I Hate Being Smart

It seems like everyone shit out their brains between five o'clock and eight o'clock this evening. Just because a dude can answer questions in his Grammar class he's suddenly fucking worthy of papparazzi treatment. How pathetic are people becoming?

I know a few words. Leave me alone!

Fuck! There's a word for you. Off! There's a nother. Put'em together and you'll know what to do.

Holey Book

It took nearly 5 hours, but I finished a flyer for a fake literacy event. The flyer, and the entire concept and details for it.

The shit you go through when you want to put a bullet through one of your character's head; oh we'll pick him off at the thing with the kids...jeyzus.

Grampa Fall Down

I swear to Gawd, my aunt will smother my grandfather to death before the night is over. She will pick up one pillow, possibly another one for insurance, and apply pressure until his boney arms stop flailing.

My grandfather was diagnosed with cancer about three or four years ago. He's been deteriorating slowly ever since. Once a night I go to his house, where he lives with his wife (my grandmother, naturally), and one of his daughters, who has two kids on the ever-blazing road to damnation and nowhere. One's going to damnation, the other is just going nowhere

My grandfather has been sequesterd to the living room sofa as he is immobile without assistance. He has a walker, his wheelchair, and as he likes to keep falling off the sofa - me.

Tonight, Grampa took another dive off of the couch. My aunt went out for groceries; one of her kids was at work, the other - a preteen, tween; whatever the fuck these mutants are dubbed these days - so my grandparents were left alone, and Grampa was supposed to be asleep.

Well - - he wasn't. So, he tries to get up, but since he hasn't used his legs solely by themselves, they are not up to supporting his body weight no matter how much weight the cancer has taken from him.

Up - - - AND DOWN. And my aunt is sick of having to find people to help her pick him up. We are looking for hospital beds, but their costs are keeping my family from procurring one. I know a few people in the lower levels of the medical field and could probably sneak one out the back of an old folks' home or a morgue.

I'm just waiting for this damn buzz to kick in.

Dizzy

Workout was a tizzy today. Work wound up being rather unpredictable; even nice.

But the workout was where I puked. There's a big difference betwen a story about a nice day, and a story about a guy puking. Who knows where the puking will lead? Maybe we'll see blood, maybe there's a love interest with a socially sick fetish - - and fuck a moist skunk every day you don't find someone who believes in these things.

Did leg curls, moved to squats, and it was during the squats where my belly signaled its need to expel some toxic demons. I was able to stall it until I did all four sets. After the fourth, I stalled for a bit, struck up a conversation with a couple of folks, but the septic gurgling got the best of me. I bowed down to the toilet bowl.

It wasn't much - I was in an out of the bathroom in, like, three minutes. Afterwords, I did a couple more sets of exercise, happily settled in with the dizziness that still prevailed (starting to think I have/had an inner ear infection), and I made my way home.

That's about it. Nice and quiet at the moment. Could use some rain like yesterday, but the aftermath is brutal as humidity and heat molest one another well into the wee hours of the next day.

Here We Go Again

Decided to slip into some familiar skin. The other place felt - - - ill; sick somehow. Not good. This one comforts easily.

tired. when are we not tired.anymore?

but something's wrong. need a change.

Daily Blur

These past couple of weeks have blurred by. Returning to work has been about as uneventful as karaoke in a morgue, but that hasn't stopped the clock from whirling by, and the sun and moon from playing atomic seesaw all around the Earth.

A new semester has begun at the university, which has quadrupled my workload on its own, nevermind that I'm still getting in my regular workouts, though I've had to shift them from five to six days to four to five days. I'm not sure if it's helping or hurting me yet; still too soon to tell. Today, I saw some things I liked, some things I didn't. The shoulders are popping out, the biceps are starting to show cut; it's just the midsection that needs some atttention, and I know that would go away if I was wise enough to replace some of the lifting with running.

For most folks, it's the other way around, even though they don't know it. More weight is lost by lifting than running.

I'm not saying anyting no one doesn't know or feel. I'm not saying anything anyone wants to hear either. That's why I choose to rarely say anything to anyone.

Dick in the House

Medically employed dick-watchers get upset because someone sardonically comments that they watch dick all day.

Fucking rookie. Was it day one?

Get back here and watch my dick.

Where is Cupid?

I wanted to work on the Cupid Apocalypse story tonight, but I can't find it anywhere. I wrote it years upon years ago, maybe close to ten, close to five; I don't know.

It's one of the first pieces I ever actually liked but for whatever reason I was thinking about it the other day. I probably saw a couple holding hands in the park, or the rehab clinic, or something, somewhere.

I read it and while I did not disapprove of it, I could see where it needed some overviews, particularly during the conversation between Cupid and Death. While they're talking, the three other horseman are unleashing their powers over a Chechnyan village because Cupid is feeling blue; uninterested in bringing humans together in love. Really, he just wants a vacation.

Back to work.

The story was inspired by King's X - Cupid.

Noise

Sitting inside a room, three walls made of rock; the third made of glass, and I can't escape the desire to throw myself through any one of them. W.A.S.P.'s Wild Child continues circulating its melody through my brain and I'm uninterested in relieving myself of it as I am a big fan of their work.

The clicking keyboard keys and a heavy sigh are the only noises I have made for the past four hours. The motor of the a.c. unit hums behind me while the rushing air crashes throug the vents.

Outside - - rain. Sweet purity.

Thinking of It

"Can't you see; she's calling out to me!"

"Is she?!"

"Yes!"

"Is she, really?!"

"Yes!"

"What were you thinking of before you thought of her? Were you thinking of her?"

"Always."

"No, imbecile. Before you thought of her, were you thinking of her?"

"No."

"What were you thinking of?"

"Cable tv."

"And now you know you're answer."

The Dark Knight

Finally made it around to watching The Dark Knight. Indeed, a good film, but I liked Begins more.

Outstanding peformances by the entire cast; Ledger did well, but is ultimately replaceable, and Gary Oldman (a personal fave) once again blew his role away, this time as Commisioner Gordon.

Bale's bat-voice was more annoying in this one than in Batman Begins. Fear does not sound like a dog birthing an elephant.

- Heath is replaceable
- the movie was an endless slideshow
- hope for more Two-Face
- Nothing happened. Throughout the whole movie - nothing - happened.

To an Extent

Have you ever had a chunky girlfriend (or significant other) that lost a significant amount of weight, and when you look at the before and after pictures you wonder - why?

Leave me be a pig tonight. I've earned it damnit. I need a break from being a gentleman. Women hate those - REMEMBER!

Cute-Toed-Girl

Soundtrack: Local H - Twelve Angry Months

Cute-Toed-Girl - - well, she's more than a girl. She is an intelligent young woman with the social happenings of a radical girl. I met her earlier this summer during the first summer session at the university. We were instantly comfortable around one another, sitting side by side, absorbing information, trading study tactics, and growing annoyed simultaneously with the other classmates.

People could say her face was plain, but I called it beautiful all the same. It was the mind behind the face with the dark soul-panes that I liked. She was sharp, ruthless for a good grade; I couldn't help but at the very least be slightly smitten. On this particular day of discovery, she was wearing a lime green vest over a brighter, similar colored tank top with a skirt that had a matching grass pattern with speckles of lavender colored flowers all around. Her legs showed that she tried to stay fit; her small size makes her easily susceptible to weight gain. Her footwear were plain colored fashion sandals that exposed those adorable feet-digits. They were the cutest toes I had ever seen. Most women in my area have outstretched, battered toes inherited from their mothers and grandmothers who typically work eight to sixteen hours a day all on their feet, walking everywhere they went, but her toes were short and perfectly round like a blossoming spring-time bud, making her much more unique considering it was summer.

We maintained a steady friendship, never venturing beyond our cordial boundaries. She told me about her life, her troubles with men. I told her things about me that kept her telling me more about herself.

On that last day, that lingering spark of attraction escaped the shadow of idea and fleshed itself out into reality. She wore pink and white converse shoes. We were sitting outside the classroom awaiting for the previous class to leave; I told her how cute I thought her toes were. Her 'thank you' was strong and undoubtedly appreciative. She mentioned that she is very self-conscious about her feet, she went on, and had she known I was looking she would have pulled them away from my eyes. I told her I figured she would, so I never said anything until then.

The day of our class final I kept my headphones wrapped around my ears, losing myself in Nada Surf's Lucky album. She studied, but awkwardly she wouldn't stop looking at me. I wanted to give her all the possible to peruse her notes. She gained control of herself and did, but occasionally she still glanced in my direction. I desperately wanted to acknowledge her, but couldn't. Our hearts were right, our minds were close, but our social worlds were so different - she still enjoyed the outings that a young person should; the night clubs and the parties. I didn't; I never had. Plus, she still had ties to an on-off-again boyfriend, which I wanted no part of. As much as we knew about one another, it wasn't enough. Maybe she was the type of woman who needed drama in her life. I'm too easygoing and focused to be trifled with that unnecessary headache. 

And yet....maybe I could have used a little drama.

We took our exams. Our last class day, we compared grade; I beat her by four points. We said bye, and we hugged. It was a hug that never wanted to end. We pulled apart, and for a brief moment the silence was begging to be filled. We looked in each others' eyes, both begging for the other to say something, and all I came up with was "bye."

I have yet to see her again. I hope she's well. I hope she's happy. Her toes are still the cutest ones I have ever seen.

Somehow, I find myself having to move on from her at least once a year. She just pops into my head; I'm not sure what the subconscious trigger is, but annually I keep moving on. It's all we've ever done, all we can ever do.  

Explosions

Explosions occur every day all around the planet. Most of them are underground as the Earth slowly regenerates itself, like scab forming on a wound, eventually becoming new flesh. Sometimes these explosions spread their actions to the surface. Volcanoes all around the globe have been acting up lately, some of them even having been dormant for as long as over 9000 years.

Man creates explosions, with some even mastering the art of combustion. They can make a large object explode or implode. They can decide how long the explosion will last, and even what color the explosion will be.

Within our minds, man explodes every day. We lose our job. Someone dies. Our love leaves us. Some people explode largely, unleashing all their frustrations out at once. Sometimes its harmless, other times blood is spilled; maybe theirs, maybe someone elses.

Some people explode lightly; one tiny burst at a time until the big one happens. Those usually involve bloodshed. And some people control their explosions, waiting to discharge on the right person(s).

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The Lost Channel

I've been reduced to threatening my television. The Tri-Nations rugby season has begun and it seems my cable provider no longer carries the station showing it. I'm yelling at the ugly transmissions box, demanding it show a channel that is all likely not there.

I think I'll go outside, where it's been raining for nearly a week (and I can't tell you how much that pleases me, especially when living on the third bump of hell's right testicle); but I think I'll go outside and find some stray cats to yell at, even though all they do is look at me like I'm a retarded gorilla that ate their fish. Then, I feel guilty and get them some fish.

I think I'll stick with yelling at people and telelvisions that won't give me rugby.

Alone, Not Lonely

Alright, bastards. I had to go to summer sessions, meaning I couldn't concentrate on my prose work; so I was forced back into poetry. Blame yourselves; it's easier for all of us.

Alone, Not Lonely

Laughing atop a cloud;
A cloud shrouding the mind,
Blinding eyes to problems defined.
Life has been good, but nowehere near great.
Nothing of passing relevance that others would consider
Exquisite, lavish, or radiant.
To an outsider, the littlest of little things need be large indeed
For them to comprehend the sense of happiness
Within the circle where all but one, the most loving one,
Never seems to unerstand, recognize, or about them implore
A person that loves their people,
But loves being alone slightly more.

Judgemental and Violated

Sitting at the library pub, which isn't a dyslexic term for public library. That shit went out the wayside when the cold fronts began and coats with bottle-portable pockets became an every day necessity.

Studying as I was, a young woman walked my way. To my right were some vacant computer terminals. I dressed in my long-sleeved grey sweatshirt and exercise pants had my nose buried in my testing notes, though I'd be lying if I said she didnt strike my fancy. She herself was decked out in running garments; a bit tight, I might say.

I suppose disgusted her a bit. She made a quick b-line to the vacant terminals on the other side of the room. I wasn't offended; I'm used to disgusting the general public. They disgust me more times in a day than a gonzo porno playing in a catholic convent. I don't think "love thy neighbor" meant sticking dildo drills and analbeads into frumpy, nerve damaged orifices of women that look like your niece.

Soon though, a slender, uptight, well dressed man found his way to the same station as the lady runner, occupying the vacant terminal next to her. It got me to thinking - - hope she doesn't mind passing up the scruffy looking gentleman who would have left her alone for the suit and tie, serial killer the media has dubbed The Wound Fucker. He slices his victims; bores holes in them, and then molests the wounds.

Either that, or they're going gonzo right now.

Itchy Nose Ass-Fucking

The generations arive sooner and sooner. A whole lotta fucking going on. Did you know fucking is the only infix in the English language.

But the world's creating more languages now. Text speak skipped into the real world. So did formatting.

Everyone's been fucking.
..Annnd fucking and fucking fucking and fucking fucking and fucking.

Well - enough fucking for the rest of us.

Recursion Bandit

FINALLY.

Finally had a good chest-day. Injuries suck and waiting for the cables is as close to mental sate masochism as I've been in years. I remember now why I stopped.

Today was different. I've found the proper time zone for chest-day.

Oh, I love making mistakes. Not the life-shattering ones any more; you know, not the I Said There'd Be Blood kinds of mistakers, for there are more than a handful of subcategories for such things. Especially with blood involved.

Just the innocent mistakes. The ones that sting because you want them to. They don't shatter the stratosphere, in fact they help you reestablish yourself, or, "check yoself, fool." as the kids say these days. I was partial to "fuck off or get raped with an elbow" myself.

Longshot Died Anyway

The nights are getting longer. The routine-cycle is spinning again, and again we're having to shift quicker than we wanted to, but that's never a bad thing. I'm manking new mistakes, and thinking about new people to make new mistakes to make with; things are so different without the fences around anymore.

They were supposed to be cages...

....but really, they were fences. We could have jumped them anytime we wanted to. The shooting towers kinda messed things up for us.

Then that whole hypnotic suicide shit.