Author: jae

fuck. i’m 31. christpiss.

the rundown
saturday night:
after getting nowhere fast in trying to recruit people to hang out with, and failing miserably as one by one each either dropped out, flaked out, or were unreachable at press time, i decided to go online to see what my old pal Deaner said he was going to see (his friend’s band at Bojangle’s). turns out that MY friend’s band, Mercy Woods, was also playing! so, at 9:00pm, i hopped in the car and did my best Steve McQueen to make sure i didn’t miss a thing. i put in Lennon Legend, cranked up the bass, and rocked all the way to West Carrollton at 85mph.

the first band was Semiautomatic. they were awesome. they came out dressed as the Soggy Bottom Boys from O Brother, Where Art Thou, replete with faux beardage. they sounded a lot like Alice In Chains- solid yet off-kilter grooves and amazing, sick vocals. not to mention really really loud, heavy, screaming guitars (three of ’em, no less). exactly what i was needing. i started off with two long island iced teas, then a shot of Jagermeister, and then a few Budweisers. the bartender, whose name i forget, was really friendly to me. she was dressed as a sailor. my mind had been waiting on the pier forever for her ship to pull in. anyways, Mercy Woods came on after Semiautomatic, and although the vocals were in dire need of some hardcore compression and crankage (she sings really well, but her timbre is a little thin and her range high, so the volume wasn’t what it should have been, probably thanks to a healthy and likely warranted fear of feedback). Mike, the drummer who i knew from high school, was in excellent form, and it was supremely cool to get to see him on the kit after so many years. he’s a very tasty drummer. the songs were good, too, although after Semiautomatic, i was a little in need of something harder.

a few songs into their set, i started drifting. woozy. i had to leave. i never did run into Deaner. stumbled out to my car and promptly passed out. i put on Lennon Legend and started the engine to stay warm. waking at 7am, i was damn close to empty. how stupid. if some cop would have stopped to see what was up, i could have been fucked. drunk, with the keys in the ignition and the engine running. jesus. and since i still had my new registration sticker on the front seat next to me, and not on the plate, where it officially belonged, it could have been even worse. but no matter. made my way home, which was a bit difficult, since all of a sudden the directions reversed themselves on me overnight. instead of going south to S.R. 725, and then east to I-75, i went south to nowhere whatsoever, then east to nowhere else. finally i ended up toward civilisation, and followed signs, which put me in the exact opposite direction from where i should have been, and yet got me exactly where i wanted to go. weird. yeah, weird like a motherfucker.

got home, slept.

my dad and his girlfriend came over. i had been dreading today and only wanted to slip out and go someplace else. nonetheless, i soldiered through the day. 200mg of 5htp kept me from spending the entire time out in the garage, smoking and pacing back and forth and ranting to myself under my breath, screwdriver in hand. my grandfather gave me Writing Los Angeles: A Literary Anthology, my dad gave me Zolar’s Encyclopedia of Ancient and Forbidden Knowledge and Letters on Occult Meditation by Alice A. Bailey, his girlfriend Gerry gave me Tom Waits’ Blood Money, plus jointly they got me a knit vest and two of the cheapest sunglasses in the universe (thank fuck, i didn’t get any true crap this time around), one of them being so horribly awful that they’re just cool, the other being no worse than mediocre. and my uncle sent me a cool satchel with a Keith Haring design on it.

<lj-whine>
so it was okay. other than that, though, none of my friends called, stopped over, or anything. IRL or online, it was a total non-event for the entire world… six and a half billion people and nobody but my grandfather, my dad, and my uncle ever remembers my birthday. [whine, whine, whine]. i used to just want everybody to ignore it, but now i think i’d rather have SOMEbody remember, and THEN tell them to just forget about it. meh. i forget everybody else’s birthdays anyways. i am a bad person (just ask flooding). i don’t want to be hated, but i do want to be killed. oops, where’s that 5htp again?

so it looks like it’s gonna be Reagan’s Polyp (flyer) at Elbo’s tonight.

yup. that’s what it’s lookin’ like alright. uh-huh.

i am almost angry that i had to send this email to a friend today, who thought that a mutual female friend was hitting on his fiancee last saturday night… he’s been angry with her, so i asked him wtf was up. his response is not included, but this is what i had to say to him about it just now… WARNING: i make some statements herein that may not go over well. i assure you freaks that i am madly queer, if only a lot less than halfway so. makes no sense to me either, but what i’m saying is don’t get too pissed if you see a statement you don’t agree with. these are only my observations, not what i’d ever pretend to be what i perceive as solid facts. i present it, however, entirely unedited. e-mail follows.

---

PREFACE: i’m sorry, i was going to keep my lousy nose out of it, but i decided that because you’re BOTH good pals o’ mine (sweet children, too) (GnR?) (nevermind), i need to get things straight before the playground that is my life becomes even emptier than it is already. i need BOTH of you on the jungle gym, and pronto, Tonto. and now for my compassionately-angry rant. please know that i don’t mean this to come off as me jumping anyone’s shit, least of all yours.

---

…and all this happened, i take it, BEFORE i showed up? because i don’t remember any of it, honestly. not one thing you mentioned. and i do know i was there as everyone was leaving. maybe i shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom or something. i wasn’t incredibly drunk either.

but i totally accept the concept that it is perfectly possible that perhaps every single thing you mention happened, yet happened as a passing thing, a joke that was quickly overjoked by someone else’s clever remark, which was in turn also overjoked by yet another clever turn-of-phrase by someone, and so on… to the extent that you are the only one who even remembers any of it… in ANY case, i know for a fact that nothing could have been meant by it. not as anything other than what i would call classic drag humor. by that, i mean that’s like if either you or i had thrown a pair of fake tits on and blew a kiss or pretended to flirt or something deafeningly comical like that. it’s a Python thang, yo’ gots ta unna stan!

so it’s like this: either nothing happened (seems possible), or whatever did happen was MUCH tinier and FAR funnier (although also way more forgettable, apparently) than you might have taken it. look, we’ve both been screwed over by chicks who suddenly wanted to be gay… i just don’t see that happening with either Tricia or Krissy… granted, i really don’t know Krissy very well, but i’m a good judge of character (the Amazing Kreskin says: she’s cooler than shit, dude… SEE??!! i am GOOD.), and i bet neither of them have ever really even casually considered jumping the fence. in my experience, bisexual people are nearly always WAAAAAY less grounded than those two are (in fact, i think it’s somewhat of a prereq to be fairly ungrounded, to a certain extent). what i’m saying is this: they’re both far too straight; they’re beyond gay redemption, beyond gay hope. i honestly doubt any girl in the universe could turn either of them out. luckily for you and Gary, the gay world has lost the battle before it ever began. if it weren’t such a fortunate thing, it would almost be sad.

not that i know jack shit, because i don’t; nor that anyone else’s sexuality is any of my concern, because it isn’t.

in a nutshell: it’s not Trish who’s projecting issues onto you, it’s the other way around. it’s okay, man, i’ve been there too and i’ve flipped out and lived to regret it. you’re not wrong, man… but Tricia certainly ain’t either. it’s a matter of a tragic misunderstanding, and i just have to beg you, you crazy nut, to look past it. Tricia has voiced her intentions clearly, as i see it, as being entirely benign and utterly without a shred of malice. give the girl a break; she was either joking, or silent.

all i know is this (all seriousness aside): this is MY life, and everyone as far as my eyes can see are but mere pawns, toys, playthings in a world of my mind’s own creation. and if i want to play with the both of ya’s at the same time, i’m *GOING* to play with the both of ya’s at the same time, gawd dammit! the cool thing about being omnipotent (NOT impotent; that’s another tirade altogether) is that you don’t have to punish anyone for disobeying, because they are utterly powerless to do so in the first place. *cough*blowjobnowthanks*cough*

first off, i want to say WELCOME to some new people i’ve added recently, and who were kind enough to add me back: astrokaiju, divineseduction, driftwood, giselc, mesmer_ant, and taocub. these are people who i thought were tremendously interesting. also, a big thanks to my old friends, 666queen, aimercat, kaitan, mistressxenobia, puddingbunnie, slbass, theapostate, thee_kaos_child, tyrsalvia, and wirklichkeit. these are also wonderful folks, who in some cases stuck around even when i was being really antisocial. you can read all of them at once here. also, you can find a lot of really interesting nouns (people, places, and things) and in some cases verbs (“I seem to be a verb.” –Buckminster Fuller), by checking out my profile page. i’ve stumbled onto a lot of really cool ones lately.

---

tonight i’m going out with some old friends. still not sure where, but hopefully i’ll be able to check out the massive (annual) hallowe’en party in the Oregon District somehow.

i’ve all but decided i’m going to tell one of my married friends why they should get a divorce and git wit’ me… at any rate, i’m definitely going to reference my burning desire, if for no other reason than to get a laugh. if you ever want to say something potentially sensitive to someone, and you don’t quite know how to say it, just throw it out there and make it funny. there is an Art to saying some Things.

and, while contemplating this issue, i thought of this:
wishes pile up in front of us; they trip us up, block the view ahead, and make for an uphill climb. on the other hand, Experience (accomplishment) becomes the landscape behind us, the background in the portrait of our lives. (it’s of course up to us whether it is a beautiful landscape or a dull and ugly one.)

---

i’ll be thirty-one years old fairly soon. i realised yesterday that 31 is 13 backwards. so it’ll be interesting to see what this portends.
what i want: (not necessarily in order)

love

sex

compassion

tenderness

understanding

intimacy

monogamy (non-slavery version)

passion

romance

one damn good conversation a day

world peace already! jesus!

and end to all hostility everywhere, including within me

regime change in the U.S., along with, for chrissakes, a

FAIR gay, black, jewish, asian, latino, hindu, arab, female, american indian and/or agnostic President.

an end to consumer culture

a job that won’t make me practically suicidal

to learn to quit asking for too much

---

and, in case i end up dead, in a coma, or naked in a tree somewhere in Spain tonight:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY (monday) TO driftwood and (today) kaitan!!!

will somebody for fuck’s sake please tell the otherwise fine folks at Mickey’s that their little bottlecap-jokes ceased to be funny about a decade ago?!!

---

speaking of malt liquor, here’s a good quote: “You drink the first half of a 40 so that you can drink the second half.”

i forgot to mention that i also picked up American Beauty today. there’s Citizen Kane, and then there’s American Beauty. everything else in between has been filler. really excellent filler at times, but filler nonetheless. i’m going to go and get some malt liquor, and maybe smoke a bit of a joint, and watch it in a little bit.

it occured to me when i was unwrapping the box that i can’t quite look at that cover image the way i wanted to, the way i used to. see, i’ve seen a rather extraordinary mock-up of that cover shot, featuring a wonderful belly i would have loved to have gotten to know. *sigh* …so i can’t display it on my shelf the way it should be, next to Pi and C.K., in all its splendour and glory. oh well, the film itself is the thing anyway.

i really identify with A.B.. i guess because i feel like the last year here i’ve been gradually waking up from my own sort of coma. i mean, i’ve always understood that fantastic, surreal beauty about life and things and Experience (that thing Hendrix was really talking about, you know?)… the colours beneath the objects they represent. it’s just that i let myself be turned into a smaller version of myself a while back. in fact, the day i took an office job, i let myself down in a way i hope i will never do again. oh, i might take another office job in the future, but i will never, ever, become a smaller version of jeremy like that again. i’m not going to wake up every day and find that i’ve been asleep for months, and will sleep again as soon as i get out of bed. i’m sort of relearning how to work the drive-thru, how to smoke a joint with the next-door neighbour’s kid, how to own up to the fact that i don’t drive a 1970 Pontiac Firebird (i’m speaking purely metaphorically here… i love my Dart, it’s my 1970 Pontiac Firebird; and the one thing that’s kept me in the world of the truly ALIVE for all these years has been driving the cool, older cars that i love so much) and god dammit, GET that car, lift those weights, speak out of turn whenever i’m moved to. i’m not that slave any more; my chains are broken… i still wear them, but that’s only because i haven’t run across the right tool to get them off, once and for all. but i can move about a bit more freely, and it feels much better. one day, very soon, i think, i’ll find me a pair of bolt cutters and fly away, just… fly away.

on an entirely different note, i was relishing the fact that i remember very clearly when John Lennon’s last few singles were radio staples, not just the posthumous ones from Milk and Honey but also the Double Fantasy stuff.

and i’m truly not any older today than i was several years ago. i’ll soon be 31 years old (technically), but i don’t think i’ll start getting older for a long while. i simply won’t choose to (“There is an art… or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.” -Douglas Adams). there was a period, once, when i was fully chained and had my very own set of maya-masters, when i was far older and tireder than i am today, and thankfully, those days are long gone. i dunno, maybe it was just Jacksonville. anyway, my point is that i’m so much wiser and ten times more restless and energised and HUNGRY than i was then. and definitely stronger by the day. maybe i owe Lisa for part of that, i don’t know. i know i owe it to myself more than anything.

all i know is this: someday i’ll be dead, just like Lester Burnham, and you, and everybody else in the world is or will be, and i certainly don’t want to have wasted so much time living by being dead through most of it already.

yippee! looks like me & my ol’ pal Tony and i are gonna take a road trip into Indiana next saturday! i’m-a get my multitrack fixed! yay me! i don’t know what song i’m gonna record first. probably like we are. it’s got a great riff to it, sounds like an unreleased Afghan Whigs song.

i gotta dust off my old trusty frankenstein electric. i put it together myself, could say i built it, but the intonation is pretty off, and the hardware is pretty rusted now. i may have to get a new guitar somehow, but i really really really like the way i’ve got my pickups wired on my red frankie. plus, it’s got a $300 compound-radius Warmouth neck on it, Seymour Duncan Invader (biggest fuckin’ polepieces in the world… makes it loud and dirty, just how i like it, but kinda compromises the sustain) humbucker in the bridge position, two EMG single-coils, and a Kahler Spider (a Floyd II-type Floyd Rose-licensed whammy bar) (…or Striker, or something like that). the pickups are wired to two dipole (on/off), and one tripole(on/on/off), switches.

now let me tell you how i wired that bad muthafucka. listen up, rockers:

the two single coil EMGs are each wired to a dipole switch. the humbucker (dual-coil) is controlled by the tripole. one master volume knob and one master tone (treble roll-off). the humbucker is wired, i think, so that the first position is off, the second is splitting the coils and tapping just one of them (i think the one closest to the bridge), and the third is full-on monster crunchin’ doublecoil. here’s where it gets interesting…

the middle EMG is wired out-of-phase. that means that by itself, it sounds fine. BUT, when i flip the middle on while either of the other two are on –either the dirty, crunchy bridge Duncan humbucker or the warm, singing neck EMG single, or both– it throws the whole deal just out of phase. it sounds really really thin and trebly, but tight and crackling with electricity (not literally). in a nutshell, it sounds like a freakin’ overdriven Tele. i rule. the sheer variety of tones i can get is astounding. i used that guitar on virtually every recording i’ve ever done that featured an electric guitar. i even used it as the bass on “monster.” (that old grunge-y song). there’s some other stuff that hardly anyone’s ever heard, too. sounds great. but i need a serious intonatin job on it. and maybe even some new hardware, if i can’t get all the surface rust off.

i think my amps could use some serious cleaning on their pots, too. last time i plugged one in it was pretty noisy.

i have at least two other finished songs i’ll record, too. and i’ll finally get my Nick Cave “Let It Be” down, just because god dammit, i thought of it first.

i’m also planning on adding some much-needed vocals to a lot of those electronic songs. got to get my hands on a reverb unit somehow. after i get all that done, my plan is to do all my backing tracks on the playstation (MTV Music Generator makes for a hella great sequencer/sampler, not to mention it’s about the best drum machine i’ve got, much more versatile than my old trusty TR-707), send the stereo mix to fourtrack, and overdub whatever i need on top.

my wish list:
a decent digital 8 track (like the new Boss 10-track model with the CD burner option) $800-$1000
any decent to excellent multi-effects floor unit $5-600
wah pedal, preferably a Crybaby $75
e-bow $70
2.0+ second digital delay pedal $100-150
ibanez tube screamer distortion pedal $100-150
decent set of monitors and flat-response headphones for mixing $2-400
a fucking deck to mix down to! $150-300
a place to set up. someplace with a real live sound, and a small carpeted room for dead sound
total cost, not including space: maybe $3000 or so.
damn. add to that list: a sugarmama.

i found out that there’s a difference betwixt acetyl L-carnitine and L-carnitine. the acetyl part, according to the health store lady and her fat book, assists in the production (or breakdown, i forget which) of [compound] in the brain, which is thought to have the effect of limiting age-related dementia. so i guess i don’t need it, considering that a bottle costs about fifty damn dollas, when the other non-acetyl stuff only costs $20. christ. still, i’d like to try what Doc Rat-Youth is using.

i got carded yet again for smokes today. yay me!
<Lester Burnham>
i RULE!
</Lester Burnham>

picked up new best-ofs: Bowie (2CD version), Fleetwood Mac (new 2CD version) (i have the old one, which inexplicably left out “Landslide”, arguably F.Mac’s best song), and John Lennon Legend (because i can’t very well call myself a Beatles fan without owning at least ONE of his records).

also ordered about 20 CDs online. thank god for awesome dirt-cheap specials! most of ’em were $1.99 (new!), and quite a few are used. here’s what i’ll be getting soon:
Utopia Anthology
Kool Keith Black Elvis/Lost in Space
The Crystal Method Vegas
Bob Dylan Blonde On Blonde
Parliament Mothership Connection
Carole King Tapestry [SACD Stereo]
Pavement Slanted & Enchanted
The Fugees The Score
The Doors The Doors
Van Halen 1984
The Police Synchronicity (for a gift; i already have the complete recordings)
Big Audio Dynamite Super Hits
Boards of Canada Music Has the Right to Children
Depeche Mode Some Great Reward
The Pop Will Eat Itself This Is the Day…This Is the Hour…This Is This!
Judas Priest Metal Works ’73-’93
Billy Joel Greatest Hits, Vols. 1 & 2 (1973-1985)
Elton John Greatest Hits
Elton John Greatest Hits, Vol. 2
Joe Jackson Greatest Hits
Simply Red Essentials

Coital Alignment Technique (anybody wanna be my guinea pig?)
also
StraightDope.com staff report: ‘why did the Beatles break up?’

this whole sniper thing has been the best fucking “reality” tee-vee the tee-vee has ever seen. now that it looks like we’ve seen the series finale, i feel empty inside. i want more. i vote we go ahead and open up a new network, VBN (Violence Broadcasting Network), to fill this vast hole in the entertainment landscape. we need more of these types of shows to keep us enthralled, hanging on to the edges of our LaZBoys. we need more death. and we need it to be bigger, better, faster, and bloodier. not to mention, with this type of reality tee-vee, we all truly do have a chance at that fifteen minutes of fame Andy Warhol promised us; we don’t have to be young and hip and beautiful anymore. we can now be characters on tee-vee in a real-life, life-or-death drama. and maybe even this new network might think about recruiting the NRA as a major, or even chief, sponsor; arming every single one of us to the teeth, just to see if anything interesting happens.

saith Julius W. Caesar: “Let them have bread and circuses!”

and gore. plenty of real, vastly entertaining gore.

may the most entertaining killer win.

found my passport in storage.

and a closeup… hee hee…

swear to god/s i’m not stoned! seriously!

my hair looks funky ‘coz i had just taken out my braids (they were getting pretty ratty and close to dreading, which wouldn’t have been so bad, but i hate it when it starts to get itchy– that’s why i never dread my hair)

thanks to mistressxenobia for posting this:

“Eckhart saw Hell too. He said: The only thing that burns in Hell is the part of you that won’t let go of life, your memories, your attachments. They burn them all away. But they’re not punishing you, he said. They’re freeing your soul. So, if you’re frightened of dying and… and you’re holding on, you’ll see devils tearing your life away. But if you’ve made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth.”
— from “Jacob’s Ladder”

it’s weird, ever since i was very young and was questioning my “faith” (a few years before i saw this film) i had a feeling that the afterlife was actually like this. a one-size-fits-all sort of “reversible environment”. i even went around telling people the Good News. “we judge ourselves!”

now, of course, i’m a devout agnostic. but i think that IF there is an afterlife at all, which i doubt, then it will be very much like this.

so i ordered Todd Rundgren and Utopia anthologies from django’s recently. opened my mail today and all i got was the second disc of the Todd one. GRRRR! none of those great songs from Something/Anything or Runt. at least i got “Johnee Jingo”, an appropriate and timely song from his amazing album A Capella (whole thing recorded using no instruments but his own voice & body, a few years before Bobby McFerrin did it), plus “Drive” and “Bang the Drum” and “Can We Still Be Friends”. but goddamn! where’s “I Saw the Light”? where’s “Hello, It’s Me”??!

this is a story my old friend and [psychedelic] guru Le (pron. Lee) once told me. i don’t know where he got it from. it seems somehow ancient, yet clothed in newer rags. i’ve forgotten most of it, only the not-so-important bits. i’ll just make something up to fill in the blanks. the heart of the story [intent] will remain intact. it’s probably a famous story that i’ve just screwed up, but i wanted anyone who perhaps hasn’t heard it to read at least my awful paraphrasing of it and have something to contemplate. it’s a wonderful story, at least in its purer form, and one that i’ll never forget. (well, not the important part anyway.)

if you know what the ending means, click here and tell me. please don’t read any comments until you have at least guessed. it’s probably very simple, and everyone knows it. probably because everyone already knows this story.

---

it seems that once, a long time ago, there were two men travelling together across a mountain. the mountain was hard and ragged, and offered them little respite. the two began talking to each other about their lives, and the hardships they had seen.

“I have come from many hundreds of miles to the north, and I seek work near the city, so that I might feed my seven children, who are sick,” said the first man.

“I have also come from far away, from the east of here. I am searching for the murderer of my wife, and my wife’s family, so that i might bring him back to be put on trial,” said the second.

the two men went on like this for some time, lugging their heavy backpacks, filled with tools, over the treacherously steep and thin mountain passes. very often one of them would almost fall to his death, and the other would grab him just in the nick of time. finally, they reached the summit. looking down the far side, they saw that there was no way down, only a cliff, and sharp rocks below.

“I wish sometimes that someone would write down instructions for life in a book and send it to me. I wish there were, in this book, not only instructions for living, but also for dealing with troubles, how to overcome all adversities. Also everything else that is worth knowing, and everything else besides that. I wish i could read this book, and discover the secret to life. I wish that I could read in this book the answers to every great question that has plagued all of our best philosophers since the beginning of time, such as ‘why are we here?’ and ‘what is the purpose of existence?’ and ‘how can we overcome evil?'” one of them said.

the two men turned to start back down the mountain so they could find a better way around. just then, a tiny scrap of paper fell from the sky and floated like a leaf to the ground, landing just behind them. the piece of paper contained a single word.

something not so new, but i hadn’t known: Brad fucking rocks! i’m-a get me some Brad. SOON.

i feel as if i were caught, trapped in some kind of clutch, some ingenious Greek design as in Daedalus’s labyrinth for Minos’ bastard Minotaur (am i a hideous minotaur? truly a bastard i be, hidden away from my roots for years eating only the good things which have been sent unto me), or perhaps it is Dionysius’ sword hanging above me, he asking me ‘o Damocle, quoniam te haec vita delectat, ipse eam degustare et fortunam experiri meam?’ as i marvel at how easy it is to be centuries dead… what is this jackboot upon my long and emptiful head? i feel the need to go forth, to seek out new places and people, new city-flavors, to boldy go where my self hasn’t gone before. but i can’t seem to get my boots out from the sand i’ve been playing in.

maybe i’m just afraid i’ll spend up all that’s left of my money (financial resources; no income to speak of besides a couple hundred bucks a month out of the kindness of my grandfather), which isn’t much now, and won’t be able to have any more adventures for so very long that it would be better to wait and lie dormant until something good happens to me instead of me happening to something good. but crap! how lonely and irritable a thought that is! surely there is some way that i can both do and prepare for doing, at once.

so i write? make music? who will buy my book? the same five people who bought my last CD? i want not to see another such grand failure again, it is only fulfilling the angry prophecies of that same grandfather, who always insisted that i can never be right, and that being creative is foolish when there’s good solid honest macho toil that can always be done. one can still be seared and suffer, whether it is the back or the soul that longs for peace; it is one or the other, or even both, should one prefer. i would rather suffer and die under the weight of brightly-hued prose than with a rented shovel on my belt and somebody else’s shit under my fingernails. i would rather stare into the eyes of god for a second for a song than win such deities’ grace, eternal though it be, by burning my body and dissolving my bones in sweat and toil.

shit, i am looking for an easy way out. i am insanely jealous of all those others who never had to bust their asses for years until they sit up late at night crying and holding knives to their already-bleeding hearts. i don’t want to play that awful game anymore. it is a farce, and the joke is on the proletariat, the working-class types, destined to either let it end them up in the grave, or on skid row, or both. the rulers of this weird wasteland of tyranny and greed and drive-through greaseshacks only want us to bleed a little more, a little more. for merriment or money? or just to keep us docile and too tired to rise up against their terrible maya?

why can’t i look in the sunday classified and see a listing for “creative writers needed. no professionals need apply. $10.50 plus medical, dental, etc.” or under “painters needed,” read also: “all styles welcome.” why can’t i answer an ad for backpacking across the Himalayas? for cataloguing the ancients sites of Greece? how come there seems to be no creative help needed? it’s been now eleven years since i got my certification in audio engineering, and there isn’t even a recording studio on the planet that literally “hires” people.

i need a sunnier clime so i can work outdoors without this gouty finger pain, at least. it always gets much worse in the cold, and when seasons change.

i just got carded for cigarettes! cigarettes! not booze, but smokes! woo-HA!

“wow, I wouldn’t have placed you at that age!”
“i wouldn’t either, if i had a choice!”

funny thing is, she looked younger than me, and she was born in ’67. pretty kewl.

i also just sent out an e-mail to about 23 locals (all old pals who i’m pretty sure won’t have any incredibly pressing committments like kids and so forth), pressuring them to go out and get shitty with me saturday. i’ll bet right now that not one person responds positively. i am an ass, after all. oh well. regardless, i’m going out and getting absolutely hammered.

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LiveJournal Connect! Enter your username in the left box, someone else’s username (or a * for a random one) in the right box, and press the button! -> Quiet Mutual 2 chains No 1-hop Coded by sachmet

What Office Space character are you?
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