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it's just a poem about a childless couple. i mean, right?
i think i'll hold off on the windsurfing. about twelve of us at work got together and joined the bottom of the barrel soccer league at our local indoor soccer club, and oh let me tell you how sore i am from wednesday night's practice. oh i am sore. we're awful and we're gonna lose. but that's not the point. the point is to cry and scream and foul and know that at least we tried to win, at first fairly, and then, as required, unfairly. i still think we need to get one more player so we can call ourselves "jesus can't play soccer" but as we're twelve, i think "the footy disciples" is appropriate.
Wednesday, June 26
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i nod off in between the silent moments of your sighs, while between those hollowed sheets our minds set adrift. there isn't a dime or a nickel or a penny of worth among the slender, svelter, girth of your eyes, or my lies, or the cheaper, wiser, midnight shift. it's like a gentler, flatter, earth, dissolving in our bitter drinks; the neighborhood kids evolving outside --they ride on their shiny new bikes with sand in their curls, revolving about the neighborhood greens. my hand uncoils to release your own as your rise to the window: a lone silhouette transported away by the noise of the children --their little fingers gling-glinging their bells; their little mouths chanting cacophonous spells.
Tuesday, June 25
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when sad stuff makes you happy, it's hard to imagine that it could make other people more sadder. which is why i'm a bonehead. which is why, if looks could kill, i'd be dead today. i just didn't think that douglas coupland's excellent life after god wouldn't cheer her up. stupid stupid me. but i cooked dinner and made her watch a stupid light hearted movie, so maybe i'm absolved. thank blog i know how to boil water and dump pasta into it. phew. i always assumed i was picky about friends. maybe it's the other way around.
Monday, June 24
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i went to see guided by voices tonight. and goddamn, drunk fucks are obnoxious, violent, and uncoordinated. if i was running this shit i'd first off subsidize alcohol so that it was dirt ass cheap, and second, i'd mandate the required addition of a highly potent muscle relaxant to all alcoholic beverages. no drunk drivers. no brawls. just drunks on their asses. sure you could bootleg the clean shit, but why bother when the legal shit's cheaper and gives you the same buzz?
Sunday, June 23
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i don't know what to tell you. would you like to hear about my car? i love it. i'm not a car guy, but this is my car. comfort; luxury; sports.
movies? i've seen minority report twice this weekend; worthwhile the first time, because speilberg can afford to hire lots of talented people, even if he's not, but the second time around it fell apart at the seams. insomnia is an order of magnitude better. and amores perros is most excellent. but everyone knows that.
relationships? friends are hand picked and few and far apart, but are truly delectable and worth the effort. work? amazing, as always.
i'll be in spain and israel for a week each, in august. i hope i don't die, but it's something i emotionally prepare for whenever i fly to israel. things are going well; i'd hate to have it end. but oh well. it's always a nice surprise when i don't blow up. us defensive pessimists are always prepared.
Friday, June 21
Monday, June 17
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tomorrow morning i will be sexier than i've ever been before, as i shall unleash the untamed bmw m3 driver within me. also, i'm gonna finally finish learning how to drive a stick. wait. maybe stalling isn't sexy. can one stall sexily? the rocking motion of a stalling car is kinda sexy, in a backseat kinda way. well. anyways. sexier than before, with more sex appeal to be acquired shortly.
[21:19] mom: Was the movie realy that bad?
[21:19] cynischism: worse.
[21:20] mom: Can't imagine something worse than what you've described...
[21:20] cynischism: so go see it.
Sunday, June 16
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if war is hell, then my experience sitting through windtalkers made me feel the true horror of it all. there's a certain minimum of enjoyment that comes with seeing a movie, even if it's a bad movie and so i can't recall the last time i wanted to walk out in the middle of one. it's just a big steaming pile of poo. every shot was painful; the acting ludicrous; the dialogue, asinine; and the story wasn't worth the ass it came out of. fuckall, even the musical score, which i am mostly ever oblivious to the first time around, was generic symphonic crap that clashed with the imagery in much the same way john woo must have clashed with whatever minute shred of movie-making ability he has. yuck. now i need a palette cleanser. pff.
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the trick to communication is filtering out the signal from the noise, and we tend to be so impressed by our brains that we assume a consistent density of information and over-analyze every glance, motion, utterance. so i do this, instead: when my head is clear and on the level, when the moment is calm and comfortable and sincere, i make note of people's characteristics that i can rely upon; certain stories / tellings / moments that i know are true and are real and whose complexity outweighs any potential fabrication for an ulterior motive. like early stories about ex-boyfriends, or childhood friends, or a bitter day or a happy day. these are written in stone. and when i'm torn, and in doubt, and deep in the thick of turmoil and upheaval, and there's literal static or figurative static or rifts or gulfs, i read these back from my memory as if they were tattoos on my chest, and then i know what is real.
so do likewise: you know that i care and i worry, that i'm here for you, and that that's that until further notice. this is your secret decoder ring. so when i say/do/grunt something which you initially interpret otherwise, you're supposed to keep re-interpreting it until it makes sense within the context of the above known fact. simple. no, really.
Thursday, June 13
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weeee. new and improved comment system is broken. i love progress. at least i can blame it for lack of commentation.
:. '97:
i am a mountain honey squirrel
evolved from limbs of sunny swirls
and lemon maids put on my crown
my own to which i take it down.
evolve tonight or do or don't.
revolve around your can't or won't.
one more show to reap the lights
an incandescent magic right
of wrongs unknown and to your shore
a thousand sailors want for more.
evolve and die or don't and do.
dissolve that myth which beckons you.
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ok. i'm ready for the rain again.
Tuesday, June 11
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i'm stressed over car, money, woman; my email's been broken for 2 weeks; and i don't wanna write; so pfffffffffffft. go read a book. also, i'm gonna name my band do-it-yourself home repair, just as soon as i find some more people that wanna be in it because i don't wanna learn all those instruments.
Monday, June 10
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i don't think communication really works. even if we ever bothered to listen instead of to hear what we want to, i don't think we'd understand. if we did nothing but grunt, we'd be a lot happier, and far more honest. language is confusion, and nothing heard is ever in context. isn't it time that someone figured out a proper vocabulary for talking about emotions? don't make me do it. i've got enough on my plate.
Friday, June 7
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when you live in a snowglobe, making the perfect snowman in the center of your serene vingette, it's easy to forget that there's a thick glass sphere between you and the world. everything out there seems to be tangible, inviting, at arms length. until you try and stretch said arm and find that the barrier is thicker than you remembered.
i used to eagerly await their arrival, hoping they would join me in my small happy bubble. but instead they shook and made it snow. so the glass was reinforced and the small home became a carnival for one and the question begs to be asked: can the glass be shattered? from within, or without?
Wednesday, June 5
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some poor bastard got here by looking for "dwarfs fuck black women" on google. sorry bud. i'll try to get some pictures up for ya asap.
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i saw dressy bessy tonight. they look like this. they rocked. i likes them a lot. i don't like many people/places/things, but conservation of like-itude imposes that the little that i do like, i really really like. sometimes i wish i was one of those things so i could see what it's like to be adored by me. oh wait. nevermind. i am one of those things.
Sunday, June 2
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a weekend passed. i enjoyed the sun for the first time, driving around parts of the city i've never driven through, walking in parks and towers and boulevards; spending quality time with friends, penpals, and alone; staying up late and sleeping in late. i drove along the water by what appeared to be a windsurfing instruction session -- a handful of sails sprawled onto the surface in the nook of a sheltered pier. i've always disliked water activities, so i think i'm gonna give it a try. it's days like these that make a man feel incomplete when he hasn't done everything at least twice. so this is the beginning of the northwestern summers. if all weekends were like this, i'd never tire.
Saturday, June 1
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it was just a couple of winters ago that i achieved my lifelong ambition of owning a money clip. i purchased one in a silver jewelry shop in mazatlan, mexico. i carry it with me at all times now, keeping it in a pocket of my wallet. i never use it to hold money. why use a money clip when you carry a wallet? but it is there, nonetheless.
but a growing child has silly aspirations and a distorted perspective on what is truly important in life and i inwardly chuckle as i recall that silly old self. now, as a mature adult, i recognize that true happiness comes from having a full head of hair and a nice car, at the same time. some men have neither. some have one or the other. but hopefully, excluding any major automotive surprises or biological oddities, by this time next week, i shall have both.
the car is in chicago, and i'm flying out to see it. people tend to think that that's a silly distance to travel when i can find a similar one right here, in washington. but can i? what is distance when it comes to true happiness? shall i confine myself to the fruits of my geographical locality, ignoring the joys of the mango, or the banana? shall i dismiss the beckoning of this gorgeous m3, merely because it is some 2000 miles away? i dare think not. i have standards and expectations and i don't compromise.