On being a ghost and fragmentation

I'll get this shit out of the way first. Been listening to this song far too much.

And I always find, yeah, I always find something wrong
You been puttin' up wit' my shit just way too long
I'm so gifted at findin' what I don't like the most
So I think it's time for us to have a toast

Let's have a toast for the douche-bags,
Let's have a toast for the assholes,
Let's have a toast for the scumbags,
Every one of them that I know
Let's have a toast to the jerkoffs
That'll never take work off
Baby, I got a plan
Run away fast as you can





Hiatus uplifted. That only took about two months until I felt the need to write something like this again. I was going to contextualize my boredom but I figured if you're reading this then you probably get it.

I've been a ghost. I'm a lost soul searching this world for something I left behind. I'm haunting but no one sees me. Nobody believes in ghosts. I moved a chair in my room and noticed some cobwebs between it and the wall. Dust covers the surfaces of everything here. This is where I sleep or where I thought I've slept. I must've died though, it must've been years since a body actually occupied this place. I hardly move. Nothing changes. The world only ages; slow, almost a still life. I haunt the streets I used to walk, the buses I used to ride, and the institutions I never really belonged to. I see a familiar face pass before me and in the moment it takes to register their identity I pause a moment before pursuit. I call out their name but they can't hear me. I scream and cry in vain. On the train somebody calls out to me and I face them. They're unfamiliar to me. Plus I have shitty vision. It's another lost soul, an experienced one that can take on the form of a human being but she's transparent to me. They speak like somebody I know but their identity doesn't register, they're pleased to even see me still roaming the Earth as if I had a choice in the matter. It's not that any of us are celebrities but this is just the way things go. I'll drift on by and through buildings to hear the moans of others. We can't stop and commiserate, not like in the days of life. Not even time for the occasional co-worker relationship consisting entirely of a series of hellos and goodbyes. People don't know where I'll be unless they ask me. My co-workers just presume I'm drinking with friends or conversely, my friends presume I'm working. But this I speak of is being a ghost. To text me is to look for me despite my apparent lack of existence. I am on the same plane as everyone else but if they don't see me they don't know that. It's questionable whether I'm really alive or aware of my Sisyphean search for someone who doesn't see me. To so many I am a ghost. I am only seen in impromptu visits if you don't live or work with me. Back to the metaphor. I'd be the walking dead if my existence wasn't under a spell of vertigo. I've become miasma. I can not reach out to my old friends because they will not recognize me. If they manage to spot me, they'd be made uncomfortable by the apparition I've become; an old soul without a vessel to express my yearning.

My love is more than the sum of all of my fragmented relationships. As defined by Wikipedia: In computer storage, fragmentation is a phenomenon in which storage space is used inefficiently, reducing storage capacity and in most cases performance. The term is also used to denote the wasted space itself. And furthermore: Data fragmentation occurs when a piece of data in memory is broken up into many pieces that are not close together. I've had this concept in my mind awhile now; that I have one fragmented relationship divided among various females. The storage space I've long since reserved for one person is instead taken up by several incomplete relationships. Rather, none of the relationships I have are the one in particular I'd like. So this space in my head and in my heart is wasted. In it's place I have several relationships that collectively would make up one whole girlfriend. I could have arguments over nothing with someone who lacks every other quality necessary in a lover, fortunately I don't have that part of a couple with most anyone. I do have a mostly unrequited chase; that spark that I feel that the other doesn't. Someone has been excited to see me, we hugged and held hands, in this moment I felt a little shy or uncomfortable because I didn't want to lead them on. Repeat that scenario and change the identity of the person I come into contact with, only this time I reciprocate all her affections with no remorse and walked away glowing. I'm very fortunate to even have these very occasional spurts of affection, but it's not enough. It's not what I want. I could gaze into a person's eyes and feel nothing. I can have thoughtless contact mean nothing to someone else meanwhile it's keeping me up all night. I can watch pornography or fantasize over intimacy. But none of it is reliable or complete, it's fragmented and inefficient. Somebody hopes to see me. I'm a little charmed and pleased to see someone. But we aren't the same pair excited to see one another. The space is being wasted. Parts of everyone are being stored away and forgotten. Someone I need is stored in small percentages littered across my memory. Other people are stored beside bits of the last person, completely unrelated and unable to access the parts of my memory taken up by the other fragments. I love. I kiss. I talk. I befriend but never with the same person. My lover's identity is in flux. I can't focus my love because the people who stand before me are dissected and placed together in allocations. The memory of Jane Doe is created, broken up, and divided into everyone I know--male and female.

I do wish this were about defragmentation but it's not. I can't make or fake some magical relationship that doesn't exist. My friend pointed out that I have high expectations out of whoever's to come. I think he's right and if I'm ever to achieve that it'll take time to build up. I've tried to end the fragmentation about once since March and it didn't work. I've had this progressing relationship with this girl and last night I told her I really liked her. She probably would've been weirded out had I said it while I was awake and had she actually been there.

In Vitro (Spitfire Cover)™

Do I look like the kind of guy that threatens himself in the mirror? As I write this my mind is swimming in disarray; I lost sight of my days, I have a headache, and two unwelcome familiar ills seeped into my fucking chi. Cheer up, carry on, laugh it up. Perhaps this ship is disintegrating in the atmosphere. This one will mostly be about people, mostly me, and then probably a little you.

We freebased the world like a challenger explosion.
And lit up the sky so the world could see.
That the sleeping giant sky swats it's fly.
That the farmer beats his seeds back down to Earth.

I love us best when we aren't so desperately unrequited toward one another. When you don't nag me about how we haven't hung out. When we're having carefree fun. Guiltless and relaxed. I've had two extravagant and romantic outtings, at least, this month with my friends. 1! My friend randomly invited me to drink with him and some others in Boulder. Turns out they're all hanging out in a mansion! It was pretty cool, there was an elevator. And in that place of all places I got to try DMT. (The mansion in general, not the elevator.) It was aight. The night dragged on until sunrise. It was awesome. Of anything I want to remember of that whole outting is this: after the long night around noon some of us were leaving while most everyone was sleeping in later, but! the one who invited me was saying his goodbye to us as we left. He was walking away from us, trudging up the stairs, I said, "Thanks for inviting me," he stopped with his back still facing me, then turned to shoot me a thumbs up and a gigantic sardonic smile, then continued up the stairs. It's just a snapshot I'm going to try to keep embedded in my mind. 2! Ok so my company picnic this year was at Eltich Gardens. I spent a day with this friend of mine who had been missing in action for awhile. He's getting his life together or some shit like that. Whatever. Ayway, he accompanied me to our local amusement park.

THE CATORING WAS HORRIB-B-B-BLE. 

Moving on, I saw lots of coworkers and had brief superficial conversations blah blah blah fuck you. Once again all I care to disclose is one snapshot that summarizes the evening well enough for me. We ended our date with a ride on the ferris wheel. Very romantic. It's got these cool new lights outside it too, you can see them from like Colfax driving toward I-25. Good reminder that Elitches is there. On this ride we continued picking up wherever we left off in our friendship. He even tried to start small talk with this couple in the neighboring gondola on my behalf. What fun! Ok so anyway, it was night time: being on the ferris wheel was pretty, fireworks went off and there was a lightshow we could see, as well as a scenic view of downtown, and to top it off I smoked a cigarette because I'm a fucking cowardly rebel.

Alright, stories over, back to being cryptic. I now see your bus pass in the opposite direction and I am saddened by this loss. Like the one before you, you are actually missed. A feeling I'll gladly accept for the few days it resonates. It's all for the best and it's not over yet.

[Enter miscellany]
Why I'm ok being alone
Why I continue to smoke
Why I drink
Why I get frustrated
Why I will not tell you how I feel
Nothing changes
[Exeunt mescellany]

Is it that you actually want to tell this girl she is pretty or are you just avoiding telling someone else they're an asshole?

Sigh if you must over those people dwelling on day old drama. Though you've found it in your heart to move on, I know that you haven't outgrown your day old self.

As if beneath this paragraph was one word, covered up. A name etched in my mind and buried by words. Consider anything I write an open letter to everyone I'm not talking about my feelings with. Not anymore, this outlet is nowhere near the denial of emotion it used to be. There's still some catharsis in this act but this is nothing magical. Not even for me, this isn't necessary to go on, it's just something I practice and play with. I'm not one of those people that absolutely needs to create toward some end. I do not think I'm any better for this than anyone else is for whatever they occupy their time with. I do not even expect most people to read anything I write, ever, not even if I pour my time and effort into it. At least for now this is how I feel about the matter. I am disillusioned. I caught a glimpse of the person you could be, only to realize again and again that that person doesn't exist, not for me. Run on, fuck people and their friends over without a word or a thought.

"He did not take care of her and she died alone somewhere in the dark and there is no other dream nor other waking world and there is no other tale to tell... She was gone and the coldness of it was her final gift."

The thinking man has bad posture. Stop believing you think or feel more than everyone else because you caught some professor using poor grammar. Don't rest your head when you know you can't catch up on sleep.

I recently finished reading Dune. Now I want a concubine

Life passes with a bang!!!
It blows your mind or you get the hang.
It's the business end of a shotgun.
Eat the lead
Be masculine.
Like a gag ball in the mouth of a squealing pig.
Skin is fat
muscle food.
Loose meat is dead meat.

[Enter miscellany]
I'm devoid of tact, devoid of interest. I'm curious to meet your acquaintance but I'm above trying these days. I'm anywhere I go to play the same old games with my friends. Otherwise I'll be home alone doing things like this. Letting this void absorb me. Letting my agoraphobic walls close in on me. By the end of the two days a week I'm free from employment I'm too scared to leave or answer any phone calls because I do not know how to tell a cashier I want a pack of Camel Filters without thinking he's thinking I'm coming onto him. So if you were wondering why I seem shy or awkward that's probably it.

Buy brand name products. I do! It's worth it sometimes!
Feel an awful hell realizing spendthrift investments go very little distance. I do!


I just do.

I am more premeditated than I seem. How I do it is I make a plan, start doing it, and forget it was a plan. It turns into happenstance. It turns into something I'm just doing. Then when someone questions me I shrug my shoulders and say: nothing.

It is the time for reclamation. I've returned from the mount equipped with the commandments to escape falter. The bill has been passed, despite my endless vetoes and postponings. I'm determined to end the frustration and misdirection.
[Exeunt miscellany]

A shot in the arm
a shot in the dark.
Take it like a man.
Mainline to heart.
It's over.
Just take it slow.
Go with the flow in vitro

Speaking of which, if I had to pick a theme song for myself it'd be In the House - In A Heartbeat by John Murphy or Scala & Kolacny Brothers cover of Creep (Radiohead). Not sure which is more relevant to me.

I wrote most of this sober. I just didn't really have any clear intent or direction with any of it. That and I just left the document open on my computer for days on end.

It's been a year. Abrupt endings are the best. I'm moving onto another fishing hole, surely this one has run dry. This blog is complete or on indefinite hiatus from here on out. Alright, I'm done here.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

I am not fit to take care of myself or anyone else. I buy toys in lieu of groceries all too often. Rather than feed myself I prefer more entertainment and distraction. I am not made to wear white. Everything white I own permanently looks dirty within a week of wear. A sign of apathy and disregard for the things I'm responsible for. I am made to vomit and spit phlegm from my throat. I lay claim to the common man vices, everyone's slow death, and self destruction. I am made to get dirty. I am made to feel good about, if not revel in this. I am ugly and I sincerely love few things. Did you know I am happier learning who I am and what I want?

'Was that awkward?' a frequent afterthought of mine. I find disconnection in this modern world, not all the time and not with everyone, just in general. I find it in the devices we use for discourse, most commonly texting and social networking; anything devoid of emotion really. I will hear someone--in person--express an emotion, an emotion relevant to what's going on right in front of me. I do not react. I ponder it. I meditate on what's going on. This can be an inappropriate response. The delay is rude. This common dissonance inches me in the direction of being a non-person. Me, the automaton. You can cry your heart out to me and I'll stand like a statue; still with a blank expression transfixed on my face. It's dehumanizing but it isn't so much a pressing issue for me so much as it is a basic observation. Alas it is a problem I do not care to solve, as I am--perhaps ironically--unaffected by it.

This brings me to another point: nobody is looking for me. I do not have my phone on me at all times because I have nobody keeping tabs on me. I have only scheduled meetings or the notion that I'll hang out with someone in a two day period. I exist in routine, spontaneity is sparse. It's somewhat weird having no need to check my phone to see if someone is trying to get a-hold of me because seldom they are. I do not miss it. It's just strange. I'm confronted by this fact somewhere alone and strange, or perhaps somewhere I shouldn't be. There is no one tugging at my pant leg to question where I am or what the hell I'm doing, thankfully. I am a free range creep. I do not miss the days of rampant social living, dependent friends or family. I just don't carry around my cell phone with idle hopes of being asked how I'm doing or if I'm free on any given day. I'm content like this. I go to work. I hang out with co workers. I come home. I hang out with my room mates. I have late nights and days off. I meet my friends for fun. It's easy. I prefer this to the gray area of reaching out to someone or trying to meet the hand of someone else. My world is a crowded city street, I respect everyone's personal space, apologize for the occasional shoulder I bump and I'm pleasantly surprised by the occasional, almost familiar face I run into.

Starving Monsters, Sleeping Giants
What do you work for?
Experiencing nothing but marginal change.
Know not what more you want, know not what you want with what you've got.
Know that you can't leave, know that leaving won't change your condition.
Geography is not the problem.
The absence of motivation is the problem.
The absence of momentum is the problem.

The monster has grown overfed, nothing but seven deadly sins.
It's rival, the giant, lies dormant.
No intrinsic forces compel either to live or die, they just go on eating and sleeping.






Permalinks are a myth. Not really, they probably work on some websites. I like the idea of a permalink, linking to something that will not expire. I never heard the term link rot before, but I guess that's what it's called. The above image and the below video, for instance, will probably eventually rot. Like a video a posted some months back is now just a YouTube frame with the title of that old video in it. It's just frustrating to click on a link to see that it now leads to nowhere, or an error page of some sort. Reminds me of when people used to delete their profile on MySpace then all of their comments would disappear. I get attached to the digital mementos so it's saddening to know that they're even more transient than everything else.

The story of vomit. Earlier this month I had caught some form of food or alcohol poisoning. I was drinking gin & tonics and eating a lot of tamales. I didn't eat or drink an exceptional amount of either things relative to my normal intake. But the following morning I woke up around 8am and realized my stomach was feeling weird. I laid in bed for a good 40 minutes still dreaming, but the fact that my stomach hurt starting getting incorporated into some of my dreams. I got up and went to the toilet, see if I should vomit. It was difficult at first, I had gagged myself a few times to no avail but eventually I puked a lot. The consistency was very solid. So after some of this I crawled back to bed with the comfort of knowing I still had an hour or so of rest until I had to work. A restless hour or so later I walked to the bus stop a block and a half away. At the bus stop I still felt uneasy. I sat at a curb there staring toward the direction the bus was coming from, grasping my head and feeling sick. I started walking back home, I ignored the bus stopping for the couple running past me. Past the auto dealer I felt the necessity to vomit. I puked in front of and behind a dumpster. In pain I continued on my way back home, vomiting once more in a puddle in front a neighbor's house. Around 11am I called my superior, let him know I had to feel ill awhile more before I could make it into work. He made jokes of how I over slept or drank too much. It was decided I'd make it in for the latter half of my shift. I watched a movie and puked once more in the four extra hours I had worked into my day. That puke was painful. I let out the quantity of water I had drank that morning to feel better. Then there was a lot of dry heaving, burping, and pressure on my stomach amounting to nothing. My stomach was empty but the ill remained. Anyway, I made it into work for the dinner shift and I was grumpy at worst. The point of the story was just to tell about my day of food poisoning. The following day at work I ate no solid foods. And for the next few days I lightened up significantly on alcohol. Nothing seemed appealing to me. I reveled in that feeling, like anything bad for me or distasteful actually had no appeal. 

"I'm not enthused."

I've picked up the phrase "I probably won't." lately. I like it. It's honest. Anyway, this has got to end somehow. So here's an inconclusive, incongruous paragraph.

It isn't until you microwave most of your meals that you realize just how precious the minutes and seconds of your life are. And if you've never microwaved most of your meals or ever wanted to kill yourself then you don't know what I'm talking about.

"But I will believe in me"

This one goes out to my super-ego, dwelling somewhere in the shallows of a bayou.

We'll start with some sentences for the ladies. I see her in my dreams and love it, but perhaps a fantasy relationship is not the best indication for my reality. Lest I exist in nostalgia, the tragedy has been writ, she is the oldest story in my book. I miss something we once had, what was never complete, it passed and I continue to reach for an idle hand--your phantom limb. I see fit to steer clear until the tides change. 

Time spent waiting is free time wasted. Oh precious time how you're always getting wasted.

This evening (May 30th) I watched the first 20 minutes of the movie "The Blind Side" per a customer's recommendation, then I remembered I'm not in the market for that kind of heartfelt tale right now. I will watch it soon though. Instead I watched "The Wackness" it had some golden moments but otherwise it was only alright yo, great sound track though.

Otherwise I've been listening to Trash Talk's newest release "Eyes & Nines" pretty awesome. It's aggressive and simple. They're a nicely tailored suit for my peace of mind. Malcontent songs about something vaguely poignant. I can't wait for them to come back to this city. For the former half of this month I just listened to Say Anything's song "Into the Night" and the Cancer Bats cover of "Sabotage" on repeat.

I was thinking about loud sex this past month because a friend of mine made an offhand comment about it, then coincidentally enough I overheard some this month. I was just wondering if it was awkward for people to have loud sex when they'd know very well that others would be able to overhear them. Exhibitionists aside, I think so to a certain degree. After enough thought I just resolved that it's probably like masturbating, urinating in a sink to save water or any other normal bodily function. It's awkward to be heard doing one's animalistic deeds but it's not altogether uncomfortable. After all, shame is learned. I guess I'd also have to put aside those guys that grunt in the stalls of public restrooms before they make a splash. For myself, I think I'm comfortable enough with it so long as there's a closed door separating myself and whoever I'd be with (purely hypothetical, I know) between the prospective audience. On a related note, it's not at all weird to shave your face in front of people, but it is entirely deviant behavior to shave your balls in front of people, what's the deal with that?

I finally got some recognition for my efforts at being funny and likable. A sergeant from the Denver Police Department contacted me directly. Apparently RTD's transit watch had been receiving texts from my phone. Someone was reporting false suspicious behavior. The sergeant seemed dismayed to even be speaking to me, much less reading back part of a text to me. I told him it was probably one of my friends. By the way, I really need to work on my improvisation skills, I've been slacking on that shit since November of 2008. I'm immature, but it's toward an end I swear; this town's missing something.


Besides that, it was much more enjoyable than writing RTD a complaint letter. Counter productive? Perhaps. The conversation ended with me giving the sergeant my word that the texts would cease and a "Yes sir." The worst part about all of this is now when I really get tangled up with the gays and minorities in public transportation no one will believe me, I'll be just like the girl who cried rape.

Buyer's remorse. I am far too open to the power of suggestion. I've recently picked up the habit of rolling my own cigarettes. I am not good at it yet, but it's easy enough. Anyway, when I get into silly consumer hobbies like this, I like to buy nice things to start with. I planned on buying a nice little case to accommodate my cigarettes. There was a cool spring opening thin case, but because the guy at the counter suggested a different ornate case, that was wider and not spring loaded, I thought it didn't matter. But after thinking about it, I definitely should've bought the other one. It doesn't matter, I just bought something I didn't prefer. Second case of buyer's remorse; Skullcandy® headphones. I bought a pair of low-end ear buds for $25 dollars roughly a month before one of the buds stopped working. There's probably a warranty I could cash in on had I not tossed the receipt and packaging. The last pair of decent ear buds I bought did the same thing, probably just product of wearing them all the time and not taking good enough care. But I certainly don't overly abuse them. It's just shitty products. Why even put out worthless products? I know it's low-end but I didn't think it'd stop functioning within a month. Point being, I get mildly frustrated at the way I waste my income, and to a lesser extent shitty consumer goods.

Well shit, now I'm left to talk about myself and my month. I've had a resonating frustration since one night of unbearable heat and moaning but maybe the scales were tipping prior to that. Fortunately for me I've armed myself with some reference material; a new personal journal. I had stopped writing personal journals back in December and am now back at it in a different way. I'm handwriting, which is something I didn't do much before. When I hand write--I'm shorter--more impatient to get ideas onto a page. I'm slower and don't think things through, at most I can scratch out words, I can't just backspace my work. I'm liking this because rather than explain myself to myself more thoroughly all I have to do is jot down whatever the fuck I feel like writing.

Glad I took up so much space hypothesizing about what loud sex is like so I could avoid talking about my month. As always thanks for skimming my devil worship blog, see you in hell.

LUCIFY CRUCIFER

There's a word for that. Is this necessary?

I cheered a glass of wine to myself this month and revisited me. I've been on the internet since 2006 doing shit like this. It's weird hearing things without saying anything. Being connected to people on the internet without having any irl relationship. I know so much random shit about people without being their friend. It's bittersweet. Some people would be fun to be closer to, others I'm happy to appease with internet friendships and no irl contact. I'm the only one entitled to say how crazy it's been that we haven't talked in years.

Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share  

-Simon & Garfunkel (knew what was up.)*

It's saddening to see myself repeat my old problems of which--despite any growth I might see--is always the case. I'm still conning myself into thinking a higher education is right for me. I still buy cigarettes. I still lurk randoms on the internet. I'm alright with these things. I drink a little too much wine and realize the truth of the matter. I've always been making promises to myself with the hope that someone else is is listening. (Credit: This Is Hell - Prelude (Again)). I'm done with that, at least publicly. As far as you're all concerned I'm content with things until further notice. I'll be done with this narrative soon enough.

I'm an old man. So the other day I went on a couple day bender. One night I got sloshed at a show and gashed up my shins and knees after falling when I was running in circles--well worth it. The next night I went out to a party with my friend and met a bunch of people, it was a late night but I didn't drink any hard alcohol. The night ended with an entertaining attempt at trying to retrieve my friends roommate's car from somebody he had lent it to, that failed, but we still got a ride to their place just the same--again, well worth it. The next morning I had to bus to work from my friends place. It was difficult to get up, but I've been that way since high school. The first thing that weirded me out was that as I was getting seated on the bus, as it was starting to go I lost my equilibrium twice. Almost stumbled into one guy and then another. It was funny but usually I have a better grasp on my faculties to handle standing up on a bus. Granted, I was hungover I've just never had a hangover wear on me that much. And the strangest thing that same evening happened, I was taking a nap in the shower, right? And I got a cramp in my side. I never have cramps. Cramps are for women. And since then the back of my thighs have been sore. It's all very new and strange to me. I don't think all of these things are actually signs of aging, just that I probably should take better care of myself.

It's funny thinking about my same sex relationships. I never know whether they're waxing or waning. I never know when an estranged friend will make me happy. I almost never see it coming. I also never anticipate their leaving. I generally am not saddened by it either. I'd love to keep certain friends around, but they come and go, no matter; even the best of them. It is very few of them that I'm always fond of, even fewer that I write off for some period of time. Idc

I have inadvertently began the past four paragraphs with alternating 'I's and 'It's' now that I've recognized the pattern I have no intent to stop. I read things wrong. Other people read things wrong. Messages aren't communicated. Messages are lazily put out there. It happens. I will think you meant one thing. I will think you were hinting at something. I will be wrong. You will hint things at me. I'll acknowledge it in the most nonchalant way possible. That's all. Idc.

It's been a month of some releases of bands I used to love more. Three to name: Blue Sky Noise, Goodmorning, Magpie, and We Were Exploding Anyway. Check 'em out if you want to confirm with me that she ain't what she used to be. Idc.

Scratched out a note I wrote for you
to wake and read
to know that I was there once
I knew that there was nothing that I could write to assure you
of my return
But all the paper said when I was done is
‘do you still want me?’
because I’d be terrified if I had to leave this place today
We haven’t saved the baby

As I said
my darling
spring is constantly calling me
and there’s no place that I’d rather be

I won’t be angry
if you have to leave,
but I won’t be waiting
for that day
So don’t say you’re sorry because
I won’t believe you

At the end of writing this (formerly midway through writing this) I lost interest. Go figure. I'd apologize but...idc. Fuck you. Fuck all of you. Jk. Ily ttyl.

*quote addition 20100622

My Father's Son

One of the things I have in common with my father is the tendency to annoy people I like and feel comfortable with to the point of them being legitimately angry at me. My father recently had a friend of his die. Apparently my dad lost a lot of sleep over it, so I heard from my mom. My father seemed to try to put his friend out of mind to avoid all the ugliness dwelling on it brought upon him. In all of this, the only words I've exchanged with my father were whether he'd heard from his friends' family since last we talked, he hadn't. This to me is a reminder of my inability to be closer with my family. I'm not sure what to make of my father's coping mechanisms, or in how many more ways than one I am like him.

I'm not going to lie by saying I haven't done anything to cope—as if that bullshit didn't bother me. The most extreme example of this was trying to con an ex-girlfriend into a sleep over, to be fair I usually want to sleep with her anyway (and I do mean sleep). I succeeded but I didn't get much degree of comfort out of it. It's a little funny she can't stand me these days. Mainly to cope I just surround myself with friends I love, and occupy my mind with more positive things. It's tasking though, a lot of my friends—no matter how unrelated—caught this contagion from a new found acquaintance of theirs, I've been curing them one by one after being surprised by who all caught it. At least I got to feel heroic for a minute, like I had a purpose. When something bothers me, I get monomaniacal, I hate it. I feel better laughing it off, I'll laugh it all off. I'm over it.

I love the people I surround myself with. I can't help but think about it these days. Everywhere I go there's someone I love for some reason. I can get fucked up on wine, I can stay sober, I can be nonchalant and noncommittal, slightly different things for the lot of them. Point being: I've got friends. I can hang out with them on late nights, I can talk at length on the music we love, on very rare occasions we can sing along to the music we love. I can speak with 'em over the phone for hours. I can discuss books, ideas, movies, anything. These people are my family, coworkers, and above all else my friends. They've been here through the years, despite coming and going, and all changes considered they're still here. We choose who we stick with, and I'm pleased with the results of that. This is a bit ridiculous, but I felt the need to say it. This is one major difference between my father and I, he doesn't socialize much whereas I get obsessed.

So I still have a job, as unfortunate as that sounds it's not all bad I assure you. This job is enabling me to playact an adult. I never intend to mature in certain ways but this is all a lot of exhibition. Though this thing consumes so many hours of my week (38) and then some because of the commute, it's alright. There are hobbies I wish I had more time to pick up, but that's alright. Work is enabling be to: live away from the nest, pretend I care about my education, and buy nice things. It could lead to all sorts of other money related things, which great because everything is money. Everything has a price tag. Worth is measured completely in wealth! It's great. ½ jk. After six months of dishes, they finally promoted me to a full-time server. While this of course is not my passion, I enjoy this. I like my bosses. I have met interesting coworkers. I've gained a friend who without fail will kick it with me while I work, and he bums me so many cigarettes. Work keeps me connected to my mom, I only spend like a half an hour a day with her so I'm forced to actually update her on my life or ask about hers. I'm content with where I work, it doesn't suck.

I'm weirded out that out of all the music I've been listening to lately nothing is my favorite. I've even found some gems. But going to concerts is just sort of a checklist activity for me, if not an attempt to get back into bands I've stopped caring about. I'm still excited about a lot of the upcoming shows, and a lot of albums that are getting released, but it's a safe bet that I won't be blown away by anything. Lame.

MY HAIR IS THINNING. I CAN'T AFFORD ALL THE THINGS I WANT AND STAY WITHIN MY MEANS. A DROID PHONE, AN IPOD TOUCH, AN STD TEST, A NICE CAR, A POCKET WATCH, SOME PIERCINGS AND A NEW TATTOO, A SLEEP NUMBER BED, AND SOME NICE NEW SKINNY PANTS; I WANT IT NOW, DADDY.

“Complain! Complain! Life sucks anyway, if it's all so hard let them take it all away.”-Youth Brigade
It's eerie, I don't hate my life, (not even 1/3 of the time) though I still really like that song. I'm going to have fun with this while it lasts. I feel untouchable, and there's no way I'm letting go of that; aside from all those times I fall in love and get all vulnerable-like. Ughn!

My Mother's Son

"I told you man, it's not a dick, alright. It's a mouth-based video game."

Felt like I was watching the apocalypse from the other side of a window in my cozy home. My mother told me I'm a walking soap opera. Oops. I'm much more a mama's boy than a man. Hopefully this blog provides some evidence of that.



Memory is a flawed thing, especially when you're black out drunk. And I'm finding very little inter-subjectivity in all of this. I do not know the truth. All things considered, I know what I believe. I'm harboring moderate negativity for my friend and this lady. I don't think one is an absolute hedonist and I don't think the other is an absolute manipulator. I could sever the roots that lead them back to me—I'd rather not—but I do what I must to maintain a steady heartbeat. I'll try to be brief here. This fair lady and I went on a date. By the end of it we both didn't know how one felt about the other. It seemed as if her and my then roommate were hitting it off better than her and I, but I often think that with that room mate and every female. She stayed the night with me though. Then, a day later there was a party at my house and she sat me down for some real talk about her and I. We agreed that we liked each other but didn't know where we were going. Five minutes later I walked in on my room mate and her without pants, coupled with a look of horror on this girl's face. I was too drunk and busy to care though. It was agreed that my room mate was responsible for that. We proceeded to date and I proceeded to distrust my room mate and her's "platonic" friendship (neither of them know what the fuck platonic means.) They both reassured me nothing was going down, despite the appearance that they were much more a couple than her and I. They're both "touchy" people so on and so forth. Another week or so and she was prepared to commit. Due to feeling smothered and her relationship with my friend I was unsure. This saddened her. Things came to a boil one evening and I was determined to know my decision the next time I saw her. In this time I later learned that they drove away from a party drunk together so my friend could sleep at her place, in her bed no less. And even later, much later I learned she said something to the effect that her and I weren't technically together to him whilst in the same bed. The next time I saw this "fair" lady I was prepared to give her my decision, which was that I wasn't ready to let go just yet. I was ready to drop all the nonsense, my confused heart, and just go with it. So she said that she had turned a 180 on that. She was ready to part ways after two days of space. After explaining myself though, we were in agreement, we were going to give each other a chance. We had a fun few weeks or so; sleep overs, parties, and lots of eating out (food). It was decided that her and my friends were going to synchronize their agendas and road trip together, to Texas. This didn't bother me all too much, though I don't think that mattered to them. There are a few pertinent details that I skip here. Fast forward to the day they were back, she asked if I wanted to hang out since she was in the area, I said sure and figured out plans. I get to her house and she hadn't yet found the time to shower. I pass on the shower. I receive a call from a friend's number that was on the road trip, it was my former room mate. Quickly he asked if I was with her, I was, then he said he hated to tell me like this but they had slept (fucked) together on the road trip and that she's crazy. I wasn't all that surprised and an immense numb washed over me, but I decided to play it cool until I could talk with my friends that were on that road trip. Playing it cool, in this context, means lying and acting like nothing was going on to my then girlfriend—dishonest, I know. Come Sunday, I talked with everyone but my girlfriend about all that had transpired over the road trip. My former room mate and her had already been receiving sidelong glances from various friends that knew her and I were together at the time. It was time for us to break up. She came over to my house after I failed miserably at breaking up with her over the phone. I told her all of what my friends had told me, she was in shock. She couldn't believe it. She denied it. So she says if anything happened she wouldn't have consented to it, but she also says she doesn't remember. There are implications of how it is all him, my friend, the hedonist, he took advantage, he's a creep. Their relationship was shady to begin with. She pleads to me as a victim, and maybe she is. Maybe she's her own victim, maybe she's her mother's daughter. She didn't want her last memory of me to be the display of rudeness the morning after I heard that she'd slept with my friend. But what's done is done. All that I'm certain of is that if anyone got fucked in this exchange it was me. I can't believe everything either of them say. And I'm done speculating on their trespasses. This is only my statement, for hers see: http://xokristinashley.blogspot.com/2010/03/velvet-teen-et-moi.html

For whatever miraculous reason I'm not torn up over this. I'm not a victim. My heart wasn't all there, we were giving each other a chance and it took only one thing to tip the scale. They're both forgiven, I've just withdrawn some trust and affection. My friend and landlord said, "Well if you're not going to be mad at them, then who?" Good point. My answer is self-evident. This lack of animosity is no doubt one of my many subterfuges to my problems. I do not accept alcohol as an excuse.

So much for brevity. This blog's going to be a two parter because there's no fucking way this is all I'm writing about March.

Tantamount

"But history, as the old man puts it, weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living."

Pandora comes to on all fours encompassed by darkness. She was wandering occasionally hanging her head down to the ground, foraging for anything to eat, to drink. She needn't shelter, she's provided for. She doesn't know what she's seeking, she's following her body—the biological imperative to live. She steps off the dirt onto a bold line of concrete, no visible end left or right. Her ear twitches, she hears something to her right, she turns her head as she continues to graze forward. She is an alien standing in the dark and in the distance she spots a flicker of light. She stands on the road—confused. That distant wisp of light is curving far away from her, almost like a firefly hovering around her range of vision. She watches from afar as the light zigzags in the air. Perhaps the light provides something to nourish her. She has no past experience of lights to compare this to, none that she can recall. She has no expectations. Now what was once that firefly wisp lands on equal plane with her, no longer so distant and small, growing larger as it approaches and obscures all darkness in it's path. She suspects nothing of what this light might do to her. She has no intentions as to how she'll behave upon acquainting this light. She senses nothing predatory of it, she senses nothing life-like about it. She doesn't know what follows the light. She does not trust or distrust the light. She stares—entranced. The light and her oppose each other, contending two polars of boundless night. She is caught off guard—not to be confused with letting her guard down. Now closer, it illuminates her form. She is now self aware. The light has changed her surroundings, making them distinct, separate. She was alone, now the light invades her consciousness. Beaming closer without hesitation the light grows and blinds with every measure it gains. Though her gaze is fixed, her eyes find nothing but contraction. To jump into another stretch of earth, to continue on alone; the instinct to do so occurs to her but still she stands. She leads a carefree life, the approaching light brings weight upon her chest, into her stomach. The standard response to weight is escape (to carry on weightless, unscathed), but her feet are braced to the pavement. She is confronted with the unknown. She has no idea, she has no ideas. She has no concept of industry. A quadruped, completely nude, paralyzed; much like the addicts hands, experiencing withdrawals. All fight or flight procedures have been suspended, she's frozen in reverence of this holiest of moments. Perhaps the light will tear her apart. Fright overcomes her, she braces herself still. What it will do to her upon their embrace, she now fears. Her shadow is cast tall to her left. A lone creature in the spotlight shaking and cold as the distance closes. This oncoming light may very well not even be a car. There is nothing else in this night anymore, just that light. They're close now, she's no longer frightened but she still can not make the jump, not yet. She feels nothing more, knows nothing but closeness, familiarity. The light is steadfast on it's course. She is innocent. She is living. She is curious. She now eclipses the light. She still hasn't made a move. Perhaps the light is divine. This doe won't know until they're immersed. It immolates her silhouette now. In this moment she still has time to jump. [All perspectives must leave the scene before they make contact.]

*

Now, because I have arbitrary quotas to to fulfill for myself I'll type some non-fiction in a few hundred words. The bit posted above is in the state that I post everything on the internet: rough. Let me know what you think. Onto my life, what's to share? I am finally a server at work though I'm still training. I took my own section this evening and it was an adequate success. I've been alright, been keeping an even keel for the most part. I have a girlfriend now, she reads this, we're giving each other a chance and having fun, I think. I'm listening to Why? right now. I enjoy it. My roommate moved out this past month to begin his travels, godspeed him! I'm finding love among friends again lately, still missing some of them a lot of the time. I got my head shaved. This nonfiction is uninspired. Deal with it.

It's odd that it's been one month exactly since my last update, and it's completely by chance. If I could've typed this earlier I would've, I was having a hard time typing that thing above, this just happens to be when I completed it. (I use completed loosely.) Same with the month before that too. I find it odd that 'I' is the unconditionally capitalized pronoun, whereas 'the' is a word that is only capitalized when it's the beginning of a title or line. Whoever has my copy of Breakfast of Champions and my Choke DVD is an asshole, I hate when I lend shit to people and they just absorb it into their collection, proud that I've forgotten that they're the one who's "borrowing" it--fuck that. I'm doing that with one person's DVD and I still intend to return it if they want it. 95 words more should do the trick, I'll just end where I end whichever word on this ramble that so happens to be.

We got the internet and there was absolutely no transition between my weekly use of it into my constant use of it. I can safely say I'm still addicted. I sure am tired. I intend on buying a car when I'm 24, by that time maybe the recession will be a bit less of a burden, also I'll be part of a cheaper demographic for insurance, also hopefully I'll have saved...

Mercy Killings and Godsends

Valentine's Day and Chinese New Year are drawing nigh. There's a party at my house this Saturday. I go back and forth between being excited to see people and preferring to keep to myself. I'd like to meet the love of my life but I tire of others, their behavior seems to me dishonest, slutty, or maybe just plain promiscuous. I'm ok being cut out, I prefer it to the inclusion of myself into peoples' melodramas and egos.

Recently I learned that blog stands for Web Log. That's cool. I've probably been told that before. As usual I'm confused about how to type things I've set out to type. Instead I'll start with a story.

This past [Super bowl] Sunday I got into an accident with my mom's car. I have to borrow my mom's car every other weekend in order to make it out to family dinner. Family dinner is held weekly. I go bi-monthly, that's just how rides work out best. Anyway, I was driving my mom's car to work and in this intersection that's on the middle of a hill I couldn't slow down enough to merge into the lane traffic was sifting into, so I tried instead to turn right. Once again I couldn't decelerate enough on that icy decline to control the car efficiently. I drifted into someone that had already been hit in this intersection, nearly hitting this pedestrian that was trying to check up on the driver of that car. There was very minor damage done to my mom's car; the front left fender is dented and the back left tail light is cracked in places. But I guess the alignment might be off too. I just dented the other person's car door. The deductible for repairs on my mother's car is $500--I'll be responsible for that. And in addition to that my mom's rates might go up, and I have no idea whether mine will be effected or not. My rates don't matter much to me because I mostly use public transportation and don't intend on driving anytime soon. I hate the feeling that any money I save up is spent almost exclusively on my future mistakes. It's ridiculous how careful one has to be in order to avoid wasting money. I lost a pair of prescription sunglasses, that's like 100 something dollars gone. It deeply bothers me how much money matters and I'm well beyond thinking money does not matter. The other day a friend of a friend said everyone's so materialistic and greed driven in America; I'm not sure to what degree she--or anyone else who says that--is right. The consumerism bothers me sometimes but most of us are a part of it.

Next paragraph. The United States of Leland reminded me of mercy killing. The movie didn't explicitly feature mercy killing and I wont spoil it for those who haven't seen it. The idea of euthanasia interests me, as well as a person's right to die. Popular thinking is against people intervening with fate, even with that person's consent, it's "the law." Euthanasia is illegal in America as far as I know. I don't really have a stance to espouse on. It just interests me to think that someone could be killed for their own benefit.

A year ago this month I applied for a fast food job and feared the distance between Colorado and myself would come to a premature close. Dusty's sleep schedule was whack and my emotions weren't bothering me.

This is one about a momentary godsend. I met somebody who I've reached an understanding with. I felt confident enough to kiss her at the end of our first hang out. What could've been a one night stand transpired. But no, now I have a new friend. I want us to be like cats to one another, though I think we're treading a thin line. It's comforting to keep a certain kind of company. This person helped me find a path back to myself.

Here's the idea I've had for my next tattoo. I'd like the image of a blackbird's silhouette encircled by blue rings, a man bound and gagged inside, and somewhere strewn about that two different words: miasma and carousels. I want this tattoo on my back left shoulder blade, behind my heart. This tattoo is an homage to a few bands--their words and albums. I've derived a lot of personal meaning from the particular albums and songs that the images and words are from. Being cold-hearted and lost are big themes. The two words are each songs about lost souls, each lyricist has a very different response to feeling lost, Im trying to juxtapose each take. As for the idea of the image, it's just a combination of artwork from two albums. Lyrical themes of the respective albums aside, I feel the image gets across the point; it's dark and indicates the bound and gagged man taking flight. I think there's something to going on, not despite the negative, but with the negative. Maybe it's a bad idea, let me know what you think.

I tell corny jokes when I try to be funny and I repeat a lot of other jokes. For this I do not want courtesy laughter. I do not want courtesy. Come as you are. I'd like to erase the "purely courteous" that seems to be written across my chest. I'm just too much of a reciprocate-er, and I should probably be more of myself in order to find what I'm looking for.


mercy killings and godsends from Herman Mummers on Vimeo.

Bagagaga posted the video part at the bottom. Did you actually read all that shit when you could've watched a 7 minute video? The daylight practically turns me into a sparkling vampire.

File the following under #shinfo
A list of all the music references I know I made in this blog:
Come As You Are-Nirvana
"purely courteous across my chest"-Holding Someone's Hair Back, Circa Survive
Miasma-The Black Dahlia Murder (BG music song 2)
Carousels-mewithoutYou (BG music song 1)
At the Bottom-Brand New (just made use of that phrase unnecessarily)
No Heroes-Converge (album artwork to be modified in potential tattoo)
One With the Underdogs-Terror (album artwork to be modified in potential tattoo)

False Awakenings

Row, row, row your boat,

Gently down the stream.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream.

Good afternoon. For the past four days I haven't got out of bed any earlier than noon. I love it. I had someone cover my shift at work today for no reason other than I didn't want to work. I didn't want to be out of this house by 8am. I've stopped keeping personal journals. I am seeking determination. I met a perfect stranger. I talked to a dreamer. I've managed to find and get into some new music. I am not going to forget that everyone goes back on their word, so I can't very well trust myself to stay well or make the right decisions, even if I say or think I will. The new year is just another day to get drunk and make yourself promises.

Toward the end of December I stopped keeping personal journals in an attempt to break one aspect of whatever cycle I'm in. I always find myself talking in circles or giving up half-thought ideas. I kept an almost daily record of my thoughts. That record just kept repeating itself. I'm beginning to think that the knowledge that today is no good and the reminder that yesterday was no better is probably keeping me locked in a bad way. And I should probably let what's inside my head out, make other people deal with it, not just me. So now this is the primary place I write about how I view things. I already had this outlet, but with two different journals I was stuck being an impartial observer and nothing more. I just thought it'd be a good idea to step outside of myself for a little while. I'll be right back to writing more whiny, more personal things than this in time. I've kept journals like that for the past three years. Dusty recommended less frequent entries, so I might do that. But for now, I'm avoiding myself in addition to all the people I regularly avoid.

I've been listening to Here, Hear. III, a new EP from La Dispute. I'm enjoying two out of the four songs a lot. It's like walking into a room where your friends are playing music. They recorded it themselves and included all sorts of fun shinfo with the download. You can get it at LaDisputemusic.com, it's a name your own price download. Other then that I've been listening to two bands that are similar to Radiohead in their own ways; Blonde Redhead and Muse. I've been listening to the Bronx's second studio album too, mostly because it says things like “here comes your shitty future” and “Motherfucker…I want your BLOOD!” I just saw a local group the other night, Orphan Parade, they were pretty awesome, sad and folksy stuff. But really I just wanted to use them to segue into why I was at that show.

The perfect stranger. So I've been desperately waiting for some new lady friend to blow my mind. It's not happening. But I still have huge reserves of childish sweetness to dole out. So in all my desperate childishness I behave more weird than normal, like sending inappropriately nice texts to a girl I don't really feel that much for, probably for the better it just weirds her out. I'm straying from my point—I'm weird, enough said. So in all of this I often smile at cute strangers on buses and think too much of them if they smile back. That being said, craigslist has a few different types of personal ads, missed connections being my favorite. Missed connections is filled with posts like “I saw you at the coffee shop, you looked like this, we talked about that, but I didn't get your number.” Shit like that. Pretty lame. Then one day there was a cute brunette girl on the bus and we had made two transfers in the same direction. I thought maybe she had been looking at me at the light rail station, but I have shitty vision and was also standing in the direction the train was coming from. I have no idea whether she actually was or not. But anyway I went ahead and posted a brief missed connection, (click quick! link to expire) not too weird considering the basis of posting a “missed connection” in the first place. I got one response to talk to socialgirl@gmail.com on AOL Instant Messenger, supposedly she was bored. Then another response that named the bus I rode and light rail station that brunette got off of. I guess someone else was stalking that girl. Jk. I asked this person to name the bus time and describe the girl. This person had a spot on description. It was actually the girl I saw on the bus. Turns out she has a boyfriend though. She mentioned how it was really awkward in emails, and again in person how it was weird meeting people from over the internet. I agree entirely, but I feel as if that goes without saying when somebody posts a missed connection and actually gets a legitimate response. This girl is a semi-snob and general media obsessive like myself, and is like-minded enough for us to talk on random shit we're into. She is the one who invited me out to the show her friends' band--Orphan Parade--played. So while my roommate and I got a little fucked up in this warehouse venue I got to hang out with this new friend of mine. I couldn't be more pleased with this lovely coincidence. Boyfriend or not, the girl seems cool and I'm glad she came along as she did.

I do not aspire to be professional. To me being professional only means keeping your cards held close, not letting anyone know anything beyond superficial aspects of yourself. I'm a master of not letting people know how I feel—it's bittersweet—but I can use it to my advantage.

More often then not I don't miss people, even the people I love. I forget I love them until I'm given ten minutes with them and realize that same old adoration. There are about three females that come to mind that have this affect on me. What's beautiful about the male friends I love is that missing one another isn't such a big deal and remembering that I love them when we meet again doesn't make it anymore heart wrenching once we part, just seems obvious: that's the way things go. Rarely if ever have I felt that nesting instinct with male friends. The same should go for females. I don't hate the distinction between each kind of love, I just wish I could more often understand the way of things when females leave me. Point being, some people have stolen bits and pieces of my heart and I now ask that they please return it to me. Or not, I'll take it like a man.

I love sleep. So I talked to a dreamer some day last month. His motivational speech was bothering me at first. Telling me who I am and trying to make me realize that there is no real obstacle in between my dreams and I, no obstacle but myself, my own mental block. I don't agree entirely. I don't know what my big dreams and goals are. I do have some direction, but no set destination really. He told me to fear the sheep, everyone I see out there. If dying inside makes one a sheep, I've been there, I am a sheep. I identify with listless sheep. But he was right in some places: I am a dreamer. (Note: I know it's cowardly giving my most thorough response after the fact.) It was once this person started becoming a friend, I am not sure at what point in our discussion I considered him so, but after I found some more human qualities in his words I began to be moved by his enthusiasm. This person knows he's a charismatic person. This friend made me want to spark up some determinism in myself. He at minimum suggested if I'm paying so much money for college I should at least have a direction—sound advice. Good guy, enjoyed that heart to heart, it was our first to my memory. I do like that he agreed we didn't really have anything but a superficial relationship to begin with. For me, being a dreamer, I do believe at some point people lose it, lose the freedom to move, stop becoming. I don't want to shit myself into thinking I've found progress when I haven't. I've been making no declarations in life because talk is cheap. Having your goals known is beneficial. If I talk too much I'm bound contradict myself, yet another fallacy of talk.

It's resolution time! Last year I opted for no resolve. Resolutions are silly. But I need some determinism to control and destroy. By that I mean I want to mostly quit some bad habits. Cutting down on cigarettes is priority one. Being in shape is up there. It was implied at my job that I was going to get switched into a server position, I was denied this switch. I was told that I would be trained as a server though I'm still working the exact same schedule as before. To me this is a joke as well as a minor betrayal. I've come to terms with it a lot more than a moment ago. I'm no longer set on quitting. But I'm still saving up my money in preparation, because I'm sure a day's gonna to come. I need more practice quitting. I'm a pretty good quitter but I haven't perfected the art. I figure right now I'm playing the game and so long as I know the score I'll be alright.

I was wondering at about what point people stop becoming. I now think it's a matter of mentality. I think far too many things are subjective and relative. Everything isn't how I think it is. Perception is not actuality. I don't want to lie to myself. I don't want to think I'm seeing the world in a whole new light only to see it fade to black. At some point whether they know it or not people have lost the spongy quality of youth, they stop becoming, they lose it. I just want to know if I'm there yet. Then again, I could say, “Look at how I've changed, I'm always growing.” Whether it be the kind of person I wanted to become or not doesn't matter, constant evolution, nothing dies, only changes. Eventually I'll be dead in the dirt. Still growing? The circle of life? Not really. I like to look at myself as forever a work in progress, but that's not the truth. I see people and I think, “No, that's who they are, they're stuck.” How can I see myself in any other way? I'm younger but I'm still the same person through and through. I think I've illustrated this paradox enough. I want to know what I've become and what will continue to become of me; I often forget and have no sense of future. I keep forgetting myself and losing my heart on the way to wherever. My whole life is not ahead of me and if this life is but a dream I'd like to wake up.

“...But it doesn't bother me at all.”-ten, La Dispute