moving pictures

i cleaned yesterday.
i did my dishes. i picked things up and stacked them in nice piles, the largest book on the bottom.

i now have beer everywhere. it smells like pizza in here, i even saved the garlic things so maybe my instant brown rice, the only eat item i have left besides black olives will taste like something else besides really nasty teriyaki sauce or shit, garlic. damnit.

i sit here on sundays and i really try to care. i mean everyone feels the same way and we get done whats due tomorrow and laugh when we think about all the extra tasks that wore hope like a blue ribbon with bright eyes sometime before friday fell to the dogs. They got DQed in the end. Never made it to the top spot on the award stand. Maybe next time they'll work real hard for a maroon one. pink? mint green. you know you're a loser when they're handing out pastels.

lets shoot for bold people. Let's win this three-legged race. Lets get the flowers and the photos.

happy freaking valentines day by the way.

yes well, look out the window. that blue means

its morning.
i lie in an early bed thinking late thoughts waiting for the black to replace my blue...
and then she talks about something love like. is that all we have to replace this shit? i guess so.
and THAT is depressing.

to all of you that have never been in love
me neither. it doesnt happen. prepare yourself if you think you're there, its all going to come to an end. im sorry, im not morbid, im just being real. unless you want to sign a contract...with ring fingers and such and that all happens under god and wow, you're giving up a lot in that case. in that case, well...jesus, stamina will never feel the same. take a sponge and some vinegar with that vodka tonic and you will feel the same in the morning.

to all of you that have never had sex.
i know you have. anyone reading...well christ, if you found this link and you haven't then i have killed the innocence with my fingertips. its just words to you so i dont have to apologize. good luck when you get there. have a lot, thats my advice. suck it raw so in the end you learn that passion does not lie between the sheets or the attempts. open your ears before you open your legs. youll understand. especially if youve given up on darwin. wonder what his sex life was like.

please love though. i mean i just said not to, but if youve been through it all...if well, muffin, too bad, you're that good. read honest in eloquence.

yup well blog blue wont let me do that. want to know? its called comments. do it. she can explain it better than i.

im doomed.

so im sitting in hyena, kofenya or whatever the hell its called doing my damn linguistics work. im sitting in one of those bar chairs against the front picture window and this middle aged dude sits down, no coffee, nothing. after a few minutes he, of course, opens his mouth.
now dont get me wrong, i love strangers. i love register people and the "socrates of oxford" that i see everywhere whom i formally introduced myself to last night. its that big guy, he rides the green route a lot. I love these people. but i dont love these people when i dont get to leave.
"it must be hard to study in here, it being so loud and all" he says to me.
(in the back of my mind, i look around. people are studying. its a college coffee shop. This is a conducive environment for studying.)
No, i say, its not bad. i like it here. (well i did, until now.)
"your place must pretty bad then, pretty loud?"
No, its too quiet actually.

so it goes on like this, chatting, him intruding my sphere, but i listen. its not like i dont want to listen but its the fact that its going somewhere...you can see it. desperation is in the eyes and when you spot it, conversation doesnt matter anymore.

i keep trying to go about my work, structuring phrases into trees. he thinks its science. (no, its life in formula.) he talks about P&G, where he works. he talks about how he used to play gutiar, i think about my dad. we talk about jobs and creative outlets and he asks that god damn question.
"so are you going to write books or something?"
no, im not. but if i were to, you would be in it. so can i please have your writen consent, because i want this to be about truth. and you are so blatantly true.

johnny calls thank god for johnny. i turn in my chair, the other direction and i dont think about it because im involved in a wonderful conversation but as soon as i know the hang up is coming i know what else is on its way.

"sounds like a friend with girl troubles."
yes, you fuck and did you happen to pick up on the fact that i have sexual relations with girls? or did that one slip by you? i mean i know it was a 30 minute coversation and you would feel strange taking notes right? what the hell do you want from me and why the hell do i have to feel bad about honesty?

i pack my shit before i get off the phone. im leaving now. what now.

"so it was nice meeting you. do you want to exchange numbers?"

i dont know you. i dont want to know more than i already do. im more terrible to the people i know best so why do i feel so bad about you?

"um...well (this is called reading body language/facial expressions...o wait im sorry, those aren't that OBVIOUS because im not saying anything right? you mother fucker you have no idea what youre doing to me.) yea, i guess we could do that or something."
hello???? Hesitation? Is that your desperation? i cant do anything for you now, you're in this on your own and im sorry huney, but thats not my problem. This is the only time i advocate being a liar and you're not doing a good job. Start faking it and take it elsewhere.

he gives me his number. mike. 245-1886. says something about the answering machine. i wasnt listening at this point. i havent been listening for awhile. i leave. i walk quickly.

but this is the thing.
im sitting in a coffee shop and im listening to everyone. im even listening to the conversations on the other side of the glass. im thinking about these people i'm not having direct contact with. im just as creepy. but as soon as you say something, as soon as language, your voice, leaves your head in the same voice it was contrived, you've given it away. this is the point when mystery becomes ash and this is the point when you become more than just a stranger, this is the point when your intentions become scary and no one wants to know what you want.

well then.

Let's try a new font to make up for my lack of creativity today.

i am a huge wench. i woke up and made a few hundred apologies. that is not good. if i cant be smart at least be decent. nope, strike three. i belong on the bench.

speaking of, what makes you mad? i mean furious. what memory do you have that makes you absolutely steam? mine is Mr. Dillon, my sophomore year of varsity softball. why the hell did he want me there? all my friends were having fun PLAYING with Mr. Watts and I got to wear pinstripes. Whoopdeefrinkindo. christ, i sucked. i mean i really sucked. he ruined me. he made me put on gear to catch for chiristine rubik. i was so fucking scared i couldnt even throw the ball back. what's that movie? major league? the catcher that had to think of playboy bunnies in order to get the ball back to the pitcher. yea, that didn't work either. in warm-ups i looked like a chicken, a pink one, something ridiculous. i hit jenny rounds in the back of the head with a very very very bad throw to third base. he made a fool out of me. for three innings. then he laughed. i want to murder Mr. Dillon.

why, why why do i do these things to myself. god, my high school and most people in it would be ash right now if i learned the lesson earlier. my nickname in australia was murder. Murder. yes, i look that happy. what the hell is wrong with me.

im a terrible friend. im in this for myself i think, since i cant contribute anything else.
im sorry johnny, i didn't know it was happening. i didn't mean to be so drunk. i didn't mean to arouse a hug when you're the one that needed one.
im sorry steve, i didnt mean to wake up the neighborhood. i didnt mean to call you a liar. im sorry you have to look at me everyday.
im sorry amy and amanda and neely and cat.
im sorry jamie. i morphed into every man i hate.
and to the rest of you, im sorry. I'm sorry you have to be on the receiving end of my loud mouth.

im going back to bed.

the horror, that horror

just a few moments ago...

main window: The Desert Eagle
second tab: Jabberwocky
Google search bar: menopause

put them in whatever order you like. obscurity bleeds just the same.

on the replay. Va bene!

He knows how to blow things up.

I find this an admirable quality in a man. Damion would rave at me about exhaust pipes and batteries and the neighbor's M3 - the black one with the license plate that said "hers". Yea, sure. He would pace like his green beret father then squat on his desk chair typing in hysteria, pulling up formulas that i saw in 8th grade chemistry when i lit my hand on fire with a pack of matches while trying to light a bunsen burner. If he were there then he would have explained that too.

Gas knows how to blow things up and Gas is a chain smoker. A diagonal line at the pump only means half price to Gas.

My father knows how to blow things up, but he only reacts with one thing and thats the bitch. The bitch doesn't know shit about chemical equations but she knows about physics. She knows that she has three inches of skid room before she hits the wall when thrown from the top step. She knows that shit happens though and i guess you could call that a chemical equation.

I know you can't put foil in the microwave, that magnesium makes bright lights, and that i am a buffer for boys.
I know that bleach can be ingested in small doses, that meth is a popular cooking channel and that my brain and i enjoy a good firefight.
I prefer small bic lighters, she prefers nuclear weapons.

at the end of three days past

Toad King speaking something sounding like too toffe stoped and asked the well wisher
"where would you be right now if you could be anywhere?"

the well wisher had thoughts, but never answered. This is what the well wisher thought:

father wisher wrapping her in blankets before she went to bed. the last things she said was hehehe before she drifted off to sleep.
the womb.
the beach. which one? she doesnt know. thats not good enough. the beach. please. makes her want to say everywhere.

but these are the things she decided on after the Toad King stepped down from the throne and passed the throne down to the 6th generation never removed:

on the back of a swan.
creamsicle pond.

and thats all she thought. no trees. no monkeys. no sky no sounds no sun. but there would be light because all she can think about is the color.

Somewhere a Triangle in a Square

this is my third attempt at learning.

jesus, its not hard. All the information is right there, that's the way it is. What's wrong with you?

my mind just...goes away.
It's not like i am thinking about anything
more important
or more interesting
its just that where it goes
i follow.

i become this little pudgy baby
sitting on my bottom in the green grass
sucking my thumb and watching it
flutter overhead like a pretty butterfly.
weee, pretty butterfly.

see, you see that don't you?

and after 20 40 60 years of those pictures
i snap out of it and realize
what's wrong with you?
you're supposed to be here...

with this book in your lap
that you're supposed to finish
and think about in that critical manner,
but i dont ever get that far
before i start thinking in that useless manner.

how about a baby in my lap
looking up at ME
squat and saying
"Yo Ma, what the fuck?"
but by that time
the baby is blue.

think of trainspotting.
see, you see that too don't you?

forget the needles. just give me three words, half a page
a window. a floor.
the man that keeps walking back and forth.
a map of the piano and little B.
the things that come out of a center of a tree.
back and forth split screen lives interacts.

i had a girl last year
and i told her, coming the closest i could
that it makes me cry to think
no one is ever going to see this but me.

she ended up yelling at me.

unfortunately it seems
its not the way it is.