous amount of pot I smoke has done something unpleasant to my brain.

Sometimes blogging makes me depressed or manic. There's something unhealthy about too much active self-analyzation, just like too much of anything else.

Sometimes I listen to Sublime when I blog. Sometimes I listen to Immortal Technique while I blog. Sometimes I listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd while I blog. Sometimes I listen to Amanda Marshall while I blog. Sometimes, when I'm pretty absorbed by what I'm writing, I'll even accidentally listen to the Shitty Beatles or Led Zepplin when they roll up in the playlist.

Sometimes, I start to blog about something, then realize I don't fully understand it, then get so involved in learning new things about whatever topic that I forget I was blogging in the first place and end up with even more useless trivia I will never need.

I used to be able to dream the future before I started getting nightmares. I still do sometimes. I think some people would call it dejavue, and frankly I would too, except that as with everything else in my life, all my dreams that seem important are usually committed to paper the same day I have them. Perhaps I am merely an impressionable fool, but it would seem as though having written records of things that happen anywhere from days to years later, exactly as written, is a good way to convince yourself that your dreams are at least worth paying attention to.

I will have each dream exactly once. If I have it more than once, it is just a dream. If everything occurring is a regular event and everything in the dream is a familiar object, rather than people or things I do not remember ever seeing before, there's a pretty good chance it is just a dream. If the dream is not in the third person, as in I'm watching myself and whatever is going on, then it will usually just be a dream. If I become aware I'm dreaming or can exercise any control over what's happening, then I am likely dreaming. Though it would be kind of natural to assume anything that seems highly unlikely or overtly dreamlike would be a sure sign of just a dream, having now spent a day dancing in mud with a really, really pretty girl and yelling about my dick in shitty German over the din of a live country band to some Swiss cowboys leaning up against a cattle fence in the middle of an arena with spotlights on us and everyone watching as we are the first couple dancing, I have to say that maybe life just changes enough that something I would have written off as pretty damned implausible may not actually be the case in four years.

I don't think it's any kind of psychic ability, or magic. It's likely explainable as some strange phenomena of overactive perception, or as some kind of subconscious interaction with a non-linear timeline as some "encompassing" physics theories that are probably a little beyond my complete comprehension, let alone ability to explain.

I frankly have never been too interested in the mechanics behind it. These sorts of dreams have mostly been displaced by others, and while it may seem like this could be some kind of handy ability, most of these types of dreams are pretty mundane - it's not really all that helpful to know that you foresaw cutting your hand on the store's brand new Taylor Target display six months ago, especially when you've completely forgotten about it until it occurs and you go back to double check.

Maybe I'm just nuts. It's been a weird night. It's been a weird life, really.

There are some definite upsides to the whole thing.

I know how I will die, or rather, I know what it will feel like to die, and have tried to extrapolate what's caused it based on that feeling. I do not know how I get there, when it happens, or what leads up to it, or even where I am, as it's one of the rare times I am looking out from my own body. I can easily separate this dream from others for a few reasons. It is a dream I have only had the once, where I will usually dream about dying for a few days straight. It is the only death dream I have had no control over despite eventually becoming aware it was not actually the present reality, and most significantly in my mind, it's the only dream I've ever had of dying where I haven't instantly "respawned" the second I die and continued dreaming. After I died, there was nothing but a conscious blackness until my alarm went off several long hours later.

It might not be completely evident as to why knowing how I die is any kind of upside, so perhaps I shall rephrase: I know how I won't die. I am not a big risk taker, but it's morbidly helpful when I am really depressed to know that things will obviously pick up, as it does not appear that I off myself. When I was not doing overly well a few years ago and was drinking ALOT, I proved this to my satisfaction twice. It would appear that so long as I lead a decent life, what happens will be completely unavoidable in roughly two to four decades, and when my number is up, it's up. If I fail to lead a good life, then it could come much sooner but would appear so circumstantially specific that it would have to be kind of deserved. Either way, it's kind of nice to know things will generally work out, at least until... well, they don't, hah.

It would be nice to be able to dream more about things I want to.

I'd like to know when my father will die so that I can be with him.
I'd like to know some winning lottery numbers for some pretty obvious reasons.
I'd like to know what sort of thing I'm supposed to be doing with my life.
I'd like to know that there's something more worthwhile than what I'm doing right now.

This, I think, is what I was really looking to talk about, because the exactness of this particular little dejavue thing tonight has got me thinking about it.

I have no plans for any future. I can't see myself anywhere, doing anything, with anyone. I don't really NEED to see myself as such, because I truly believe I will be about as happy as I seem to be capable of most of the time so long as I'm physically intact.

I'm not quite at where I want to be with this yet, but it's like 5 in the morning, and I'd like to go cuddle up to my lady for a bit before she has to go to work. Till next time!

Anyway, on to something else.

I've noticed that a lot of the people I know are, at the end of the day, the absolute antithesis of what they proclaim to be or aspire to be.

I could provide some decent examples from my escapades tonight, but without a whole whack of backstory, it's pretty likely that none of them will make a whole lot of sense.

Anyway, I don't get it. What's the point of being anything besides what you are and who you are?

I get there is a certain element of politeness that is required for functioning relationships, but one can be polite and present themselves plainly, right?

I don't know. I realize I'm not a popular guy and that people, while generally attracted to me for a short time, tend to find me irritating or unpleasant or what have you after a while. I'm pretty good with this, as I don't really like being around most people for more than a short amount of time, and frankly it usually works to my benefit as most of my more impersonal interpersonal interactions are brief.

While there's probably more to it than simply being what I perceive myself to be, I'm fairly certain that my general lack of self-inhibition and willingness to do what seems proper for myself does factor into the above. That said, I am absolutely certain that because what you see is generally what you get, those few people that do know me well and like me genuinely do like me exactly as I am, no strings or pressure attached.

It seems like maybe the world would be a little calmer if other people were of this mindset, but perhaps that's just hubris talking. I don't know.

I remember many of the girls I've dated saying a if part of my appeal is how "mysterious" I am or was, and a few others saying it was more a case of pretty black and white thinking combined with a "down to earthiness". I think it makes for an interesting contrast, though I think the matter of which is the "correct" opinion is probably pretty subjective to the observer.

You know, I think I've written the "you" blog out a pile of times, usually while we are talking while I'm wasted. It won't ever be published. Even this blog has been through a few revisions in the last hour or so, and I don't feel that any of them really contribute to the overall theme.

Sometimes, I can't find the right words. The poetry doth not flow forth.

Sometimes, I can't find the right feeling. The words are there, but convey things wrongly.

Hell, this post, which is about as close as I think you will ever get, dear reader, certainly falls under both those categories.

Aren't Oxford commas marvelous?

Anyway, there are a lot of problems with the you blog, because it would never be quite right, and some things are maybe worth doing right or not at all.

So, I've pretty much given up on that, and instead you get whatever this will turn out to be, and then will be left to draw your own conclusions.

In the end, I really just have too much self realization for their to be an honest blog with yourself as the topic. I have no illusions, and even though I doubt you do either, have you ever stopped to ask yourself what I might be getting out of this particular aspect of our friendship? I don't mean this as in some whiney rhetorical "what do I get" or "why are we friends" way - I certainly get something, and the question is quite genuine; What do you figure that something might be?

I think I have a pretty good idea what you are getting out of it, and I know exactly what I get out of it. And frankly, I just won't allow myself or am genuinely incapable of expressing that to you. This is very unusual, as I don't usually have much trouble expressing myself at all when I want to, but not really that unexpected. So if you take nothing else from this blog, feel a little special on that, I guess.

So that's about it, I guess. I wish I could have compared your eyes to the depths of a glacial lake, or said something about what a great person you are for always being so positive and fundamentally kind (you laughed pretty hard when my head hit that window), but in the end, that's not really what this is about.


Don't get me wrong, I would have loved to have spent the next hour or so of this evening hitting on you and enjoying the attentions of your pretty, charming self, but if this blog makes any sense to you, then perhaps you can see why I didn't.

And if it doesn't make sense, then I suppose I apologise though there is nothing I really can or intend to do about it - as I say, I have written this out a few times since we had that particular conversation, and this is really the only way to write this that feels genuine and not falsely flattering or even more falsely unflattering. Though I suspect the significance is pretty minor, you certainly deserve better than what probably looks like a very vague paragraph.

I wonder who picks these pictures, knowing that they are trying to convince people to pay them tons of money to consume a health product that probably won't work. I get "infected nipple fruit" and some of the other pictures I've seen in these ads, but for some reason "giant rotting squid carcass" isn't really something I think I'd want to see on an ingredient label, even if it's healthy as fuck.



After spending about 20 minutes on the site that ad links to, I have watched what seems like a really bad movie trailer, and still have no idea what the fuck I am supposed to be buying or where to put the money in. This is a great example of a whole different type of bad advertising - I'm left thinking the old dude in the picture isn't actually cringing at the collapse of western society, but staring blankly in terror and confusion because he has no idea what the fuck he just watched and what some shitty summer movie has to do with the implosion of the U.S. economy or his checkbook.


This shit's all from the Sun Media series of websites, which for some reason I am now starting to really have trouble remembering, I actually pay a small monthly fee to look at.

The articles aren't much better.



Pretty self explanatory. As sometimes happens, a dude tried to smuggle himself out of someplace, in this case Africa, and died of hypothermia, or oxygen deprivation, or was crushed by the plane's wheels as they retracted.

Because this headline was also in the papers recently...



...Some highly intelligent dude who maintains the website decided to put this poll on both pages:



I guess news and entertainment media aren't really all that far apart, but still.

In case you were wondering.



Been pretty uninteresting over here lately.

Facebook is always so silly

Click the pictures, they never size right.



You mean never, ever have any scientists stumbled opon a dead elephant and cut open the trunk? Edward has been playing this new game, and my facebook has been drowned in shitty game notifications that aren't even really "facts".



I find a few things funny about this. One, these ads are targeted, so apparently something in my searches indicates that I need rehab and would also function well as a drug and health councillor.

Also, 855 people had a lot of fun in rehab.



I now know one of "those people", you know, the ones who post pictures of themselves with ten hashtags on twitter, and then have to facebook about how they posted pictures of themselves on twitter.

You can't see it in the picture, but twelve people liked this.



But you can see it in this picture. I am a little stoned and not super twitter savvy, but it took me a minute to clue in as to the fact that they are not congratulating him on finishing a coke and the posting pictures of it.



A little off topic, but if you've ever been bumped to first class, you know that on commercial flights, the food and salads are the same shitty stuff you get in coach. For somereason "airline salad" seems like a bad marketing move to me.



And, on the topic of advertising. I think my booty would have 2m likes (whatever that means, "m" not actually being a statement of any sort) if I cold afford to advertise it on facebook.

Anyway, had not blogged in a while.