I Owe Me

Tonight I reached inside myself and pulled out a bottle with a message in it. It was an I.O.U.

"I owe you the fire."

The fire? The fire! Where had it been? I had become accustomed to the cold, I couldn't recall the last time it lit me up. That dirty rotten bastard me had taken it off somewhere and let it go out. I'd kill me if I wasn't so good at dodging myself.

It's Not Poetry Cause I Didn't Break It Up

She's so pretty, that's the only thought I wrought from my mind. It's so much easier just to look at her and say nothing, just float down the river of her lights and flows. Heaven knows nothing of this kind of bright. She wields that beauty like lightning.

Someone yelled asscat and the dance floor erupted in violence. Fists flew and people shifted into murder mode. It got worse and worse over the course of 10 seconds. I'm positive someone even had a laser weapon of some sort because I remember seeing bright lights, mists of blood and flying body parts. After a minute of chaos the weak had been slaughtered and the few left seemed blood sated. Then someone yelled asscat once again and the murder playoffs kicked off.

Chipping away at rock for years. Stop for a moment to look. See how many more years it will take you before Crazy Horse is freed from the mountain side. Steel your resolve and put hope in the people who will do the chipping once you've croaked out. Continue chipping.

What am I trying to do here?

On The Amen

Dangerous distractions, life sapping interference from pointless preoccupations and preposterous web pages that propagate improper processes of the mind and melt immeasurable moments of miraculous life into puddles of nothing.

The cancer that grows goes unimpeded by your future wish that you would've done more with your life. You can't recant what you do with the time you have and there is never anytime like the present. I'm not just talking to you I'm talking to me, see I'm sitting here jotting down the words while pain sits in my stomach and brain and I don't know what to do so I panic and do something, anything. Then a thing takes over and off I go down the path to this post on a page no one reads but that's not the point. All I'll have left behind is these moments where I spent my time breaking open moments and pasting them onto the page. So little time, so much unknown, so little shown through the art I claim to be a keeper of.

When will I want something enough to do anything about it?

It has to be now, even if it's not true I've wasted more time than should be allowed. I've disavowed those loud nothing moments and must look as if I've known the score all along. Please don't let it be too late.

Clockwork Orange Jews and Other Silly Band Names

Wasting time with shit.

There's so much going on but I'm processing so little of it.

Practically endless pages on the internet but none worth reading.

Billions of videos but none worth watching.

Centuries of porn and none worth beating it to.

I feel sort of bad. I've got unpleasant thoughts dragging my mind over asphalt. There's not enough focus in me to keep my eye on the prize. My body starts to feel weak and wants to start shutting down. Breaths get deeper but take in less air. I feel worse. My brain cant keep the ship floating so it contemplates hitting the escape button but there isn't one. All along it had been duped by the fantasy of a getaway plan but now that everything is going to hell all it found is an fake button painted onto a wall. It might as well read "haha you stupid fuck."

The brain panics, but it cant move. It scrambles itself thinking of a way out of this mess. Make the arms flail, something may come of that. The arms stay still but the legs start to kick and the brain screams "that's good enough" and up the body goes headed to the door of my hotel room. There's no time to check if I have everything, actions must be taken to prevent everything from being scuttled. We will take our chances outside.

Each step echoes through the hallways of this old building. The floorboards creak and the walls thud. If this wasn't an emergency I would've altered the way my feet fell onto the floor, no time to hate the sound they make, just keep going. Down the stairs where I took the tumble, out the door with the shitty lock, just make it outside and hope the sunlight has some sort of magic effect on the oncoming darkness.

It does, mercifully, even after all the times I had cursed it for killing off the rain clouds. Lovely light, maybe everything would be ok after all.

And it was. For a time at least, then I'd get down and come back up. I'd become thrilled with writing, with the prospect of getting the stories out, with seeing a new country, then I'd hate the internet, hate the people and the extinction of critical thinking all around me. But that's how it goes. That is the normal state and it's only because there were too many blessings to count for so long that it made us think that life is supposed to be a parade of contentment and complacency. It's not the greatest, but it's so far from the worse that nobody would ever stop to think that there's so much better out there.

There's so many ways to express what life is, and right now I don't have it pinned down with the right combination of words to do it any justice and maybe I never will, but right now life seems to be a simultaneous beautiful but inelegant dance on two floors at once, the moments of bliss and awareness and then painful time spent in the bathroom. But just for right now, it can all change. /end nonfunny.

Right is Right, and Other Racist Hand Slogans

Flippy is a solid name for a whale, I'm convinced of that now. Initially I thought it would be cliche but really, how many whales named Flippy have their ever been? Flippy is good, Flippy works.

Flippy would be a fantastic whale but not in that conceited human-centric way where he/she has some pointless goal that it works for. No, Flippy would be a fantastic whale in the sense that he/she always bred successfully and lived a long, generally pain free life in a very pleasant part of the ocean. Flippy would never eat more than necessary and would trouble no other creature in the ocean. One day, while watching those show off dolphins, Flippy sees one do a flip and the inclination to do so comes over him/her. But because Flippy is a fantastic whale, practicality wins over and the notion of flipping is soon discarded into the pile of forgotten memories that are buried in the graveyard of the whale's mind.


I'm writing all of this with a busted hand by the way. Iris I love you. I wanted to see how well I could write with one hand after falling down the stairs. Not very well, but I can make do. Just like Flippy would in the event that he/she was ever captured and forced to perform at a theme park. Flippy wouldn't escape. Flippy would make the best of the situation.

The Sexy Post

I read some of Cosmopolitan magazine's sex advice and realized that no qualifications are needed to get hired on as a consultant at Cosmo.

That fact had weighed heavy on my mind the other night and at some point between the whiskey and the crippling nightmares I was convinced that I could get hired onto Cosmopolitan magazine as a sex advice columnist and started stockpiling tips on fucking that matched the quality of the ones that were published.

Before I start I want to be absolutely serious for a moment and let the dear reader know that I am deeply ashamed of all that follows. My posting these terrible things here serve not to entertain but to punish myself. Like a monk whipping his own back with a cat o' nine tails this will be my retribution and my reminder not to mix terrible nights, powerful stank drank and a google search of Alyssa Milano from Double Dragon ever again.

Cosmo Sex Tips - Unedited and Unrevised
Cosmo Sex Tip #422: Nail his scrotum to a small plank of wood and then twirl it in such a way that once enough tension has been built and you release the plank it will spin around like an airplane propeller. Be sure to position your breasts in the path of the spinning plank and gurgle as if drowning underwater so that your man imagines he's a WW2 pilot who's crashed into the ocean and is being seduced by a mermaid.Cosmo Sex Tip #392: Saw the end of his penis off and then try to reattach it with your spit.

Cosmo Sex Tip #762: Have a snake bite your vagina and start screaming for your lover to suck the poison out. After several tense minutes admit to your lover that it was a boa constrictor which isn't poisonous. They'll be overwhelmed with joy that you're not envenomed that they'll give you the best sex you've ever had.

Cosmo Sex Tip #291: Fill a pair of gloves with ice cream just in case you're in public and your partner wants to lick ice cream off your fingers. Let him know the glove is always at the ready.

Cosmo Sex Tip #758: Challenge your lover to a farting contest where the winner gets anal.

Cosmo Sex Tip #674: Thinking of sending sultry pictures to his phone? ;) Why not send him poloroids of you masturbating WITH his phone so that every time he makes a call he'll imagine that he's talking into your vagina.

Cosmo Sex Tip #555: Write "vagina" all over his car so when on his way home from work you're all he can think about.

Cosmo Sex Tip #2Niner4: Announce that you have to use the bathroom really really badly. Then, before shutting the door call to your mate and ask them if they "wanna help" in as sexy a voice as possible.

A Year Later He's Still A Hack

-Name withheld-, right now you are the most important person in the world to me, and I truly mean that. You are my purpose, you are my reason, you are my beloved reader.

I am writing these words specifically for you, and as you read them you are letting me become a part of you. The words and the thoughts I express exist in your mind now; a part of my thinking resides within you and in that way we are connected as you read. I am putting a part of myself in these words, I live through them, and as long as you read me you will keep a part of me alive, always. Even if I were to pass from this world, all that it would take for me to live on is for you to read these words I write for you. It's our connection to one another, and though you are a complete stranger to me I am not afraid to let myself cherish you for giving me life beyond death, for giving me a reason, and for giving me a place within yourself to dwell, even if for a moment.

I am a writer and if I do my job well then I will give you a piece of myself that you will want to keep with you, and in my mind that is a concept too beautiful for words. Dearest reader, I would take a bullet for you. For you I would shine a warm light in the coldest, darkest night. I would always keep my hand ready should you want to reach out for it. If you were hated by the world, I would stand with you and if everyone started throwing rocks or loosing arrows I would wrap myself around you. You make me what I am, and I mean every word of what I've said.

All the love in the world pulses through me as I do what I am supposed to do.

Now begins my sacred work…

Two hats are hanging on a hat rack when one turns to the other and says, "you stay here, I'll go on a head!"

Did you ever hear about that soldier who came back from the war after being exposed to mustard gas and pepper spray? Yes, he is a seasoned veteran.

Seriously though, I took my puppy Bowser to the vet's office the other day because he hurt his paw and the vet picks him up and looks him over and says "Mr. Moses I'm going to have to put Bowser down," so I said "but why?!" and he said "because he's very heavy."

Oh, and you know I got a new book about Glue, I couldn't put it down!

But you know what really makes my blood boil? A crematorium.

We are now connected through love and painful groans.