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It used to be two joints minimum, but you can visit even if you don't smoke.

Friday, May 28, 2010 3:22 AM

I just have a wonderful conversation with Stephen, I've had quite a few really good conversations lately.  I'm appreciating people again.  Their realness.

Am I coming out of my shell?  I doubt it.  I've been in it for so long.  But I seem undaunted by...  Well, shit...  I can't believe I blogged about what I blogged about yesterday morning.

That's like my ... secret...  or something...  Yeah, secrets.  I have those...  Sure...  No. Someone always finds out my secrets.  I have no secrets, not /really/.  Not to my psychiatrists or my mother.  oh except for this.  Yeah, that's going to be a secret.  oh, no.  i don't even want to think about that conversation.

I just want to see what will happen.  I've never actually /been/ with ...  Why am I so uncomfortable talking about this?  Why else, it is on my mind.  Shit.  It's perverse...  No, it's practical.  It's pedantic...  Maybe.  Pedantic is one of those words you can use without really knowing what it means, quite often.

Why do i risk my life, with such strange ventures?  I'm not really risking my life.  I'm risking my pride.  That's what I'm doing.  How can I tell people about this...  Oh, I won't.  But what will I do about the thoughts of things I can not say?

I hate those thoughts.  Part of the simple rules of my brain, I have deemed certain things as, "things I can not say."  And they are quite banal, except they have implications, which require lots of explaination, and even then could be misconstrued, especially if taken out of context.  But banal, and boring, god is it boring.  i do not want to add this alternative dating web site thing into one more.  It is so lame.  As far as potency.  It is not even that embarassing, it's more the, "oh, you have some perverse attraction" thing.  Which I don't have at all.  Haven't I said I've talked with women as young as... well, at least 28.  I've had quasi conversations with younger than that.

Anyway, I am tired.  I need to sleep.  I had been drinking and smoking herb a lot.  I have taken my night medication, and it has definitely kicked in.  I can barely type.  But I do it anyway.  I think I'll try to sleep.

Actually, I just reread this. Let me explain, I'll tell my psychiatrist about it.  I may even tell my friends about it.  Just my mother...  She doesn't need to know if I use any dating service whatsoever.

Friday, May 28, 2010 3:43 AM

Thursday, June 3, 2010 1:02 AM

My mother got it out of me in a matter of minutes. She just had to ask me about something that was going on and, etc. etc.  I'm really bored with the idea of explaining it.  Suffice to say, she knows I use the internet, to connect with a person, that i met in real life, and that person happened to be female, and older, (and of course she asks how old) and I say though she said online she was only (etc.).  I hate it, when I have something I don't want to tell my mother, she knows, it's like a fucking radar...  Or, it is my own fucking stupidity.  For I mentioned I had to go do something.  She asked what, and that lead to it.  But still, at any point I could have said, "that's private."  And shut the fuck up.  But I didn't, because I didn't want to show I had something to hide. I even said, "I don't want to tell you about this, there things I don't want you involved in."  She kept prying.  I am not required to tell her anything any more.  Why am I such a wuss?  I know what she's doing, she's being on hyper alert, watch out for anything suspicious, mode.  I don't want her to be, but i can't help that, and I want to be socialable and watch her programs.  But damn.  Anyway, I said this woman lied about her age, came clean to me, gave me her age (which, yes, I gave to my mother--I shouldn't have).  What age did I think she was?  Did you think she was like 30?  (Dude, what to do?)  (Evasive maneuvers.)  "She said she was much younger."  So this is just a professional thing?  (There's no reason to be evasive, it's a writing project, she might help me out.) "Uh yeah."  (Fuck, she forced the lie.)  Me:"Why do you even need to know this stuff?" Her: I don't.  Me: Does it matter?  Her: Are you doing anything I need to know about?  Me: No. Her: Is it something I'd disapprove of? Me: ? Her: It's not like porn or anything? Me: Oh no, but, hey, I might want to...  (Glaring look from mother)  Me: Do something risque.  Her: But not pornography?  Me: I mean, define...  Her: Exploitive?  Me: Definitely not exploitive, never exploitive.

It all started because I wanted to know her medical opinion on me taking a whole bunch of gingko biloba, partly for this writing project/opportunity, partly because I want to see if it really --okay, this wasn't a reason, but still, supposedly there's a link between gingko and hemorrhoids (hemorrhoids, as you know, come in different forms, mine is internal and sometimes leaves bloody stool).  I want to get a colonoscopy, but it costs $600 with my insurance.  My mother says I shoud get school insurance also, and with the two I can pay for the operation (if one can call it that).  That would be nice.  I have to wait for some reason, she told me why, but I have forgotten.  Anyway, hemorrhoids and anxiety, that's why I'm on medical marijuana.  I'm also on Abilify 20 mg, Zoloft 200 mg Welbutrin XR 300 mg. But the Abilify I have to get in samples, as there is no generic, and, again, my medical insurance doesn't cover it all.  My psychiatrist said "you don't have to be poor to be medically indigent."  The reality was, of course, that I am poor.  I have been for gosh, as long as you can consider me a non-dependant of my parents.  In my family, we're doing pretty well, we got a house in a very good place, and that money will

Sorry, got distracted. What was I talking about, oh yeah, quitting the dating service.  The fact is, I don't want to have a long term relationship, as I want to have kids...   Wait, i just went on to see what was going on, and I got another message from someone my age or younger.  That's like three already.  Hmm, but, I could get more from a better site (read, more reputable site).  Or I might get nothing again, as I did last time--but last time I didn't really spend much time messaging people.  Ug, conflicted, anyway, the meds are kickin' in, it's time to say goodnight.

Thursday, June 3, 2010 2:03 AM

First hit.  Holding.  Please make me feel better.

Second hit.  Still feel...  Well, I kinda feel better.

Third hit.  Cough cough.  My eyes are watering.  But I don't feel that aching emptiness as much.

Maybe I should hit again.

Fourth hit.  Feeling better.  Maybe I should do something, perhaps talk to stephen.  I need to be social now.

Fifth hit.  Perhaps I should call Hess.  No it is too late.  What am I going to do with this high?  I need to do something with it.  My life has purpose!

Sixth hit.  Yes it has purpose, but I don't need to do something all the time.  I do things a lot.  I will be going to work tomorrow.

Seventh, that was a biggie.  Oh, must make a path for the cat.  Now he can get to his food.  To think, a few minutes ago, I was looking at that pile with dismay, not any more, that junk on my floor is just that, on my floor.  Not in my mind.  I don't need to think about it.

Eight.  My cat is back at my side, apparently food wasn't that compelling.  I should load another bowl.

Nine.  My friends used to think I stunk up their house.  They are perhaps right.  I feel a little bad hitting the bong in my home bedroom.

Ten.  A thought a hit, that seems fair.

11.  I wonder if one's first instinct--like this color is the best.

Twelve, I want to make love to everyone and everything in this world.

Thirteen, I was once writing a memoir.

Maybe I'll go back to that writnig project.  Ta.

Sunday, June 6, 2010 9:36 PM

Tuesday, June 8, 2010 0:59 AM

lo.  i am here.  open thy gates, sound the trumpets.  For I AM here.  Know that now is the time, and the time is now.  For all good boys and girls to give up their bad ways and thoughts.  Do this with me.  While I sing a song without a tune.  And I doubt I'll be stopping any time soon.  A tune for the young, a tune for the old.  A tune for those who have no soul.  A tune for the infirm, the ones with no name.  A tune for all just the same.  Listen to me!  For I will not stop.  Even though you do not hear, the words escape, and dance.  I do not force them any way, they go where they want to.  I let them.  Go little words, go!  Spread yourself out, amongst the page, and let it be yours, to rant or rage.  sun be not setting, dawn be not getting.  It's getting near dawn...  When lights close their tired eyes.  I'll soon be with you my love.  Give you my dawn surprise.  I'll be with you darling soon.  I'll be with you when the stars start falling.  I've been waiting so long.  I've been waiting so long.  I've been waiting so long.  To be where I'm going.  In the sunshine of your loo. oo. ooo. oo.. oove.  To write.  To breathe my words.  To let them hang, and dangle, and fiddle faddle.  I need not food.  I need not drink.  I need but smoke and words to write.  I'll write till my fingers bleed.  But that would be a weird keyboard.  A wooden keyboard, sounds amish.  I could imagine such a thing.  Splinters in your thumb from hitting the space bar.  Ah, space bar, how I love thee.  You flicker so fancily, and feel so free.  I love mari j.  We are so good together.  She gives me love, I give her praise.  And she's an easy fuck.  Oh yeah, totally easy, no need to buy her any fancy dinner or movie.  What movie?  I saw it.  It was bad.  It had twelve characters all named Jim.  Jim 1: So, Jim, what have we got here?  Jim 2: I don't know Jim, let's ask Jim.  Jim 3: Jim, you know better than to ask Jim, and I don't know, you should ask Jim.  Jim 4: You stupid son of a bitch.  Anyway, enough of that.  i hit my bong.  It does not hit back.  Or wait, yes it does.  Nicely though.  Very nicely.  Herb, my brain, you are my slave.  I am your master.  Blaster.  Faster.  Faster.  Kill.  Kill.  Oh my cat is asking for attention, I will place him in my lap.  He doesn't seem interested in what I'm typing.  Fuck paragraphs.  Fuck them.  They only get in the way.  Let's have splotches, instead of paragraphs.  This splotch is white.  Wouldn't it be great if everyone thought I was writing on multiple levels?  Like, that there was some grand metaphor for "splotches?"  Do non-high people get me?  Do high people get me?  Do I get myself?  Sometimes.  But I get myself back.  More hits from the bong!  I am a writer.  This is what I do.  Sometimes it is profound.  Sometimes it is bloggery.  Bloggery is not admirable.  But it's not so bad.  It's just a waste of time is all.  Well, not completely.  For words have value.  Sometimes very small value, but they have value.  And if someone wants to read it, I'll write it.  Because that's what I do.  Unless I'm singing.  Which I do a lot.  And I love to sing.  I really do.  But I don't love singing for myself.  I want an audience, I do.  I want to share what I feel when I sing.  I want to teach and learn at the same time.  I want to get emotions I can't get to by normal means.  I want to feel downright spiritual.  Oh.  So, I was thinking about something.  You know, I've never said that I wanted to be let in on the whole thing.  If it meant ending, I didn't want to know.  If it didn't mean ending, I wanted to know, now, though, I think I want to know regardless.  So, maybe in a month?  We'll come to some conclusion?  Give or take a month.  So it could be as long as...  No, I want to know in a week.  Fuck a month.  Tomorrow.  Yeah, tell me tomorrow.  I am ready for it.  Let me know.  Let me know why on earth that woman I was making out with would say "are you sure you want to do that on natonal tv?"  Don't remember all the context, in fact I was busy trying to seduce her, so I said, "what?"  "Oh, nevermind.  But anyway, blah blah blah."  That was weird.  Reminds me of the whole Paint It Black thing.  Mmm, more herb.  I don't know when I want to know.  But I want to know.  Like, do I want to know right now.  Sure.  Flash a message on my screen while I type this saying...  I don't know.  Something.  Like "Hi."  Waiting.  No "hi."  No one is in my computer.  No one is in my ...  Why do people say shit like that, make me all paranoid.  Well, you know what, I could have misheard.  I hear a lot of things, I think my ears play tricks on me.  What is that Marvin (and of course Gladys) says: "People say believe half of what you see, son, and none of what you hear." (The lyrics are of course different for Gladys' version.)  I really want to see her in concert, but the cost is ridiculous.  People keep using ticketmaster.  Why?  They add all these ridiculous fees.  If I could afford to go see her...  Shit...  Maybe I can afford.  Who knows when I'm going to see her again?  Fuck.  It's just it's like, $140 to see her with two tickets in the cheap seats.  I should have bought front row when I had the chance.  One ticket.  Fuck 'em.  I don't need women.  But it would have cost me $80.  For one.  And then don't forget the fees.  I'm poor.  I can't afford to go to concerts.  I should email that girl who I would be going with.  I just emailed her.  I need to take another hit.  Maybe she said "why would you want to treat a woman like that on national tv."  And it was because I was trying to pick up things from the night before, but I didn't want to build all that back up.  So, how does Gladys' version go.  Ooh, take a good look at these tears in my eyes.  Baby, baby these tears I can't hold inside.  Losing you, would end my life you see.  'Cause you mean that much to me.  Oh, could told me yourself.  Mmm hmm.  That you loved somebody else.  Instead, I heard it through the grapevine.  Okay, that's later in the song, where does it begin...  That's the hard part, remembering how it starts.  Naw...  It's not worth the trouble of finding it.  Continue my splotch.  I should take my night meds.  Damn abilify is making me fat, but I am running the treadmill every other day for the last week.  No I haven't... Well, I've used it three times now in less than a two week period, that I know.  And it's not running.  It's more like fast walking.  But I don't trust running on that thing.  Wish I had a woman to go walking with.  Wish I had an audience to my thoughts.  I don't think I do.  Which is sad.  But, hey.  That is life.  We can't all have audiences.  Well, anyway, I finished what I started to finish earlier.  Nevermind.  I am boring myself.  But I am getting quite high.  That's good.  And I'm starving!  Oh god.  But I am going to let the pills hit me, and try to avoid eating.  I will fail, but I can only stuff myself so much in one sitting.  And I will wait until just before bed.  That's not good, I know.  But at least I ran/walked the treadmill for 30 minutes.  Maybe 20, maybe 25.  If my shirt is soaked in sweat, I know I put in a good walk.  But still, I think I will just continue to add weight at this rate.  I've gained 40 pounds in the last three years.  Okay, four years.  Why am I always exageratting numbers?  Is that an effect of weed?  God I love weed.  Too much.  I should probably watch myself.  It is going to get me somehow.  I don't know how yet.  Since I don't do stronger.  Never have, never will.  Thanks entirely to one show.  Behind the Music.  On VH1.  I've written about this before.  But one never knows when people enter on the journey, so I will write about it again.  I was at an impressionable time.  I was in college.  I didn't have cable television until I was in college.  I also didn't have access and friends who were into weed.  But that changed when I went to college.  And I had a tv in my dorm room.  And I watched TV a lot, and it was during a time that VH1 was just showing its Behind the Music documentaries over and over.  I came to see all of them, some multiple times.  They fascinated me.  How they got the magic formula that made them musical icons.  But anyway, for most of them...  Well, pretty much all of them, had the rise-fall character.  Either he was a main character, the only character, or a very prominent character.  And it was always stories of Elephant tranqualerizers --yeah, I misspelled that, I'm runnin' without an auto spell check. Or drunken debauchery.  Hotel destroying.  Women, always women.  Rockstar.  Oh, someone has just signed on.  She is slow to respond to my "hi."  Yes, she is someone I randomly met online.  Anyway, these adicts, and they are addicts, usually to their craft first, and then to sex and drugs second. They .. I  am trying to hold a conversation now while blogging.  It is quite distracting.  Anyway, they are high on life, then boom, they go down. Because they always go too far.  They drink and do drugs.  They do hard drugs, like cocaine or any opiate.  Then they lose all their money.  Usually.  And a lot of time die.  Whatever happens, its usually bad.  And it's always because they do the heavy shit, while they're smokin' herb, they're making their best music. I could be making some great music right now if I lived in a place where I could.   Anyway, and yes, I do like the word "anyway."  Ah, that girl online has stopped talking to me.  Perhaps it is because I am high.  I can't tell right now.  Perhaps she will catch me sober one of these days.  Otherwise, hey, love me for who I am.  Or maybe I shouldn't start conversations when I am high.  It can be a downer with someone I don't know, apparently. We're having a fine conversation when all of the sudden, she says, that we are not compatible (my word).  I say we should wait until we meet in person.  I wonder if I should have apologized for being high.  But fuck it.  Ah fuck it.  Man, I am so hungry.  Okay, I can't wait any longer.  I have a burning need, now that my abilify has kicked in.  I must eat.  Or...  Maybe I must sleep.  I could try sleeping.  Or I could eat.  There's a half a baguette I know, waiting for me.  Mmmm...  It has been acquired, and I am eating on it right now.  Fuck, things went wrong real quick with that chick.  Why is this so hard?  Mmm..  Tasty baguette.  Bread, delicious, wonderful, bread.  Anyway, so they always go wrong when they do the heavy drugs.  They're riding high when they are doing the prosaic drugs.  Weed.  Maybe some shrooms every decade or so.  (I'm in no rush, during my college years, when I was watching all this behind the music, I made all my decisions about drugs.  I did research, and made decisions on what drugs I would or wouldn't do, under certain circumstances.  And I just came up to a conclusion that cocaine or heroin or any opiates are not worth even trying once.)  Mmm. Tasty baguette.  Was there ever any point?

Tuesday, June 8, 2010 2:29 AM

Thursday, June 17, 2010 0:22 AM

Cheezits and Dr. Pepper.  I am in stoner heaven.

Damn, I don't deserve these.  I will pay for this tomorrow.  For I am not the spring chicken, but you know even when I was the spring chicken, and I was around mom's constant food supply...

Right now I am listening to awbvious -- DM420213 at 17:50.  I know the one coming up is really good.  It's like an eight minute rap.

But first this very long, but beautiful version of georgia.  Here it comes 21:45. Start there.  Now, i'm listening to it.

Now I'm editing it.

awbvious -- when i see you walkin

Now I'm posting it on my new.htm page.

Now I'm testing it.

While smoking a cigarette.

Ah, good.

Thursday, June 17, 2010 1:33 AM

Tuesday, July 6, 2010 11:58 PM

So, I said to myself in my car, just a few minutes ago: "If there's anything going on, I want it to end."  As I was thinking about the Gap Band song "You Dropped the Bomb on Me," I just sang it (you can hear it on the vr page when i get around to uploading) and I just can't get around the lyric "you were my thrills, you were my pills, you dropped the bomb on me."  It's not.  It's "you were my thrills, you were my pills, you were my hope, and you were my smoke."  It drives me crazy every time I hear it.  I can only think, what the fuck is wrong with me, why does it feel so wrong?  And why does it happen with other Gap Band songs.  And Kool and the Gang, they're always playful.  Or, I'm just crazy.  I have to accept it.  I very well might be crazy.  Crazy?  What does that mean?  It means that there's three levels of thought to my delusions, it goes 1. there could be something happening, a conspiracy involving music. 2. no, that's ridiculous, and songs stay relatively the same (every song is BC and AD, before contract or after d-something), the odds are extremely against you, Occam's Razor says... 3. What if I'm right about something going on, then I should act a certain way.  4. Okay, if you must act a certain way, then you must also be in accordance with your own personal philosophy of doing no harm to others (doing harm to oneself is sometimes necessary or at least it feels that way).  Well, fuck going all the way to 4, I'm sick of 1 through 4.  I'm over it.  I'm so fucking over it.  It's like a relationship, the exciting part of "love" lasts 4 years, then it's all a matter of compatability.  Anyway, I've done the 4 years, and, it's been exponentially falling off as far as appeal.  It has no appeal nowadays.  None at all, it is a mere distraction that gives me nothing.  Nothing.  In return.  So, fuck it.  It's over.  I can't take it any more, I'm quitting my delusions, somehow.  From now on, everytime I hear a song, I'll just have to remember what it is A.D. and think it always was that way, B.C. is just forgotten, warpped in time.  My ability for song remembering is phenomenal, but it is not perfect.  Nothing is perfect, memory especially not.  So, even though when I do a google search for "You Dropped the Bomb on Me Lyrics" I see the thrills and pills line twice (which I just have such a hard time believing).  Look, I can't go about linking to other people's stuff, but if you do a search for "You Dropped the Bomb on Me Lyrics" you'll see "You were my thrills, you were my pills / You dropped a bomb on me" and then, later, "You were my pills, you were my thrills / You were my hope baby, you were my smoke."  But look throughout the song, other than the chorus, do they repeat any lines like that?  Look at other Gap Band lyrics, they don't do that, they repeat the chorus, but the non-chorus lyrics, they don't recycle.  But, if there is a conspiracy, easy enough to change the lyrics online, or make them appear that way on my computer...  But no, shut up, I tell myself.  Those are the lyrics. Accept it.  Sing it that way.  Even though it feels weird in my mouth to sing...  Well, I guess with the thrills first and then the pills it doesn't feel aaaas weird.  No.  It just doesn't make sense.  I will always think this way, probably.  God.  No.  I can't take it any more.  If there is anything.  You need to culminate.  Give me some kind of closure.  Like I said in the car, "I want to know soon.  When is soon?  Tomorrow."  So, if there is some kind of anything going on, I know it's last minute...  But give me some closure tomorrow.  We can plan a nice celebration later.  Just someone casually come up to me at work and convince me (for I will be wary of people trying to take advantage of my apparent perceptions) that they are part of some conspiracy involving the songs that I hear.  Or maybe there needs to be a whistleblower.  This is no one man operation.  Maybe the censoring of my online self is...  But I don't think this is censored.  For there is no operation.  There are no whistles to blow.  This is all in my head.  (I'm trying to scream it to myself in my brain, it doesn't help any.)  I'm "broken."  If there is such a thing.  There are four lights!  Or three or whatever you want me to see.  I'm over it.  I'm not thinking like I'm part of some truman show bullshit.  ...  I need to send an email to my sister, she was going to look over it, the contract...  She was going to see how it isn't in effect any more.  Let me do that real quick. This is what I wrote her:

Hey sis,

In case you don't remember, I'm still wanting to know if the contract has terminated from [CENSORED]. Here's the link again, in case you forgot:

[link--I'd share it with you all, if I thought I could, so you could see first-hand what I live with]

My question is very simple, when does it end? The way I read it I'm pretty much beheld to this contract for as long as the "program" exists. But what does that even mean? Does it mean the end of the season? What if it goes on haitus? When am I no longer beheld to this contract?

As far as I understand it, they are legally allowed to film me, interfere with my environment/reality, and never even tell me that they did it--and they can do it whenever they feel like until the show's cancellation (I /assume/). Please look into it, it would be a great favor to me. Thanks.

Love,
Name 1

Wednesday, July 7, 2010 0:52 AM

Saturday, July 10, 2010 4:57 PM

My sister has responded, she is working on it this weekend.  She wanted to know when I signed the damn thing (my words) and I responded with the original email I got with it, which instructed I sign the contract "by tomorrow."  This thing is truly a sight to see.  But alas, I am not able to share the sight with you, not yet at least.

I am a blogger.  It is what I do...  Well, I used to do it a lot more, back when it wasn't chic.  Now, well, it's chic, so it's passe to me.  And I go to the original.  paper and pen.  sure, I could probably get a laptop, but it feels good sometimes.

What on earth am I uploading on youtube now...  Oh well.

i'm listening to music right now.  Music I picked back in 2005, or around then, maybe 2006...  No, 2005, 2006 is when I signed the contract.  My tastes have changed, but my time to arrange another mix has decreased.  And it's all wonderful nostalgia if nothing else.  Like the current singer, the song I'm listening to right now, is Love Come Down by Evelyn "Champaigne" King.  I thought of her as number three on the soul singers, right after flack, who would be after Gladys.  I saw her in concert, King, she was part of a larger soul group and I got tickets to see it because I was pathetic.  Yes, literally, I elicited pathos from a deejay, when he had a radio contest to give away valentine's day tickets to this larger soul group thing.  Anyway, I won the contest, I saw her perform, and she sang a bit of A Change Is Gonna Come, which was really cool.  And in the email I sent to win the contest, I said she was number three.  But now...  And I say this because the song is ending...  Now it is the next song, a gender flipper, Woman to Woman--I call it a gender flipper, because I sometimes flip the gender so the songs would fit me, even though they originally were sung by women.  I make Woman to Woman, Man to Man.  Instead of Shirley and Barbara, it's Sherman and Bob.  And everywhere it says "man" I say "woman" and vice versa.  Anyway, this song is difficult, but luckily there are no spots where, no I take that back, there is one spot, I'd quote it, but it's hard to recall while listening to the song, and I wouldn't stop the song, that's not my style. Although, it was once not so draconian.  Life changes when things are different.  Well, that was a stupid sentence.  But the rest of this is probably not fecal in nature.  I certainly hope not.  Ah, yes, now i remember, instead of addressing her (the other woman in the song, never heard only mentioned) with "you" she uses the word "she" in "she take what's rightfully mine."  Ah, now I'm on the next song, Bill Withers' "Use Me," that's a fun one.  I don't have a story for this song.  Except that Bill Withers used to be one of the "always sounded like the original" artists.  Not, un-live.  But like the original guy used to sound, because, of course, he is dead.  But even though I sometimes thought it was live, I never thought I was singing with a corpse, I thought it was someone who happened to be able to sing like Bill Withers.  I remember I gave a CD of Bill Withers to (someone, I've forgotten her psuedonym).  I also remember I thought of writing her an email with a marriage proposal with a condition her body looked like it did in high school.  I always want to write it.  I always want to.  Because I would marry her in a heartbeat if she looked as good outside as she does inside.  (Or if I ever gave up on superficial things.)  I'm tempted to also put in a clause about drinking, but that would be pushing it.  Instead losing about (and note, I have 25 pounds of my own to lose) oh... Let's just put it this way, I'd be asking her to get surgery.  I just had surgery, got my eyes fixed, lasik.  I'm right now typing without glasses.  And once I lose some weight, the metamorphosis will be complete.  I will be "attractive."  The world will flock to me...  Now, I'm not knocking glasses...  Any more than I would condoms.  But they have the same level of importance--and inconvenience/displeasure.  And no, this doesn't mean a vasectomy.  I don't want to unfix my eyes ever.  Anyway, the thing I dislike most about glasses (at least on myself--on others I look entirely past glasses--as well as facial defects that are, well, superficial--bone structure though can't be faked--well, i suppose it could be, but it is nonetheless what I really look at when I say a face is beautiful--and it will have something I know I still lack, which is symmetry--even though I've gotten rid of the glasses, I still have a deviated septum).  Anyway, that's all falderol, the main thing is I can't leave the house, because my mother wants me to stay home today (the day after my lasik), I am abiding her.  Damn, it looks like my jacket is torn.

Oh, you want to know how it got torn?  And how I "lost" $250 worth of legal, american herb.  This woman, right, okay, she's a little older, but hey, there weren't any other chicks.  I say to her, "what's going on" she says something.  Etc. Somehow, she or I, ended up suggesting going to her place to smoke herb.  Whatever the case, I took her into my car, and planned to drive to her place.  But first I had to pay my tab at the bar.  I leave her in the car and go run in, when I run out, she's holding up a roll of duct tape (or she found it shortly after I entered the car, I don't recall exactly).  She's like "what the fuck is this?" and "why the fuck do you have duct tape?  Are you some kind of serial killer?  Are you Jeffery Dahlmer?" etc. etc.  I try to explain, "I use the duct tape to duct tape my voice recorder to my leg, so I can record myself while driving."  This was not convincing in the least to her.  Then she said, "put your hands like this."  This is where I should have said, "why the fuck should I?"  But instead, I did as she asked and put my hands in prayer position in front of the steering wheel (she is in the passenger seat, of course).  She then wraps some duct tape around it.  I sigh, and then I start to struggle it off.  "No, no," she said, "you'll only make it worse."  And she tapes me up more.  "Okay, I want you to stop this now," I said.  She would not listen, instead she rants about how a guy like me would try to pick up on her and how that was tantamount to high treason, only in her salty way.  Some local guys come by the car, they ask if I am okay.  Oh, wait, yes, that happened before she started ranting, but after she had a few turns around the wrist and a couple around me and the seat and the steering wheel.  (She was supposedly drunk.)  Did I want help?  Nooo...  I said.  I'm fine.  And she seemed to stop...  At least as long as those guys where there, then she went back to taping me up and complaining about "guys like you" and how they go after girls, like her daughter's age (which was in her twenties, early twenties--she was supposedly 46, yes, that is very old for me, but I was drunk and high and she had a kickin' body).  Then she became violent, hitting me with the roll of duct tape, "don't you ever hit on, come on to, whatever, any girl, especially if she looks like me, in her early twenties, you got that?! bastard, I want you to say that you won't..." etc. etc.  And yes, I said I wouldn't.  (New life goal, seduce her daughter and break her heart.  Mwhahaha.)  She was taping me up more and more.  I realized this was becoming a serious situation.  She said, "I don't care if the cops come, let them come, oh no, my fingerprints are on this duct tape, I don't care..."  Me, "yeah, well, I care."  She, "why should you fucking care?"  Me, "'cause I got herb in this car."  Her: "Oh yeah, where?"  Me: STUPIDLY TELLS HER.  Why?   I don't know, part of me thought maybe she's flip out of whatever she's flipped out on in the first place.  Whatever.  Anyway, she starts to go for my weed.  Me: "don't take that..."  "Take it!  You think I'm going to take your weed?!  Your precious herb?  Is that what you think?"  (Then she punctuates with hits of the duct tape roll (not painfully--only when she hit me for potentially hitting on her daughter, that one time was in my face, and enough to leave a mark on my glasses--the other hits were all to the lower section of my body, I'd hate to think my groin, but the layers of duct tape interfered with her hits, so they absorbed the blows).)  Then she tries to be seductive and says "do you like this," while rubbing her hand over my thighs--but there was nothing for her to find there, as I had lost any sexual arousal.  "No, I don't," I say, "I wish you would leave."  "I bet you do!"  She laughs.  "You think this is the first time I've done this," she says, and laughs again.  Two guys come by, they watch what is happening as they walk by.  She yells something to them.  They acknowledge but keep walking.  Then I say loudly, "hey guys, could you help me out a little."  Then they came up to the car--nice of them to leave us alone if I was actually enjoying this.  "Yeah, uh, what's up," one of the guys said.  "Yeah," the other said, "you look a little tied up."  She starts blathering.  I have toned her out.  "Look, just keep talking to her."  They talk to her, I take the opportunity.  Before she wrapped the duct tape around my hands, they weren't completely together--I didn't know she wanted me to hold them that way, or when she asked, I probably would have done it.  Instead, I instinctively keep my hand distanced some while she wrapped it around me.  Anyway, she's distracted, now's my chance.  I spread my wrists, and let the duct tape roll up my hands, pulling on my skin the whole way.  I get the duct tape off my hands, and then start tearing at the stuff around me.  I was mad.  I said, "I've never hit a woman, but woman, you better get out of this car," while I had just the last of it off of me.  She dashed out the door, and was gone in the night.  She had rummaged through my car when she had me taped up, and had thrown the earphones over the hood of the car.  I never found them.  Also, something I didn't realize until I had got home an hour or two later (I ran into some acquaintances and had a smoke before returning), my fucking month's supply (okay, I say month, but it really lasts me a couple weeks) was gone.  $250 worth of herb, somewhere between 2/3rds and 3/4ths of an ounce.  Nearly a quarter of AK-47.  Nearly a quarter of Sour Diesel.  And a quarter of something called Goo--which I never did get to try.  My quarter of platinum kush, of course, was in my travel pouch (well, less than a quarter by the end of that night--I smoked a j with some acquaintances before this incident, and then another after, as mentioned).  So, now all I have is indica, and I like to have sativa for the day, so I don't get too sleepy.  But no.  That is gone, she clearly took it, and she probably thought she was only going to get half an eighth or something.  I carry more than I should because if it's under an ounce, what difference does it make?  And besides, I'm medical, I could carry more if I wanted to.  This was legally purchased at a dispensary.  And, yes, I am tempted to pursue legal, I do know her name, and she gave me an address though she later said, "you don't think I'd give you my real address?"  But there is a chance it could be real.  I'm tempted even to write a note, label it her name, and say, "i'm sure there was a misunderstanding, but last night" (or thursday, rather) "you may have taken something of considerable value, perhaps without realizing.  If you'd like to return it, my number is, etc."  But the fact is, I can't drive on my own yet, and I don't know if I want to write such a letter, or if I want anything to do with this person at all.  It is $250, regardless of the form, maybe even $300 worth.  I don't know, I just consider it gone. Oh, and I noticed now that I have a patch missing from my jacket now (the one I wear /all/ the time), no doubt torn off by the duct tape, but I tossed the big ball of duct tape when I loaded the acquaintances in my car.  And now, now it is cold on my right wrist, precisely where that piece of fabric is missing.  That fucking bitch.  Too bad I can't hate anyone.  I don't want to hate anyone really.  I wouldn't even call her a bitch, I'd treat her with respect and probably still think she'd give back what she stole, if only she was shown true christian compassion........  Yeah, that'll work.

Saturday, July 10, 2010 6:07 PM

Sunday, July 11, 2010 4:05 PM

Character / Persona – Detective McGriffin
Detective McGriffin is a pothead who solves crime.
McGriffin is an odd-ball, about 40, always wears a grey suit.  Unlike Columbo, never married.  But unlike most detective shows nowadays, did not have a wife and child killed by a serial killer.  He is single, and his age shifts.  Sometimes he's as young as 20 and on the police force.
He is solving crimes as the fastest rising detective on the force, and unlike the current incarnation, he did it all sober.  Then came a case where he never agreed with the official story they later handed him, which was about a young pot smoker (about his age) who got tangled up in a murder.  The young pot smoker went to prison, eventually.  But anyway, at one point he tried to understand the young pot smoker when he still considered him a suspect.  So, he started hanging out with him, becoming friends with him, eventually trying to assimilate, or something.  He tried marijuana for the first time.  And he solved, like, five cases.
McGriffin was disgraced, taken off the force on indefinite suspension.  In his thirties is when he did most of his crime solving, as a consultant—of course, nowadays you can't have an interesting character do anything we pay taxes for… directly…  But that career was very unsteady work.  Finally, he became a medical marijuana card holder and applied for his old job.  He said they couldn't discriminate against him, he has to smoke marijuana—for reasons of civic good, he says.  He says, "like, it ain't heroin, I ain't Sherlock Shootin' Up Holmes here."  They took him back on the police force.
Only in California.
Anyway, he now solves crime while toking on the side.  Often he smokes with his suspects, to learn their deepest thoughts—which often revolve around cheese and weather.  Somehow he ends up on what seems random tangents, but they always lead somehow to solving the case.  They don't send McGriffin in first, they wait until the others try, with their fancy forensic science, to solve it.  Only, McGriffin does that shit himself, he can handle a computer, which is all you really need if you got the right equipment.
But he drives a beat-up old corolla.  Only it is tricked out with computer shit.  Nothing that deals with the actual mechanism of the car, fancy LCDs, what?  LCDs?  Ooo, check it his car is like, instead of windows, you have like giant LCD screens that display the interior to the outside world, thus appearing like mirrors.  Okay, I'm on tangents, fuck this last paragraph, I'll blog it, and move on.

Sunday, July 11, 2010 4:06 PM

Sunday, July 11, 2010 5:12 PM

He always drives a corolla, always at least ten years old.  He wears the same outfit all the time saying "so did Einstein," which is how he also explained his herb-smoking habit, which is complete bullshit, and then he says, "you want to ask Einstein?"  Anyway, on his certificate, because they couldn't put "for superpowers," they had to put "anxiety, depression."  To that he confessed he had.  Does it not count if you can still function on your job?  He was a prodigy that also felt like shit all the time.
McGriffin says, "the police psychiatrist prescribed me all kinds of medications, after a while, it became clear that drugs were the answer."  But McGriffin knows what happens when you pick the wrong drugs.  Does he wonder if ever he will be in a situation where the case goes on for so long, he'll never stumble upon a conclusion, except with something the size of a deus ex machina?  If not in his veins, directly into his brain by an implant?  Would he do it?  McGriffin would.
But so far, he's been pretty content with herb.  He's got his selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, he's got his benzodiazepines (in moderation—for sleep), why not add a naturally occurring substance?  It's not like he doesn't stumble on a conclusion, he always does.  Often the dead bodies come back to life, making his job easier.  That's because everyone he deals with are more interesting than real people, otherwise, they aren't even suspects.  Is it like Columbo in where the audience knows the killer first?  No, it's unlike anything, since even the writer doesn't know who the killer is—or if a killing has occurred, as mentioned.
He's also quite often a ladies' man, for the world he inhabits is full of female smokers.  They are all beautiful and in their early twenties—regardless of McGriffin's age.  McGriffin has a Sean Connery effect on these women that is imperceptible and in ways that no one can explain.  McGriffin, like the name suggests is Irish.  But he's not like McCloud (who was created by the same people who made Columbo), who is clearly Texan before he's Irish (I don't care if they do say he was from New Mexico).  McMillain, now he was Irish, but he was kind of (in a good way) gay before he was Irish.  (Rock Hudson was so gay, in again, a fabulous way.)  A lot of the female interests in the McGriffin Chronicles are Irish.
McGriffin has a chief named Chief.  Chief's role is kinda murky, except that he is in some way McGriffin's superior.  He likes to yell out McGriffin's name when he is angry.  McGriffin treats Chief with absolutely no respect verbally.  But if he tried otherwise Chief would probably physically assault McGriffin.  Then there's the sidekick, some-time partner in crime fighting, Detective Reddington.  If there's something annoying to do, mendocse (which translate from multiple languages to mean bothersome), he makes Reddington do it.
He's an international Detective, also.  He goes wherever the story leads him, and that's often to very exotic locales.  A lot of his detective work is multilingual.  He's a master of all kinds of dialects.  Sometimes a crime will require him to adopt a Scottish accent, for example.  He's a master of disguise as well—provided the disguise means wearing a grey suit.  But the most important thing is, according to McGriffin, "nothing happens twice, unless it happens every time."

Friday, July 16, 2010 8:02 PM

Okay. so i want to do something with my time.  I must take advantage of my high.  First of all: that's better.  Aaah, i feel so mellow.  I have smoked my third joint of the day.  I had to say no to a friend asking me to go get drinks with me at a bar.  I asked if there were any women, and he said we'd meet them at the bar...  This guy does have game, but I haven't seen it work for me.

Anyway, I didn't particularly want to go, and my mother reminded me--as she has been asking a lot lately about where I go and what I do--that I have no money.  Ah yes.  I remember now.  So, I had to text him back that I was lacking in fundage and whatnot (minus the shoreism).  He text back "No."  But I knew from him that meant: "Noooooooooo."  But who has the time to write that?

Give me a new color, I am tired with the old one.  Purple.  That'll do.  The green background though.  I'm beginning to doubt it.  I really liked having my old blogger version--before they stopped ftp publishing.  Now, of course, I could look into wordpress, from what i've heard.  But that's trouble in itself.  I don't know if i have the permissions even on the server to do that stuff.

Anyway, to make a long story short... Oh, the story has ended.  Nicely.  Mmm, three joints.  The first two were good, but I wasted them writing in my notebook. someday i'll scan it.  i need to upload my voice recorder stuff. Man, it would be so much nicer if I just had a content management system.  I am being forced to do this new stuff at work, so I better adapt here as well.  No one will do it for me, I must do it myself.  And I've been doing this shit too long to have to keep doing this the old fashioned way.

Anyway, that's that, and all that's fine.  But I still kinda like the green background.  Or at least, I've gotten used to it.  But I've gotten more used to reading on white.  Oh, 'tis lonely this existence.

I am ready to tangent into self pity.  About what?

The multitude of women out there with boyfriends.  Or should I say, have said, they had boyfriends.  The "I have a boyfriend" card, as I like to call it, gets used whenever necessary.  Which is almost always immediately.  It makes life so much easier for the guy.  But!  What if...  What if they are lying?  After all, [would like to give example, but it might be too...  oh fuck it...  let's just say she gave some minor behavior that suggested she was unattached.  okay, now you think it was a flirt.  It wasn't.  It was exposition in a comedic form, of unknown truth.  That is to say the state of truthfulness would be unknown.  She could have been projecting, or pretending, or perhapsing, etc. etc.  I want to say it, but i'd rather leave it mystical, as well as to who pulled the boyfriend card, which when you think about it, is so graceful an action. And it makes me think about a fireman rushing into a burning building.  He has to choose who to save.  The beautiful woman?  The ugly pregnant woman?  The beautiful woman tells him, "I have a boyfriend."  And two lives are saved.

The "I have a boyfriend" line.  It was a clause of a response.  I didn't say, "but you did contrary actions in a setting where one is supposed to be impersonal, on a certain level."  Because even I wouldn't understand that.  I responded, well, "boyfriends happen."  And they do.  And it is understandable.  AAAAaaaannnyway...  What were we talking about?

Oh, right!  "Black hole sun, won't you come..."  I've only heard that song three times and I see why it is so popular, it is very catchy, it gets in one's head.  Seriously, I don't think I've ever heard it before, maaaaybe i saw the music video for it, but that would have been 5 years or more.

God, I am tired, and I do not feel like pumping myself with chemicals to stay awake from the other chemicals I put in my body.  I don't particularly give a fuck about anything right now.  except with getting my car clean for tomorrow.  I have a concert I'm going to.  And I'm taking someone, so I should be respectful enough to give her a clean car.  My mother used the word respect, at least.

I feel I am spending too much time with my mother.  Not that I need to go out more, but when I'm home, I need to be more cloistered, I suppose is a good word.  I can't avoid my mother, but I need to find a polite way of saying "none of your business."  I get it, though, because I tell her things now.  That is my fault.  The whole duct tape thing?  Good enough to blog about, maybe use in class, but not tell my mother.  Oh, I remember why, I needed her sympathy for the fact I won't be able to pay my credit card bill right away.

Yeah, this all goes back to my being poor.  Which may have something to do with the whole, smoking three jays--and who knows what more I will tonight.  But at least I won't be drinking tonight.  Fuck drinking.  It's not ...  It's just ...  Mmm, I'm hungry again...

GOOD!  Own your hunger.  Become friends with it.  Accept it as a nagging buddy.  Someone who is your cross to bear.  Own it.  Enjoy it.  Yes...  That's right.  You're using your body to respond to the environment around you.  You are hungry?  Good!  Hello hunger!  I am your friend.  We must coexist, for I will not fight you.  I will instead accept you as, say, a blinking light on a dashboard, for a problem that doesn't exist.  I will notice you, and say, hello, and move on.  Ignoring you as much as I can if you start to iritate me.  Which you know you do.  You want to get your way, but I've lost ten pounds so far, and I will not let you stop me from losing another twenty.

Hunger is nothing.  Hunger is a state of mind.  Your body does not need the food.  We have too much food.  We've always had too much food.  But the body goes for whatever's most likely to be a problem, an abundance of food, or a pawcity of food?  Clearly a pawcity is better to prepare for, and so it does, by encouraging us to get every last bit of nourishment out of the food we eat.  And to make the things that it would normally know to be scarce, extra tasty.  But food is no great high.  I'd rather be stoned than full.  I am stoned.  So I am partway there.  But I am hungry...  Damn it.  I am hungry.  But no, I must look as thin as possible, for now I must obsess over something new, if not the stuff on my face.  (I really disliked my last pair.)  And I want to transform somehow into something really beautiful, something I would want to be with.  And that takes posture.  That takes dieting.  That takes exercise as well.

I wonder if my mother is in the blue room.  (Aka my old bedroom.)  If so, then I will have trouble getting the cat.  Should I try?  I just want to know where he is when I finally do go to sleep.  Damn, I have to put in my eye drops again.  I hate doing this shit.

Friday, July 16, 2010 8:42 PM

Sunday, July 18, 2010 11:27 PM

Hello, and welcome to the green room.  The admission is two joints minimum.  I just had one joint myself.  But I have a bong here, so it'll fix itself.  Let's take a hit, shall we?

Load it up.

Done.

Hit it.

Cough up lung.

Spitooee.  Usual pale white with minor flecks of brown or grey.  Nothing green at least.

Hit again.

I think I should clean out my bong, but I like the coloration it gets from only replacing the water, not scrubbing out the inside.  I'm thinking it could taste that much more cleaner if I washed the bong.  Cleaned the bong, however you want to say it.

Reload.

Ah, the time.  The time is 11th hour, thirty two minutes, and so many seconds, on this, the 18th I believe, yes, 18th of Juuu.. July.  Yes, that it, of the year twenty ten.

Hit again.

Hmm, I should try being humorous.  I can, you know.  I've been it.  I have to be it for a class, so I must readjust my thinking.  Something being humorous means you can laugh at it.  That's your recourse to your exposure to it.  Laughter.  What elicits laughter?  Is it all good and warmth, like I believe music is?  No, sometimes laughter...

I need to be more interactive in class, I'm supposed to help the professor.  Not begrudgingly, they'll see through that.  But like, owning up to the fact participation is a part of your grade.

Damn Ihaveaboyfriend.  It comes up so often.  Dude.  What if there is none?  Let's take the girl I went to coffee with.  What if she had to make one up, just to avoid me?  Then it was like, all future references made in class were because she had to back up that story?  That's...  extremely conceited of myself.  I know it.

Besides, to a woman, does it make sense to answer a guy with "I'm just not interested?"  He'll want to know why not.  He'll think he can change whatever it is.  He'll obsess.  And what is the one thing you don't want from someone who you're not interested in?  Their obsession, especially if in anyway it effects you.  So, let's just say that "I'm not interested" is out of the question as a reply to the "let's have coffee."

Coffee is supposed to be safe and neutral, but it could be the same as saying "hey, I'm stuck in a burning building, come save me."  The girl has to say, "but you know I have a boyfriend."  Nothing is safe, nothing is neutral.

Anyway, she can't say "I'm not interested", what can she say?  If uninterested, that is?  That she is busy.  Well, he may say, until when, what days are you busy, etc.  You could say yes to the coffee and conveniently forget.  That has happened to me.  Me, I'm in such a hurry to get to the meeting stage.  Yeah, I could have deep conversations with women, before meeting them, but that would be an intense let down if eventually, well, things go bad.  But all relationships are like that, I should be texting a woman instead of blogging right now.

You know...  I should have made every one of these blog entries into a link you could click for each date, or something.  Damn I miss using blogger.  It was a better interface, I know it, than what I give, which is practically no interface at all.  I'm just scrawling some html thing.  One big ol' block of text after another, no seperate pages.  And backwards?  It's all backwards...  I mean, people usually see the most recent thing on top.

I need to practice being funny.  Oh.  So, what is a woman to say?  Is not a "boyfriend" an excuse that would be convenient?  Now, I'm not saying that's what most "I have a boyfriend" means.  It usually means, I'm thinking, that they have a boyfriend.  But since there's very little choice in a woman's response.

"And if the date's not going well, tell him you have a boyfriend."  Women are stuck, though, as far as I understand it.  You gotta do something, and "I'm not interested" just encourages most guys?  You can't test a guy somehow, ahead of time to the "I'm not interested."

Hit again.

(Holding breath.)  Besides I need a stoner chick.  That's what I really need.  (exhale.)

A hot stoner chick without a boyfriend.  Hold on a second, there is one girl I'd been using extensive material on online.  I'm going to try.

Monday, July 19, 2010 0:01 AM

Tuesday, July 20, 2010 1:05 AM

So, I said, yes?, how I was going to go to the concert with someone, and she pulls an "I have a boyfriend" move, the day of the concert?  Yeah, that's fucking low.  Low on my part, low as in depressed.  And I find out that I can't get my money back, even with the stupid 7 dollar insurance I put on it.  I was way too far back also.  My new eyes helped some, but it was still way in the back.  If I only had bought one ticket, and also gotten the good seat, back when I first heard she was performing, which was two months ago.  But no, I waited because I wanted to see what this chick would say, and I'd have to buy the tickets together if I wanted good ones.  And then I read this ticket insurance through mondial or whatever the fuck, it's not ticketmaster.  Anyway, it's misleading how it appears that you can get your money back for any reason, the truth is it has to be like a medical emergency.

So, anyway, that's that.  And this, is this.  And a color is a color.  And a bone is a bone.  And a bong that is empty, needs to be filled.  Oh, my fellow potsmokers, take a toke with me.  This is purple kush, but it doesn't look purple, and it's kinda old and dry.  But it smokes fine.  Fuck, that chick who told me she had a boyfriend last minute, she's online.  But I don't want to talk to her.  Maybe once she has no boyfriend, of course.  Which she will put on her status, no doubt.

I've met two type of people, those who are in nigeria or senegal or U.K. and those that are cam models, and they are all over the world.  But real people, I have not made much contact, so I'm going to go match.com, I did it once...  Oh, about 4 years ...  No...  7 years ago?  8 years?  I think 8 years ago I did it once.  It didn't go well.  Oh wait. I forgot.  I am poor right now.  I can't go on match.com, I am nearly destitute.  I have double digits in my savings right now.  That's because my mother insisted I put down as much money as possible on getting the lasik.  It was 4 thou total, and I put down a thou.  The rest I'm paying off in 18 months (I could have gotten 24, but my mother objected, and I was not going to have the fight in front of the receptionist).  I need to get something for myself.  I mean, I needed.  I'm still glad I did it.  Glasses are such a pain in the ass, but no more!  Anyway, I hadn't really been careful on my spending on my credit card, and lo, costs add up and ...

I mean, I make $15 / hour, 20 hours a week.  The rest of the time I'm doing my masters in writing.  I shoulda just traded blogs with that chick...  I could have found out ahead of time that she was with boyfriend.  Or the excuse could not be used.  No, that's not to say everyone's blog is as personal as mine is.  I love being personal.  I got no real secrets. (What is real?)  Anyway, I say what I feel.  I emailed that one chick, by the way, the one I said I would marry if she looked like she did in high school?  I emailed her my proposal in pretty much those terms, she hasn't responded (it has been about a week).  It wasn't phrased with any questions, it was meant to be an out on response.

If I must be up at night writing, I could at least be doing my homework.  Instead I am BLOGGING, yes, I will caps on you.  I could go for a glass of milk.  Nope, that is a distraction, I must continue writing.  Dear world: I wish to hold you in my arms and hug you tigh--no, gently.  I need more of the purple kush.  Oh, that tastes so good.  I wonder what my cat is up to.  What was the topic tonight?  Oh, I got ...  Actually, I got to fix art and shit.  (Art.htm and shit.htm, that is.)  Which is blogging before there was blogging.  It shouldn't take that long, I just need to open each locally in a browser, copy the source...  No wait, can't copy the source, need to copy from the view...  Let me look at one of those damn files.

Here it is, my first blog post:  Naw, I won't give it to you.  You'll have to go look at it yourself, scroll to the damn top of the page and click on art...  Oh silly me.  Art isn't the beginning, shit is, shit isn't even there...  I'll put it.

Oh now I got to see if it's working, and if not, how bad is it...  Oh, I just felt tired.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010 1:40 AM

Wednesday, July 21, 2010 3:12 AM

If I'm going to waste time...  And yes, you can suffer the black text.  If I'm going to waste time, I might as well do it with you.  I don't see how it makes any difference, really.  Okay, this black text is annoying me.

Anyway, what was I saying?  Oh yes, I just wasted time on, um... that site...  Oh fuck it, i'll say digg.  It has nerd cred that I so desperately crave.  Anyway, I ended up doing something I reserve for the newspaper and the occasional magazine.  Which is read.  I mean, I read for work.  Ah work, I was useful today, I always enjoy being useful.

I should advertize more.  I should ask for donations, naw...  That's passe.  I beg not for crumbs.  I will sell my art.  There is stuff that is unreplaceable.  My drawings for instance.  Oh my.  I am looking at the time.  Why am I doing this.  Why am I blogging...  Oh, I know what I can do.  I can go in late to work, I asked ahead of time since I was getting things done in a crunch time.  Anyway, forget all that.  I keep work seperate from my blog life.  No i don't...  Where do I come up with these sentences?

I need to do a routine.  Imagery.  That's school.  Another thing I try to keep seperate--and fail to, miserably.  Man, my mind is mush, why must I mince with muscles misused and abused?  I prefer to do some aliteration, than come up with stuff like...  But imagery is good.  I gotta admit, it works good, and my other teacher whom i really admire put a lot of emphasis on imagery.  And that, kinda, ties in with my film teacher whom i really, really admire who put a lot of emphasis on details.  Details and imagery are pretty similar.  It's all about concrete sensual stuff.  It's about everything I really haven't done here...

Dude, anyway, so, since I say everything in this blog anyway, I am huge in russia, did you know that?  I have stats, and I'm huge in russia, actually, it's pretty cool, i think i'll pull it up now.  After this bong rip, of course.  Oh, fuck, I forget how to do it again.  I don't want to go through my damn instant message logs.  That makes me wonder where stephan has been lately.  I'm sick of talking to strange women who may not be women, who may not be in my country, and are likely cam models if they are real, or maybe they just fish for info, I like the chicks who are upfront.  Hmm, I need to send an email.  One second.  Oh, fuck that, I need to take my pills.  Right.  So the question was...

Do I take my xanax or not?  If I xanax, then I'm going to be asleep for at least 8 hours.  But I can come in late.  I'll have to try for 8 hours.  But yes, I need a xanax, I'm too amped up from, well, finally getting to smoke for the day.  Smoking is fun, and I enjoy it.  I used to have cute names for it, like 'nich.  I only remember that because I have an old out dated ...  mmmmmmmm...  I need to take my pills.

Two yellows, two blues, no three blues, one was a different shade of blue.  That was the xanax.  I also put in some eye drops.  I'm finally on the twice a day schedule.  My cat wanted my attention earlier, I should have given it to him. Oh.. My friend is online, I just texted him.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010 3:47 AM

Sunday, July 25, 2010 7:39 PM

So, I have been busy doing homework.  But I forgot to mention what happened with my sister and the contract.  Well, she read it.  And she then well, convinced me as well as she could that it couldn't be in use this many years later.  There was a page she showed me, where it showed a "reality hold" period, and I was past this time by a lot.  I mean, it said at the end of the cycle (never defines a cycle, but my sister made a very convincing case that it means a season) they have a year to put me on a reality hold, which would mean they'd have to give me 8,500.  I never got a dime.  But there's also a section on them not having to pay right away.  Doesn't matter, said my sister, they would have had you sign all new paperwork. According to her, the latest would be the end of 2006 or 7, something, i don't remember.  I had only twenty minutes before class, before I made the call, and I had barely any more.  But the gist was that I am no longer held to this contract in any way.  I am pretty convinced from her.  But it's taking some time to sink in.  I keep thinking there's something I must have read to convince me it was going on past the cycle.  I don't even remember seeing the word cycle before my sister pointed it out.  So, yes, either that was put in there without either of us knowing, or with her knowing...  Yes, the only explaination is that the contract she saw was not what I signed.  They changed the file.  (I'm being sarcastic, by the way.)  My sister isn't lying to me, my mother isn't lying to me.  They aren't being duped by some mysterious force...  Like, you know, I could be right and my family just not be in on it.  But it is very unlikely.  Everything is unlikely, it was always unlikely.  But the contract made it seem like it could be.  But now the contract is pretty much void.  I try looking at life in these eyes (the lasik just coincides), but it is hard, i need to learn to focus both near and far.  But I do see a lot clearer.  I'm willing to bet better.

Sunday, July 25, 2010 7:52 PM

Saturday, July 31, 2010 2:11 AM

White is a comforting color.  Green is neither exciting nor mellowing, but a different taste for sure from white.  Anyway, I'm blogging because I just instant mesaged my friend, whom I like to call here, Stephen.  He may respond.  I don't have the time to "go out back and shoot myself" or "take care of myself."  Because it'll show me as active, unless I disable my instant messenger.  I think I often misspell that as instant messager.  No, I don't.  I just thought of spelling it that way for fun right now.  Messager.  It is quite fun and liberating to purposely misspell.

And spelling is no longer a huge, uh, way of impressing people.  Having a good vocabulary is one thing, but spelling is another thing.  Which makes two things.  One thing and another thing.  Two things.  Oh god, I am tired.  I should get some of that sleep i was deprived of this morning by both a patch and a wake up for a doctor's appointment.  (I ...

I just got waylayed by a thought, that of my mother bringing me tea in the morning.  When I was growing up, that's a lot.  Now, that's a bit much, but still nice.  I just know I better move out once I have some money which should be soon.  I mean, "should" as in shoulldn't it be?  Not like I have any real money making plans right now.  No, I will just stay poor.  For a while.  But I will eventually make some money.  My life will have to change after the end of spring semester, that's a fact.

Because I will have graduated, and have no excuse for living on a part-time check.  And once I get full-time employment, then I will have the means to move out.  In the meantime, I'm making an eager amount to pay for, in particular, online dating.  But it's a lot of work, unless, of course you want to cut and paste your life.  Me, I learn that I have to repeat myself a lot.  Like in this blog, the whole "take myself out back and shoot myself" is from a much earlier post, but I don't expect anyone to get the reference.

What made me change colors again?  I mean, not now, I mean, back then?  From white to green, something struck me enough to make that transition, I suppose i'll have to scroll up.  Ah yes.  My sentimental moment.  They happen sometimes.

Anyway, I am thinking about my sister, and how she really did me a favor, but I still can't get it to sink in. It says a cycle.  She says its a  season.  I don't know if I read cycle before.  I might have.  I should feel relieved, in a way.  Since even if the contract were still valid, the odds of it happening would have been small.  So, why have another enabling thought to that excapism world?

That world where I am the center of attention and importance and everything is about me.  It isn't.  I know that.  Even if it were true, I still would know that.  But it's not true. Because of page 10, supposedly.  Naw, I believe it.  I do.  It's just hard to give it up.  Hard to go back to being nobody. But it's no big shock, I've been preparing myself for this all the way.

Anyway, I'm going to sleep.

Saturday, July 31, 2010 2:34 AM

Saturday, July 31, 2010 8:50 PM

I rule nothing, but everything is at my command
I fear nothing, but fear is nothing to my mind
I am the everything, but nothing at the same time
I am the air, I am the sea, I am the land

You know me, you think, you think a lot
You are nothing, but everything, and the same time
You are primordial, without the ooze, slime
You are not slime, you are what I think a lot

Breaking the rules is easy and quite fun
But why do it when no one knows that I am?
They think I'm just a fool... Who if he could rhyme
Would rhyme.

I miss poetry, as though it were a part of me
But it wasn't, for some it was and that is spectacular
It was in my blood, for my blood, like Dracula
I am the air, I am the lamb, I am the seed

Oh, I must say now that I am not biblical
The lamb is sacred imagery, I know
But seeds can lead to anything grow
And even better do it unumbilical

then i got distracted.

Saturday, July 31, 2010 11:34 PM

Monday, August 2, 2010 2:13 AM

I forgot to wish my sister a happy birthday.  Things would be alright if I had a girlfriend.  Everything would be seen as in motion for something better.  Instead of, stagnation and the stench that comes with it.  The chick at the dispensary is beautiful, i gave her my website address and told her to email me, but I don't think she will.  It's so hard to find women who smoke.  I suppose it will probably be easier to find a woman who doesn't mind smoking.  But until there are herb smoking bars, I'm pretty s.o.l. for finding likeminded women.  Wimmen.  If it weren't for weed and wimmen, I'd have money today.  (To paraphrase the great john lee hooker.)  The revolution will not be televized.  I'd always heard that, but never knew it was by Gil Scott Heron, who I only know from the song 'The Bottle."  I should get some sleep.  or do more homework.  Yes, i'll do more homework.

Monday, August 2, 2010 2:20 AM

Saturday, August 7, 2010 10:25 AM

So, for the familiar reader, just the background should have given it away.

Yeah, I'm off the wagon.  Or is it on the wagon?  Seinfeld.  Now I do references.  Maybe I should put that in brackets.

Yeah, that quitting pot thing lasted only two days because I have waaaay too much pot right now to just ignore...

Ah, that's a stupid excuse.  I don't know.  I really don't.  I tried to think of why I went back...  I just had too much.  Naw, that's stupid.  I don't know.  Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

I've written a lot on the subject.  Nothing here.  Well, actually, all of it here.  But only bits and pieces, I put them together to write the pieces I wrote.  (Bigger pieces, not bit-sized pieces...  mmm, a bit-size bag of ...  Wait.

Fuck no you ain't seein' no end parentheses.  It's just going to dangle there and drive you mad.)

)

I hate emoticons, did you know that?  I refuse to use them.  My friends don't use them.  It's just like a sad refusal to try to articulate your thoughts.  Oh, I feel smiley faced today.

Yeah, I'm a bit hung-over--which is perfect for comedy--and stoned.  I was hungover so I smoked a joint to relieve it.  I think of the things I've done...  No, I can't think of an emoticon to best describe this emotion.  Sometimes I laugh.  Sometimes I get annoyed.  Sometimes I don't care.  Usually, one then the other, in order.  No, not order.  Forgive me, I'm getting too esoteric.

Now I'm thinking of a girl I met last night.  And she is younger.  She's maybe 23.  I'm an all nasty 31.  I got her name and number.  If I don't message her, I'll forget to...  Okay, how am I going to remind myself.  Can't give her name here.

Of course, there's the question of whether she'll be "down" or not.  I could play her some dylan tunes.  Right on right on.

Now I'm excited by the prospect.  But.  I will be patient.  It is early in the morning.  But then I will call her. nix.  I will text her.  Should I give her my website address, and a link to say a few dylan tunes that I've recorded?  Or should I just offer to sing to her.  Yeah, some sober fun.  Why not.  But hey, she and her friend were

Fill in the blank.  I tire with this, this, aggravation.  (I use it because I know it is wrong.)  It's somewhere between excited and irritation.  I must drink more water.  Ah, that was good.  Just like this high...  Sigh, it will be sad to give it up again...

But I will.

If I ain't payin' 400 bucks for Abilify, then I sure as hell won't be paying almost twice that much for herb.  That's a lot, partly because dispensaries are expensive.  I'll give you the lowdown, I smoke two ounces a month.  Each ounce costs me between 350 and 375.  It's too damn expensive.  Anyway, I'll run out of this current ounce in a week or so.  Maybe two.  IF I decide not to just quit now and i don't know, hope it will save well if I store it in a nice dark place.  (I kinda fucked up and left the jack herrer in the sun.)  It would be cheaper if I was getting it street.  Street, I could buy by the half ounce for about 165.  An ounce would probably cost me 300.  So, every month, I spend an extra 200 dollars on getting my herb "legally."

I don't think it really makes much of a damn difference.  One thing I've learned is never ask where the damn stuff comes from.  Or at least it's a good philosophy to have.  And don't tell anyone either.  But, now, supposedly these are grown by part of a collective...  It's got a feel-good spin to it.  But not enough to spend an extra 200 dollars--for my mom it is.  Anyway, it's weird being legal, and talking about going to dispensaries.

Maybe I could find some cheaper dispensaries, but I'm sure mine is competitive, and it has good strains.  Oh, that reminds me of my comedy bit, which reminds of a homework assignment.  I have to memorize something for Tuesday.  Maybe I should make a recording of it, that might be good for memorizing.  But I hate the damn story, it's not as funny as my bit.  But I think the professor wants to keep everyone in the same milleu.  Well, I don't... know... if I want to be.  I do know my headache is subsided.  There's still synthesizers and cymbals (the cymbals were earlier, right now it's a MOOG synthesizer) in my head.  I think I might be able to go back to bed and sleep some of this hang over off.  But I had fun for the short period I was high.  I got to write.  Writing is always good.

Saturday, August 7, 2010 11:05 AM

Sunday, August 8, 2010 8:38 PM

Welcome to my free webcam chat room.  Please say hello.

1: Hello.
2: Hello.
3: Hey what's up b*****s?
1: Must you?
3: Why not?  It's fun and it don't hurt nobody.
1: What about b*****s, you think they like it?
3: B******s ain't s**t.

[turn off censor.]

1: So, anyway, what's new guys?
3: I was fucking your mom.
1: You don't know me, you don't even know if I have a mom.
2: You're not helping your case here.
1: Stay out of this, 2, it is going to get ugly.
3: Uglier than your mom?
2: Wait, weren't you just saying how you'd fuck her?
3: Yeah, well...
1: You don't know me.  Don't be talkin' like you know me.  You don't shit.
3: I know shit, shit knows me, we're tight like a family.
1: You know, when I was young, I had a dog.  This dog's name was Max.  Max and I used to have so much fun.  We'd laugh and sing and do the little things that make you want to smile.  Max and I were so happy.  Max could talk, by the way.  Some say he was full of stuffing, I say he was full of love.  Max wants me to kill you.
3: :o
2: Ug, emoticons so, 2000s.
3: You're crazy 1, whatever you are.

Sunday, August 8, 2010 8:50 PM

Friday, August 13, 2010 8:20 PM

NO END TIMESTAMP

Sunday, August 15, 2010 4:43 PM

I am high, but I must be quick.  For I am only on my first high, which is the best high, granted, but if it wants to be anything than usual, i'll need to smoke two j's.  But I want to write.  So I will write after having smoked just one j.

1 j of mj.  Doesn't that look beautiful? "1 j of mj."  It looks almost like farsi.  Man, I need a woman.  It's 4:45.  I have been writing for two minutes, but it feels like an eternity.  I should really quit herb.  I should really, really quit.  Because that's what is expected of me.  Like all long hairs are expected to eventually cut it.

I think it isn't people in general who need to quit...  But really, I don't know people in general, the kind that smokes at parties.  I'm just getting by.  I wrote much less in these 4 minutes.  That's because I stopped for a second to think about my economic situation.  Namely, that of everyone's.  Can everyone make the jumps I am making?  Should I predicate these?

If picking colors was easier, I would.  As it is, it takes a bit of mousing to get the color you want.  You being everyone.  Fuck that color.  This is much better.

Oh damn, it reverted to the original color (that's because i went to the next paragraph, and it was already formatted).  Let me find that color again.

Okay, back to blue.  Mmm...  Perhaps I should have that second joint...  It'll not get me anywhere.  I smoked one and should have immediately smoked the second, now I'm on the down of my first (since i smoke a lot), smoking another will be catch up.  I might as well write.  I just wish I wasn't so damn lonely.  But only when I'm alone.  When I'm not alone, its more a flowchart of is it male or female, if female is it mating or not, if male eh, as long as I'm not wasting my creative energy.  Or if I am, that creativity will ensue later.

Beautiful women are so elusive, they are like gaselles, they say "we see you have no money" and they fly away.

If I wasn't so damn thinking of them, I'd wonder...

So, I went to get my haircut yesterday, and I wanted to get it cut by another hairdresser (rule number one of cheating is choose a stranger, don't flaunt it).  I actually got my haircut the time before by yet another hairdresser.  The one I was going to get would be female (perhaps attractive, I'm not sure), but I wanted a female just because, well, there's too much "I cut hair but I'm not gay" in the two guys who work there--and they're probably only doing it because the guys who get their hair cut there are doing all the posturing as well.  But there's got to be a little, it seems, when you're touching each other.  I don't think I dig the guy hair wash.  I'm going to go to a new salon, with a female hairdresser.  Actually, I'm going to see if my number for my hairdresser in S.D. is still available (to cut hair, otherwise she's married).  She cut good hair.  And I could avoid all this drama.  If I was going to get a massage, I'd totally want a chick.  But if it was my feet, would/should I care?  Should no.  Would, probably.  But what if it was an extremely unattractive woman?  I mean repulsive?  Why do I come up with these quandries.

I've decided if my question is going to be rhetorical, I'll just end it with a period.  Sure everyone can adapt to that.  Alright, fine.  I'll use a question mark next time.  But you can see how that sentence reads strangely (why do I come up with these... --the dot dot dot is to save space), it is explainable, but only as a mistake, and then you lose a little trust in your writer (I already do things to make you lose trust in me, I might as well try to reduce the number of things I do to make you lose trust in me)  Lose trust in me.  I love how dense this paragraph is.

Sunday, August 15, 2010 5:07 PM

Sunday, August 15, 2010 5:36 PM

I got a few minutes to spare.  I'm imagining chicks at the fair.  Now I'm thinking of downtown, well, more like lefttown, it's more west than it is south.  And the girls in barely anything there.  And you know, sometimes I get thoughts I can't put here.  But just because they are personal (meaning, other persons).  I might just sit here and stare at the screen for an hour or two. No, wait, I have to go somewhere in twenty minutes (from now, wait, nineteen--it is 5:41 PM)  Don't those cap "P" and "M" seem so austentatious?  I live without a spellcheck, by the way, so don't trust anything I spell.  I could go out and get food, but doing so will make me seen to my mother, and then my high will come down.  I want it to stay around for my ...  I should really quit.  Now I'm going through dialog scenarios in my head.  like, should I tell my friend, who I'm going to see soon, that I am quitting (though I already told him I was thinking about it), and instead of making it something...  I don't know, I tried to figure out a way to actually encourage us to smoke.  But nothing comes to mind that really makes sense.   Music is strange when it plays in ones head.  For me, it is often short notes repeated over and over.  "Listen to our music" it says.  But it's not very musical.  I wonder if someone will want my music.  If they do, they can email me, and i'll say, fuck, [CENSORED], but if you can obtain them, then maybe.  And then it's a question of ...  i don't want to even type it, because I always give my music out free.  You know what, I'm going to have to censor myself, just to be safe, I don't ever want to be misquoted someday.  I think I'll get going, i want to get a mate latte and some fresh-cut watermellon (ignores the watermellons at home).

Sunday, August 15, 2010 5:51 PM

Wednesday, August 18, 2010 9:46 PM

So what do we do now?

Where do we go now...  Where do we go...

Where do we go now...  Oh oo oh oo oh oo oh (etc.)

I do love to blog.  (Just reread some of my blog.)

Sorry got distracted.  I thought for a second this match.com instant message thing would work...  But it doesn't.  I'm figuring women just get inundated with those, so they ignore them or turn instant messaging off (which I think most do).  I started out with a "hey" then I wrote (but did not send) "I swear this Match IM thing doesn't work... You can get me on yahoo messenger at awbvious@yahoo.com."  (Am I afraid now that my readers will try to connect with me?  No, I've been putting my email on the front page of my site for years: awbvious@awbvious.com and I have never received any mail male or female since I started in 2003, that didn't come from someone i met first in real life.  Okay, this tension is driving me nuts.  You know I'll be completely different when I do see her, if I do see her on Tuesday.  Oh fuck, do I want to blog about that...  Hmmmmmmm.  That statement is pretty inoccuous (man, life is hard without an-as-you-go spell check).  So do I need to delete?  No, I think it's safe enough.

Hmm, I just got IMed back...  Now I am in mid conversation.  But I am saying akward things.  Fuck.  I asked her what she thought of the IM system...  How dorky is that?  Probably as dorky as blogging about an instant message conversation while having it.  Should I play the "god I'm so dorky" card...  What should I do...  She's not responding to my last instant message.  She is probably busy.  It is cool.  I need to relax.  Dude.  Relax.  She doesn't know you've smoked two joints.  You could be an idiot.  And tell her you are blogging about her...  But that would be, again, idiotic.  Could she find this blog?  Very easily...  Fuck, is it the gentlemanly thing to do, to say, are you okay with me blogging about you, even if it is an indirect way...  Anyway, this high blood pressure stuff is raising my bpm, I'm ...  I'm...  Cooling down.  Breathing using yoga techniques.  Everything is cool...  Just wait until she responds...  What a stupid question to leave her on.  But I already wrote two ims, doing too many is bad ettiquette..  Or nettiquette whatever.  I'm glad I am blogging, this would be too much to handle otherwise.  I'd have to supersoberup.  Which is never fun.

I wonder if she reads my blog.  My freaking match.com name is _awbvious_ .  I don't social network, this is all I do.  My website, take it as it is.

Will it just be an embarassment, if I ...  Fuck.  Maybe I should just install wordpress and get it over with.  If she's going to read my blog, I can't have her see this.  But it is my style...  Google doesn't like it.  They still put my blogger blog postings high on the results when you search for me.  It should give you the latest of my blog, but no, it gives you ...

Fuck, it's been a long time, she still hasn't responded.  I'm just going to assume she got inundated with something.  Was distracted.  Something...  Now, I'm imagining what could be distracting her.  I do love to blog.  I just blog too much, it might ruin my chances, with anyone.  Think about it, this could be /you/ I'm blogging about, if you become friends with me. If she blogged too, I'd be like, "wtf I blog too!" but i don't know that yet.  I can't give her hyde if I'm bringing Dr. jeckyll...... Wait a minute, she said she might be available this weekend.  I won't be through the rest of my stuff by then.  Fuck.  I'm such an idiot.  Of course, I'll just not do it the day of.  I was planning on .  Oh, wait, you don't need to know those details...  Fuck, how many details should I give?  Fuck.  Deep breaths.  Come on.  You've blogged most of it out, just a bit more.  And your soul will be expunged.

How could you not love a scoundrel that uses the word expunge.  I'm going to do a test.  If she reads my blog, she can, um...  Tell me, or something.  Gee, I don't want to impress anything on her.  I'm just going to post this.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010 10:25 PM

Wednesday, August 18, 2010 10:31 PM

Dude.  I forget.  Something.  Oh yeah.  My attempt at humor, soooo didn't come off right. Should I tell you?  Naw.  I've written enough, I can't quote her.  Even paraphrase.  I could go about looking for others...  Or I could just blog.  Or I could find a video game.  No.  Video games are evil.  I must write.  I just don't have to blog.  I could do some other kind of writing.  Ugg, I'm starving, this anxiety has suddenly made me very hungry.  I already was, but this anxiety has made me...  Yawn, i'm also very tired.  And I have to go out of my room and enter the domocile domicile?  Who knows.  Damn, i bet you wordpress has a damn as-you-go spell check.  I remember blogger did. 

I got distracted again, this time with the preparation of food.  I am going to eat, though I perhaps shouldn't but that CPK pizza has been calling me for some time now.  And I must answer it eventually.  So, even though I had a pastrami sandwich and chips for lunch, I'm going to eat this pizza, right before I go to bed.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010 10:50 PM

Friday, August 20, 2010 8:49 PM

THE LAST HIGH

Or it could be. It should be.  I only smoked the last of it.  And I don't plan on buying more.  So, what do I do with this high?  I could sing, but it's not a conducive place.  So, I will write.

Enjoy this, this last bit of highery.  I will be going sober from now on.  Unless I feel otherwise.  But that shouldn't happen.  I gotta make this more permanent.  Because...  Okay, I'll never spend any more...  No, I don't want to be a moocher.  So, tomorrow.  Yes.  I knew I could do it if I tried hard enough.  I finished it in a few days.  Now.  Now the world is going grey.  I'm going to put in that word press thing.  But not now, as that would be a waste of a high.  Instead, I will write.

My last high...  How sad is that?  I will survive.  I always do.  I just think it would be like losing an old friend.   Or beginning a new world where everything is cool without drugs...  er...  Perscribed drugs...  Er, perscribed and not addictive drugs.  What is addiction anyway?  Oh, life will be different without herb.  I wonder if my mind will still play songs...  Probably.  Right now it is playing "It's in his kiss (that's where it is)" or is it called the Shoop Shoop Song.  That's what it is.  Why do I have The Shoop Shoop Song in my head?  It won't go away...  But actually, this is something I deal with a lot...  When I'm high...  Music and highness just go together.  But now, now I will make a change into writing.  Music has gotten me pretty far, but really...  Okay, hasn't gotten me damn squat.  But writing might get me something.  I could write while high.  I'm doing it right now.  But I prefer hitting the larger, sober audience.

Books should be an alternative to getting high.  Will they be?  I don't know.  I got two brand new Giant textbooks.  There is no way in hell I'll be able to read all that.  I want to write, not read.  I have to read plenty when I have to read my own stuff, and that's plenty enough for me.  If I don't read it, I don't get better.  Same as music, if I don't listen to myself, I don't get better.  Not as quickly...  Well, not as much...  Or something.

My head is a bit full of phlegm.  Sinus congestion.  I would take a claritin-d, but i already take more drugs than I think i should.  I don't know, I think ...  I think I will miss being free of thought compression.  Of having to put my mind into a single train and let it ride alone.  When I want to have thousands of trains, each carrying their own message, each reaching their own destinations, and each quantumly flipping at once into each other.

The last high.  What kind of mularky is that anyway?  Isn't life full of highs if we look hard enough?  The high of a, um... good game of video game stuff.  No, those are dangerous, they take up your time.  The high of a good piece of fiction, when written.  It's been a while since I've done fiction, it might be interesting.  Enough of this bloggery.  I will reach my full potential.  I will or die trying.  For I am 31, I believe.  Though it was just yesterday I was 30.  Anyway, I am nowhere.  At 31.  Yes, people can end up at nowhere.  And they might even be content.  But I can not be.  I have spent too much time, perfecting an art (namely that of singing) to want to see where the end of the ladder is for me in the creative arts.  I still want to be an artist, but I think I might have to adapt.

So, morne for me, and remember me through these last oh, 7 years? 7 years I have been doing something like blogging and at least 5 of those years (maybe 4 maybe 6) were high.  So, enjoy what it creates, or think, damn, what good is all that.  Either way.  If you're high, you might just get it.  I think.  But I may be wrong.  All I know is I write different sober, and sober is what I'm going to try.  Now, I'm going to see if my friend is online, and if he is, i will be leaving, if not...  Stay tuned.

No response yet.  That means more bloggery.  I will endulge this high a little longer.  We will write about it...  You know, I wonder if a Cathode Ray Tube is better than a same dimension Liquid Crystal Diode screen, or worse.  I could get a new monitor.  I have only had this one for, oh, 8 years.  I know they don't make CRTs any more.  I am looking at inferior hardware.  I've upgraded my computer a few times in these last 8 years (well, mobo maybe twice, hard drives i put in all the time).

I took a break to get ice cream.

I am back though.  Ah, my friend has IMed me.

Friday, August 20, 2010 9:21 PM

Saturday, August 21, 2010 5:50 PM

The last, last high.

Well, I'm trying to get to my last.  I have to worry about 6:30 PM, though.  My mother and her insistance on dinner time.  But it will kill my buzz, and then when I smoke the last of these sticks I've found around and apparently a few nugs of OG Kush.  So it will be catch up after dinner.  Fuck dinner.  Man, I don't want to go.  My mother is a buzz kill.  My father is a buzz kill.  This is my last day?  This is how I must spend it?  Maybe since it is my last day I should play an audible.  I believe that's the terminology for it.  Leave a note on my door that says I'm not coming to dinner.  I couldn't do it to her face, she'd look disappointed, then try to convince me.  Oh fuck, who knows, in 30 minutes I might be okay with the thought.  I have to deal with it regardless.  I'm pausing.  That only happens when I am thinking of something that I want to blog about, but know I shouldn't.  Which is the fact that I haven't text messaged that match.com chick.  I need to.  But I am afraid to in my current condition.  Instead, I will wait until...  No, that is ridiculous, I can compose an email.  But I don't know what I want to do.  Do I want to see her tomorrow when I am going to be going through withdrawl?  It would be cool if i ...  No, that's a bad idea too (thinking I could just smoke cigarettes instead, that would be bad as I'm doing good with the quitting so far).  I don't know what I want to do, so I haven't contacted by email or text message...  I wonder if...  Okay, i'm going to open that match.com instant message thing.

Nope, she's not online...

Okay, now I'm getting distracted by match.com.  It's so far been pretty unsuccessful for me.  I went on two dates with one girl (they were really meetings, whatever you want to call them), and it didn't work out.  Okay, that's it.  I'm changing my tag line.  I gotta.  "I love my cat" is not really getting me anywhere.  Something isn't getting me anywhere.  Maybe I'm supposed to lie about some of my features...  I gotta get my sister's advice.  The other one.  She might be able to help.  I've been thinking of things that are unrelated.  My mind has started to wander. 

Saturday, August 21, 2010 6:11 PM

Sunday, August 22, 2010 5:40 PM

The last, last, last high.

I am resorting to smoking leftovers.  In particular, all the roaches I've collected over the past month or so.  I peeled each one and dumped the contents on a piece of paper, then i rolled up the contents in a zigzag and viola a frankenjoint is made.  Actually, 2 and a half frankenjoints.  For the last half I took the greenest nugs (which means they were brown not black) from my left-overs of the heat gun vaporizer (now dead).  I'm actually a little miffed at all my paraphenalia.  Like my bong, as kind of an art thing, I was letting the inside accumulate junk.  I was never exactly sure how to attack the inside without using chemicals (because I never like the taste of a piece after it's been cleaned incorrectly.  I'm thinking of that solution that you can get to clean your bong, but mine is really dark and black.  I just took a picture of it.

Copy of AUT_0101.JPG

Nevermind, i was just tripping out on the photo.  But if you notice, the bong looks pretty much black

some inside shots: Copy of Copy of AUT_0103.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0104.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0105.JPG etc. until 17, I don't feel like oh, fuck it, i'll just go in the code and copy and paste.

Copy of Copy of AUT_0106.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0107.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0108.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0109.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0110.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0111.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0112.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0113.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0114.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0115.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0116.JPG, Copy of Copy of AUT_0117.JPG

I don't even like half these pictures.  I'm just doin' it.  I'm tired and i'm hungry, i think frankenjoint is to blame.  And I have his brother and half sister to smoke as well.  Hmm, I think I might want to pass on those...  After all, even if I smoke them, there's still the leftovers from the vaporizer, all of which could be cooked, i think that's what I'll do.  When I have the house to myself, must remember.  Or I could make tea out of it.  Maybe I ...  No, making tea would be a poor use of it, there's much too much thc to be lost by that.  I've never really cooked, well, not in a long time, but then I didn't have to use any thing not already prepared, kinda.  I'm being obtuse.  I'm getting hungry.  It is never good to write on an empty stomach, your mind will wander towards food, and then your audience's mind will go to food, and everyone will just get hungry and frustrated because the reader is reading and the writer is writing and nobody is eating.

Going sober is going to be tough, I'll have to get up each day realizing where i am and where I am not going, which is namely cloud nine.  And be surrounded by family (which is ... not horrible ... but it is definitely "cramping my style").  But hopefully I'll be too busy to notice this.  I mean, I'm pretty damn sure I'll be busy with my writing classes.  My mind started to wander again.  I'll have to be unwandering when I write later...  But I can't be too orthodox...  Actually, I'm never too orthodox, I could try and would fail and it would look better than orthodox that way.  As long as it has my flavor, I am fine.  And you can't remove my flavor without changing my words.  Influencing me by using orthodoxy as a way to motivate and shape whatever I was writing, will not change my flavor.  It will make it robust.  And it will have new flavors around, but my flavor will always be there.

I'm being called to dinner.

Sunday, August 22, 2010 6:32 PM

Monday, August 23, 2010 8:04 PM

The last last last last (how many lasts?) high

Oh, it feels good.  I smoked the brother and the sister today.  I feel the souls of a thousand dead roaches in my throat lungs and my chi.  I'm never leaving this room.  My cat is now in my lap.  He used to be a little thing.  Now he is much bigger.  But I still love him.  I am petting him between sentences.  He's a sweetheart.  Sometimes I think he's a little deity.  Smarter than I'll ever know.  I'm never leaving this room.  Oh, he's left.  I think it was because I was thinking of something else while I was petting him.  I thought of my friend Hess.    I got a bug on my monitor, I must close the screen door.  Because this is just a moth, I can live with him.  But I am reminded of other more annoying insects and am wary.  So far, few houseflies, which is good, because those are the worst.  They sound annoying, they get in your face, they zoom all over the place, and they are just crawling with filth.  God, I am so glad there is not one of those in my room right now.  I'm never leaving this room.  Bloggery is so easy.  I wish all writing could be like this.  Where I just say whatever is on my mind.  Unless I am being reminded of something I don't like, then why write it, you'll just embellish upon it, and then dwell upon it...  Deal with that stuff when you're sober again.  I swear, my prose is going to look a lot different when I am sober.  I'm never leaving this room.  I should get a better job.  I should write something good.  I should do a lot of things, and stop doing the things I shouldn't.  That's why they are "shoulds," you "should" do something.  Man, am I hungry.  I just want ingestibles right now, nothing preparatory.  And I don't want to have to leave this room.  But food is out there.  And I am in here.  And I am writing out my final high.  Enjoy it world while you can, or just go back in time.  After this, somber somber reality.  But I was thinking about these two frankenjoints all day.  I didn't want to think about them, but they were on my mind, and I've smoked them both, now I do not have to think about them.  I have to think about this bag of leftovers though.  I want to cook with them... I suppose I can do that at Hess' house.  He might not let me, but it would be nice as I can't have my house smelling like that........... .  He can't have his house smelling like that either......  That's what I think, anyway, it's moot, I suppose I could just pour the contents out into the toilet.  Or maybe into a tea bag.  And have the tea, if nothing else.  But when am I going to do that?  I'm out of stuff to smoke, those roaches were bad.  If I hadn't rolled those two...  I dunno, it's kinda cool having all these different strains in me.  Man, I hate quitting.  I'm starving.  But I'm never leaving this room.  Mmm, I have hit the end of the highest part, I'm into the mellow phase.  Now I'm thinking about people.  Other friends.  Now I'm thinking about women, since, you know, that's what comes next.  Dude, am I questioning my sexuality?  Haha, no, no... No...  no no.  But I would like to blissfully sit around and think about a beautiful woman who was my girlfriend.  I can think of some women right now, but none of them are available, so it just pisses me off.  But why should I worry?  I'm never leaving this room.  Maybe I'll die in this room?  Naw, nothing to kill myself with in here.  I'd have to leave my room.  I'm scared.  Of tomorrow.  Of going through the same anxiousness, as I will go through normally, without release.  I don't want to be sober tomorrow, and have to go to work tomorrow, and do anything tomorrow...  But it will keep me distracted.  Which is good.  Yes, I will be sober.  It is possible.  Man, am I hungry.  But then the high will fade.  And right now I want to ride that high.  For as long as I can, for tomorrow...  Tomorrow...  Oh, but it could be worse.  I could be starving.  I'm not starving, I'm just accutely hungry and realizing how good food can be. I've written so much in the last 7 years of blogging, but to what end?  I'm starving.  I just want quick nourishment.  Nicotine gum.  When one can't eat, one can chew.  And it's good for your teeth.  I'm on step 3 of the patch, the nicotine thing is going pretty good.  I'm chewing my head off right now.  It's not the same as food, but it does quell the hunger a bit.  Now I'm just putting it in the inside of my lip like one would some "chew."  It's a bit minty though, so I go for the lower lip, but it doesn't want to stay in place down there.  So I let it slide around my mouth.  I'm thinking of a fellow classmate now, who's female.  Now, of course the mind goes to...  Naw, I don't want to answer that question.  What's that?  Potential, sure.  Oh, sorry, I got distracted there by a magazine on my bed.  Scientiifc American.  I'm never leaving this room.  My pockets are much too full.  What's in my pockets, anyway?  I got: a cell phone, with no missed calls.  Take it off vibrate and put aside.  Keys.  Warm from being next to my body.  I am inside, and I plan to stay.  Put aside.  Receipts from inside my car.  Three parking and one from el pollo loco, where I rarely go, but gets a plug right now anyway, lucky bastards.  And, a reminder card for appointments with the psychiatrist (how else will I get all those legal drugs I'll still be taking?).  Put aside.  Also in the left pocket, another receipt from the campus bookstore for the new sketch pad I bought.  And some cash.  Twenty three crumpled dollars.  Put aside.  I'm never leaving this room.  Okay, right pocket.  Lighter.  Nothing more to light.  Put aside.  Voice recorder, nothing to record now, I'm home, where I can't record, so.  Put aside.  Ah, yes, my wallet.  Useful thing that.  Has all my necessary cards.  It's J Crew, it even says so on the side.  (Not drastically of course, they are much too subtle.)  Put aside.  Two ear plugs.  Always good to have ear plugs...  Maybe I'll put them in now.  Naw, I'm enjoying the sound of my clacking keyboard too much.  Another thought.  Don't get me down that road.  Put aside.  That leaves 75 cents in quarters.  The change from my buying of a hot chocolate, which is the only thing I've eaten, besides a granola bar, all day.  Excuse me.  I can't take it any more.  I must eat.  I'm leaving this room.

Monday, August 23, 2010 8:51 PM

Sunday, August 29, 2010 3:33 PM

I must create art.  I can't sing.  I must resist music.  For it will only make me want to sing.  I can't sing right now.  I am looking at the clock, and thinking what day it is.  Okay, it is Sunday.  It is only 3:30, not very close to the dreaded 6:30, when we all must get together as a family and eat.  If you want the food, it is only polite to eat with the people who are also sharing it.  I'm high.  Of course.  Or else the background would be grey.  (Just reminding the first timers, should there be any.  I'm thinking of a homework assignment right now.  What Its Like to Be [blank] Me.  We're (and no first timers, there are no close parentheses) not many at least.

(Where was I?)  Oh yes, so I did it as "depressed" me.  Which means having to read it in class.  And I don't want to depress the fucking class.  But being high me is just too damn predictable.  Besides, I think the last thing this professor wants from me is blog entry stuff.  I should probably redo the assignment.  I can't just expect what is done in 30 minutes will (okay, maybe an hour) be as good as something I work on over again.  And I don't really do that much when I'm writing.  One loses the flow.  I hate to lose the flow.  I need the flow.

I need word press.  That's similar to blogger was, which was fun while it lasted. Ew, this yellow color is not agreeing with me.  I only have so many choices, you know, because I only go for the colors that are available in my ...  I can't write in this.

You'll notice that the colors are only certain ones, they are ones available in dreamweaver...  I wish I was doing this in Word, but it seems so dorky.  I can't do all these colors as quickly or as many as dreamweaver (of course, you can enter any color you want, but I'm talking quick-picks).  Oh, mama (and of course, I don't mean my mother) is this really the end?

No, I need the flow.  What can I do after the fact?  Pretend I was smart enough to come up with big words earlier when I was writing?  Just stuff them in there to make it look smarter?  Is there repetition? Yes.  A lot of sentences that started with "I?"  Probably.  What did I write anyway...  Well, it aint the best damn thing I've written, so I might as well toss it onto here.  It was written in a sober set of mind, so I'm going to have briefly use the grey background.

So, that's what I got.  Again, stream of conscience is one name for it.  I just don't see how I can tweak it without fucking with it too much. Do I need to put in a joke every other sentence?  It's about depression!  How can one joke about depression?  Without feeling a bit like the joke.  Some of my choices are daring in there.  Such as "thermometer" instead of just "measuring instrument."  It's meant to be ridiculous.  But it could look like some mistake...  No, fuck it, I know it's not, so I will live with it.  Still.  I should turn in something more.  I know what I should do.

I should nap.  That's what I should do.  And I'll pass by dinner easily.  And eat alone.  Maybe sneak in another smoke...  Siiiigh.  Or, I could wait two and a half hours, write it out, then try passing next to my father, who's probably passing.  And my mother, secretly praying or something.  I won't let hunger get me like it did last night.  That was bad, I gorged myself.  Or is it engorged?  I don't remember.

Maybe I can nap for only two hours.  napping does do a bit of a reset.  Which is what I'll want eventually.  Not right now, of course.  Right now I want to ride it.  It'll be hard to do for 2 and a half hours.  But I can ride it for at least, i dunno, half an hour, then nap...  Now I'm thinking of my growing up.  How I wasn't labeled depressed at all.  There were no psychologists.  Or, maybe there was.  Oh yeah, every so often the psychologist would talk to you, at school.  I'm trying to remember what we'd talk about.  Nothing important it ever seemed.  They (meaning she, it was always a female psychologist, i wonder if it was a nun) never asked me if my parents were abusive.  Or if I was depressed.  It was more, what do you think about school?  What do you like about going to school?  And when you play with other kids, how do they act?  Is that right?  And what do you do? ...  Nothing about family life.  I know what I would have said if I was asked if my parents were abusive, I'd say my father might act unpredictably but I don't think he'd turn violent.  More than verbally.  (Naw, I have no idea what I would have said back then.)  I'd say my mother was very much in control of stuff.  But that she also doted on me, bringing me tea in the morning, etc.  (Again, no clue, I think back then, I'd say "I dunno, it's okay, I guess."  "Sure, I mean, isn't everybody's?"  "I don't know, I don't see nothin.'"  (The last one about my father))  (Oh, and for fun, why not that ) .  Okay.)

Remember, those who analyze their lives aren't necessarily those with the worst childhoods.  Mine was pretty good.  By some standards.

Especially socio-economically. 

I'm thinking of someone, oh fuck it, might as well, someone from match.com, and I'm only hesitating to ...  because ...  but I ...  So there.

Man, I'm already getting hungry.  Why did I eat so much yesterday...  I can see it on myself today.  Or it is all psychological.  It sucks, all it takes is one or two nights off your vigilance, when you decide to let loose and eat as much as you feel like (or maybe more than).  Bam, a few weeks worth of moderate eating and slimming, gone.  I hate being a bit overweight.  That's what I think.  Of course I have a poor self image, I'm depressed remember?  No, depression is more...  This is anxiety.  YES, I always forget.  I don't have depression, I have "anxiety."  I worry.  All the time.  About everything.  Like my mother does.  Or I imagine she does.  She doesn't let on, but it is the only explaination for her using the "because you make me worry" excuse for personal information intrusions as often as she does.  And I know I worry.  I think about things too much.

I don't turn off.  I want to, sometimes.  But I can't.  Unless I smoke, then it mellows me.  But I've always had anxiety. I think...  But it never came up when I was talking to my school psychologists.  I didn't know I was anxious before, either.  I thought I was normal.  How silly of me.  Now I know I am abnormal, and thus abnormally allowed to do things such as smoke cannabis.  If it becomes legal, of course, things will have to change.  But that's so unlikely (in my own uneducated guess).  When I sing A Change Is Gonna Come, it is a bit like that.  It will be an understanding that people sometimes use drugs, perscribed to them, to get by in life.  Even if it is bogus diseases such as anxiety and depression (oh, and don't forget sarcasm).

Or hunger.  Don't forget hunger.  I'm chewin' on some nicotine gum now.  I'm thinking of Jake, because he's the one who's got to help me get wordpress going on my website.  (Again, I only have an FTP account, I can't ssh in and do anything to build a database or any of that shit.)  Only I should be asking him questions like, how's the wife and coming kid, that kind of shit, before I start asking about this stuff...  I am actually curious about the coming kid.  I'll try instant messaging him.  Huh.  He's not even online.  Weird.  Wierd?  Whatever.  I'm tired.  (What goes through an anxious mind?  Maybe he's "hiding" from me.  That's ridiculous, I know.)

I can't wait until I move out.  Which is exactly what I'll be doing once I graduate.  I better get a full time position by then.  Or an agent, at least an agent.  Then, at least, a chance.  But I just blog.  Perhaps I should be more fervent about my .  No, I will wait for my Medici.

I will paint!  I will scan all my drawings, and I will sell them!  I looked into scanning places, a while back, their prices were way too high, now, though, they might be much cheaper.  Let's google shall we?

Okay, no help there.  What I need is a fast scanner.  No, I need an agent.  Yes.  An art agent.  Someone who will look at my drawings and say, yes, that boy needs money.

Or maybe a nap.  A nap will do as well.

Sunday, August 29, 2010 4:59 PM

Monday, August 30, 2010 9:08 PM

My Last ... Last High

I'm not doing a good job of quitting.  It's because I tried it and it didn't work.  I've lost eight minutes of this high, trying to bond with my cat.  I was giving him fresh food.  Which just meant taking the old food and mixing it with the other old food...  And i really need to dispose of that.  Otherwise, it'll be...  Eventually cleaned up by my mother.  Damn mosquito just flew past me, a big motherfucker at that...  Maybe it wasn't a mosquito, but it looked blood sucking to me.

I'm into my own world a bit now.  Which is never useful.  Because I don't record it.  I am better off writing my thoughts.  I will do that.  What was I thinking about?  Okay, wasn't that important.  Fuck, I smoked two jays, one right after the other.  Now I am very lit.  My eyes are probably strawberries.  They feel that way.  And that feeling is nice.  In a way.  It means I don't have to pass, or I'm not passing at the moment.  Would be cool if...  Naw, that's stupid, what i was going to say, which was it would be cool if we could go anywhere with our eyes red and smell like we wanna and not have to explain to anyone.

I was just going through fantasies of things I said, no wait, I did say, in class.  I said that "when the stakes are low you have to go for humor"--crouched in some meaningless question.  How idiotic of me, and yet, wait, no one cares about that.  We all ...  Fuck, I should have done all the reading.  I missed a good essay, I know, because I didn't notice it behind some "of the craft" essay I also didn't read.  But I think I'll read that E. B. White essay.

Well, it's decided.  If I'm going to quit, I can't endulge in it elsewhere.  I can go places, but I'll have to pass.  That really sucks.  But, I know I'll buy a sack immediately, because I can't go off others generosity for that, cigarettes are one thing.

Anyway, I don't know what kind of guy I am, but I know that I am consistent.  If it is sober time, I am consistent.  If it is high time, I am consistent.  Whatever time it is, meaning, going through life without smoking any herb at all or going through life smoking at least once a day, usually twice.  Usually at night, when I have time to myself.  I could be doing schoolwork right now.  Maybe I'll try some of that.

Monday, August 30, 2010 9:41 PM

12:15

I'm thinking back to when I was on stage. In front of over 500 people. The emotion is hard to forget, feeling all that energy from people. How could you not want it again? Even if it was quickly dashed. When it started to play, and it didn't sound right. I knew it, right there, as it was playing how pathetic and amateur, and more over, arrogant, to think I didn't need the instruments of other people. But I didn't know what they were going to bring... And, of course, there's the fact that I told them I wanted to hear what they could do. I was just used to doing everything myself, so I didn't know better. Anyway, excuses are one thing, reality is another. And so I waited two years and licked my wounds. Maybe it was four years. And I want to do it again. Sadly, I really want to do it again. I want to prove myself, I want a band behind me, and I want to have their excellent music to push me forward. Dude, if I had to do it again, and I had the band behind me...

I still remember in the days when I was scared to touch you

How I spent my days dreaming planning how to love you

Or whatever, I know it pretty well. But I know satisfaction even better. Yeah, I can't fuck up satisfaction, I've sang it with a band at least half a dozen times, a bunch of different bands. Dude, that's what I want to do, I want to sing satisfaction... I wish Hess wasn't asleep right now, we could record a take. But he is asleep, and Green Day is on the TV--I made sure he picked an interesting channel before he fell asleep... as he does, but whatever, I had a good time until, well, actually i still am having a good time, that's because I smoked some herb. Yeah, I was clean for five days, but I had the opportunity, and, well... So I smoked some. So what, I was really going on a trip there for a minute about the whole stage thing.

Anyway, 2-4 years ago, I decided . . . I mean, two or less years ago, I tried out again for [CENSORED]. I don't even watch the show, but it is the only way of getting that thrill, unless I find someone(s) ready to do a music thing. Dude, that bass player is pretty old, I could be a musician still. I just need to do something... Like trying out again. I don't even watch the show, I haven't seen anything butthe first episode, which i was in (as a background member). But the last time I went to try out, it was something in itself.

That time I decided to sing Let's Get It On by Marvin Gaye. I sang it a capella, and I got the attention of the first go through, so they sent me on to the second group. The guy there remembered me, or something, I can't remember, he might not have. He didn't really say much about it, but I volunteered that I had been on the show (well, on the stage) (background member means sitting in the audience during panning shots).

Dude I'm feeling so good because I smoked herb and drank two glasses of wine. (Two bowls of herb, nothing that would get me lit normally, but again, I was clean for 5 days.) Now it's the Killers on the TV. I got to give them credit they can play instruments. I can play harmonica. Hmm, I should do something with harmonica in it. Naw. I'm more a singer. I'm a damn good one, I think, because I do it a lot. But I'm not writing these songs like this green day and killers (but i could come up with lyrics like "are we human or are we dancer"). But I noticed none of them... Oh they are doing more than one killers song. I wonder if I should just start leaving without saying goodbye, I probably should have left a long time ago. That's just me guessing.

12:38

Saturday, September 11, 2010 0:24 AM

I wish I could sing and blog at the same time, but i'm also chewing nicotine gum.  You know what's tough?  Having no venue for your singing.  Or should I pay in drinks and time at a karaoke bar.  That's just not my thing.  I want to sing in the open, with people around.  There, not just to get drunk, and then casually warble a tune or so.  Ray Charles can do it better than me.  It's his words, his thoughts, his piano.  Anyway, I've been thinking about my many projects and things.

Stephan disapproves of my blogging, in I think a joking way.  Yes, he's joking.  Like anyone could object to writing thoughts that someday, will not be fascinating to anyone anyway.  (That's one of my "wait, what..." sentences for you.) 

[No End Date]

Monday, September 13, 2010 8:18 PM

I am going to try again.  I was thinking, as i was outside getting stoned, that I really don't need to carry around a god damn bag.

I think stephan is going to stop me again from blogging.  That is to say, easily distract me from it.

But really, i don't need to carry a goddamn bag around with me everywhere i go.  I don't need any of that junk.

Stephan has imed.

Monday, September 13, 2010 8:27 PM

Saturday, September 25, 2010 0:27 AM

So, we are back to square one.  I just like writing cliches.  One day, there will be no "clackity clack" of the keyboard.  My spacebar, for one, is very loud.  I assume it will have something to do with mini hydraulics.

Dreamweaver has just informed me that I am taking up too much memory, which is ridiculous, as I have barely anything open.  I have to keep my eye on the task manager icon.  It's little green bars increase while I type.  When I stop typing, they go down. How come my memory is being jumped by /that much/ just because I am typing with this one application?  It's like it is trying to hide the fact that memory is being used, by doing it when I am in the process of doing something OR it is only bothering to do, say, screen shots whenever there is text input, no, any kind of movement AND who would bother?  I type and the damn thing goes up 50%...  I just wave my mouse back and forth and it goes to 30%. And I'm looking at the CPU usage, and it's dreamweaver, it's the one that is hogging all my CPU.  According to the task manager, of course.  What is wrong with dreamweaver, and maybe I should find some open source alternative.  Well, my next step was going to get wordpress but I still haven't gotten jake's attention.

Saturday, September 25, 2010 0:40 AM

Tuesday, September 28, 2010 3:31 PM

I am thwarted by my old interfaces and hardware, or I'd achieve my desire for stardom in making a sensational viral video.  After all, I already recorded one, all I would need to do is record it with video.  And it has music in it, real music, instruments and all--not my instruments, it's Young-Holt Unlimited's Soulful Strut.  I hear it on the radio all the time, and I'm always singing (I call it practicing, but don't ask me who I'm practicing for), so I've come up with a few variants on words for that song.  The ones I came up with were extemporaneous, picked and chosen from a bunch of rhymes that I felt fit.  I'd probably make something up on the spot when I record this with video...  But.  I don't have a very good camcorder (it is probably a decade old).  And I don't know why this firewire card isn't working, though it is also about a decade old.  New camcorders don't even use firewire.  And I have a USB 2.0 port nicely in front of me.  I want to get another Canon, I just thought of (and yes, deleted) a reason i wouldn't get one, but it seems a bit incorrect, I don't want to do anything to risk my sister's awesome situation right now, even if what I thought wasn't even so bad as all that, oh fuck, now I have to delete again...  That is too much work.  Anyway, I'm giong to get a Canon, but I have no fundage.  I'm smoking less than usual, but usual was pretty expensive.  My mother insists I go through a dispensary, but that costs more.  I wish people would donate.  I already have an amount set aside for marijuana.  Would I be smoking j's instead of bong loads?  Maybe.  Is that a little wasteful.  Maybe.  But the discretion is delightful.  Yep...  Nothing to do now but blog.  I love blogging.  I do.  It is so refreshing to know I can just give all my thoughts out there and not have to worry about who's reading or why.  In my mind everyone and no one is reading.  There's some kid in Checkoslovakia (I'm just fucking around, I don't know...  I picked that because of all the russian hits I got the one time I actually did see my stats) who's reading this, who is following my life, which is pretty dull.  I have no girlfriend.  I live with my parents.  I'm doing school full time and work part time.  And thus it has been.

Where do we go from here, i say, my dear, for i am saying it sincere, that I have now your ear, and for that I do appear, a bit leer, but never fear, cry no tear,

and so forth and so on

"Loneliness, loneliness, such a waste of time."  Solomon Burke sure knew what he was talking about.  Or singing, rather.  I've sung that song many a'time.

That was a good spliff I just had.  My mother found an old cigarette when she was cleaning my car (out of the wonders of her heart).  I used it to make a spliff, i hadn't had one in a long time, as I was just using the bong, but it is very good.  I have enough cigarette to make another, if I so choose.

Fucking herb, why must it be called bad and feel so good?  Why must I constantly say to myself, if I wasn't smoking I'd be doing work...  When that is not the case.  I'd just be even more stressed out than I am right now.  Which is pretty stressed out.  These three classes are a lot to take, I'm also doing a project, fuck, I need to do work on that as well...  Fuck, and there's also work-work, which I need to take care of.  Fuck there's too much to be done.  I have to do something though, and if I'm going to blow off anything it's going to be school.  I really don't want to do my assignments.  Everything is due right away it seems.  Of course, I blew off a lot to watch cartoons with Stephan.

See, blogging isn't always a waste of time or effort.  It is helping me see clearly the things I need to do to get out of this current perdicament.  I might use music, no, it will be a distraction.  I hate putting in earplugs, well, i don't, because I do it all the time, but I like when I don't hear much but the fan and the clickity of my keyboard.  Someday, there will be no klickity, and fans won't make noise.  But until those days, I'll make due with the quality of life there is.

I can go out of my screen door and enjoy the nature that is my backyard.  I can go lay on the bed with my cat for a few minutes, maybe even take a siesta.  Fuck creative masterpieces.  Right now, I need to get my shit together.  I got a lot of work...  Come on, roll up your sleaves.  Boy, does that feel hollow right now.  I need to clear off my bed anyway, maybe then it will pull me in and make me sleep.  I don't think I'll be smoking or blogging until I get this shit done.  But it really shouldn't take that long.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010 4:06 PM

Saturday, October 2, 2010 11:33 PM

dare should i blog.  of what ends would it do?
my fate, the same, before me, and sands unchanged.
Oh, woest thou, who choose to thwart me
Upon all, there will be no remedy
But calamity, ergo, note us this, we have
All that is required and more so, beyond a doubt
Power enough to succumb to our own limitations
For struggle in all ends nothing
I have accepted my fate.

Saturday, October 2, 2010 11:41 PM

Tuesday, October 5, 2010 6:41 PM

So, I have to get better.  I am sick with "walking pneumonia."  I had x-rays done, and they confirmed it. My father is getting the antibiotic (under direction of my mother).  She knows I would never ask him to do it, and she had to cook dinner.  Which I just got high before.  Before now.  Which is almost dinner time.

Walking pneumonia.  What a weird disease.  It wasn't like the doc said, "take the next few days off from school."  But it is pneumonia, that's a pretty wicked disease (never had before).  I certainly don't want to give it to anyone else.

I wonder if I'll be asked to come to dinner.  I'm pretty sure I will be.  But I'm high.

Okay.  I'm going to dinner.  Before dad gets home (dad is another word for father, one my mother uses).  Because I'm hungry (though I'd rather write).

Tuesday, October 5, 2010 6:49 PM

Saturday, October 9, 2010 5:26 PM

I am better.  I am high.  I am enjoying the chance to write to you this way.  I wish I was famous.  Sure.  Who hasn't wished that?  I'm just waiting for the day when I think, naw, it's alright.  When I will be at peace, and the creative flame will flicker (as opposed to flame out).  I used to call myself prolific. Now I'm not so sure.  I need to write.  Homework.  Get to it.  Okay, ride the high, use it.

Saturday, October 9, 2010 5:30 PM

Monday, October 11, 2010 10:16 PM

I have to write an email to a woman in Ghana, so I think I shall do it here.  Anyway, things are as they are.  I think I got pneumonia from going outside to smoke herb (marijuana).  I don't know how the slang goes where you are.  I don't smoke inside the house, it just doesn't seem right, and after a while, you get to like the solitude and the night air.  But that night air carries paramecium, or whatever bacteria causes pneumonia.

I'm sorry we haven't chatted much online, we chat today, that was nice.  You stayed online, but you haven't responded to my current instant message.  there she is.

Monday, October 11, 2010 10:21 PM

Saturday, October 16, 2010 10:10 PM

Here's some homework that didn't work out, so it's now bloggery. Deal.

How Did I Get Here?
I was born, as most people are.
I grew up thinking, unsuspectingly naive, that I was normal.  Further, that it was okay being normal.  As I grew older, I realized that I wanted to be something special, unique.  Now I am unique, but indignantly so, there is no benefit to my quirkiness, unless I can somehow make my difference into lemonade.  Mmm, lemonade, that sounds refreshing.  I could use something refreshing.
How did I get here?  That is the question.  I think it is laudable to try to answer.  I don't mind personal essays or memoirs.  I like personal essays more because they are short.  So I will try to be short.
I was born in 1979.  The hit songs of the day were…  I don't know, I'd have to do research.  But I was born in Westminster, which is close to Huntington Beach, which is where I grew up.  Which is where I now reside.  I have yet to leave my hometown village.  Though I was made to be a man.
That isn't true.  I escaped to San Diego for 7 or 8 years.  But I couldn't sustain it.
-- I wonder what my mother thinks of me, smoking herb like I do, every night.  Does she think it is just another prescription?  Or does she think it's just a painful addiction?  I don't know.   I know she'd like me to quit, but I have told her how hard it is to, and how I have too much to think about to do that.
"This is a big fuck you… or did you plan to revise it?  I mean was there revision?"
"Yes there was revision."  I didn't say how much.  Which was very little.  Does that mean I meant "fuck you" to anyone?  I'm more interested in the raw material.  The stuff that comes out with the first draft.  It interests me more.  It has more lyricism to it.
So, I get high and write, and maybe only those who are high will get it.  Or maybe it really doesn't matter, because it's just a drug, it doesn't change who you are.  I may appear naked before you, but I know I still have clothes on.
I was thinking of my predecessor to this essay, Stephan.  Or is it Stephen, I never know.  Why is revision so important?  People who wrote in slabs of clay or marble or whatever the fuck they used…  No, I won't use the word "fuck." You know fuck it, I'll try again, no, fuck it, I'll leave it be.
Keep writing.
That is rule number one, always keep writing, do not be thrown off the track, if you do, get on back.  And that goes for songs that play in one's brain, mine is a jukebox, I could make it play whatever song I wanted.  Right now, I've chosen "This is how we do it" to play out "lay your head on my pillow"—though the latter song really wants to play in my head.  I've given up, it is now playing Toni Tone Tony! or however they spell their name.  It's a very catchy tune.
Keep writing.
That is rule number two.  Keep writing.  Do not be steered off the road, if you do, jump on a toad.  What is a toad?   What is a toad?  Yeah, I asked, what is a toad?  It rhymes with road.  Just keep writing "and just relax…" (That's a line from the 3T song.)
So, I was born in Huntington Beach, or there abouts, and I stayed there until I was 19 and moved to San Diego for 7 years, then I moved back to Huntington Beach and stayed there until now, which is 31…  Wait, I'm doing my math wrong, I've only been back with the parents maybe 4 years…  My god, has it been 4 years?
Keep writing.
I was always a lonely sort.  Or an antisocial type.  Whatever you want to call it.  And that has basically been my story.  I met a girl when I was about 20.  Her name is, well, it's not important.  Let's call her the Ex.  That's what I call her in blogland, which is where I got the name Stephen/Stephan.
Okay, we're all waiting for the moment when you say, fuck it, this just belongs in the blog.
Keep writing.
I just got back from a date.  It went well, I wonder if I am obligated to say anything in txt messaging.  Oh, if only I knew how not to write like this, for it is so tempting a way, so easy and freeing, and you just hope that the reader will feel the same freeing feeling.  I give up.  Maybe I'll use some of this, but the rest of this, can just go to the blog.
Oh, fuck, my internet is out.  I don't know why this keeps happening. 

Saturday, October 16, 2010 10:12 PM

Monday, November 1, 2010 9:41 PM

The vaporizer is reborn.  it still needs a tripod but this new milwaukee variable temp heat gun seems to be handling the situation nicely.  of course, i'm not using the dimmer switch, the technology that made my hgv mine.  (hgv is shorthand for heat gun vaporizer.)  I'm thinking I should have just gotten a regular vaporizer.  For the same price as the heat gun, I could have gotten a regular vaporizer.  I still have a month to return it.  It's a little noisy, but not bad. 

[No End Date]

Saturday, November 6, 2010 1:59 PM

My mind is aflutter.  there are a few things I don't like about this heat gun vaporizer.  I used a hookah tube.  But I think the clear nylon is the way to go.  Only because I want to be able to use this without my hands (so I can type and smoke at the same time), and with the nylon, I can bite down on it, and it won't wear away the lacquer on the mouthpiece--which is wooden.

So, i think about stupid things.  Right now, I thought about the akwardness of door openning for women, when nearly everyone is a woman.  I can just imagine some poor guy, holding a door open for a continual parade of women, going both ways simultaneously.  he can't remember if he's leaving or coming, it's been so long.

Man, i'm right now having a total conversation in my head about genitalia and choosing condoms, which I can't give the details of, as then I am seen as, and I can't even say it, but i'm going to, bragging.  Okay, it's out there, we gotta deal with it.  Not monstrously so, but enough where circulation cuts off with a normal condom.  But a magnum, even the quote-un-quote thin kind, feels like i'm making love to the outside of a seal.  I mean, the sensation is all rubber.  But let's just face it, even when I was stupid enough to use a normal condom, I bet it felt the same disconnect between fleshes. I was probably just to thrilled to be having sex than to realize.  But when my girlfriend went on the pill, life became soooo much better.  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying condoms are bad, on the contrary, life would be worse without them.  I'm just saying, it sucks.  And one day, there will be no need for condoms, we'll be able to test for STDs with just a prick of blood.  Sweat would be nice.  But I doubt you'll--even in the future--be able to tell STDs with just something like sweat.  Would be nice if as soon as someone walked through your door, you could scan a person and see what diseases they had.  Or, to a lesser extent, someday they will have antivirus technology.  They will give up trying to fight the virus chemically, so instead they create little nanobots that fight the virus.  Little terminators that seek out the viruses.  Or maybe all STDs will be curable.  Even better, then...  Imagines scene.  I come back from cryogenic sleep. It is the year 2050.  Although I go to cryogenic sleep at a very old age (I'm aiming for at least 80, 85--if i'm lucky, i'll get to die even later).  And though I am cryogenically frozen, I am still in fairly good shape.  But when I come back, I am back in my twentysome year old body, the only difference is my brain, which will have to replace the brain in this clone.  And that brain, which they remove, which simply doesn't gain consciousness, is kept aside in a jar.  Of course, they might have to do some cranial adjustments so that the containing head will fit my massive brain.  They would also have to come up with some little nanobots to...  Or ideally just drugs, that will stop the aging process in the brain.  Of course, the alternative is to find a way to store my entire brain as a program in a computer.  Then hook me up directly to the brain of my clone.  Of course, I run the risk of my consciousness being hijacked by others who want access to this massive (oh there I go with the bragging again) brain of mine.  I can imagine people in the future having little mini-usb ports on their necks.  But even better is a transmitter in the brain, with a transmitter you coudl have a link with an external device which could hold the program.  Thus, he probably has to carry around a box of some sort with him, to keep my consciousness alive.  And by "he" I mean the clone.  But the clone is not going to...  Okay, new plan, someone clones me in the future, and lets me grow as a regular human being.  Then I am offered access to my conciousness, but I have to get an implant... And by then, I suppose implants are common.  Or at least this clone could be an "early adopter."  I wonder if people in the future will start their kids on transmitters in their brains, small ones, that when they get older can be replaced with bigger transmitters.  Anyway, with these transmitters they could access anything, including my life.  But what if I don't get to choose who do this, what if in saving my program...  Or check this out, they clone me, but they remove the brain, sometime before the first trimester, with a really small computer, which does all the basic functions.  Then it releases a, no... brain grows around it, or maybe a brainlike substance without neurons, just to keep the head growing as needed to fit my brain.  If you take the clone, and give it a computer before the first trimester...  Okay, that doesn't work, for a number of reasons.  No, the clone has to have it's brain matter removed before conciousness occurs. But I doubt a computer can be smaller than a few cells.  It just needs to be a transmitter, to run all the necessary programs. 

Stephan has IMed me.

Saturday, November 6, 2010 3:00 PM

Sunday, November 21, 2010 10:32 PM

The vaporizer broke recently.  the chamber for it, actually, the adapter piece that connects the heat gun to the "bowl."  It's being shipped now.  anyway, it's been a while, what should we talk about?  How are you?  Really? --Note to self, must remember to borrow books from library, and read a few pages so i can be truthful when asked if I read it.  (Or I will say "some" and hope there's no "how much" question following.)  My dad's in the hospital.  I could give details, but regardless, things are a bit different.  Anyway, i got high, hence, we are in the green room.  I smoked a joint.  My second of the day.  Oh, i should take my night meds. I always forget to do that until it is late--or I used to.  But my psych. suggested i take them earlier at night.  I'm listening to my pandora right now.  Actually, I'm listening to myself sing with pandora.  I'm used to singing along with the radio, but this is a challenge, and a bit easier too, when there are words given.  But there are lots of songs that I'm not getting to show my familiarity with, just because they got shuffled out of the rotation on k-earth or what have you.  Of course, then I could record to k-earth hd2, and they do the old songs, some.  But then they'll play the teen idol crap.  What was I talking about?  Oh, the music I'm listening to.  Pandora, pandora.com, i was put hip to it by a coworker.  not bad, the ads are short.  i may even pay to get the ads removed.  Hmm, i seem to be more tired than usual.  I will have to do yoga tomorrow.  and if i ever do record myself singing along to pandora, i'm going to learn to pause the recording.

NO END TIME STAMP

Tuesday, November 23, 2010 0:51 AM

Should I message the girl from ghana?  We recently had a tiff.  She's really cute though.  But that's the benefit of these IM relationships.  Ah, what the hell, I'll message her...  But first I'll explain the tiff.  Or should I say "tiff?"  Anyway, sigh.  Fuck the word "anyway" it's just me using a word to take up space.  Let my mind think of something else.  Anyway.  It just a quick little ceseaura--there's no spellcheck in this ap...  You know, what...  Fuck it, i can evolve, i'll turn it on, i'm sure it exists. Fuck, I just searched it. Turns out that dreamweaver doesn't have a spell check as you type.  You know, I wonder about the insertions and deletionsof words after I finish typing a sentence.  I ...  Speaking of wonder, I'm hearing Stevie Wonder right now.  Would be cool if he could read what I wrote.  Part of my fantasy world.  I'm just going to call it a fantasy world.  There are certain artists who ...  Oh, that is all neither here nor there.  Now it's smokey, they both are artists on my pandora.  Smokey Robinson, Stevie Wonder, Solomon Burke, Sam & Dave, Al Green, Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, Sam Cooke.  That gets me mostly what i want.  There are other artists that I tried to add (like Gladys Knight) but her channel had a lot of other singers i didn't particularly care about.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010 1:14 AM

Thursday, November 25, 2010 7:07 PM

the new, variable temperature heat gun makes it so you don't need much green to get high.  Hmm, the comma's right but the hyphen is missing.

NO END TIME STAMP

Saturday, November 27, 2010 7:56 PM

I wish this hookah tube was easier to hold in my mouth and type at the same time. With the vinyl tube, it was no big deal, it was easy.  Now I got this big unweildy wooden piece.  there, if i put the tube across my lap, i can put the mouthpiece in my mouth and it doesn't weigh as much.  I love how much you can get out of a little bit with this vaporizer.  I just beat my video game, i didn't get 200.6% because that would require me doing some fancy moves, but I used the walk through, actually, it wasn't a walkthrough, i should be using semicolons, i wonder what life would be like if i won the lottery. 

Saturday, November 27, 2010 8:21 PM

Sunday, November 28, 2010 3:45 PM

Two colors are enough, don't you agree?  i'm lonely, but i don't have the courage to go on match.com--not right now.  Maybe later tonight.  Silly to need courage for such a thing.  I wish I could smoke and sing at the same time, but that's not possible.  Luckily, with the HGV, I can type and smoke at the same time.  (There's still a bit of difficulty.)  And, of course, smoke isn't the right word.  I vaporize, not smoke.  And a variable temp heat gun makes all the difference.

Who needs more than two colors?  Not me.  I'm fine with that.  If you had a choice of colors, which would you choose, my brothers?  If there was no day or night, which would you prefer to be right?  (I'm singing, you just can't tell.)  (I guess I can sing and smoke at the same time.)  Stevie Wonder on.  Signed Sealed Delivered.  I was thinking of that song earlier today.  You know I feel something different when I sing, I used to think that was famous people, now I don't know. Maybe it is just the spots of faith being activated in my brain, and that makes me want to think of a special explaination outside that of science.  If I could sing at full volume, I could do a lot better.  I could also record other instruments.

I so wanted to be famous.  Some how through that very basic thing we all do--okay, a lot of us do--which is sing along with the radio.  But it is like doodling, it isn't something to share per se.  Does anyone want to hear me sing along to the radio?  I think of it as letting them ride in the car with me.  My apps acting up.  It deleted without me twice.  Anyway, what does the fantasy brain think?  And I always feel I have to prelude with "it's a fantasy" as if it were something as controllable as imagination.  My fantasy says the guy monitoring my writing didn't like the way I was going.  It was against me performing in my car.  And in my fantasy, they always want me to perform.  It could be a chick.  I didn't type that e...  Was I being called a chikce--chicken?  Hehehe, I'm kidding, I typed that "e" I just don't have the short term memory of it.  That's why I do't remember the "n" I just deleted. Or maybe the ap is buggy...  It could be buggy.  There it goes again.  Nothing stuck on the backspace key.  And it wouldn't take my fantasy to come up with someone monitoring what I type.  There could be hordes of nerds that get together and find ways to follow everything someone does on a computer, and they have multiple "victims," well, if it was for their own sake, I mean, if it isn't my fantasy, then it would be bad.  But maybe Macromedia Dreamweaver 8 is buggy.  No, I've had this experience with ord --there it went and took your W.  It's not making me angry, because I am high, but it is a little annoying.  Which may be the hope of the ... actually, it could be a program.  It could be a program that comes in some stupid software I shouldn't have acquired, and it doesn't even do any fancy rootkits or whatever--well, maybe, but it doesn't necessarily mean voyeurism.  But maybe it is just some teenager thought up a virus that waits for you to start typing something and every once in a while "delete key."  And it wouldn't be all the time, it wouldn't be every day.  No, that is easy to prove.  You just say to someone, look at my computer, see it deletes every 20 seconds.  Or I'd look it up and find a solution...  Okay, is it paranoia to type in "can a virus silently delete letters in an application while you are typing?"  Yes.  So I'm not going to do it, until it becomes annoying.  Truly annoying.  This is something I've noticed in the past also.  Perhaps also when it seems I type something and accidentally type a word, like "chicken" in the dictionary (this thing could have a dictionary) it types the letter.  Because I wasn't thinking about chickens at all.  Why would I type an "e" by accident?  But I notice I make that mistake a lot, where I write a letter, causing me to double type the letter or type a wrong letter.  Either that or I'm just a sloppy typist.  My little fingers have thoughts of their own.  It would also have to be so smart as to realize I type in Dvorak, and that's why it picks letters close to my...  No, they don't really do that, but if i was designing this insidious program, I would pick letters that were close to the letters you mistype.  For example, I just typed something and i missed an o with an e, or something like that, and it was located in the approximate area of the key I typed.  But I wouldn't do it to find that on Dvorak text inputs, unless I was being obsessive, and wanted to do more than Qwerty.  This is a rather nasty virus I'm thinking up right now.  Ooo, I could go down in infamy as the name of the virus...  But maybe I help catch it.  Virus white hat guys are thinking, hey, maybe we should look into viruses that look like typos.  Unless it is Gremlins.  Could be gremlins.  (Not Gremlins, that's a movie.) 

Sorry, i got distracted with singing.

Sunday, November 28, 2010 6:24 PM

Sunday, November 28, 2010 8:44 PM

I've discovered what was causing the backspaces.  My power strip was clicking the little tiny backspace key in the top right corner.  Nevermind!

Sunday, November 28, 2010 8:45 PM

Sunday, December 5, 2010 5:28 PM

I get nervous, and I draw.  I was just thinking about class recently, when I drew instead of listening politely at the guest speaker, who was really a big dude (not physically). I made a very stupid comment. "well if the three types of procedurals are cops, lawyers, and doctors; and you only like to do cops and doctors, how about someone who's both a cop and a doctor."  That sounded stupid, as my only contrabution the whole night.  I made another later, at least then not so churlishly formed it into a question--and it was a genuine question.  "I'm writing an autobiographical piece, do you think it is wise, as another presenter we recently saw said, 'to have something behind it,' like a book?  I'm thinking of writing the memoir first and then putting out the script."  The instructor helped immensely by saying something about the other presenter and explaining better what I was asking, and the guy said, "sure, if you're going to write a novel or memoir, do that, it can't hurt."  (I'm butchering everyone's exact words.)  So, if I wasn't blogging right now, I'd be working on that memoir.  I also have a deadline, of sorts, january 7th.  I want to have it done by then.  That's when I want to give it to my unsuspecting thesis advisor--not that the material will make him pale, but the ammount of raw stuff I might bring to it.  I'll want it to be good, of course, I'm not trying to give him something painful.  I'm still toying with using footnotes instead of annotating with big chunks of text.  They would still be chunks of text, but smaller, something that would maybe double the size of the script.  Naw, I think I will do the annotations.  I break the text. Kinda like how Faulkner did it.  (I'll do anything that guy ever did, well, in literature, I don't know anything about his personal life.)  I give about a page of script, or less, generally every scene.  (Note to self, there is one place I did not do it every scene, I should go back and insert that.)

You know what I really need?  Well food would be nice.  But I have dinner in 39 minutes.  No, blogger software.  I know I've been thinking about wordpress for a long time now.  But the fact is the way this looks is inadequate.  There isn't enough space between lines, the size is "none" (Not 0, of course, but none, as in not large or small, just default.  But what is default?  Probably too small. And though I could always just change the margins and do the stuff to at least get the look, if not the functionality...  Oh hell, i want the functionality too.  I need the access I can't get right now.  As it is, I should just be thankfully awbvious is still online.

Sunday, December 5, 2010 6:16 PM

Friday, December 24, 2010 10:24 PM

Green's the color of my blo-o-og, when i'm high, uh huh.  when i'm high, uh huh.  That's the time, that's the time.  I love the best.

no.  i shouldn't say that.  i should be respectful of sober time.  Sober time is good also.  It can also be annoying and boring and generally not as dependably and predictably as high moments.  And why should I have these moments?  Are we allowed these moments?

I mean, the vaporizer is great and all.  But it does make a lot of noise.  And what if my father should hear it, or worse my mother.  What would they think, of their child on christmas eve, anebriating himself?  Damn this thing is loud.  I feel like the entire house can hear it.

I plan to sing christmas music when this bowl runs out, which takes a long time.  i estimate 15-20 minutes.

Or an hour.

Somewhere between.

Why do i do it?  it's like why do i write.  It's not so easy to explain.  I should give you mcgriffin...  No.  I will hold onto it.

I have lots of other stuff I need to put online in a seperate section, a private section.  Something I can show agents but no one else.

Ah, it is dead.  Now to do what I really want to. Quietly, as best i can.

i'm going on pandora and choosing "christmas" and seeing what happens when I record along.

Friday, December 24, 2010 10:35 PM