The new beginning...

So this is it. I wonder what makes me write and I wonder what makes you read. I like myself far too much to just lie about things, bit sometimes hearing or thinking the truth is just too taxing. I hope to keep milling away at this blog for a long time off and on. It helps to kindle my wordsmithing fires and motivate inspiration.


-- Post From My iPhone

Oh god help me

its late and it has been a long time

Nobody understands me, most of all not even myself. I get lost far too often and can't find my way back. It's not late, but the older I get the later it feels. This tells you that I am starting again. am going again.

Eruption

A new day and I have already totally forgotten about Poe = now i only give a shit about the smell in the air - that one that faintly resembles food and shit at the same time - sometimes there is no distinction - get it dis stink tion? fucking idiot.

yeah i know you all have experienced it - the day when your shit smells like food and the day your food smells like shit or a dirty sex organ -


oh how crass - oh how insolent - just - oh.

fucking idiots...

The Raven?

In the last few days a raven has been visiting my sill at diferent times of the day. It scratches in the cracked white paint, digging it's nails into the layers of the small white cliff perpedicular to the lead glass of my writing room window.

We meet eyes and I see nothing in the black saucer.

I always manage to catch its visits, and now I look for it. It has started to appear in my consciousess off and on thorought the day - in between its visits. It has motivated me to re-explore the raven by poe - and now I find myself illuminating over different short story concepts to help reliquish my temporarily growing obsession. Here is the poem of which I refer - more soon...

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

tell me a story.

There isn't anything here. There isn't anything worth being here. I bought a condom for my keyboard.

Some sorry ass son of a bitch

The day runs on and it seems to me that over and over again i just keep getting more attached to my apple laptop. It is as if I can't live without it. I carry it around the house and bring it with me wherever I go. I even warm the car up for it and keep it in it's own clothes all tucked in and snug like a bug in a rug.

Fuck I need to do some writing tomorrow - yeah I'm gonna take the day off and maybe even just sit somewhere and input everything that comes to mind into the white little tablet - my etch-a sketch. That's me some sorry ass sonofa bitch stuck like glue to his laptop with nothing more euphoric to do.

My angry bowels

So today i decide to post again. It must have been a few months now. I am coming off a bender and my ears are still ringing from a concert at the Horseshoe - pemenant ear damage.

I feel lost off and on this week - i feel like my personality is dissolving. Like I am on overwashed health club towel - all rough and white with nothing left to really offer - myabe even a little threadbare.

Am I a narcissist?

Each time I do one of these posts someone tells me that I am a narcissist. I guess because I am doing a post about it I must be? Or is it the fact that I have this blog that makes me one. Tell me something, all 3 of you: Are you all not the superstar of your own feature film you call life? Are you not the superhero of your own comic called your idiotic life?

Well I am. Each day I get up, take a shit and strap on my super outfit and go out there and save the day. I leap tall buildings and move faster than a speeding bullet while my invisible entourage of worshippers and fans cheer me on. I can hear them right now inside my head. I can do anything I want at any time - why? Because I am the main event in my life. The big man. The super coolest. The best. I have the biggest dick and the largest brain and shit yeah I am the best looking. Sure some of you may have kids and think - oh you selfish old kidless fuck - you really have no clue. Well I bet your kids do a great job of making you feel like a super star huh? Isn't that why you buy them everything they ever want and wipe their asses and clean up their puke?

So yeah I guess I am a narcissist - Shit someone has to be a fan of me.

How much is the dolly?

Very well then - here is an interesting image. A very firm looking image wouldn't you say? I especially adore the photo inset showing just how supple things are. Can anyone get me a cost on this thing? It would make a great gift for an uncle of mine.

What does the big "F" stand for?

Not unlike yesterday.

Sometimes things seem so simplified. Most of the time things seem simplified. Usually there isn't much to things at all. We just make complications for ourselves. We make everything see so insanely tragic, or over elaborate. I do it too. My wife calls me a narcissist; I think we are all narcissists, but I guess a narcissist would think so.

I look at my hand and the simple act of its motion connected to my thoughts can seem dauntingly complex. The way it moves almost like an animal of its own volition. It creeps me out. I makes me see things I don't normally want to see. How parallel we are to things like snails or slugs - moving along in unconscious method. My hands have a mind of their own. They move when I sleep. The move when I drive. They take a million different positions over the course of a day without me thinking about it.

One day it will all just rot. Things will break down and stop, but until then the simplistic beauty of my ability to move could be taken as a fascination that could consume a lifetime.

I can't focus anymore.

So it's Sunday and my ears smell like mold. I feel like I need to scrub myself with a pumice based soap to help slough off all of the grease and buildup of mess I have collected over the past week. Yes things build up and you need to have them removed. Your eye glasses get grimy and it makes it harder to see if you don't clean them.

I think old people stop washing because they just don't want to think clearly any more. Everyone ignores them so they just let the buildup congeal until they have a thick layer of sense-numbing barrier to keep them safe. I have no idea what all of this means, but I am sure it is important. I notice it ever so slightly when I look in the mirror. I can feel it deep inside me - I am just not as sharp as I used to be. I have to look a little harder at things to make them out. I have to pay a little closer attention. I miss things I normally would not(or never used to miss). Driving takes more concentration. Is this what it means to get on in years? Is this the first stage of me sensing that maybe keeping things clean will not keep me seeing and hearing clearly? I can hardly see without my glasses. I don't go to bars any more.
Fuck.

Bad Poetry

There once was a woman who had an affinity for cats.
She stroked and she pet them in all manner of lust.
Entangled and lost in act and in trust.

Purr little one. Purr little one. Purr.
Backs arching each stroke, teeth gnashing and white.
The woman and feline seductively fight.

Marble eyes roll like planets in space.
They tangle and mingle and bare teeth as to bite.
The coo and they mix in each others delight.

A fishhook. Unexpected but known of.
Things tighten and flex until harm finds its way.
Both animals struggling no longer in play.

Flaring heat and blindness. Taffeta and silk gape, and pull.
Claws tighten and lock in the smallest of seconds.
Time stops until things are soft again.

It's night in my mind all of the time. I can't do anything without turning on a light beforehand. It makes me feel dead inside when the lights are off all of the time. People tell me to trust myself, but I just can't. It terrifies me to think that I might one day have to. The dark can be a good place to be. It can help. But it is still terrifying.

Wow, get a load of me.

Inside things feel different lately. Inside things are changed. I think that maybe i am transforming into something else. I feel lately like I could just change my shape or maybe in a few weeks or so I might wake up one morning and just be a different person. It has nothing to do with me not liking myself - oh not a thing to do with that. I am still the biggest narcissist ever. I still love to look at pictures of myself and rub myself for pleasure. I still love to take long walks down mirrored hallways and pretend that I wear a size 30 waist. I still love to think that all of the 22 year old women pine over me as soon as they lay their eyes on me. As a matter of fact i am sure that all women love me unconditionally - the world is my convenience store and I can pick whatever I want, whenever I need it.

My wife tells me that I am amazing. She tells me that the sun beams out of my anus and that i am a super hero in disguise.

Yeah - I guess I am pretty good. If you don't believe me just ask someone that knows me - they will tell you how amazing I am - as a matter of fact I will just come out and say it - fuck man, am I ever amazing.

Mother do you think they'll drop the bomb?

In the late '70s and early to mid '80s I remember loosing sleep over the end of the world. I remember watching all of those really bad apocalyptic films like Def Con 4 and Solient Green. I was sure everything was going to end at any minute. I would wake up and everyone would be dead and I was going to have to run over their dried out corpses in shopping malls to escape the rabid nuclear fallout maniacs that wanted to eat my sweet flesh.

Well I guess it is about what - 26 years later and we are all still here? There doesn't seem to be any real media attention towards the chance of the world exploding any time soon. We just hear about how we are killing each other - terrorism has replaced Armageddon.

I wonder if everyone worries about the end of the world the way I did in my early teens or if it was just a cultural stage I lived through. I surmise it was the latter because I don't see much hubbub about anything like it any more. There are no double album releases about the toils of war or death by draconian empire and a lout of mutants. It's all just about getting that sweet o'le honey pot and a bag o'cash so you can represent. Or the inner angst of the self and how it tears you apart. I miss the idea of us all getting blown to bits and then slowly dieing from fallout and tainted water. Somehow that notion seemed a little more sophisticated then the fears we see rumiating in this decade.

Radiation makes me horny.

I don't understand much any more. Most mornings I wake up with at least one why going through my head and I guess that is what keeps us going. I find that lately my writing is the only logical thing in the world. I am tired of getting caught up in the status race and loosing perspective on my own motives for doing things.

Whew - this is a heavy one huh?

The photo works for me on so many levels and I don't know why and I can't explain it to you. I was just drawn to it. For some reason it makes me think of radiation. It looks to me like she is basking in the glory of the atomic age.

If I see another GAP window display I think I am going to puke. The cycle of the consumer machine is starting to get to me - even if I still want to buy everything I see. I hate the higher level of it but still want my stuff. Give me MORE stuff. This woman has everything - don't you just know it? and If I am wrong I know one thing - she sure has a great set of tits. Whatever. I can't seem to focus today. I can't seem to get anywhere without looking at something to buy. I would like to see 1000 women standing like this one on the beach of Lake Ontario all at once. Basking in the glory of our filthy society and taking in all of the poison we have made to create things like Zip-Lock bags to take our lunch in. I hate the way we have made this planet, but it still makes me horny.

Please help me.

Oh god these empanadas are killing me - the farts are enough to remove the paint off of antique furniture. Kensington market really makes some anti-social food. Good on the going in and hauntingly disturbing on the way out. How do all of those hemp toting dreadlocked, pierced, anti-offshore, free trade coffee drinking activists put up with it? I have to confess most of the things, or places that I have eaten that are quoted as healthy or organtic all end up just plain giving me the shits.

Now you may say that it is just my gentile nature or more to do with my delicate costitution but I don't buy that at all. For me black bean soup should be classified as a hazardous material. Tofu is license to drop bombs on all of those innocent bystanders at the Carrot Common.

And why does free-trade coffee taste like creek mud?

Oh, there I go again - ewe. Is there any way I can get away from myself?

I'm feeling a little fetid.

Yes my concentration is wavering and my libido is plummeting. There seems to be this hankering odor that I can't get off. It leeches out of my skin like tree-sap and I watch myself slough off repeatedly. I have blisters and welts. I have eruptions and lesions. Oh dear. Oh no. I'm feeling a little tough today. I'm feeling a little like I have been soaked in brine.

Oh dear.

My nipples are scorching.

No furnace on, and I had to break the ice in the toilet to take a dump. Dalbir and I have secretly been seeing each other and it has been great. Last week I lost my baby son at Walmart and we still haven't found him. The cops are telling us that there is a cult going around and stealing babies, cooking them, eating them. They seem to not give us much hope of finding him. Oh well we are supposed to be optimistic in life right? So I say at least there is one less mouth to feed. Today things are going a little better for me. Today I only had one episode. Yesterday, three of them in a row. My wife had to change my diaper three times. She says sh has never seen so much shit come out of one person - I tell her that it doesn't matter what I eat - I have been full of shit my whole life. It's nice not hearing the baby. My hands are cold but my nipples are scorching. Daniela keeps putting her cigarettes out on them - but it is fun to pick at the scabs.