Reality is an even scarier thing than shit-covered death.

That's why, lately, I've been doing drugs.

I used to worry that after I had sex I wouldn't feel anything. I was afraid that I would lose my soul, that I would lose all sense of identity and become nothing more than an empty shell. Having since survived several sexual relationships I have found the opposite to be true. As I get older, my consciousness continues to grow, and with it the capacity to experience emotions on a wider scale than I ever thought possible. Maybe that's why old people don't talk too much, and when they do, it's usually about nothing. Maybe it's because only the interesting die young.

At times it seems that my grip on reality is tenuous at best, that the anchors which usually weigh me somewhat securely to my place in the space-time continuum are cast hopelessly adrift. My friends, my family, my city, my apartment, my bedroom, my clothes, my hands, my feet, my entire body...I feel so utterly disconnected from all of them. I exist only as pure consciousness and am forced to see everything around me as it truly is: ephemeral, temporary, utterly fragile. In ten thousand years everything I've ever loved or hated will have been utterly annihilated by the hideous, meticulous passage of time. I'm not sure if this is what inspired

my new poem.

When I was younger I was always intrigued by people who exuded intelligence and capability without saying much. I aspired to be like them, radiating the same sense of quiet, sanguine wisdom.

Right now I don't feel like talking much, that's for sure. But I probably still do. I think I get it from my dad:

Dude, I don't get it? Is Kate going out with Dominic still? Are you going out with Annavelle again? What the hell is going on?

I was doing my laundry when another neighbor in my apartments left a note saying "come by apt 153 when you are done, thanks". So after I changed my laundry, I go to the next apartment over and a woman opens the door wearing a bikini (probably because all her clothes were dirty). I was shocked to see this neighbor of mine wearing what is basically her underwear. She smiled warmly and I realized my attraction to her. This attraction was not "good" since I am getting married soon.

I thought about this for a while because I love my girlfriend a lot and yet my thoughts betray me. My belief is it is not unnatural to find other women attractive, but love is much more than just attraction. I am attracted to my girlfriend, but she is not the only attractive woman in the world. I have a strong connection with my girlfriend, however, that is much harder to find than simple beauty. After thinking it through, I am not threatened by committment to her because I love who she is as well as finding her attractive. All and all, I think I just wish my girlfriend wore bikinis.

The gig at Club Xanth was kind of pointless. We only got to play for a half hour and our people had to pay eight (8) whole dawllers to see us. Knowing our few bastard unloyal fans we'll be lucky if anybody shows up at our next show. We didn't have much of a chance to expand our fanbase either: when each band set up their friends came in, watched them play, clapped, and then left as soon as the band stopped playing. All this on a Friday night... I'm just glad for the friends who did come to our show. I am eternally grateful to all (yes even you Dominic) and if any of you would like me to put your picture up on the website, I will.

About a week and a half ago I realized that the one great goal of my life is to make something of myself in a relationship. All else comes naturally for me, all else comes easily. In all other things the next step is always there, right in front of me. Only after privately and pathetically fiending for every woman I saw, after masturbating four (4) times a day to bad pornography, only after weeks of melancholic despair did it finally dawn on me that my heart was broken by my break-up with Annavelle.

Thank goodness she didn't stop loving me.

I was sitting in my ethnomusicology class today watching a video about Japanese court music when I suddenly and quite unexpectedly heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching didgeridoo. All heads turned and looked out of the window in time to see my dear friend Bob bark at something from the second story balcony of the music building. He was with two other guys and one of them had the didgeridoo. They laughed and moved on, leaving my classmates stunned and confused. Luckily no one saw or heard me snickering in my seat at the back of the classroom.

Hoo boy, now we've got a commenting system courtesy of blogKomm. This should catapult our site to the very PINNACLES of success.

Homeric Genius

"Twenty dollars! I wanted a peanut. 'Wait! Twenty dollars can buy many peanuts!' Explain. 'Money can be exchanged for goods and services.' Woo-hoo!"

For some reason I rewrote the lyrics to "Lonely Cheese." Tom's are much better.

Lonely Me

Worthless, lament my own life.
It's not that I'd ever fight back.

Sometimes I find a modicum
of strength and will, and yet I feel

I wish I had the capacity
to stand up tall; to ignore the falls.
I'd have a philanthropical attitude to all
The only thing stopping me is my own internal hatred.

I can't let go of these psychopathic thoughts
they tear at me. I can't see with blind, blood-red eyes.
Wake up, sleep deprived, crying in my head,
"Yes sir. No sir. Please beat me 'til I'm dead."
Stygian mind, desolate; no response.
Fear coagulates, spews from my eyes.
My stench offends their pedicured lives.
"It was a dream. It is a dream? Where am I."

Nietzsche was lying: good and bad
search for truth; insanity.
It is inside us and all around
but still I find from time to time