So I was at the beach a few nights ago. I made up my mind a few weeks ago to visit one of my favorite beaches before I go so I could say some goodbyes to my hometown. Not that I'm never gonna come back, it just might be a while before I live here again, if ever. I went to the tidepools at La Jolla and watched the sky and the waves breaking over the rocks. I wasn't feeling too good as I drove there but as soon as I parked my bike and started walking to the beach I couldn't stop smiling. The wind was blowing and it was cold, but I looked up into that black sky and felt completely free. I guess that's why I'm leaving. I stared out into the blackness for a while and thought about my family and my friends and the people I care about. I thought about how all my relationships are in my head and I'll always have them with me because of that. I felt connected to everything. I felt absolutely insignificant, and that made me feel good. I felt like a god and that made me smile too.

Eventually I got too cold and went to a coffeeshop for some tea. I just happened to bring my Walt Whitman reader with me that day. I've been skipping around as I read it, and imagine my surprise when I opened it up to this poem:

"On The Beach At Night Alone"

On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the
clef of the universes and of the future.

A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
All distances of place however wide,
All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
All indentities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,
All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd,
And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.

I don't believe in magic or mystical coincidences or anything like that, but I'll say this: after seeing what I saw and reading those words, I'm ready. I'm free. Beyond any contraints, be they emotional, monetary, governmental, or whatever... I'm ready.

Satan: How'd it go?

Tom: Pretty good. I talked to my sister beforehand and she reminded me that I've dealt with people being flaky on me in the past, not calling when they're supposed to and not being somewhere when they say they're gonna be, and I'm worried about repeating history you know? I told her Tiff has similar issues with people trying to control her.

Satan: You're not the controlling type.

Tom: I know and it seems like we just weren't understanding each other.

Satan: So it's all good.

Tom: I think so...I mean yeah, I know it is, I just feel kinda shaky you know? I hate fighting with people I love. I don't want her to hate me for making a stink but it was important, you know?

Satan: Yeah yeah yeah. So what are you gonna do when you get there?

Tom: Four-fingered surprise, day and night baby!

Satan: Ooooh, what's THAT?

Tom: Hahahahahahaha...

Satan: Tell me tell me!

Tom: Shut up you demonic little bitch.

Tom: This morning I was thinking about going into therapy.

Satan: Why would you need therapy when you have me for a confidant? Me, a figment of your imagination that you personify with a Biblical name that stands for everything evil, unwholesome, and destructive in the universe. I'm genuinely hurt.

Tom: Fuck you, bitch. I'm all jacked up over a woman.

Satan: Can't get that shit on lockdown?

Tom: Honestly, I don't know what my fuckin' problem is anymore. Monday morning she sent me a few emails saying she was worried about money and then I started worrying too. She said she was gonna call me at 7 that night. I figured I'd be okay until then but I was still worried as fuck. She was tired and fell asleep and didn't call me until like 1 in the morning. By that time I had already left in a huff, gone to the beach and wept harder than I have in years, came back, and went to bed sad and angry.

Satan: Jesus fucking Christ man, you cried over that?

Tom: No. I'm leaving for Austin on Sunday and I've been planning on going to one of my favorite beaches before I leave so I can say some goodbyes, you know real spiritual shit like that. I went to La Jolla and the waves breaking underneath the black sky were too much. I've been going to that beach since I was a child and I started getting hit with all sorts of images of my family: my mom picking up seashells, my dad and I playing in the surf, stuff like that. I know how much my parents mean to me and in the past two years or so I've been coming to grips with the fact that I'm not going to have them one day. I'm okay with it but goddamn it was overwhelming. Then I thought of my pregnant sister, who I love just as much. This whole "circle of life" thing completed itself in my head and it was as overwhelming as getting run over by a fuckin freight train. I'm glad it was dark out so no one could see me crying.

Satan: So...maybe this isn't all about Tiffany?

Tom: Maybe not. Two people have posited the notion that maybe I am still stressed out from finals, which aren't over yet.

Satan: But they're almost over right? Why do you need therapy?

Tom: Yesterday morning Tiffany and I talked and it was all good. She sent me an email later asking me what time I was gonna be home so she could call me. I told her and made plans to be around when she called. I was on my way home and decided to check my email on a whim. She had sent me another email telling me that she wouldn't be able to call me until later because she was going to see Punk and Porn. If I hadn't have checked my email on a whim I would have been waiting again and gotten very, very upset. Instead of getting upset about it, I sent her an email asking if we could set up a time that's convenient for both of us to talk so I'm not waiting around going nuts and she's not feeling like a bad girlfriend because she doesn't have a phone.

Satan: And?

Tom: She called me and was upset about the email. She says she tries really hard to call me and she doesn't have a phone and when we first hooked up she TOLD me that she needs someone who can keep up with her busy life. I just want to stop feeling the way I have been for the past 3 days and I was asking for her help. Instead I feel like I got attitude and misunderstanding. I went to bed absolutely livid.

Satan: What are you gonna do?

Tom: I don't know. She said she'd call me at two today. I'm afraid to say anything about it.

Satan: Okay, okay, hold on here. You're REALLY tweaked about this whole thing. You've already said it might not all be about the phone situation...

Tom: Yeah. I'm really fuckin afraid and insecure in relationships.

Satan: Well, fuck man...aren't we all?

Tom: I don't fuckin' know. I ain't you.

Satan: So how do you feel about her right now?

Tom: I love her. I miss her and I think it's coming out in fucked up ways. Last night I was almost mad enough to punch a hole in the fucking wall, but I would have given anything to talk to her for five more minutes. Right now I'm at work and I've been checking my email every 5 minutes to see if she's sent something. Every time the phone rings I look to see if it's her number. I'm driving myself nuts.

Satan: Relax.

Tom: Huh, easy for you to say.

Satan: Oh yeah Tom, I'm not really you. Fuck you.

Tom: No fuck you.

Satan: Look man...

Tom: Hey, I TOLD her I have baggage too, but NOOOOOO, she didn't believe me... "Oh you're PERFECT Tom, you're so handsome and sweet." Maybe baby, but I gotta tell you...

Satan: No buts. Just quit being a shithead right now.

Tom: That's the tragedy. I'm not trying to be a shithead.

Satan: Look this is getting really sad. Will you just give yourself AND your poor girlfriend a break?

Tom:

Satan: Oh hell.

Tom:

Satan:

Tom:

Satan: Well?

Tom: Well what?

Satan: Oh screw you man, I'm outta here. Gonna go listen to my new Bill Hicks CD. FUCK YOU.

Tom: Fine. I got plenty to do here. I'm totally okay now. I feel great. I can totally resist the urge to check my email every five minutes. Screw you.

Tom: Hi.

Satan: Hello.

Tom: I've been away a while.

Satan: Yeah.

Tom: I'd like to think you've been missing me.

Satan: Sure. What do you want?

Tom: I've been kinda apprehensive the past few days.

Satan: Having second thoughts about dropping everything and moving to Austin, eh?

Tom: Well, no. I think I'm at a place I always get to when I really want someone. I feel helpless and childish and bitchy.

Satan: Sounds like it's really hard for you to give yourself to someone. Don't do it if you're not sure.

Tom: I'm sure I want to do this. Can't I worry about it too?

Satan: What do you worry about? Don't you think Tiffany loves you?

Tom: I think Tiffany loves me. But I listen to a lot of classical music. Is that gonna be okay? Jesus Christ, why do I get like this?

Satan: Get like what?

Tom: I JUST TOLD YOU, FUCKER.

Satan: Ah.

Tom: WHAT?

Satan: I said, "Ah," as in, "I see."

Tom: Goddammit you better fucking tell me RIGHT NOW...

Satan: Can't do it. That's the point. I can't tell you, so I'm not going to. You'll find out on your own. Don't worry too much, okay?

Tom: You simple, smug, motherfucking bastard. I'll cut you motherfucker, I'LL FUCKING BURN YOU!

Satan: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Tom: I hate you.

Satan: What's up?

Tom: Seems like it started out with us making mix CDs for each other. Listening to music, going places, talking a lot. Somewhere, somehow, the focus shifted. She needed me to eat dinner with her parents more. She couldn't always be there for me to talk to.

Satan: And so?

Tom: I'm a little bummed out on relationships right now, but I don't wanna sound bitter or whiney or vindictive.

Satan: Okay.

Tom: No sage advice?

Satan: I don't know...maybe she wanted different things.

Tom: I think everyone wants the same things and has different ways of getting it.

Satan: Maybe.

Tom: You're not helping...

Satan: What do you want?

Tom: No pressure.

Satan: Granted.

In the last few years, especially since he moved to North Carolina, my Dad has been practicing what I call "the politics of annoyance". He says some pretty outrageous stuff and I think it's mostly to get a rise out of people. Here's a recent transmission:

Me:
My god dad, do you dream about politics at night?

Tom Senior:
No my excitable young son, only during my thrice daily naps and those occasional lapses of consciousness that are the byproduct of my hyper-vigilence. Plus, I have ample time to think.........think and plan......plan and think......always watchful...........waiting and watching....watching and waiting........it's when you let your guard down that they worm their way into your unconscious mind.....boring......deeper and deeper....until one day you awake to find yourself a member of The Young Republicans or The Democratic Youth Council..........unfortunately, by that time, it is too late....far too late.... heeh heeehhhh....but let them try their chicanery, they can't find me here.... I know their tricks....my aluminum foil beanie and the booby traps in the front yard are the only thing between my free will and their tireless efforts to turn me to the Dark Side.......when Nader takes office in November, I've been promised a prominent position in the Ministry of Kickin' It Old Skool. After I assume my position in Nader's cabinet, I will, at that time, go by my astral name, LorTab the Mellow. I guess I just care...maybe too damn much.....maybe not at all.....time for a nap.

Love,
Dad

P.S. You haven't told anyone of my whereabouts have you????.....HAVE YOU?????

Tom: Hey, I'm worried about being an alcoholic.

Satan: Yeah?

Tom: I drink and smoke a lot, almost everyday.

Satan: Why?

Tom: I'm not sure. I think life is kinda boring right now.

Satan: So you're not having trouble keeping up with things?

Tom: No. I mean, that's one of the classic signs of addiction isn't it? I think I'm just bored and dissatisfied with the day to day state of things. On top of that, I can complete my daily tasks with half my brain tied behind my back. There's no reason to be sober. That's why I dont have any problems drinking at work. Or before I'm at work. And after.

Satan: Wow. You'd better do something.

Tom: What the fuck am I supposed to do? School isn't back in for another 2 months, I don't have the money for summer school, and to go anywhere or do anything interesting I'd have to use my France money.

Satan: Shit man, I don't know. Read a book. Volunteer somewhere.

Tom: Okay.

Satie and Maupassant make me feel a little better about writing. Not because I want to emulate their work, not because I want to be like them. Satie wrote a lot of short pieces. Maupassant wrote a lot of short stories. Sometimes really short stories, a few pages long. Satie wrote piano pieces that are twenty, thirty seconds long.

I like my ideas; they push me to write them down before any thoughts of publishing or selling or adulation enter my head. But they usually sputter out after a few pages (or lines) and I always think I should add more, if for no other reason than to finish the thought. But usually the thought is finished. I’ve said what I wanted to say, I just have a hard time shaking the feeling that I owe posterity something more “literary”.

Asking to kiss

Stalkers don't make sense to me. I don't mean the insane ones that wanna kill Jodie Foster's dog or whatever. I mean the stalker guys that almost every girl seems to date at least once. The one who won't let go. The one who shows up to your work. Even the guys at bars who don't leave you alone. Women have the stalker quality to a certain degree but I think the way this society is, it's really up to the males to make total asses of themselves.

But some of us guys don't have to worry about that do we? Sooner or later some chick is gonna come along and utter the magic phrase, "Yeah, okay." What we do then is all a matter of guts and style. Guts because it takes some balls to put yourself on the line, style because you don't wanna make an ass of yourself doing it. And unfortunately it has traditionally fallen to men to make the first move. So...I ask first.

I ask before I kiss someone. Bob thought it was kinda stupid and for a while I did too. Now I'm pretty sure it's the right thing to do, a lot of the time. Why not? Is it dorky? Does it kill the mood? Fuck no. I don't think so. I'll ask the devil.

Tom: Hey Satan?

Satan: Yeah?

Tom: Is it wrong to ask a woman to kiss you?

Satan: Who, like your mom or just some random stranger?

Tom: Well I was thinking more along the lines of someone you're on a date with. I think that, if you've been paying any attention at all, after a few hours you can tell if she wants to make out.

Satan: Well shit yeah. If she doesn't no sense convincing yourself she does. You gotta leave a little room for her to chase you too. But you'll know if the vibe is there. If you've got you're arm around her, hand in her...

Tom: But would it be okay to ask?

Satan: I don't think there's any 100% fool-proof way to do it. I mean after all you are invading someone's space, and that first one is kinda tough sometimes, so I'd say yeah go ahead and ask if you feel like it. If the chick is really cool it ain't gonna matter anyways.

Tom: What would you do?

Satan: Come on bitch, you know the muthafuckin' Lord of the Underworld ain't gotta ask for shit.

Tom: You know with Jesus being all the rage now, I can see an inevitable backlash in the making and you need to be there to capitalize on it. I already have your tagline.

Satan: What is it! What is it!

Tom: "What Would Satan Do?"

Satan: You make me proud, my son.

Tom: "Lord of the Underworld ain't gotta ask for shit!"

Satan: Enough.

Thoughtcrime in the making
or
Observations, year 25

The advance of technology does not, ultimately, make us any freer. Perhaps that's the Great Fallacy of the Information Age. We think, we assume technology gives us more freedom, allows us to work less, and gives us greater, easier access to information... In short, it makes us happier than we were before. And maybe, for a short time, each new technological advance does indeed makes us happier. To me, the clearest example of this is the internet.

It's a major technological advance that has changed many facets of our lives, and unlike television or gunpowder or the wheel I've seen its development in my own time. And I'm glad to know something about it. I'll have stories to tell my children about the lawless days of software piracy, when you could download almost anything you wanted, if it was popular enough. It seemed like we were on the brink of making a really cool, needed advance in how we think of art in general and music in particular. What is music? How should we compensate artists? Should you be able to download music at will? What about copyright infringement? Do multi-billion dollar companies and platinum selling "artists" really need billions more? Do most struggling musicians care whether anyone dowloads their tunes? Is music or any other art a commodity to be bought and sold? Maybe it's just me wondering these things...wait, I know it's not. I try to avoid considering anything I do a commodity. To me this is acceptance of slave morality. I know I must work to earn money to buy food. That doesn't mean I'm going to accept someone else's price tag on my piece of shit concerto. Not realistic? "That sounds good...you could join a cover band. Write radio jingles." That to me is unrealistic. Art does not equal money.

This is the way the world was set up when I entered it. That doesn't mean it's the right way to do things. The idea of discussing figures is distasteful to me. And I don't think that has anything to do with the "market value" of anything I've done. I think most of my heros are of like mind. But how does one eat and still commit art?

Well, the rulers, elite, powermongers, what have you, have answered all of the above questions for us. They always seem to step in and take over new technology and use it for their own means, in whatever way they see fit. They always have. And why shouldn't they? They have the money to buy it, to pay for the research. And this is what I see happening to the internet. Two people used to be able to exchange their favorite songs online. Now that is illegal. Maybe it was always illegal, but it was never enforced. It's only gotten more illegal, and it's only going to get more illegal. Instead of a freeflowing exchange of ideas and art, the internet has become another shopping mall.

As computers begin to ressemble the human brain in both physical appearance and cognitive functioning, it will become necessary for the powers that be, the elite, etc., in order to maintain control and keep the royalties coming, to police our thoughts.

The only solution, as I see it, is the creation of an autonomous state out of reach of their reach. I don't know how to do this yet, so I'm going to go live in France. I have no hopes that things are going to be much better over there, but Europeans seem to have much better memories of social events, and they seem to get wise to the schemes of government a lot quicker than Americans do. I'm hoping to find an intelligent cynicism with the scent of roquefort.

A word on computers ressembling the human brain-

The human brain is the most powerful computing system yet known. I have a hunch/fantasy that one day programmers will look at the brain as a model to be emulated. As such, computers will become more "intelligent" than ever before. As the human brain is wet, squishy, and grey, I also have a hunch/fantasy that inorder to proceed with the development of the computer-as-modeled-after-the-human-brain, programmers will find it necessary to keep the computer moist, squishy and grey, for some reason...I don't fuckin' know.

Tom: I think I've entered into my existentialist phase.

Satan: Don't be absurd...

Tom: Existence is absurd. Pain is absurd. Without some synthetic concept of "god", these things don't mean anything. You are absurd. I am absurd. Freedom and responsibility are the source of man's dread.

Satan: Is that it?

Tom: It just feels right, okay?

Satan Which part in particular?

Tom: Existence preceding essence.

Satan: You really hate it when people tell you how to behave, don't you? Even if it's God.

Tom: I try to pattern my existence after those who seem truly vital. People who constantly learn and question things probably won't have the time or inclination to take an interest in MY sordid affairs, much less tell me how to conduct them. I hate criticism, especially of the "constructive" variety. At this point, God is kind of useless.

Satan: Say something in French.

Tom: L'être et le néant.

Satan: John Cage.

Tom: What?

Satan: "I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry."

Tom: Ohhhh, touché...you cocksucker.

Satan: Don't get personal, ass. What about that feminist thingy you wrote down today?

Tom: Oh yeah. I found out that a "feminine" cadence is one that ends on a "weak" beat. I admit that if I was a woman this would probably annoy the shit out of me just because it equates feminine with weak. However I'm not a woman. I am a man, and I don't like being told what to think, especially in a sneaky way like this. To me this woman-weak man-strong bullshit is the height of Aristotelian is/isn't subjectivity. It's fallacy all the way.

Satan: Surely you stated that a bit more eloquently in your notes.

Tom: You be the judge:

March 2004

The doctrine of partriarchal hierarchy /domination handed down to us represses men and women equally. It heards the male population towards the belief that women are weaker than men in all things. Males who oppose this doctrine have their manhood as well as their sanity called into question by its adherents, male and female. In accepting the doctrine of male superiority, as in donning a pair of someone else's glasses, a man's perception becomes blurred by the subjective notion that women are "weak" and men are "strong". When a man or a woman tries to force their observations into this constrained box, fallacies abound and insanity is assured.

Satan: Interesting, but do you think anyone will buy it?

Tom: I don't care, and I don't have to.

I lost a lot of money in Las Vegas. Happy Birthday Leah!

I would like to invite everyone to join me in celebrating the music of Daniel Rodriguez. He's an ex-cop who got famous singing patriotic songs in the wake of 9/11. My favorite album so far is "The Spirit of America". Lee Greenwood eat your heart out.

I wanted to invite everyone to come join Cheryl and I in Portland, Oregon. We have found it extremely difficult to find suitable housing in San Diego, a city we both love and hate. We grew up here too, we both have family here, we both have jobs and friends here. We can find new jobs, we can make new friends, but honestly the entire thing would suck if we left all of you guys behind.

With the projected future of San Diego, along with most of California, few if any of us will be able to afford a life here. We work to the bone to pay our rent/mortgage, we live next door to homophobic hippy baby-boomers who have children in college and fear going to Hillcrest, we live in a city where police are notorious for killing people, we live in a city where everyone is getting very very old, where young people are moving to Temecula, Hemet, or Arizona to start a family. We live in a place with the highest gasoline prices, electricity costs, water costs, state tax, sales tax, and most importantly cigarette tax. We live in a place where our ocean is constantly polluted from rivers and poor sanitation, our air is filled with smog from LA, Tijuana, and San Diego combined, and these problems made worse by the recent fires that swept through the few areas of town where we would ever afford housing.

Cheryl and I, with our full time jobs and masters in our fields, can afford a $350,000 home. The median house price in SD is $450,000. The market shows no sign of slowing down in the next few years either. We can afford a 2BR condo in a decent area (Penesquitos, Poway), but not a house. After looking in Portland, Cheryl and I could afford a big house in one of the nicest areas of town. So could you.

Portland has a population of 500k in the city and 1.5 million in the outskirts. It's not that much smaller than SD. It rains more. It's colder. The ocean is colder and further away. It's not as nice as San Diego. Few places are. I know we all have an attachment to this city and leaving it won't be easy. All I ask is that you think about joining us and check it out.

It was a vicious, unprovoked attack.

Well, maybe not unprovoked. Or vicious. I was drunk and I spilled a drink at Victor's house. That is my heinous crime. I am, as I was then, unimpressed. I didn't mean to do it. Other people got up to clean it, so I sat back down. And got punched in the leg. It was weird. I still think it's funny how scared and upset everyone got over a spilled drink. Everyone but Ray. He didn't even get off the couch. If more people could be like Ray the world would be a kinder place.

Bob said to me last night, "Yeah, but you weren't even gonna clean it up." Maybe I wasn't. Maybe I enjoy fucking people over. In your face Victor. That's what you get for being cool. Yeah.

Last week Ray spilled something on my carpet. He didn't mean to do it. I didn't mind. I cleaned it up for him. Quid pro quo.

Then there was Saturday night. We were going to the AMC theater in Mission Valley. Dominic got mad at me. He yelled at me. Made me feel dumb. In front of people. He was freaking out. He was scared. It's happened before. Does he have a problem? I don't know. What did I do? I tried to help. At first. Then I started taunting him. Maybe that wasn't the right thing to do. I'm sorry. At first he seemed to know where he was going, then he asked for directions. I started guiding him along the route I would have taken. Shortly after that things went wrong, tragically wrong.

Why do people who know me well ask me for directions? I usually fly by the seat of my pants no matter where I'm going. The journey is more important than the destination. I think Dom thought I was trying to trick him. Why would I do that? We had 10 minutes to get to the movie, a movie I really wanted to see, a movie that I got everyone together to go see. Maybe instead of asking me for directions he should have asked me for moral support. I can give that.

Why I Fucking Hate People

I was already kind of annoyed by the fact that I had to go to work today. Like Aaron said, it's quite difficult to concentrate. But the attitudes of many of the customers that I was forced to be nice to threatened to overwhelm me at times.

While I was worrying whether or not my friend in Ramona was okay, a woman angrily shoved her drink in my face. "There's no whipped cream," she snipped. Ordinarily, I would take her drink and say something like, "I'm sorry. I was not aware that you wanted whipped cream, but it's no problem to put some on there for you." Today however, the conversation was slightly different.

"You're right," I said, "Caramel Macchiatos don't come with whipped cream. If you wanted whipped cream, perhaps you should have asked for it." Yes, folks. That is not an example of legendary service, and I don't fucking care. The whole goddamn county's on fire and this dumb cunt is complaining about something that's not on her drink, that's not even supposed to be on her drink.

The night was full of wonderfully pathetic people pretending that nothing was wrong. It was fun to imagine the screams of terror emanating from the mouths of these stupid sheep when they found out that there was a fire next to their ugly houses. But as long as it was only other people crying and dying, they didn't have to worry about it.

The highlight of the evening, however, came when I was not there (I was at lunch). And I'm actually quite glad that I was not there. Apparently some asshole came into the store and told my shift supervisor that he was very angry because two of the stores he went to in RB were closed. The shift tried to explain to him that the fires that had raged through neighboring communities only just yesterday were probably drastically affecting many of the people that worked at those stores. He explained that this was not an acceptable reason to close down a coffee shop. His brilliant solution to the problem, as the shift told me, was to "fly people down from Washington." This "solution" baffled me, and so I asked the shift supervisor what she thought he meant. She too was as confused as I, and so we tried to rationalize this man's thought process:

Okay, so we somehow find some people in Washington that don't mind entering a disaster area to work at a coffee shop. We pay for them to fly down. We pay for them to stay in a hotel. We pay for them to work, and we pay them even more to work since they are toiling in hazardous conditions. Then we pay to fly them back to their homes in Washington. What the fuck...are people really this stupid.

As I already mentioned, I am glad that I was not there. Had I been there it would have been rather difficult not to shout: "Hey dipshit! Have you looked around you lately? Have you noticed the brown air that you're breathing? Have you seen the scorched earth throughout San Diego County? Have you heard about the 200,000+ acres that have burned? Have you heard about the 600+ homeless families? Are you the stupidest man alive? Did you know that you could go to 7-11 for coffee? Are you intelligent enough to operate a coffee machine? Perhaps you just weren't aware that, nowadays, we can make coffee in our very own homes. That is, those of us who have homes. So why don't you take your dumb ass the fuck out of here before I light you on fire and call the local news station."

Meeting people like that truly makes me think that, if a large percentage of the world died and evaporated, the rest of us could have a happy little time on this planet.

It seems God has smiled on me and my loved ones, all my friends, almost everyone I know. The fires around town have blackened the sky so dark that I can't see the sun. The air so bad that I am short of breath, even as a smoker it is affecting me. I'm leaving work now because I have trouble focusing, although after the last few days I don't know why I should be expected to.

This girl I work with but don't know very well is apparently sleeping with a married man that I have worked with. From what I understand, everyday this girl and the married man sneak off at lunch to have sex. Also, apparently, this girl routinely gives this guy blowjobs at his cubicle every morning.

I recently checked a medical website that the average ejaculation is between 3-6 milliliters of manjuice. Now these two have been going at it for a year, so doing the math if she gives him three blowjobs a week times 50 weeks, that's 150 blowjobs. That equals about a half a liter of cum that this girl has swallowed this last year alone.

I love math.

Cheryl and I had a long discussion last night over why Tom and I fight so much. I proposed that Tom often starts by making some snide comment about me and I just respond. Tom then responds and we just keep going on and on. But this can't be true because I'm sure I do the same thing.

Cheryl proposed that Tom and I are so competitive that we often look at the negatives of each other's lives rather than encouraging all the positives. I don't think that's true either because Tom and I have often times spoken seriously and done just that to each other. It's only when we're bantering that we make such competitive comments like "My sister would never date you, Aaron" or "That's ok, I can just buy your sister with all my money" that we start angering each other.

In all honesty, constantly fighting with Tom is rather tiring and sad because in the end I think it keeps us at a distance from each other. Despite this, I think we just like pushing each other's buttons and regardless of long-term effects, and I don't see anything ever really changing.

So the Patriot act is in full effect and we here have changed many forms here in the mailroom, many forms. But this is the funny part this is how our company defines it...

The USA Patriot Act, which stands for Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism, was enacted to prevent money laundering and stem the flow of financing to terrorist organizations through the financial services industry.

Soooo this thing was about MONEY LAUNDERING??? WTF? You can now be jailed with no notice and held without being charged and it is about money laundering and the financial services industry?
And why the fuck is this another acronym? Which flag waiving act started this manditory use of fake military terminology for everything? I can see G Dubbya there in his treehouse sucking on a popsicle saying "Ok guys new rule: everything this government comes up with to solve any problem MUST be a hokey poorly thought out acronym or color coded code."
THEY CAME UP WITH AN ACRONYM FOR U.S.A! Jesus H Fuck, it already is one!!! What the hell does Schwarzenegger stand for?

On 9-28-03 Radiohead kicked my balls off.
That does it, Radiohead is now my true favorite band. The concert last night was proceeded by listening to 94/9's pre concert radiohead show in thick traffic. Then followed by Kate and I doing very heavy beer drinking at the trunk of the Volvo. Beer inside the show was $7.00, so we saved well over $400. We sat drunk, eating stale stone ground corn chips and cheese dip and occasionally I would leap away to pee on the vegitation in the expansive dirt parking lot. We missed Supergrass and stumbled in an hour late.
Radiohead took the stage and everyone stood up. They didn't sit down again for the whole show. I have never seen an entire concert crowd stay at its feet for a whole show, much less sway in perfect unison in an a truly shared moment of musical bliss as blue lights behind the band sofltly waved. I felt as if we were having the same collective thought if we were a giant backup chorus for the band as we all sang as one. Radiohead don't always play pretty music and are often paint a picture of a reality that is thoroghly depressing, which in fact it really is. The feeling last night was yes, we all feel that way and while we may never get over what ever it is that keeps us from a perfect and easy existence at least we know that others are there with you, chanting in unison "this is what you get...when you mess with us."
We exited the show en mass in what My friend Lee calles "group fantasy phase out" still thinking about the show experience yet not quite feeling the reality of a horrid traffic jam that awaited. We got to the car and Kate fell asleep in the passenger seat. I opened the trunk, got another beer and sat on the hood watching the sea of stationary tailights and sillouetted human figures in the dim light and dust. I offered beer to the guys stuck in the car next to me and we talked about the concert, kyaking and music in general for an hour. The ride home was surreal and a sence of overwhealming accomplishment came over me once we finally reached the freeway, as if I had personnally walked and conquered those many miles on foot. The whole way home in the back of my head was that chorus of fans, still endlessly chanting the last line from Karma Police "for a minute there, I lost myself...I lost myself." and I realized again how much I want to play music and how it makes me live and breathe and how deeply I want to feel exactly what I experienced last night again and again and again...but be on the other side of the stage, looking out, sparking it, controling it watching it as it all goes down.

Ray: No one here but us faggots.

Satan: ...

I walked into the bathroom at work. There was a row of urinals. A little green man sat wedged between the last urinal and the wall, masturbating. I was appalled.
"Jesus Fucking Christ!" I screamed. "What the hell are you doing?"
He smiled at me and, still pulling furiously at his little green penis, gave me the finger. I didn't know what else to do so I asked him his name. He flipped me off again and in a small, grunty voice said "Mescalito."
"What?" I asked, not quite hearing him.
"Fuck you!" he shouted, "Mescalito!"
With that he flipped me off once again. This time he held the gesture for a few moments, his hands bobbing up and down in an oddly syncopated rhythm. Sensing that I would get no more of an explanation from him, I left the restroom, made my way through a maze of cubicles, and sat down at my desk.

A few minutes later my boss arrived and began detailing a sales report that needed to be recalculated. It was difficult to seem interested. Mescalito suddenly appeared sitting on top of the cubicle wall directly behind my boss. If my boss sensed the little man she gave no indication as she rattled on, seemingly unaware of the green imp masturbating feverishly some ten feet away from her. I tried not to notice but the whole scene was so completely absurd that I couldn't help but snicker out loud. Each time I did Mescalito would give off a little grunt of satisfaction and flip me the bird, grinning ever more diabolically, pulling his pud with increasing speed. Fortunately he was so precariously balanced on the cubicle wall, little forest legs dangling over the side, that the force of his pleasure-pounding caused him to fall backwards. Soon after my boss finished telling me about the sales report, having noticed neither my barely contained laughter or its source.

I arrived home from work that day tired but in excellent high spirits, perhaps a result of the sheer unbelievability of the events I had witnessed. At the time I lived with my girlfriend Erica. She got home from work before I did and usually greeted me at the door. Today she was nowhere to be found. Not yet worried, I set my keys down and went to the kitchen for a glass of cranberry juice. Halfway through the glass I heard the unmistakable sound of squeaking bedsprings coming from the bedroom Erica and I shared. I dropped the glass mid-swallow and burst into the room. I was utterly shocked to find Mescalito fucking the shit out of my girlfriend.

A friend of mine emailed me and some of his friends that I know an article from Rolling Stone that ranked Hendrix as the greatest guitarist ever. I responded back "Well at least Clapton didn't win" because I don't care for Eric Clapton (he got 2nd place) and I think he's overrated, especially when compared to guys like Hendrix, Townsend, Page, Fripp, Gilmore, Zappa, Prince, and countless others. This was the response I got from one of the friends

"another jealous amateur, How many records/cd/albums have you made? What record company have you signed with? Oh that's right I forgot you are the music man!"

Somehow, people percieve me as an asshole.

You knew what you were doing
When he asked you, you said "ok"
You knew what he would do with the picture
But you didn't care
Maybe it was for money
But maybe it was because you wanted to,
And money had nothing to do with it
So you got down on your knees
And sucked his cock better than you ever have before
Because he was holding that camera
You wanted to look like a good whore
You wanted to earn that money
And you smiled for the camera
You may be somebody's daughter
But today you're the slut
In my porn folder
That I jerked off to
Thank you

Tom: Okay, so say me and Sade like, hook up. Do you think she'd watch porn with me?

Satan: I dunno, she doesn't really seem like the type.

Tom: I know. She'd probably think it's disgusting and exploits women.

Satan: But...you don't know that for sure. For all you know Sade could have a large collection of really good porn. She could afford it you know. Hell, she might even finance her own porno movies because she feels that they could be made better, more romantic AND intelligent. Hell, she might love nothing more than firing up a fat spliff, puttin' on some sweet hardcore XXX fuck flicks, and boning her favorite man till the morning sun comes up.

Tom: I...I...love her.

Satan: Yes my son.

I've always liked Sade. Unfortunately, my affection has recently crossed the line into near-obsession: I bought a Sade DVD, concert footage filmed on her last tour. I don't even own a DVD player. As such, I did the only thing I could think of- I sent in a prayer request to Peter Popoff. It went something like this:

Dear Rev. Popoff:

I am obsessed with the singer Sade. Lately I have been having impure thoughts about her everywhere I go: at work, at home, in my sister's room, etc. I don't know what to do. Her beauty and sensual voice have caused me to stray from God's path. I pray that with your help I can find it again.

Thank you,
Tom Amans

I'm really, really hoping for a response.

Today I pulled project lead aside and decided to make a point about my meager raise. I told him that I was brought onto this project to be a programmer, but that I was also coordinating the power outlets, rearranging the test area, and all sorts of other stuff that isn't part of my job but someone elses job who gets more money than me. Also, I wanted him to know that if I am successful, the other guy will get equal props as me and a pat on the back when I did the brunt of the work. Basically, I'm underpaid for a Master's student, underappreciated, and my work is trivialized while others get glorified.

After saying all this, it dawned on me... he really didn't give a shit.

I don't know if limericks are passe or not, but then again I really don't care. I wrote mine about HIGH SCHOOL.

I thought about high school today
what it took to make the grade.
Well things sure have changed
since school bells last clanged
and forced ME to sit well behaved

They cut the budget to start,
cut Music, Dance and then Art.
Home Ec got the chop,
they even cut Shop!
Saved cash, but are the kids smart?

High school is college prep now
You need ivy-league know how.
Just look at me
(a college degree)
but can't get a job in this town.

I feel so free, when did I lose sight?
I am happy to work ten hours a day
I love my wife and our future together
Finally everything is making sense

I knew what I wanted three years ago
A quiet life, working every day
A woman to share my day with
I had it for fourteen months

Two years of darkness came over our lives
Our weeks became long, stretching out forever
Even planning a marriage was a chore
But the worst was yet to come

A semester here, a second job there
My favorite band just broke up
I was too busy to masturbate
Both of us too tired to sooth each other

But now everything is winding down
Things are changing every day
Back to the way things were
I never want to go to school again

This morning my ex sent me an email
telling me that she's not going to talk to me anymore
it's too painful to be friends
so she's going to sever all ties
because she has some serious healing to do

I read the email at work
and later on that day
I took a break and went walking
walking through the hot summer air
it's funny how heat becomes a part of your existence
like a person following you around, all the time, always there
but anyways-

I was headed back to work when I passed a row of trees
They were tall and relatively thin
their branches were covered in small leaves
that were green on one side
and dull-gray-brownish green on the other
as I walked by the wind picked up
the branches on the trees gently swayed
and the leaves began to spin, twisting around
the trees were close enough together to form one continuous stretch of leaves
it reminded me of snowy static on television
that moved in time with the wind

and I thought to myself
if I hadn't broken up with her
I might not have seen that
I wonder what else I've been missing

I think I've been spending too much time on literotica. It's only a matter of time before I submit something. Thank you Tony, you opened up a whole new world for me.

So, who here is voting for McBaine for Governor? How about Gary Coleman? Did Gallagher get all his signatures in on time? Will Larry Flynt be able to get a state budget passed and will he change our state flag to have that beaver in the center? WHO WILL LEAD US? I think we need to come to terms with California holding the official title of being the stupidest state ever. I can't wait to hear the campaign slogans. The Governator. What choo talkin bout energy crisis? Smashed, and sinking! Ask not what your state can do for you, but who in the state you can do.
Taxpayers unite! Vote now before Fox makes it all into a reality show called Joe Governor.

All things must pass
Sometimes life is not lived in the present
Things will always be better in the future
For no one knows what the future is
Poor servants excuse their pitiful lives
In the hope their death will finally bring them happines
Sitting on the right side of God
Watching their king feel the pain they know so well
The first will be last and the last will be first
But that's all bullshit
Live is lived in each passing moment
Your life is only what you make of it
A wealthy man can be poor
A strong man can be weak
A smart man can be stupid
We must deal with only what we choose to accept
Our limitations are only self-imposed
Our lives are lived in the present
Tomorrow is just an excuse

Why isn't the website up? Here's why the website isn't up:


From: "Host Department"
To: "Tom"
Subject: Transcript of your chat
Date: Tue, 5 Aug 2003 20:08:28 -0400


The following is a record of your online chat.
General Info
Chat start time Aug 5, 2003 7:39:00 PM EST
Chat end time Aug 5, 2003 8:06:26 PM EST
Duration (actual chatting time) 00:27:26
Operator David

Chat Transcript
info: While waiting you might want to review our Knowledge Base. If you are having problem with your mail service, please view our mail service update here. Thank you for your patience.

info: You are now chatting with 'David'

David: Welcome to HostDepartment Live Chat Service. How may I help you?

Tom: Hello David. I spoke to Isaac yesterday about changing my name servers and getting a logon name and password in order to
access my domain name control panel. I emailed the people he told me to but no one got back to me. Can you help me?

David: We are apologize.. the DNR control panel is still cannot functioning correctly..
David: please try again tomorrow..

Tom: Oh i see. Well, can change my name servers?
Tom: I'm sorry, who can change my name servers?

David: If the DNR is come back fine. you will able to manage Name server

Tom: And if it doesn't, then I'm not fine David. I need to change my name servers as soon as possible and I don't have time to wait and see if the control panel is working properly. Do you know who can help me accomplish this?

David: DNR should be back tomorrow.. Sir

Tom: I was kind of looking for a "yes" or a "no" Dave...

David: I afraid i cannot give you an absolute answer since there are no notification from our admin

Tom: You don't have to be afraid David, I'm not mad at you. I'm just trying to find the right person to get in contact with.

David: Sir I'm sorry. My shift time has ended, you may try to log back in live chat again in a couple minutes. My friend will replace me

Tom: have a good nite

David: thanks..
David: Thank you for your cooperation & understanding.

Tom: why thank you
Tom: i don't mean to be a bitch
Tom: but my balls are in a bit of a vice here, you know?

info: Chat session has ended.

WILL DOMINIC STOP PISSING TOM OFF TODAY? PROBABLY NOT!

WILL TOM TURN EBAY INTO THE NEXT AUDIOGALAXY? TUNE IN NEXT TIME! (bitch)

Less than a month on eBay and I'm already making friends

Start from the bottom and go up. Sorry.



--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:

being honest and being mean are two different things. Its not my
fault if you cant handle hearing the truth. I don't need to forgive
myself for any stupidities, because the only stupid thing Ive ever
done was to email you in the first place. Its a stupid auction. Thats
a fact, not meanness. Forgiving is not necessary, because I will have
forgotten you by morning.


On 4 Aug 2003 at 14:20, tom amans wrote:

you might try shifting your focus from other people's stupidities onto your own. i don't mean that in any derogatory sense; in fact i personally wouldn't call any persons' shortcomings "stupidities", but that's a different discussion entirely. i'm guessing of course, but here are few you might try to rid yourself of first:

1. Being mean to strangers, me in particular. I did nothing to deserve your misplaced wrath.
2. Try not to let "stupid" people affect your personality so much. That's giving them control over your life, something I don't feel "stupid" people deserve. Stupidity may be the most plentiful element in the universe, but I don't think that means one has to revel in it.
3. Forgive yourself of your own "stupidities" and the "stupidities" other people have inflicted upon you. Allow yourself and others a few stupidities. I find it makes life a bit more tolerable.

I'm sure I'm telling you things you already know or
have heard before, but whatever.

--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:

Yep, I agree about the attitude. Its because Ive known too many stupid people.

On 4 Aug 2003 at 13:55, tom amans wrote:

but you do agree with me about the bad attitude? you know, you don't seem very happy OR hippy. that's kinda false advertising.

--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:
little boys with sideburns and stupid poses arent my thing, but Im sure someone will want you some day.

On 4 Aug 2003 at 13:49, tom amans wrote:

You understand that you are hopelessly attracted to my boyish good looks as well as my awesome sense of humor? Well, you're not the first. How about a picture of you? I like chicks with bad attitudes.

--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:

Nevermind. I saw your picture in your other auctions, and now I understand.


On 4 Aug 2003 at 13:02, tom amans wrote:

Yet somehow not quite as moronic as one who takes time out of their busy, meaningful life to ask stupid questions. Thank you and please, go to hell.

Sincerely,
Tom Amans

--- lora@ourhutch.com wrote:

Ok, that's what I thought. Only a complete moron would bid. One almost as moronic as the one that paid to list it in the first place. thanks.

On 4 Aug 2003 at 10:05, tom amans wrote:

Of course not. If you bid, the picture you receive also includes my warmest wishes for your good health, long life, and continued virility.

Thank you,
Tom Amans

--- happyhippy@ourhutch.com wrote:
Hi,

I saw your auction for the dead cat and I am confused. If I bid, will I get the same picture I can save from your auction?

Thank you.
--------------------

Question from: happy*hippy
Title of item: Dead cat, pule, detritus, carrion, feline
Seller: crotchetyneville
Starts: Aug-01-03
17:10:13 PDT
Ends: Aug-11-03
17:10:13 PDT
Price: Starts at $0.75
To view the item, go to:
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=2943875013

Yesterday afternoon I went to see "Lara Croft: Tombraider - Cradle of Life" with my wife and in-laws. I had read on www.mrcranky.com that this movie was truly horrible (it got the nuclear bomb rating: "Proof that Jesus died in vain"). I left the theatre with a depression that was deep and seemingly endless. The movie was pretty bad, but it certainly wasn't what had really upset me.

Before the show, there was "The 20" which comes on in the theatre 20 minutes before the previews and is basically advertisements. The one sanctity of the movie theatre was that it was not TV... it did not advertise for anything except other movies (i.e. previews). This too, I can deal with.

What ruined me was "Lid rock". "Lid rock" is a CD that is included with the purchase of a large beverage that contains "the lastest of up-and-coming pop stars". I came to find out that "Lid rock" has the new music videos of Jessica Simpson and Mandy Moore, the actress. It was then that it hit me... I will never, ever, be a part of popular culture. Not that I don't want to or that I hate it, it's just that I will never be a titless 18 year old hottie singing about love. All of my musical talent and endevours, all lay to waste compared to this young actress. I thought "I would be so lucky if I ever got as far as this chick got without trying... without even being a musician."

"Lid rock" turned out to be a metaphor for the entire movie-going experience. The movie was horrible as expected. It didn't stop it from being a multi-million dollar profit for the movie industry though, just like Star Wars and Die Another Day (Bond). When did popular culture start to embrace crap? Looking back on the 1980's, the musicians were doing quite a bit of interesting things like polyphony, polyrythem, and even mainstreaming rap. What do we have to show for our generation? Limp Bizkit? An American Idol Kelly Clarkson? When did pop culture stop demanding quality talent in exchange for attractive 16 year olds? When will this world ever make any fucking sense to me?

ECO-TERROR AT THE WORKPLACE

I live in a modern society. I face up to that on a day to day basis. I personaly choose to go on living in this world and accept what I must do to survive and try my hardest to not offend people as I live my life. I have to work to pay for food and shelter and to get to and from shelter to work. These are not what I would rather do with my time but they are neccecities for existing in the society presented in front of me so I readilly accept them. Today I arrived at work and was immediately told the news.

A 200 unit appartment building was being built on the property next to my building. For months I have watched the progress as a grading was started, a foundation poured, a crane erected, floor built upon floor and finally last week a roof was semi-completed. Many people built this apartment and someday people were to move into it and call it home. Today at 3 am an eco-terrorist group placed a sign that said IF YOU BUILD IT, WE WILL BURN IT on it and lit it on fire. It sent 100 foot flames in the air and toppled the crane that helped build it.

Ok, I love the environment, I think nature is a really great thing. HOWEVER if you are concerned about the environment why did you burn down a building out of already felled timber and previously mined concrete and steel? This sent thick acrid smoke and fire all over this area. People in the adjacent apartments had their miniblinds MELT. You stupid fucks could have killed normal people who were just trying to exist and sleep in their homes, you put many out of work for who knows how long (lord knows it isn't easy being unemployed in San Diego) and you stupid godamn sonsabitches sent every kind of polution into the air. All this and you didn't stop SHIT, just hurt people. FUCK YOU ECO-TERROR! If you wanted to do good, raise money to buy the land and make a preserve. WOW that could actually DO SOMETHING!!! Lobby for SOLAR power! Work with the system and get people to vote. UNITE US! Use your ideas to positively influence others, that would have done some good. Instead you took the cheap and shocking way out. Now why did you destroy homes? Is San Diego too populated for you? Hell, I can't find a god damn place to live and start a family with the woman I love. I got some news for you IT IS A FUCKING CITY and cities have people. People who need to live and work and make art and love who they love, but apparently you want to destoy that. Well fuck you! You know what you can burn? Yourselves. I just wish to live and love.

TRENDWATCH!

Hello all and wellcome the first installment of trendwatch. Today's focus is on the latest craze called FREE DANCING. Free dance was created over two years ago when an enterprizing young man realized during an erratic body spazam that sometimes your body may prefer a to be in a certain unwarranted position for no reason at all. This led to the concept of free dance. The tenets of the dance are that your body goes to whatever position it wants to be in at that particular moment, your mind is not in charge of the dance (so you don't have to feel self consious as the movements are natural) no one free dances any better than anyone else, you don't have to dance to the rhythm of the music and in fact that you don't have to dance to any music at all. We at the trendwatch department research team have forcasted that THIS is the dance craze to watch for in the new millenium. Next time, APPARELL!

It is noon. I feel that sleep is on the way, again. Chills, occasionaly seeing stars, weak legs, struggling to keep my drooping eyelids from staying shut, it is almost as if just being at work is forcing me into hibernation under my desk. The real problem is my god forsaken insomnia. It has been days since I have just fallen asleep at a normal hour. Just yesterday I left work an hour early because I felt like I could fall asleep driving home in the rush hour gridlock. No coffee today as yesterday it made me jitter and quake with every step. I am permanantly in that haze like when you just wake up when your friend calls you and you realize you have to go to work to make that batch of 400 blintzes when in reallity it is 5pm, you just got home from work, napped for an hour and you have never even eaten a blintz much less made one because you work in a mailroom.

I wanna make a movie about a college music teacher, a full-fledged Ph.D. He doesn't listen to popular music. He composes esoteric, oddly inscrutable pieces that premier in obscure locations throughout the world. He makes his students attend an annual 4-hour festival of music like his. He instills fear into them; fear of pop culture and the "real world". He likes his job. He was a dork in high school and now all the cool kids take his class. One day while walking to the parking lot he hears a song on someone's car stereo. It's pretty. He quickly walks on by. He gets to the faculty parking lot and hears the same song playing in another teacher's car. He rolls up his window and drives home. When he gets there he finds his son, whom he does not get along with, listening to the same song. His blood begins to boil a bit, but he manages to ask his son, "Would you please turn that down? I have papers to grade." All throughout the rest of the evening, the song sticks in his head. He makes up reasons not to like it. He uses his musical knowledge to thoroughly deconstruct the song and scientifically determine why he shouldn't like it.
He wakes up that night a bit hot, sweaty, and sad. Ex-wife. Can't talk to the kid. Other things. Old regrets. The song comes to him. It helps him. He must find it. He hurries into his office/study, turns on his radio, frantically trying to find a pop station. The dial breaks of in his hand. He turns on the computer. They have internet radio nowadays. Nothing. Nothing. MTV at 3:30a.m. is no help either. He suddenly remembers an old transistor radio buried in the closet. Soon the room is covered with debris from the closet. The teacher pulls out a suitcase and a stack of boxes spills onto the floor. The old radio slides across the floor and underneath a desk. His current wife and son, awoken by the noise, find the teacher curled up on the floor of his study, the small transistor radio pressed tightly to his ear, tears streaming down his cheeks.

They oughta make a Grand Theft Auto IV. It'd be a lot like GTA III and Vice City, but the only point of the game would be to run around killing people and blowing things up. That's all I usually do anyways. Fuck the missions, I want bigger and better weapons. Graphic, XXX encounters with prostitutes. And the ability to torture my enemies to a screaming, horrifically painful death.

Ray wanted to continue my piece for me. I already had the next part of it written in my head. The person I see is me. I wanted to explore the experience of being on a deserted island with myself in an Edgar Allen Poe meets the Marquis de Sade short story. Let the ass-fucking begin.

Another restless night. I love/hate it when you're on that edge of sleeping when inspiration hits. Your mind starts racing and each idea comes and goes so quickly you couldn't write it down fast enough. You wake up and turn on the light... the really bright light. You find the pen and paper and write.

Last night I decided to write a 17 minute musical piece. My goal is to destroy modern classical music forever. It's title will be:

Art becomes Science
Something gained yet something lost
Musical Haiku

...He was beautiful. The perfect picture of a noble savage, untouched by civilization.

His dirty blonde, unkempt hair fell to his shoulders in great waves. Almost the color of the sand upon which I stood, it appeared as though his hair was sculpted with it. Beneath the tiny outcropping of hair that would have been his bangs was a high forehead creased with heavy lines, probably from squinting in the bright sunlight and straining to see on moonless nights. His forehead rested upon a heavy brow, thick with bright bushy hair. Set directly beneath were two smoldering eyes, the deepness of their fiery green startled me. As I stared, open-mouthed, I could see the flash of intelligence as he sized me up as clearly as I did him. Below his eyes, the bridge of his nose sloped suddenly revealing a large but elegant snout, the tip of which pointed toward the ground ever so slightly. I noticed his large lips suddenly twitch in what began as a slow smile, revealing his toothy mouth. His dimpled chin sat proudly at the point of which the sides of his faced converged, the perfect exclamation point to the character that stood before me.

He was a tall, lean man. But he was far from skinny. His arms, roped with muscle, swished elegantly by his sides as he began to move toward me. I noticed two large scars on his chiseled legs. He continued walking until he was within arms reach of me. Once satisfied with the distance between us, he slowly raised one of his powerful arms. He extended his hand, palm outward. I marveled at the contrast of the whiteness of his palm compared to the dark brown hue of the rest of his body. He opened his mouth to speak. I held my breath...

[to be continued]

For some reason I woke up on a deserted island. A deserted, tropical island. The sand on the beach was white and there was a rushing stream that ran from the edge of a lush jungle, through palm trees, and on into the ocean. All I had with me were the clothes on my back- a t-shirt, polyester slacks, shoes and socks.

I decided that the first thing to do was to make a trek of the island and assess the situation as best I could. I wanted to know if I would be able to find food, where I would sleep, whether or not the island was inhabited, and whether or not there was any possibility of me swimming to civilization. I would use the stream as a guide, letting it lead me along its winding path through the dense forest.

I had followed the stream for perhaps an hour when I saw him.

[to be continued]

I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this.

Okay, I feel better.

I'm at work and it's getting to me.

I was talking to the receptionist on my way out to lunch. She's pretty cute but she acts young. I think she is. She was telling me how bored she gets up there. I asked her if she emailed her friends or played games on the internet. She said yes and it doesn't help. I was about to suggest she visit Consumption Junction when some mid-level manager rudely interrupted our conversation to ask if the mail had gone out. I left without saying anything. I only wish I could have told him that one day, if I ever become a mid-level manager, I shall have my revenge. Not by doing what he does, but by doing exactly the opposite: showing my "subordinates" respect and what should be common human courtesy.

Experience has shown me that people like him are not born that way. Someone treated him the way he now treats others. When it's my turn, I will eliminate the possibility of inadvertantly creating another one like him by not establishing the conditions in which people like him come into existence.

It's nothing humanitarian on my part. It's not so much that I don't want people to have to suffer poorly house-trained people like him. In a cosmic sense, it's simply the best revenge I can think of, served ice cold. I think of Michael Corleone: "It's nothing personal Sonny. It's strictly business." You make my day unpleasant, I will eliminate you. And others like you. Whenever, wherever I can.

Blip, blip, bloop, bleep...
This can't be music!

Tick, boom, bap, honk, squeal...
Ah, that's more like it.

I am a failure... again.
I failed to do my work
I could not control it
My predecessor did not do his job
The product's company did not do their job
I assumed the parts were good
Why should I think otherwise?
My excuses are worthless
Terrorists can shake our tallest buildings
But I cannot vibrate my unit
Or else it will fail
I will fail

Moral Objections to the Casual Use of Marijuana (Or Lack Thereof)

Exterior:

Fade into shot of mass produced office building. Boxes representing important offices stacked on top of other boxes, bleached white walls, and stupid looking "Southwestern" trim dominate shot.

Interior:

Slowly enter lobby. Typical: fake plants, stupid "Welcome!" rug, smiling plastic receptionist.

Move into hallway past serious looking people moving very quickly.

Round corner. Cut to shot of back of woman's head. Woman typing quickly at a keyboard.

Slowly zoom out until we see the entire cubicle. Man rounds the corner and enters after slightest knock. Women turns around.

Jill:

Hey Steve. What's up?

Steve:

Jill, do you smoke marijuana?

Jill:

[Looks around] Well, yes. Yes I occasionally enjoy a bowl or two. Why do you ask?

Steve:

[Scrunches up face] It seemed like maybe you did, and I was just wondering why you smoke marijuana.

Jill:

Well, Steve. I suppose I smoke weed because it makes me feel good. I think it's fun and interesting. Do you have a problem with that?

Steve:

Well...yeah...I mean, it's bad.

Jill:

It's "bad?"

Steve:

Yeah, it's illegal.


[to be continued...]

I sit here, giddy with excitement, as I have just spent the last hour or so mentally beating the shit out of myself. I managed to convince myself that the person that is me is pathetic and weak. So why am I so happy? Well, after I admitted to myself that the above statement was true, I realized it was true only to an extent.

You see when I first meet someone I am very afraid of hir. I have a problem with shallow social interaction. That is to say that I'm not very good with greetings, pleasantries, salutations, and compliments. But, once I get past that point of an interaction, and I begin to feel more comfortable, there is a part of me that begins to assert itself. I know this has to be true because I have more than a few very close friends, and I have also had girlfriends in the past.

A good example of what I'm trying to say is the gradual progression of my interactions with the people I work with. I work at Starbucks, and when I first started there, I was mortified of everybody and everything. I clung to my friend Mary (the manager). I tried to be polite to my co-workers, but I didn't dare ask them a question or get in their way.

A week after I started working there, Mary was transferred to another store, and I was stuck in a store I wasn't used to, with people I didn't know, and a new manager whom I knew nothing about. For someone like me, that is a fate worse than death.

But after a few weeks I began to get used to the processes, the people, and the customers. It was at this point, that I now notice, that I began to assert myself socially. It was a gradual process, but I eventually came to a point where I could start to fuck with people. I could make fun of them (in jest, of course) when they did something stupid. I could say weird things and see how they reacted. I could touch them casually (not to be confused with sexually). But, most importantly, I got to a point where I could make fun of myself for making stupid mistakes. I could listen to them say weird things and not feel uncomfortable. And, they could touch me casually and I wouldn't freak out.

Now that I have been there for a few months, I notice that I know how to act around each and every person I work with. That's not to say that I'm being fake around anybody, just that, when I'm around Alan, for instance, I know that I can keep him interested in a conversation if I talk about music, weed, or life's annoying little problems. Around Beth I can talk about philosophy, Radiohead, and Lord of the Rings. With Tommy I have to be a practical joker, full of sarcasm, and courageous enough to drink the disgusting concoction that Nancy whipped up for a dare.

This brings me to the point of my essay, and that is, when I meet somebody, I am afraid. I am weak and pathetic in front of them. But once I get to know them, I learn how to cater to them. And after I've known them for quite a long time, I learn to control them. Just like all of my friends. Ha! Ha! Little bitches. I control you all. I am your master. You are my slaves. One day I will rule the world!

Damn, I love apples.

So my cousin sends me this link. I thought it was funny for a few seconds. Then it dawned on me that the article seems to be lementing the recent loss of sodomy laws, albeit in a humorous way. As if getting the government out of our bedrooms is a bad thing.

Then I thought, "What about me?" I don't consider myself homosexual, but I love sodomy. It's one of the coolest things I've ever done in bed. The anal ring is pretty darn tight and it feels different than the vagina, in a most pleasing way. I will always love the vagina; speaking from a strictly physiological standpoint, it feels very good and stimulating it seems far more likely to induce orgasm in a woman than sodomy. But I really don't see anything wrong with buttstuff. If I meet someone I jive with, I wanna do everything with them. If I ever get married, you can damn well bet that any wife of mine is gonna take it up the butt AND on her chin. I would go to any lengths to keep my beloved happy. Am I wrong to hope for the same in return? Stick your fingers up my butt, stick a dildo up there; I'll let you know what feels good. Let's get to know each other, baby.

I think that only when something is put on a shameful, mysterious pedestal, given an old testament label like "sodomy", demanded by callow guys, and denied by frightened, inexperienced women would it become the taboo that sodomy is.

So fuck you, Bob from accounting. Fat guys with tattoos in big trucks spit at me because they think I'm gay anyways; what do I have to hide?

Besides, your daughters got an ass and a cunt too; be nice or I'll fill them both. AT THE SAME TIME.

I have this idea that keeps coming back to me. I wanna make a movie, a good movie, that has sex in it. A lot of sex. Good sex.

Why we no can respond?

T o cause
E nough
R age
R egardless
O f
R eason
I s
S urely the job of the
M edia

I would like to respond to "The Show" by Ray with the married version:

Take a bath... I want to eat you out

THANKS FOR PLAYING!

you need cash for wheels,
and your microwave meals.
you're dressed up like a tool,
like your parents want you to.
you don't like the game,
but you play it everyday.

your hair is short and straight,
to help you get a date.
but they never seem to work,
you've got to many quirks.
you don't feel you can win,
too late to start again.

and if you do not place
at least you get a taste.
try being a part of a team
and take comfort in routine.
at least you get some pay,
at the end of the business day.

and doctor says
"cut back on fats,
or the next one that hits
will be your last!"
and you'll loose the game.
(but you will anyway)

so thanks for playing our game,
that you can't win at all,
so you might as well stall,
but don't look down
if you fall.
when you fail.

Virds

Words, words, words
Just like little turds
Floating through my head.

Do I have the time
To attempt a stupid rhyme?
Poetry has long since been dead.

Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts
Thinking that they ought
To afford my daily bread.

But life is very fun.
Just look at everyone
Waiting to be told what to dread.

People are promoted to their level of incompetence.

He was a great worker, so he was promoted to supervisor.
He was a fine supervisor, so he was promoted to foreman.
He was a decent foreman, so he was promoted to manager.
He is a shitty manager so he STAYS a manager. Who would promote such a shitty manager?

There are times, like today for example, that I wish my Volvo was equipped with vaporizing lazers. Sadly, there are no aftermarket applications for my year, make or model. I'ld setttle for air conditioning. It has been really fucking hot lately...god damn burning Amazon.

The Show

His eyes met her gleam from across the floor. Her pull was magnetic. He had to go to her; to touch her. To hold her.

The palm of his hand gently stroked the back of her neck, as if he was unsure of where to start. His fingers began to move slowly, mechanically. His other hand grazed her belly and sent electric signals up her spine.

She was at his command.

His fingers began to move wildly, yet always in intricate patterns. He began to shift his hand up her neck, increasing the tension. His other hand strummed and played more violently at her midsection.

They watched him in awe from afar. Amazement betrayed their composure as they realized the intensity with which he controlled her. It was a feat that surely, they themselves, could not perform.

His hand continued to creep up her neck. His fingers flying more violently with every heartbeat. Always moving. Always increasing the pressure. His other hand nearly pounded at her midsection. He began to grind his pelvis into her back, gyrating seductively.

His hand, still moving up her neck, flew quickly now. The tension was unbearable. She began to squeal a shrill tortured cry. His hand beat and banged, his groin still grinding into her back, as his other hand finally reached the top of her neck. He held her there as she let out an orgasmic scream, a sustained cry of pleasure. And then they collapsed together.

They clapped.

He bowed.

DOM ON DREAMS
I am much more interesting asleep than awake and here is why...

Whenever I dream it involves one of these main topics, many of them violent and/or disturbing:
Fighting a HUGE battle for my backyard.
Being chased by bad guys, hellecoptors or "robotic sharks"
Finding a place to live...underground.
Buying or getting something very interesting of monetary worth and only after the first minutes of being awake do I realize that I didn't really get it. For example: Neil Young's guitar with bottle caps stuck to it or that lunar rover with the lowrider wheels (1 of only 5 made mind you).
Music. Very pretty music played by very dirty people.
Being interviewed and vomiting on my interviewer because I'm supposed to be some artistic "genius".

There are certain things however that remain consistant:
I can fly if I really need to yet when I do most topography looks like MS Flight Simulator.
Somehow fish (robotic sharks) are involved usually in an aquarium or large body of water. Often I have to save them from dying by putting dried fish into a bucket of water. Just like reconstituted onions in a fine packaged broth.
I can't run normally, but if I move my legs slowly and push off very hard I can bound for great lenghts, thus outpacing my opponent/would be murderer.
I don't look anything like myself. Rather I am a much better looking person with a completely different voice.
I know kung fu.

A moment of office zen:

"If everyone knows he's such an idiot, why did he get promoted to manager?"

Almost a week ago I broke up with my girlfriend. I am sad and lonely. I think it was the right thing to do.

A few days ago we did the mutual exchange of belongings. She gave me back a mix CD I made for her. I wrote "Chansons de l'amour pour ma petite amie, si belle..." on it.

It hurts to look at it, but the songs are so good I just can't help but be proud- Otis Redding, Al Green, Lauryn Hill, The Strokes, 50 Cent, The Doors, The Beatles...

This is my new "thrash metal" song. I'm quite proud of it. It's called:

Go To Hell

Kill yer dog; Drink its blood. (fast)
Masturbate; Pound yer pud.
Tell Jesus Christ to suck yer dick
And his flock of sheep to eat your shit.

GO TO HELL! (half time)
GO TO HELL!

Fuck yer brother; Fuck yer mom.
Hit a church with a home made bomb.
Drop acid every other night
Find a priest and pick a fight.

GO TO HELL!
GO TO HELL!

(Guitar solo)

Steal a car; Kill a cop.
Sit around and eat a lot.
Stab a child with a hunting knife.
Covet every neighbor's wife.

GO TO HELL!
GO TO HELL!

"No longer empty and frantic like a cat tied to a stick"

My wife's friend was just dropped off at our house, crying as we met her. Her boyfriend had verbally assaulted her on the car drive over to the point where she jumped out of a (slowly) moving car. Her desire not to listen to Rage Against the Machine was the culprit this time. Instead of a weekend trip to the zoo, she is without a car, respect, and probably boyfriend and roommate. I once jumped out of a moving car from a verbal lashing. I got three cuts on my arms and shoulders, as well as ruined my wallet, a gift from my family. It really sucked, but life moved on. I never respected the person the same way though. The person was not my lover, but a long time friend. I don't know how much of a glutton for punishment this girl is, but this isn't the first time, and if given another chance, it probably won't be the last.

Life is not a movie
Nor is it a video game
Actions have consequences
Spoken words bring action
Do not fuck with me
I don't live in a movie

I believe that beat driven music has been the future of music for some time now, at least 50 or 60 years or so. None of my teachers at SDSU seem to understand this. I don't mean that it's just the future of popular music, I mean it's the future of serious composition as well. This is what I've been realizing over the past few months. The beat complexity in some new music is just as complex and thought out as any Bach melody.

I shouldn't have to justify this but given my current surrounding I feel I do. I also feel that my commentary is old news to a lot of people- hey, at least I'm getting with the program, better late than never. What I'm really trying to do is predict the future of music. It appears that all new music of value is scorned by the old school because it is too simplistic and can be explained away even to a non-musician in a matter of hours. That opinion, to me, is the height of naivete at best and at worst, the height of elite arrogance.

The world is a snail, crawling across the pavement on a rainy day.
With instinct, it rushes into the great unknown
Maybe it will be better this time
Maybe there is more to life than standing still
Getting fat off the land
Hiding safely in the planter, eating flowers
The snail fears the summer heat
But he is fooled by the gentle rain
It sees its window of opportunity and charges
Foolish, foolish snail
You could not get out of the way of my shoe

FUTILITY ON THE MOVE

As I sit here and ploddingly chip away at the leaning tower of items in my inbox waiting to be shipped all over the country, I ponder the stupidity of what I get paid for. Things arive, stay a while and then eventually go back to whence they came. I am just a layover in a vast pointless loop around the country. In New York someone signs a paper, sends it here to San Diego, someone looks at it and possibly stamps it PRIORITY, it ends up on my desk (in reality a dowdy folding picnic table with a computer on it) and I send it back. Many times I have wondered about typing a shipping slip, wrapping myself up and send myself along on a journey arriving at some dumfounded idiot's door punching them in the face affix a return slip to my forehead and arrive home the next day refreshed.

Another Myth of Manhood

Another myth of manhood
is that we have no emotions
that we are all beer-swilling, ass-smacking pigs
entirely incapable of sympathy
or empathy
well,
that’s bullshit
go ahead
try to explain that
to the desperate man
who just committed suicide
he can’t hear you

Last night a man got stabbed across the street from my apartment. I'm not blaming George W. Bush for it but I think he's making harder for me to move out of the fucking neighborhood.

I read in Time magazine that Donald Rumsfeld says we're spending 3.9 billion dollars a month to occupy Iraq. Meanwhile the government is decreasing education funding to such an extent that some of the classes I need to graduate are no longer being offered.

How am I supposed to persue happiness when a rich man takes part of my wages and uses it to fund a war, rather than my education?

I can't help but feel that if we weren't still slaves to a master, subjects to a monarch, serfs to a tsar, our soldiers would stop fighting and come back to their homes.

Bj's gay porno crazed ramblings?

Whenever I'm in a relationship, I freak out. I feel trapped when I can't communicate with the person I'm with. I was expressing this to Greg earlier today. He made me laugh despite myself:

De : DOUZON Gregory
A : tom amans
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))

Get your pussy out of my seat !! I don't remember to who I spoke in these words (the words you taught me of course Hé hé hé) Was it Aaron or maybe Ray ?? I can't remember !

I see she is the one who tries to kill you by fucking over and over again... Pretty tough Thomas... A year of extreme fucking and still alive ?!!! Dammit !!! That's good !!


De : tom amans
A : DOUZON Gregory
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))

No it's the opposite! I think I fuck her too much.

It's almost impossible to be subtle with that woman. If I want something from her I have to ask her very bluntly, many times. By the time she understands, I'm already very pissed off. Communication breakdown.

You said that to Bob. He still remembers it because he got totally destroyed!

De : DOUZON Gregory
A : tom amans
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))

Oh Yeah Bob...

Ok I got it. You want to have the anus experience, right ? Well don't ask...and say you are sorry after...I mean when she stop howling STOOOOOOOOP

I need to go home and stop saying obscenities
I'm sure it's because Marilyn Manson..Be obscene..Be obscen..I like
this song..M Hé Hé Hé
Have a nice day Tom !

And don't forget : "Le mieux est l'ennemi du bien" !!!!


De : tom amans
A : DOUZON Gregory
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))

Greg, you're...amazing.


De : DOUZON Gregory
A : tom amans
Objet : RE:______La_dinde_va_passer_à_la_casserole_:))

I hope I am amazingly funny and not amazingly thick ;-)))
Love
A bientôt !!

Race Relations Part IV

I broke the news to Kelly. She got very upset and said it brought back childhood memories of friends' parents not letting her come over because she's black. She suggested that I go visit my grandparents while she waits with my stepmom.

No fucking way.

It makes me feel so ashamed, so dirty to have these people, so filled with misdirected rage, related to me at all. But I guess we don't choose our hands, do we? Aw fuck that platitude bullshit, I wonder what they would say if i was dating a black MAN. I mean, come on gramps, it's not THAT bad...

I got a response from my grandparents. It was very concise; thank you for the warning and yes, a visit would be very uncomfortable at this time. Maybe later.

I think racism is an extreme form of displacement. Someone feels so badly about themselves or so completely not in control of their lives that hatred becomes an outlet. How else could someone despise the presence of someone they've never met and disown a family member? I dunno; it hurts more than I thought it would. That's probably why I was avoiding it.

I just want to explain to my grandfather that poon is poon. Black, white, brown- it all feels good. After that, it's all about what's attached to it; can you have a stimulating conversation with it, does it make you laugh, does it still love you after the hard times, when you curse and scream in a drunken fit?

I made the mistake of reading an article on MSN about whiteness studies. The concept of race usually annoys me and this was no exception. I did a Google search on whiteness and found this website:



Apparently their mission is "to deliver a simple, sincere, message about ethnic stereotyping", by ethnic stereotyping. I thought it was pretty funny. At first glance I think someone could mistake it for a white supremacist site OR an anti-white site.

Ethnic stereotyping is usually okay with me, as long as it's funny. I'm thinking of sending my grandparents a Fighting Whites t-shirt for Christmas, just to mess with their heads.

I'm going to visit my dad in August. He recently moved to an island several hundred yards off the coast of North Carolina. My maternal grandparents live on the same island a few miles away.
I would like to see them but I'm bringing my girlfriend, and they're flaming racists. Last night, I sent them this letter:

Grammy & Pop:

Hi there, it's me your grandson Tommy. I hope you guys are doing well, I'm doing pretty good out here. I finished the spring semester with a 3.84 so I'm pretty happy, even though I got one (1) B.

Anyhow, I was writing to let you know that I'm going to be coming out to North Carolina in late August and I would love to see you both. I'm bringing my girlfriend Kelly with me. I've been with her for over a year now and she's by far the nicest female I've ever been with. She is also a beautiful black lady; I wanted to let you both know ahead of time so as not to make anyone uncomfortable. I know she would love to meet my whole family and I can't wait to introduce her, but please let me know if you would rather wait until a later date.

your grandson,
Tommy

I swear I've read about this sort of thing before, but I never thought I'd have to deal with it in real life. I wonder if they know that if they don't get over it, they might not ever see me again. Sorry to be so dramatic.

I haven't told my girlfriend yet. Thank god she doesn't read this blog.

My dad used to piss me off a lot when I was a kid but we definitely had good times too. He used to work at a print shop that was situated in a medium-sized business park. There was a pool in the business park and for a few years he took me and my sister there almost every weekend. Looking back I'm not sure why it was so goddamn fun; the pool was pretty small, there were no diving boards or slides, and 9 times out of ten it would only be me, my dad, and my sister. I think it was fun because we made it fun. My dad was always good at conjuring fun out of thin air, if he happened to feel like it.

One afternoon we went to the pool and were dismayed to find a padlock on the gate. My sister and I were distraught until my father suggested we simply remove our festivities to the beach. When we got there, we rolled up all the windows and turned on the heater full-blast. It was already about 90 degrees outside and soon we were all dripping with sweat. I don't remember whose idea that was and I don't remember who was the first to break, but that was probably the only time I've run right from a car straight into the ocean.

Some years later my dad told me that we were never even supposed to be in that pool. Apparently it was the private property of one of the companies in the business park. "I didn't want you guys to worry about it", my dad said.

...the kind of drugs that enhance the pain.

The number of suicides in Japan seems to be about the same as the number of people killed by guns every year in America. I'm going to continue watching Most Extreme Elimination Challenge in hopes of gleaning some insight.

One day I was talking to Bob and he told me that he was afraid of being a Salieri. Sometimes I too wonder if I am damned to a life of mediocrity...and then I think about what would happen if I somehow went back in time and killed Jimmy Page. There would have been no Led Zeppelin. The greatest band in the world- never to be. Robert Plant would have been just another struggling musician who may or may not have ever made anything of himself, just like me. John Bonham would have continued laying pavement and arguing with his wife about quitting the drums. I don't know what would have happened to the other guy. Ha-ha. John Paul Jones would have remained a studio musician until the time came for him to unleash a diabolical, nine-part plan to take over the Avery Shipping Label Company.

It's not my fault I'm not a rock star. I just haven't met the right people.

Goddamn it annoys me when I read myself whining like that. I got a job: ten bucks an hour at a computer company. It's supposed to last at least 2 weeks. I'm sick of complaining. Maybe I just need some more sleep.

Maturity School

I really need to find a job. I've been looking almost everyday; a few interviews with temp agencies and a few applications have been turned in. I guess it's time to start acting as desperate as I really am, which means taking anything that comes along: fast food, retail, telemarketing...

I spent 2 hours playing video games today instead of looking for a job. It was just such a beautiful Sunday.

Since I entered SDSU, I have had to relearn how to provide for myself. It is difficult making ends meet on a fixed income. I did a lot better at it in the spring than I did in the fall, so I'm trying to go easy on myself. Obviously I still have a lot to learn. What confuses me is that before I went back to school full-time, I did it for four years without a major hitch. Even after the life-threatening fire that took almost all of my personal possessions I got back on my feet without ever returning to the bosom of my mother or father's household.

I look at the people I go to school with, most of them several years younger, and can't help but notice the differences in socio-economic standing. Their parents seem to help them with everything. I do not loathe them. I envy them. It's the sort of situation I want to provide for my children.

I've been hanging out with Aaron again. Aaron, I have determined, comes from the most functional family out of my five closest friends, with the exception of Dominic. Aaron's life is financially stable. In the past he has said that I could be where he was if I had really wanted it. I could have done well in college and gotten scholarships. I didn't like high school. I stopped concentrating on school in the sixth grade. Until then I was an excellent student. My parents divorced in high school and it destroyed every illusion I had. It wasn't the sort of thing that I could simply shrug off. So is it my parents fault I am where I am? I don't want to play the blame game. I don't blame anyone for the person I am. The truth is, I don't think I'm that bad of a person. Oh wait, I think I just figured it out: I've spent the better part of a year giving my all, or at least 99% of it, to one thing: school. I got one "B". The rest were "A's". I blocked everything else out: music, reading, writing, personal growth. That's how much I put into and I think now I simply want a return on my investment. The problem is, I don't think there's going to be a pot of gold and/or self-actualization waiting for me when I get my degree.

Nevertheless, I guess what I'm experence may simply be a case of the bends as I rapidly decompress from the pressures of academia.

But, to digress:
Perhaps I have always been on the path to financial mediocrity. After all, my parents have struggled all their lives. My dad doesn't anymore but that is because he married a woman with a master's degree.

Looking back, I think I will get out of here one day. That's why I liked Jay-Z right off the bat. I wanna change. Not all at once, I just wanna keep changing. All I want right now is to make music, my own music in the studio. Maybe I'll play with Dirtbike. Maybe I'll play with and Lee. I just want to pay my bills, pay off my smallest credit card, fix my motorcycle, and maybe get a tattoo.

Maybe I'll hump my girlfriend a few times and take her out to dinner.

...the kind of pain that drugs can't kill.

Renis

Mid-Life Stasis

It's fun to pretend you're not who you are
But how can it be that you aren't what you're not
When it's possible to see what you are when you're not
Being that which you're supposed to be
Which is something that's not who you aren't.

Where There is Life There is Hope

Hope for what? Hope for life? This is a vicious circle. I will have no part in it...