Sunday, September 24, 2006

Thursday, September 14, 2006

What the hell is beta?

My mind has been wracked with other shit as of late, but I recently had a very interesting experience. While I was visiting a nameless ex in DC, she had opened up about her issues with food. I went with her to an over eaters anonymous meeting. I totally lied about my own situation, I totally felt like that guy from Fight Club. Anyways, it was pretty heavy shit. But also deeply amazing. Hell, I think I even fell in love. Like this one woman was pure Virginian beauty. Like all dark hair, dark eyes, sleepy lids, and a generally sensuous vibe. Jesus...anyway, participating in these folks discrete lives was so...precious. Their struggle isn't one to be envied. I love every one of those folks. Some were poetic. Some sad. Others had the manic energy of a broken hearted child. I won't forget that anytime soon.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Bush and the Twinkies

I so trying to avoid this moment. My 911 moment. Really I wasn't even there. I was back in Austin. I had left NY a week before. It was bad enough that while I lived in NYC I had never been able to make out the Towers. Like July 4th on the roof of my east village sublet, I could not see those fucking things. Then a month later I feel like I'm whipping my neck around half way across the country to witness my generations horror. As always on the periphery. And for once, seeing what a blessing it can be sometimes. What a shitty way to kick off a century. And this goddamned so called president. Now I know how I would have felt during the Reagan era. You are not a leader of a nation, you're a prince on a puppet. Nothing about you rings true. I may be bloated and sick off of your apple sauce and crushed pears also known as the shit you're cramming down my throat every fucking day, every where I go, everytime I look into another poor bastard's eyes, but I can still call bullshit! Those people deserve justice. Step down. Prostrate yourself at the feet of WE the people and beg us to spare you. Shame on you Bush and your whole freaking complicit ass family. Your peeps did business with the Nazis and you did business with Bin Laden. SHAME! SHAME! Traitorous shame!


Your filth will come out in the wash, it always does. You had just better hope that you and your ilk are dead and buried lest you suffer the blistering vilification that will forever blacken the names of Bush, Chaney, Rumsfeld, Bin Laden, and Murdoch. I personally, hope that I see your supposed legacy crumble in my lifetime.

I am angry. I am angry that this is the world that has been left to me. Screw the conjecture and the conspiracies. I smell a motherfucking rat and now the rest of America does too. But can America part with some parts of American life? Like would it be so bad if we all gave up our cars, designed our cities on a human scale, ate better, worked less, engaged more, and had some good ol' fashioned private time with America? Got to know one another again?

I mean I feel so estranged from the rest of America culturally, but I know I'm not. I'm as American as you can get. En plus, I'm from Texas. But my values...my values set me apart. What are your values, would be a very valid logical next question. I couldn't tell you in succint or even articulate way. I just KNOW. It has alot to do with not acting (or not acting) out of fear.

Have no fear of fear. --Charles Bukowski

Fear is the mind killer. --That dude from Arrakis othewise known as Dune.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Goddammit I'm double dog pissed..

I'm fucking pissed at this city. I'm pissed at the lack of intimacy. No hanging out.No house parties. No affection. Nothing but cheap damaged goods and usurpers. I'm over naming names on this fucking blog but suffice it to say this chick has showed her ass with me for the last time. Don't fuck with history. Enough about that individual. First, let me say that it feels good to be writing again. I just got off of whacking at my Olivetti. Something of interest came to the surface. There is no doubt in my mind that I liken this city to a cold sexy bitch that I love and desire. I wrote a very maudlin story about her. I may as well make the story about new york. As it stands the story is way too close to the truth. There's no real drama or tension. It was all a very one sided love thing. *wicked grin* But she is single again. Yes, that curly headed ice queen is single. I'm nothing if not tenacious. Anyway, New York is a fucking icy bitch and I love it. I'm hot for that very kind of woman in the flesh. And yet in both instances --the city and the women -- are both worth every brutish impression of their spike heel on my chest. It's a good hurt, but I need intimacy. For the last month or so I've have had that with with two very intense people in my life. They burn brighter than most, and having them in my life makes settling too bitter a pill to swallow. And that's what my life in this town feels like right now, a goddamned spoonful of codliver oil. What am I gonna do? I keep growling to myself, Render unto Cesar that which is Cesar's! But what the fuck does Cesar want? That little piece of the plan hasn't been sussed out just yet. I'm also nothing if not a little anxious. Is it KK? I mean here we are almost 8 years later and it's still sinfully delicious between us. And for once, the whole damn thing (this past weekend) was a great time. We both enjoy the quiet. There is enough action between us that everything else is just kind of whatever. Then there's the other one who shall go nameless who is the one, but ain't. She's my litmus test for all the rest. I think it's pretty hilarious that the I'm referring two don't get along even though they've only met twice. Whatever. Basically, I miss real people in my life. I miss the quiet of real life. New York isn't real to me. I'm only invested to a point. I wonder if it's getting to be time for me to leave this town. KK would be a fantastic reason especially if we're not in America. Don't get ahead of yourself. Or maybe ...traveling is solo...or you're destined to be solo...or solo no matter what is always apart of the equation, and everything I've thought up until this point has been based on a goddamned flight of fancy. Damn all of the works of Harold Robbins, Judith Krantz, Jackie Collins, Sidney Sheldon, Pauline Réage, Zalman King, Richard Linklater, and the entire writing stable of Bantam's Loveswept division to hell on a snot rocket! I'm an emotionally numb salivating pervert with delusions of genius and not pot to piss in because of these people! I kid you not. I remember reading somewhere that Margaret Atwood said something like boys grow up on porn and girls on romance novels. And the meeting of these two expectation is devestating for both. I think. Hell. I don't know I'm stoned. Anyway, welcome to my freaking world. That sentiment completely encapsulates what I'm feeling these days. I've got this insane narrative in my head,but I don't have a leading lady. I guess that's where all this is going. I really want to be deeply committed to someone or something. Maybe both maybe one, but not the other. But none of the above is not an option! Yes. There is the seat of my anger.

Then I take a breath. And then I think to myself. Ve. Shut up. Because when your time comes you'll be freaking out and on top of that you'll happily always try to be on your p's and q's. Christ, how soon is now? Morrissey hit it on the head.