Monthly Archives: October 2013


What do I make of this blog? When I started it, I used it as a form of expression, as if I were testing prose and seeing what worked. Well, I was testing my prose to see what worked. Then it turned into a place for me to vent about my love life. Then it turned into a place for me to communicate my feelings through junk poetry. I was bad at all of that. I had the right ideas and intentions, but I just didn’t know how to convey them in a linear sentence. It was like filling up a bottle of water under a waterfall without a funnel. A whole post to express what could’ve been in a paragraph. A paragraph for a sentence. A sentence for a word. And since it was personal and, let’s face it, selfish expression, it often made little to no sense.

Nowadays, I don’t really feel a need to write here anymore. I do feel a need to write, just not here. That urge we all have for validation is an illusion. Or delusion. Especially the validation you yearn from family and friends. Nothing has to be proven, and from what I’ve noticed about science recently, everything is rarely proven at all. All is speculation and hypothesis. History is written and exaggerated by the victors, and science is statistically more unsure than it is sure. So what is there? Really. What is there?

It’s not as though I’m trying to be cold or that I don’t give a shit about it all. I do. Sometimes, I even cry when I think about how many of you don’t know what I’m talking about because of an inherent stubbornness to adhere to a more sensible argument merely for the sake of the familiarity of stubbornness. Well, I used to cry about it. It was like a feeling of helplessness followed by involuntary coldness. I cried less and less after a while. You know the feeling of that cold tear that goes sideways over your cheekbones when you’re on your back at night? I don’t like that one. It was like a knew all these secrets  and no one wanted to listen. Friends, family, everyone I cared about -just couldn’t hear me. So I stopped crying. I stopped giving a shit. I even came off as cold when they would vent to me again. As the old patterns would have suggested there was something wrong with me, I now, would be to differ. I had happened upon the optimum balance of knowledge and maturity, and in turn, they regurgitated themselves as my calmness. Or tranquility.

I’d like to say zen but it’s associated with hippies and I don’t trust those fuckers. …Now, I have everything.

And it only took me two years in hell to get this. Not Hell, hell, but two years of letting your old life and world fall apart into the depths of the night, to discover a lamp buried with some oil still in it, then walking your ass out to the light. There’s no rush. You ain’t got no worries if you ain’t in a hurry. Time is only a courtesy paid to other people, really. I dunno, you could always stick with the irrationally bad attitude, asshole. I don’t mean you’re an asshole. That’s probably just what other people know you by. Either that or, Fucker. whaaaat?

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that’s how we roll

I watched this kid on a bicycle get hit by an SUV. He had to have been going about 15-20 mph. The SUV was doing the same with a hard left, only straight into the kid with its right fender. His back tire rose about 3 feet, no panicked swerves, no brakes and no screams. Did he not see her either, or did he know what was coming? Anyhow, his front wheel made first contact, his handlebars took a good 90 degree bend, and the kid bounced off the right fender. It was like watching a billiard game because the kid landed on his feet and even walked a few steps in the direction the SUV was headed. Maybe like watching wine swirl in a glass because it was pretty fucking fluid. I pulled over at the exact moment I finished yelling, “holy shit,” which began when the fender made contact with the bicycle right in front of me.

“Are you alright?” yelled separate motorist to the kid.”…I guess.” sighed the kid. It was almost as though he were disappointed it wasn’t worse.
“Sit down, dude.” I said.
“I’m okay.” replied the kid.
“The adrenalin’s probably kicked in. I bet nothing hurts.” I said.
“Do you want me to call the cops?” asked the separate motorist.
“No. I’m okay.” answered the kid.
“Alright, do what you want, but check to see if your hands are steady every few minutes. The adrenalin’s wearing off when it starts to shake.” I said. The kid raised his hand to see if it shook. He could’ve been a surgeon.
“I think I need to call the cops.” decided the separate motorist.

I got a feeling that getting the cops involved was something neither the kid nor I had wanted. I had to stay for a “fucking statement now,” I thought. I don’t know why the kid expressed dismay. Anyway the cops came and seemingly legitimate information was exchanged and there we were. I helped tighten the bolts on the kids bike. Everything was fine except is handlebars and chain. Easy fix. The kid assured the SUV driver, a 53 year old woman, that he was fine and more importantly that he would not be pressing charges. I joked that her fender was the only thing fixing, and her insurance premiums, she left. I offered the kid a ride home with me. He declined. I insisted. He accepted. 

“Why didn’t you press charges?”
“She didn’t mean to hit me.” replied the kid.
“And if she did?”
“…I dunno.” he replied.
“Come on, what if she wanted to hit you? Like she was pissed off at the world and she wanted to take it out on somebody, and you were there, the set up was right, etcetera etcetera?”
“…I guess she feels good because she did hit me.” he replied. We got to a stoplight in short silence. “She probably feels bad if she wanted to kill me though.”
“That doesn’t piss you off? You’ve been pretty calm about this whole thing. Too calm even. I mean, did you see her coming?” I asked.
“I saw her coming.”
“You saw her coming.”
“You tried braking?”
“You tried to swerve?”
“You couldn’t brake or swerve in time?”
“Maybe.” he replied. Another momentary silence.
After a moment of thought I deduced, “you didn’t want to brake or swerve.” at that he said nothing.

If I were him, I wouldn’t have responded either because that would’ve been crazy. But then again, I wouldn’t have responded if I thought the person asking was only asking because they gave the impression that a damn was given. No one ever really does, especially to strangers. It’s just that most of us have been conditioned to give the impression that we care. As if the well-being of someone we didn’t know a lick about directly affected our own. Doctors, lawyers, psychologists, politicians do this all the time, and their professions are the most revered in our society. We emulate them. If the kid had held his silence because he thought my worry was insincere, I wouldn’t have blamed him. But I was curious.

It was only after I was near his destination that he finally spoke, “It doesn’t matter if I wanted to brake or swerve. But no one died. And from now on, that lady’s so scared that she’s going to be careful about the little people on the street, like, the people walking and the cyclists. I wasn’t sad that I didn’t die when she hit me or anything, that’s weird. I was glad that it didn’t have to be somebody else because I dunno… I think I handled the whole thing pretty cool. Anyway, thanks a lot for the ride.”

As I watched the kid walk away with his fucked up bicycle, I knew exactly who he was. He was one of the few earthshakers we had left in the world. He may have seemed a little emotionally detached, but this was because of his calmness and maturity, not because he doesn’t care. I think he was the oldest kid I’d ever met.

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walking on sunshine, whoa-whoa whooooa

The importance of anyone’s opinion is only self-generated. Mine too. Mine especially, maybe. In the last few months, I read all the volumes of the correspondences and books of Laura Knight Jadczyk with these entities called the Cassiopaeans. She and her books are considered loony and ridiculous by some and I, at one point in time, would have agreed with her critics. Though, I can’t say that I agree with all of her material, i.e. most of the seemingly leading opinions, I can say that I agree with much of it. Mainly what some of what these Cassiopaeans are saying. She channels them through a Ouija board. If you’ve ever used one for real, you understand when I say that Ouija boards are a sort of anomaly. I have one. I’ve used it. I’ve talked to some strange fuckers. If it’s true what they say about it being some sort of medium for our subconscious, then I’d have an incredibly wise subconscious. And I would have hidden access to a vocabulary beyond the meager grasp I do have. In the end, what these entities known as the Cassiopaeans have taught mainly in terms of philosophy, have only, at best reiterated and confirmed what I have already speculated. After all, they are “us” in the future.

But moving back to what I said about our opinions being pointless, it’s true. We’re so distracted and engulfed by things that mean nothing that we don’t even notice the world is in flames. Who’s right, who’s wrong, what’s in the twitter feed and who’s got the latest vines or whatever-the-fuck, the room’s on fire and you’re fixing your hair. But then again, there are those new age assholes that are talking about being one with everything, and the power to change the world is in your mind and all that crap. You’d think something would’ve changed by now if one of them believed enough, but here we still are, taking pictures of our food and cats, and have boyfriend/girlfriend problems. Maybe I’m just cynical because I don’t care if I die. (just bought a motorcycle and don’t know how to ride it.) “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.” said some old clever bastard once.

If everyone was meant to enjoy life, then they were meant to enjoy death as well. One without the other is like sucking down booze without getting the buzz. You leave this place when you’re supposed to leave this place, everything is a lesson to someone. Try naming one problem that didn’t germinate within in your own mind.

I had a vision the other night. It was an old cruddy office. Like my office. Papers everything, things pinned up on boards, a half empty water cooler that would bubble every few hours. In the back was the shadow of a hand pointing up at a calender that said Nov. 28. I don’t know what that means, but the night I had that vision, I asked my subconscious to show me something awesome. Maybe it meant comet Ison, which was scheduled for a flyby on that date? I’ve never heard of this guy, but I hear He’ll be spectacular.

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I ran into an old friend the other night. We used to be fairly good friends but we fell out of touch. I grew to become a different person than the way I was going and he grew up. It was purely by chance that I had run into him, along with his two younger brothers. We were all on those really high bicycles, the ones that sat 8 feet up, going down Venice Blvd. at sundown. Upon hearing his voice, I immediately recognized it to be his. After a few minutes of the usual, “how’ve you’ve been,” and “I’ve been good, et tu?” we decided to all grab drinks and go on a bender the rest of the night. I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t drink anymore, but I had to walk into one of those for old time’s sake traps. So we set about to drink like the bastards of tomorrow.

Then, that’s when things really started to get interesting. Before we realized, we had ridden too far off from our cars with those high bikes, and deemed it too troublesome to go back. I had no idea where we were but my buddy did. It was always much easier to faith in other things that claimed to have control of situations than to believe in oneself. So he says, turn left, I turn left, he says turn right, I go right. After what seemed like an eternity of him telling me what to do, which in actuality must’ve been 20 minutes, I decided to ask him where we were going. “We’re here.” he says. “Okay, how do we get down from here.” “Oh, just fall off of it.” “Seriously.” “Seriously. It’s what I did when I went in the shop for booze. It’s really not that high once you let go.” he said. Well, he seemed to make sense. He made sense when he said to turn left here and turn right here, I still had faith in him. So I let go of the handlebars fell back and landed on the softest green patch of grass I’d ever landed on. “Fucking aye, look at that. It really wasn’t that bad to just let go.”

“Where are we?” I asked.

“We’re at my friend Kelly’s.” he said

“Do I know her?”

“I think you met her once or twice. She’s real nice. Plus she isn’t home.”

“Alright, cool.”

We continued drinking till dawn. Drinking and laughing at the progress of our lives. Progress in life is comparative, who sets the norm? Another friend said that once except he was talking about insanity. Sometimes I can’t think of a good reason why anyone would try setting their lives up so that they could be comfortable when they got older. It’s inconsistent and it’s what most people want. I never believe the fucking masses, not anymore. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed for anyone. Then we heard keys jingling outside the door. I either pretended to pass out or play dead.

It was Kelly. I didn’t get a good look at her but her voice made her sound sexy. All the what the fucks and the how the hells, I don’t know what it is but angry women really got my dick tingling. Maybe because they seem so passionate. What I would give to feel passion again. What I would give to feel again. I was really hammered, so my thoughts usually dove into the metaphysical while cracking dirty jokes on innocent bystanders. Doesn’t everyone? Anyway, she was just surprised to find three semi middle aged dudes drinking with a fourth passed out or dead on her couch. While I was pretending, I got a chance to admire the color scheme of the place. True baby blue walls, white fuzzy carpets and a white ceiling, an beautiful large and out of place crystal chandelier. It reminded me of heaven or an apartment in heaven though I felt I had to play dead when the owner came home anyway, mostly just to dodge the awkward greeting conversations, but apparently we’d met once or twice before. She told us we had to leave because her boyfriend, Mike was coming home soon. I reanimated and started going for the door, grabbed the booze along the way, and felt a little cheated that I didn’t get a chance to come onto her. But I did have a good time and sometimes, that’s all you walk away from life with. In this case I was walking away from an apartment in heaven.

I don’t recall much of what happened next, only that I woke up at my apartment on the couch. My dog licking my eyeballs. I smacked him away to pick up the phone to call what’s his face from last night for the old morning recap. He picked up and said with wild enthusiasm, hey, I haven’t heard from you in years! I laughed it off thinking it was just a little joke because of last night. But he remained adamant that his initial response was appropriately correct. Then I brought up the bikes, and booze, and falling, and Kelly’s boyfriend Mike, and getting kicked out of heaven. And nothing. He was at home last night watching Finding Nemo or something stupid. I told him it was good talking to him anyway and hung up. My dog watched me. I watched back. He began licking my eyeballs again.

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