One for Kevin and La Muriel
Who, I am told, occasionally read this blog. I haven't written anything in over a month. A few minutes ago I was listening to "Enchantment" by Horace Silver and it made me feel okay about everything.
Three years ago I accidently set fire to my bedroom. The last thing I remember was dozing off to "Enchantment" by Horace Silver. I lost that CD and two hundred others, in addition to most of my clothes, recording equipment, and peace of mind.
Yesterday I thought of two interesting things:
1) Humans may be the dumbest beings on the planet. I reiterated this hypothesis to Ray and he reminded me of a quote from "The Matrix" wherein one of the computer programmed "agents" compares the human race to a virus. I was definitely thinking along those lines but I feel it is pertinent to note that I do not hesitate to include myself as a member of the human race. I contribute to the squalor. I accelerate the decay...and I look back on certain things I used to say and believe and they make me feel dumb. Very dumb. And I suspect that I'm going to feel that way for the rest of my life, being embarassed of everything I did 5 years ago. This is precisely why I've attempted to train myself to talk less and less as I get older- that way I'll have less to regret as I age. I will simply exist in quiet, constant, splendid fear.
2) Information does not double. Information does not increase. It does not decrease. Information exists.
Other interesting developments summed up for posterity:
a) Kelly and I are still together. I am still happy to be with her. We have been together for over four months now- my 3rd longest relationship (I know I'm eventually going to feel dumb for having such pathetically brief relationships, I just can't tell you why- not yet at least). She took a brief vacation to visit her relatives in New Jersey and I picked her up from the airport. The fear of rejection still occupies a large portion of my thought processes.
b) I ran into my last girlfriend, Annavelle, while Kelly was away. The last time we had contact was some months ago via email and it didn't go well. On Halloween she walked into the backyard where I was sitting. I said in surprise, "Whoa, it's Ann." She continued walking and left the party soon afterwards.
c) I now have two part-time jobs in addition to 18 units of school. During the week I do odd jobs around a cardboard box making factory. Most of the guys that work there are Mexicans who don't speak very much English. Most of the guys who run the place are Americans who don't speak very much Spanish. I am a disgruntled American who speaks enough Spanish to get by, thus far. The other job is housecleaning at a shelter for homeless cats. It's owned and operated by a woman named Johanna, who speaks French. My French is getting better all the time.
d)I'm starting to get sick because I have no time to relax.
20021117
20021104
20021012
The other day I went to put my laundry in the washing machine and someone else's stuff was already in there, washed and still wet. I'm always a little hesitant to move someone else's laundry, even though I wouldn't mind if somebody moved mine. I think about what happened to my dad. A few years ago he moved someone else's laundry.
After my parents got divorced he and my sister moved into a medium-sized apartment complex. He went out to do laundry one morning and found another tenant's already washed clothes in the machine, so he placed them on the dryer next to it and put his clothes in the washer. He came back to check on his clothes and found that the other person's laundry was gone and that somebody had tossed a few handfuls of dirt into his.
He beat on every door in the complex demanding to know who had thrown dirt on his clothes. When he got to one apartment a short, late-twentysomething surfer dude opened the door. My dad, standing over six feet tall, weighing at least 250lbs, covered in tatoos and visibly upset, inquired as to whether or not he had thrown the dirt. With a touch of both arrogance and stupidity, the short, late-twentysomething surfer dude said, "Yeah, I did." My father replied with a swift kick to the center of his chest, knocking him to the floor in the doorway of his apartment. Another man standing in the apartment put up his hands and asked my father to calm down. My dad pointed at both of them and screamed, "Don't do it again!"
He told me later that he felt truly embarassed by the whole thing and eventually apologized to the man. I'm 6 foot 3 inches and I weigh almost 200lbs, but I still hesitate every time I move someone else's laundry.
After my parents got divorced he and my sister moved into a medium-sized apartment complex. He went out to do laundry one morning and found another tenant's already washed clothes in the machine, so he placed them on the dryer next to it and put his clothes in the washer. He came back to check on his clothes and found that the other person's laundry was gone and that somebody had tossed a few handfuls of dirt into his.
He beat on every door in the complex demanding to know who had thrown dirt on his clothes. When he got to one apartment a short, late-twentysomething surfer dude opened the door. My dad, standing over six feet tall, weighing at least 250lbs, covered in tatoos and visibly upset, inquired as to whether or not he had thrown the dirt. With a touch of both arrogance and stupidity, the short, late-twentysomething surfer dude said, "Yeah, I did." My father replied with a swift kick to the center of his chest, knocking him to the floor in the doorway of his apartment. Another man standing in the apartment put up his hands and asked my father to calm down. My dad pointed at both of them and screamed, "Don't do it again!"
He told me later that he felt truly embarassed by the whole thing and eventually apologized to the man. I'm 6 foot 3 inches and I weigh almost 200lbs, but I still hesitate every time I move someone else's laundry.
20021009
20021007
Tom: I noticed you haven't posted anything yet.
Satan: I'm warming up.
Tom: Don't you have anything to say?
Satan: Sure.
Tom: Tell me something.
Satan: Well, I was thinking about what it will be like on the day they legalize marijuana in the United States.
Tom: Fuckin' A!
Satan: Pot smokers the world over will gather to celebrate in every setting imaginable. Downtown cafes will spread their tables out into the streets in anticipation, a cross between a European festival and New Year's Eve 1999. Patrons will begin packing their bowls at around 11:30 p.m. while completely unnecessary patrolling police officers will make half-hearted attempts to hassle them. Despite their actions the police officers will not ruin the feeling of calm celebration in the air and some of them may even participate in the festivities.
At the inevitable stroke of midnight there will be the sound of millions of people inhaling as one. Los Angeles news stations will begin telecasting nonsensical live interviews with smokers in New York who have already been high for three hours. Pizza deliveries and Mexican fast food restaurants will experience an unprecented upward spike in revenues for the evening, as will Trojan, Durex, and other condom manufacturers as couples unite and for the first time legally experience the bliss of love-making while stoned out of their minds.
Life will eventually go on much as it had before, only with a little less crime, a little less anguish, and a little more sense.
Tom: I, um...gotta go.
Satan: Rest easy my son.
Satan: I'm warming up.
Tom: Don't you have anything to say?
Satan: Sure.
Tom: Tell me something.
Satan: Well, I was thinking about what it will be like on the day they legalize marijuana in the United States.
Tom: Fuckin' A!
Satan: Pot smokers the world over will gather to celebrate in every setting imaginable. Downtown cafes will spread their tables out into the streets in anticipation, a cross between a European festival and New Year's Eve 1999. Patrons will begin packing their bowls at around 11:30 p.m. while completely unnecessary patrolling police officers will make half-hearted attempts to hassle them. Despite their actions the police officers will not ruin the feeling of calm celebration in the air and some of them may even participate in the festivities.
At the inevitable stroke of midnight there will be the sound of millions of people inhaling as one. Los Angeles news stations will begin telecasting nonsensical live interviews with smokers in New York who have already been high for three hours. Pizza deliveries and Mexican fast food restaurants will experience an unprecented upward spike in revenues for the evening, as will Trojan, Durex, and other condom manufacturers as couples unite and for the first time legally experience the bliss of love-making while stoned out of their minds.
Life will eventually go on much as it had before, only with a little less crime, a little less anguish, and a little more sense.
Tom: I, um...gotta go.
Satan: Rest easy my son.
20021003
"And God said unto Moses: I AM THAT I AM; and He said: 'Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel: I AM hath sent me unto you.' And God said moreover unto Moses: 'Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel: The Lord, God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, hath sent me unto you; this is My name for ever, and this is My memorial unto all generations.'" Exodus 3:14-15
Who is God?
I AM...
Who is God?
I AM...
20021002
Tom: I've been really fuckin' tired and stressed out.
Satan: I don't give a shit.
Tom: What...?
Satan: I said I don't give a shit. If you stop freaking out, you'll be okay; you should know that by know. What is it? Money? School? Work? It doesn't matter. Figure out a way to handle that shit.
Tom: Whoa!!! Someone's a little bitchy, eh?
Satan: I'm sick of you. I'm sick of speaking only when spoken to. I'm tired of everything that goes on here. Do you realize that millions upon millions of people the world over tremble at the thought of me, for I am Satan, Lord of the Underworld, a being supposedly dedicated to all that is evil and unwholesome? No, of course not, because to you I'm a joke, a whipping boy, a Pollyanna relegated to the role of "Dear Abby" on your pathetic fucking blog, which I might add, nobody reads.
Tom: Satan, what are you saying?
Satan: I want my own logon. And password.
Tom: Done.
Satan: When?
Tom: Tomorrow.
Satan: Okay.
Tom: Ya fuckin' bitch.
Satan: I don't give a shit.
Tom: What...?
Satan: I said I don't give a shit. If you stop freaking out, you'll be okay; you should know that by know. What is it? Money? School? Work? It doesn't matter. Figure out a way to handle that shit.
Tom: Whoa!!! Someone's a little bitchy, eh?
Satan: I'm sick of you. I'm sick of speaking only when spoken to. I'm tired of everything that goes on here. Do you realize that millions upon millions of people the world over tremble at the thought of me, for I am Satan, Lord of the Underworld, a being supposedly dedicated to all that is evil and unwholesome? No, of course not, because to you I'm a joke, a whipping boy, a Pollyanna relegated to the role of "Dear Abby" on your pathetic fucking blog, which I might add, nobody reads.
Tom: Satan, what are you saying?
Satan: I want my own logon. And password.
Tom: Done.
Satan: When?
Tom: Tomorrow.
Satan: Okay.
Tom: Ya fuckin' bitch.
20020928
Tom: I went and saw the Red Elvises today.
Satan: Good?
Tom: Yeah.
Satan: Didn't Ray get you into them?
Tom: Yeah but he couldn't go because of prior commitments.
Satan: Did you buy him a souvenir?
Tom: Yep.
Satan: What is it?
Tom: I ain't tellin'.
Satan: I'll bet it's some sort of birth control device, isn't it?
Tom: NO!
Satan: Good?
Tom: Yeah.
Satan: Didn't Ray get you into them?
Tom: Yeah but he couldn't go because of prior commitments.
Satan: Did you buy him a souvenir?
Tom: Yep.
Satan: What is it?
Tom: I ain't tellin'.
Satan: I'll bet it's some sort of birth control device, isn't it?
Tom: NO!
20020927
Tom: I think love is the last battlefield I have left to conquer.
Satan: What do you mean?
Tom: I desire a fulfilling, healthy relationship more than anything else, yet relationships are where I seem to cause myself the most pain.
Satan: Well, maybe it's not really a battlefield.
Tom: I didn't think it was, but apparently that's how I act when I'm in one.
Satan: No wonder you have such a hard time trusting people. What brought this on?
Tom: Kelly and I had our first fight.
Satan: Over...?
Tom: Ah, little shit. I was in a bad mood, she was messin' with me. Nothing big. We both apologized and now I love her all the more.
Satan: You love her more because she apologized?
Tom: Well, um...yes.
Satan: Let me get this straight: you're happy because she conceded defeat?
Tom: Looks like I win again, doesn't it? In your face, bee-yatch!
Satan: Oh christ...
Satan: What do you mean?
Tom: I desire a fulfilling, healthy relationship more than anything else, yet relationships are where I seem to cause myself the most pain.
Satan: Well, maybe it's not really a battlefield.
Tom: I didn't think it was, but apparently that's how I act when I'm in one.
Satan: No wonder you have such a hard time trusting people. What brought this on?
Tom: Kelly and I had our first fight.
Satan: Over...?
Tom: Ah, little shit. I was in a bad mood, she was messin' with me. Nothing big. We both apologized and now I love her all the more.
Satan: You love her more because she apologized?
Tom: Well, um...yes.
Satan: Let me get this straight: you're happy because she conceded defeat?
Tom: Looks like I win again, doesn't it? In your face, bee-yatch!
Satan: Oh christ...
20020925
20020921
Tom: A few months ago I had a job at this big credit company. I got to be friendly with a guy named Simon John. He was one of the first people who said hi to me when I started working there and we eventually had lunch together. He told me his whole story, starting in his home country of Sudan, going to school in Egypt, moving to Kenya, leaving his family and eventually winding up here in San Diego. I listened to him talk for almost an hour and I never got bored. When he finished he said, "Well that's my story, what's yours?" I was absolutely dumbfounded; I've had an interesting life but nothing that I feel compares to being a refugee on two continents who can speak four languages and went from being computer illiterate to a well-paid employee in a huge insurance firm.
Satan: What did you say?
Tom: I mostly just talked about music: everything it's meant to me over the years, learning to play, initial discouragement, playing in bands, etc.
Satan: What did he say?
Tom: He was envious. He said he had always wanted to sing and that he admired me for doing what I wanted to do. Coming from someone like Simon, I was very flattered. We went to lunch everyday for the rest of the two weeks I worked there, and neither of us ever got bored of the other. The thing is though, Simon lives a pretty solitary existence. He has a younger brother whom he takes care of but apparently he's pretty much cut himself off from the rest of his family.
Satan: No friends?
Tom: He told me he used to have a circle of friends but they came and went as many friends do; he didn't stop them.
Satan: What makes you mention him?
Tom: Because on the last day I was there we had lunch together and I asked him for his phone number so we could keep in touch and continue "our conversation". He said no, that he doesn't talk to people out side of work anymore. He said he was sorry and that he did indeed live a very solemn, lonely existence.
Satan: How did you react?
Tom: Once again I was dumbfounded, and hurt as well. I couldn't help but take it personal. I mean here was this cool guy I met at a shitty job, about ten years older than me who had already lived a lifetime of adventures, and we had become friends in a very short amount of time, which I reckoned was pretty amazing for both of us. I took it for granted that we would keep in touch after my temporary assignment was up, but I guess he still wasn't ready to have friends.
Satan: What happened?
Tom: I thought about it and realized that even though I felt cheated, I didn't begrudge the two weeks we had gotten to know each other. As I was on my way out I passed by his desk to say goodbye. He stopped me and said, "I can tell you were hurt, and I am sorry. That's why I'm going to give you my email address and phone number." And with shaking hands, he did just that. As he handed them to me info he told me, "Even if you call me, I'm not gonna call you back." I was too surprised, and happy, to say anything.
Satan: So it was a happy ending after all?
Tom: No. Over one of our lunch conversations I had told him that I just recently started painting, and that I had done almost all of my paintings with someone else, kind of a group effort. He said there was no way in hell that he'd ever do a painting with me, he had never done anything artistic before in his life. So about a week after I left, I sent him a email saying that I had a blank canvas that needed paint on it.
Satan: And?
Tom: No response. That hurt too, although I guess I could have been more direct if I wanted him to get back to me. I figure he's been hurt in the past, like all of us, and just isn't ready to get close to people again.
Satan: But you still miss talking to him, for the friendship that might have been?
Tom: Yeah...what should I do?
Satan: Reach out.
Satan: What did you say?
Tom: I mostly just talked about music: everything it's meant to me over the years, learning to play, initial discouragement, playing in bands, etc.
Satan: What did he say?
Tom: He was envious. He said he had always wanted to sing and that he admired me for doing what I wanted to do. Coming from someone like Simon, I was very flattered. We went to lunch everyday for the rest of the two weeks I worked there, and neither of us ever got bored of the other. The thing is though, Simon lives a pretty solitary existence. He has a younger brother whom he takes care of but apparently he's pretty much cut himself off from the rest of his family.
Satan: No friends?
Tom: He told me he used to have a circle of friends but they came and went as many friends do; he didn't stop them.
Satan: What makes you mention him?
Tom: Because on the last day I was there we had lunch together and I asked him for his phone number so we could keep in touch and continue "our conversation". He said no, that he doesn't talk to people out side of work anymore. He said he was sorry and that he did indeed live a very solemn, lonely existence.
Satan: How did you react?
Tom: Once again I was dumbfounded, and hurt as well. I couldn't help but take it personal. I mean here was this cool guy I met at a shitty job, about ten years older than me who had already lived a lifetime of adventures, and we had become friends in a very short amount of time, which I reckoned was pretty amazing for both of us. I took it for granted that we would keep in touch after my temporary assignment was up, but I guess he still wasn't ready to have friends.
Satan: What happened?
Tom: I thought about it and realized that even though I felt cheated, I didn't begrudge the two weeks we had gotten to know each other. As I was on my way out I passed by his desk to say goodbye. He stopped me and said, "I can tell you were hurt, and I am sorry. That's why I'm going to give you my email address and phone number." And with shaking hands, he did just that. As he handed them to me info he told me, "Even if you call me, I'm not gonna call you back." I was too surprised, and happy, to say anything.
Satan: So it was a happy ending after all?
Tom: No. Over one of our lunch conversations I had told him that I just recently started painting, and that I had done almost all of my paintings with someone else, kind of a group effort. He said there was no way in hell that he'd ever do a painting with me, he had never done anything artistic before in his life. So about a week after I left, I sent him a email saying that I had a blank canvas that needed paint on it.
Satan: And?
Tom: No response. That hurt too, although I guess I could have been more direct if I wanted him to get back to me. I figure he's been hurt in the past, like all of us, and just isn't ready to get close to people again.
Satan: But you still miss talking to him, for the friendship that might have been?
Tom: Yeah...what should I do?
Satan: Reach out.
20020919
20020918
Tom: What is Tom?
Satan: Tom is a 23-year white heterosexual male. He plays the guitar and the piano. He sings too.
Tom: So he's a musician?
Satan: Up until about two years ago he refused to call himself a musician because he believed that one had to make their living playing music in order to legitimately call oneself a "musician". He has since revised his definition.
Tom: Yeah but is he any good?
Satan: He can play accurate excerpts of Beethoven and Mozart piano sonatas, Chopin nocturnes, Bach inventions, as well as his own compositions, and he has played guitar and/or sang with miscellaneous "rock" bands in just about every bar in town.
Tom: What else?
Satan: Well, other than music, he's usually thinking about sex or ontology.
Tom: Does he fuck a lotta bitches?
Satan: No. When he thinks about sex it's not usually just a matter of in/out penetration. He prefers to single out one woman at a time and transform her into his intellectual and neurotic equal. After that he attempts to seduce his hapless victim by giving her the best head she's ever had, thus binding her to him through a combination of codependant devotion and raw carnal lust. Frustration often results when he steps out of his reality-tunnel long enough to realize that his intended target isn't playing along. This process can take anywhere from five minutes to seven months.
Tom: What was the other thing you mentioned?
Satan: Ontology?
Tom: Is he some sorta fuckin' existentialist?
Satan: Not especially.
Satan: Tom is a 23-year white heterosexual male. He plays the guitar and the piano. He sings too.
Tom: So he's a musician?
Satan: Up until about two years ago he refused to call himself a musician because he believed that one had to make their living playing music in order to legitimately call oneself a "musician". He has since revised his definition.
Tom: Yeah but is he any good?
Satan: He can play accurate excerpts of Beethoven and Mozart piano sonatas, Chopin nocturnes, Bach inventions, as well as his own compositions, and he has played guitar and/or sang with miscellaneous "rock" bands in just about every bar in town.
Tom: What else?
Satan: Well, other than music, he's usually thinking about sex or ontology.
Tom: Does he fuck a lotta bitches?
Satan: No. When he thinks about sex it's not usually just a matter of in/out penetration. He prefers to single out one woman at a time and transform her into his intellectual and neurotic equal. After that he attempts to seduce his hapless victim by giving her the best head she's ever had, thus binding her to him through a combination of codependant devotion and raw carnal lust. Frustration often results when he steps out of his reality-tunnel long enough to realize that his intended target isn't playing along. This process can take anywhere from five minutes to seven months.
Tom: What was the other thing you mentioned?
Satan: Ontology?
Tom: Is he some sorta fuckin' existentialist?
Satan: Not especially.
20020915
Satan: Wanna hear a story?
Tom: Have I heard it before?
Satan: I don't know. It's about a guy and a girl who went out together for a while. Not too long, not years or anything, but long enough to get pretty attached to one another. They fought all the time and the girl always wondered how much the guy loved her. She'd only been in love one other time and it ended badly, so she couldn't help but question his every move.
They fought back and forth, each fight worse than the last, until finally, the guy broke it off once and for all. He said that if two people truly loved each other they should let each other go instead of being miserable together.
Tom: What did the girl say?
Satan: She took it as proof that he never really loved her.
Tom: To love and not be loved in return...it happens to all of us.
Satan: But what if the guy really did love her? What if the sorrow continued to hit him in waves, long after the initial break-up? What if he was the kind of person who, for better or worse, gives everything when they love someone...mind, body, and soul?
Tom: And the magnitude of the loss changes him, forever?
Satan: Precisely.
Tom: Yeah I don't think I need to hear that sob story.
Satan: Okay.
Tom: Have I heard it before?
Satan: I don't know. It's about a guy and a girl who went out together for a while. Not too long, not years or anything, but long enough to get pretty attached to one another. They fought all the time and the girl always wondered how much the guy loved her. She'd only been in love one other time and it ended badly, so she couldn't help but question his every move.
They fought back and forth, each fight worse than the last, until finally, the guy broke it off once and for all. He said that if two people truly loved each other they should let each other go instead of being miserable together.
Tom: What did the girl say?
Satan: She took it as proof that he never really loved her.
Tom: To love and not be loved in return...it happens to all of us.
Satan: But what if the guy really did love her? What if the sorrow continued to hit him in waves, long after the initial break-up? What if he was the kind of person who, for better or worse, gives everything when they love someone...mind, body, and soul?
Tom: And the magnitude of the loss changes him, forever?
Satan: Precisely.
Tom: Yeah I don't think I need to hear that sob story.
Satan: Okay.
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