Thursday, January 31, 2008

Dog eat Dog (Or Slipper)

Oy! A dearth of material recently.
No maniacal mood swings.
Nobody wronging me. Not one person!
Can you believe it?
That makes it tough for me to post anything here.
This blog is for when I feel shitty.
However I feel obligated to say something, but what?
Hell if I know.
Anybody want to hear about Floyd?

Tough shit. You're gonna hear it.
Floyd, for those that may not know,
is my Jack Russell Terrier.
He is a nightmare. An honest to goodness nightmare.
He's not even mine.
He belongs to my brother, Michael.

You see, when Mike moved to Florida last September,
he left Floyd with me.
Apparently, I'm the most responsible person he knows.
Yikes, that's a scary thought.
How do I say to him,
"Mike, I don't want your goddamn dog."

For all intents and purposes, I'm a cat person.
They are much easier to take care of. They're self reliant.
Leave them a bowl of food and water, and they're good.
They can go days without ever approaching you.
And when they do,
You pet them, on their terms, and eventually,
they go away.
Off on another excursion that they'll never tell you about.

But dogs? Holy Moses!
I've never seen a needier beast.
Well, except for my last girlfriend (ba dum bum. thank you. thank you.).
Every morning at 5am, there he is,
with his nose in my still closed, still sleeping eye.
Literally, right in my eye.
"I presume you need to go out?" I'll say.
Zoom! Like he's fucking rocket propelled,
straight downstairs and at the door barking.
And I am still searching for my slippers.
They are no where to be found, of course.
Beacuse he has taken them and hidden them.
It's a game we play.
When I don't give him enough attention (for instance, when I'm sleeping),
he takes my slippers (or shoes or work boots) and hides them.
It's really very maddening.
He has to be fed the same time every day, otherwise he shits on the floor.
I can't let him run free, because he burrows under the fence,
and then tries to mangle the little yapping dog next door.
YIPE YIPE YIPE it shouts, as if to warn me, "He's almost out!
Save me!"
So I go trudging out in my boxer shorts and the one slipper I can locate.
It's really very funny to see, I imagine.

But I love the little doofus.
I'm going to miss him once Mike does eventually come and take him back.
It should be this February that he leaves me.

And then I'll be left all alone, by myself.
Frittering away the hours in my cold house.
Without any companionship, and slowly going insane.


Monday, January 28, 2008

Feelin' Groovy

I'm in an oddly good mood this evening.
Why? I can't say for sure.
It could be that I've had a few drinks.
It could be that I've been searching for,
Well, dumb shit on YouTube to make me laugh.
Like this, for instance.
Or maybe this.
Or perhaps something like this.
I don't know. Maybe it's none of that.
I do love those last guys.
They're called Barats and Bereta.
And they are brilliant.
I suppose we will never know what has made me so happy.
I guess it's just a mystery.

Saturday, January 26, 2008


Blue skies
Through half open eyes,
Squinting from the glare of the sun.
An old friend appears in the distance.
I cannot be certain which one.

I left them so very long ago.
Their faces,
I can't quite remember.
The reasons I left them are voluminous,
Like the fire and its flickering embers.

Broken dreams.
They're all that I'm left with.
As madness slowly comes to call.
I'm left with no one, with nothing,
But the shadows on the wall.

I've got a little Willie!..... wait.....

Willie Nelson, the greatest singer/songwriter ever. Country music or not.

You Don't Know Me

Wurlitzer Prize

Ain't it Funny How Time Slips Away

Friday, January 25, 2008

Just taking a little break

Well hello there, loyal readers!
I got so busy last night.
I didn't have the time to post anything good,
so I just decided to not post at all.

It's better that way.
Trust me.

I actually got some writing done last night!
I also had a few personal things to iron out.
So my head wasn't really into the blog yesterday.

I may be posting a few stupid things tonight.
Nothing too dramatic.
I really appreciate you guys being so loyal.
I've never really been a fan of my writing.
And I'm definitely not a person who likes to share alot about himself.
So this is all strange and new to me.

Keep reading. I'm not gonna stop posting.
I also have an idea.
An idea that will change the blog, unfortunately.
But in a good way. It's not a bad thing.

I will present the idea when I get a better picture of what it is.
Until then.......

Wednesday, January 23, 2008


I just don't believe you.
You can keep saying it all you want.
I'm never going to believe you.

You did it.
You're fucking him again.
Just admit it.
It's not like we're together anymore.
But I distinctly remember you saying that you hated him.
That he was a jerk, who always treated you like shit.

What is it with these guys who treat women like shit?
How is it that they always get the girl?
I mean, for fuck's sake!
Meanwhile, I, the perennial, proverbial "good guy" am left there,

Why do you feel the need to be demoralized by him?
Is it some unresolved psychoanalytic bullshit from years ago?
Do you really enjoy being ridiculed and belittled?

Why can't you see a nice guy,
And just appreciate him?
He's not a pussy, or any less of a man.
Here's the fucking crazy thing about it:
He actually respects you!

Holy shit!
What a novel idea!
To be with someone who truly respects you.
But you're still gonna go with that dickhead over there?

Excellent choice.

Random Thoughts

Ode To The One I Love

You are a pretentious, capricious bitch.
I hate you and I never want to see you again.
And when he drops you on your ass,
Don't expect me to be there to pick you up again.
I'm done being your backup plan.


Are you really that ignorant?
"Can't we just pretend that it never happened?"
Ok, well, why don't we just go back 2 years,
And pretend we never met?

That would be ideal.


I'm postively livid.
Surprisingly though, not at you.
At me.
For allowing myself to be beguiled.....
I knew what I was getting into.
Yet still, there I am.
Diving in head first.
Foolishly never questioning your motivations.
Honestly, am I truly this stupid?

Apparently so.


One cigarette after another.
The room, shrouded in smoke.
It's far too cold to open a window.
So now what do I do?
Naturally, I just turn out the light.
If I can't see the smoke, It's not there.

Still, I can see the glowing ember in the mirror.
Illuminating my face with each puff.
It's like a firefly is flitting,
From my bedside,
Up to my mouth.

Ahhhhhh, the smooth burn of the tobacco.
For a solitary moment, I feel no stress.
It's almost as if I'm free again.
I sit, just appreciating the feeling.
My lungs filling with that beautiful, delicious poison.

ok, maybe one.

everybody's got something to hide, except for me and my monkey.

happiness is....

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

You're killing me!

I'm sorry, guys.
I haven't been able to write anything worth reading recently.
All of this positive feedback has really lifted my spirits.
When I write, I need to be emotional.
I haven't written a word in my "novel" for over a week.
I'm just in too good of a mood.
And I always say,
The only time a writer should be happy,
is when he's dead.

I thrive on angst and tumult.
My lifeblood is depression and anxiety.
I have no other way.

So, if you guys could do me a big favor,
It would be greatly appreciated.
Could you tell me I suck?
Or that I have no talent.
Or tell me you don't love me anymore,
that always seems to work.
Tell me to give it up,
To just stop.
That I'm making a fool of myself.

Otherwise, you'll be stuck with me posting videos,
or even worse,
I will be forced to actually write while happy.
And I don't want to do that.
It scares me to think about it.
I can't do that, I'm not good enough to do it.
I would be an abject failure at it.

I'm starting to feel shitty again!
Fantastic! That makes me so happy!


Some more Jeff Buckley by request.
You see what I have to resort to?

oh, what the hell, one more.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Saturday, January 19, 2008

How boring can it get?

Oh my, what a crazy Saturday night.
I think I am now officially a spinster.
Is there a masculine form of the word spinster?
Probably not.

I don't think it can get less exciting than tonight was.
I baked some cookies.
They couldn't make that name any gayer?
They are really delicious though.
Basically they are sugar cookies,
but you roll them in cinnamon before you bake them.
Mmm-mmm good. And with a nice mug of Hot cocoa.
Homemade of course.

And what pathetic evening would be complete without some TV?
I'm now catching up on Battlestar Galactica.
I know, I'm boring and a nerd:
The total package!
It's a tremendous show, though.
I'm halfway through season 2.
And I'm officially in love with Starbuck.
And Number Six. Frak me, please.
That's not my only nerd obsession, though.

I'm a LOST freak.
That fucking show is the best there is.
And only two more weeks until it's back!
I'm going through withdrawals, for christ's sake.
I really just need to get through the next week.
Then I'll be okay.

Well, time to hunker down and go watch some more BSG.
I am a frakking dynamo.

And yes ladies,
He's single!

Friday, January 18, 2008

How does that old proverb go?

Neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor hail
Shall keep the postman from his appointed rounds.

Unless you have left your Jack Russell Terrier on the porch.
Then all bets are off.


I mean, just look at the size difference.
That guy would have been eaten alive.
For crying out loud,
He [il postino**] didn't even have to go onto the porch.
All Floyd did was bark at him.

Sure, keep the bills, postman. I'm fine with that.
I just wanted my stamp collecting magazine,
Philately Monthly.
I found an Inverted Jenny last week,
And I think it's worth a lot of money.

* This is not Floyd. I was too lazy (stupid?) to upload some pics of him. Let's just say that's him, okay? Also, I suppose I should say: that's not my postman either.

** the postman, dummy.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

some clarification please

As I now seem to actually have readers here, I think I should clarify something about my writing style. It was pointed out to me that my posts seem to be written in a poetic form, yet they seem to have no poetic rhythm.

There is a very good reason for this: it's not poetry.
Each line represents a solitary thought.
To just clump all of the lines together, well, that would be unseemly.
At least in my opinion.
So, that is why when you are trying to read it,
and you try to find a specific tone and rhythm, it's not there.
Also, I think it just looks cooler this way.

And furthermore,
when I write like this, you will know it is extemporaneous.
Unlike my previous post, which I had composed the other day.
So it wasn't really written in delineated thoughts.
It was written as a continuous free flowing thought.

Are we clear now?
Oh, and just to fuck you up even more,
sometimes it will be a poem that I have written.
The kicker is I'm not going to tell you when it is or isn't.

Ok. Now are we clear?

Thoughts I had while waiting

I arrived 20 minutes early to pick up my friend for the concert we were going to this evening. Just some local band who will no doubt butcher a few Zeppelin tunes and regale us with their own originals. And by originals, I mean derivative crap.

I'm not a big fan of concerts nowadays. I've been to quite a few in my time. Some great ones. Tool, Black Sabbath, Eric Clapton, Paul Simon, just to name a couple.

I've come to hate crowds, though. Not the people in them, per se, but the idea of the crowd in general. As I've grown older, I've enjoyed being in a crowd less and less. When I was a teenager, I loved the idea of hundreds of people I didn't know pushed together in a room too small for everyone to fit comfortably. The more the merrier, I'd say. To me, it just meant that there were more joints being passed around, and I was going to get that much more stoned. Bring 'em on!

But now, as I am not a teenager anymore, I don't seem to enjoy it as much. Steadily I've grown less and less comfortable among these large groups of drunken strangers. Maybe it's because I no longer take the joint that's being offered to me. That's right, I now pass on grass. Dope: Smoke it today, be it tomorrow.

Is it possible to develop agoraphobia (more specifically, enochlophobia) as an adult? I'm not sure if it is, but I am increasingly more uneasy whenever I'm around more than say 50 people. I start to sweat an inordinate amount. What I really want to do is go outside and have a cigarette with the 5 other people left in the world who still smoke.

I'm just not a fan of 20 year old drunk idiots, male or female, constantly bumping into me, or spilling their drinks everywhere. You can never hear what anyone else is saying, so you're forced to yell. And then invariably there's a lull in the music, and everyone has been informed that I'm going to take a leak.

Just let me be at home with like 5, maybe 10 people. Good conversation, good wine (or beer. or vodka.). No thumping bass lines, no self righteous lead singer and his semi-autobigraphical "lyrics".

Just give me interesting people and compelling conversation and I'm a happy man.

Finally, my friend has exited the shower after three refrains of some insipid Maroon 5 song (truthfully, I'm embarrassed I even knew who it was). We can finally go to the damn concert.

Oh goody.

**Edit: it was brought to my attention that this seems like i composed this tonight. not the case. it was composed on sunday january 13th**

Wednesday, January 16, 2008


Out of my head. All of the time.
One minute, elated;
The next, deflated.
I fear that madness is nigh.

I'm lost in my mind. All of the time.
Obfuscating around the reasons why.

Oh, poverty's fool am I.

{apologies to shakespeare for pilfering and then bastardizing that last line.}


Every day is a trial.
Thoughts always turn to you.
Never on purpose though.

A car goes by;
I'm reminded of you.
A commercial on TV;
I'm reminded of you.
A song on the radio;
I'm reminded of you.

I'm reminded of you every day.
In stupid ways.
Am I really remembering you?
Or is it just that you have never left my thoughts?

The good. The bad.
There was definitely more good than bad.
But when it was bad,
It was horrible.
And when it was good......
You know what? It was never really that good.
I was just happy things weren't bad,
So they seemed good.
Is that good? The absence of bad?

If so,
Maybe I'm not as pissed about this as I thought I was.
There has to be someone else who is more "not bad" than "bad".
I think I have to re-evaluate here.


You lie so well.
I can't believe I fell for your bullshit again.

It's my own fault.
I guess I was asking for it.
Yeah, I totaly deserved it.
Who was I to treat you like a queen?
Who was I to listen to every word you have to say?
Who was I to do everything you asked me to do?
Who was I to never ask for anything from you?
Who was I to be as patient as you wanted me to be?
Who was I to back off when you asked me to?
Who was I to try to explain myself?
Who was I to do any of these things?

I'm a real asshole, aren't I?

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Once more. And this time: with feeling!

When is it okay?
Let me clarify.
When is it okay to put yourself out there again?
Even if you know you're going to get hurt. Again.
Alot of people will say,
"Get right back on the horse."

Well, I'm not riding a horse.
I'm just looking for someone to love.
And for someone to love me, and all my faults.
I spent 6 months cultivating a relationship.
Only to watch as it was torpedoed right in front of me.

It takes alot to come back from that.
You can't just get right back out there.
Leaving yourself vulnerable to yet another heartbreak.
I hate being vulnerable.

But there are far too many people who enjoy it, it seems.
They get knocked down, and the next day,
They are back out there.
Looking to get hurt all over again.

All love is hurtful, one way or another.
It's just the extent of the pain that varies.
I'm not a masochist. I don't like being hurt.
But if you don't put yourself in a position to get hurt,
You may never find what you're looking for.
You might end up all alone.

And that hurts more than anything.


Every day brings a new adventure.
I want to shoot whoever said that.
I'm tired of adventure.
Can't I just have a day without one?

This roller coaster ride that is sobriety is a drag.
I used to be able to just get high whenever shit got too much.
Now, I have to face reality.
Well fuck reality, I say!
I liked it better when everything seemed unreal.
When I was only concerned with my next fix.
It's hard doing shit I used to only do when I was high.

Like writing.
I only ever wrote when I was stoned.
And believe it or not,
Everything sucked! I never wrote anything good.
I thought it was good at the time.
But it wasn't.
And now, I'm clean.
I'm no longer dependent on drugs.
And everything I write is still shit.
It's not even good at the time I'm writing it.

Ain't life a fucking bitch?

Monday, January 14, 2008

Not giving up, Just giving in (temporarily)

So I had a bad week. Arduous, one could even describe it as.
I don't imagine that all is going to end.
But, I've had some time to consider what happened.
And I'm still not happy.

But looking back, I've never been happy, really.
Maybe I'm just not meant to be happy.
Maybe what I think happiness is,
Is really some ridiculous, idealized version of my life
That I can never even hope to attain.

Maybe my real happiness lies in what it is I have....
Right here. Right now. This life. This is "happiness".
It may not fit a conventional definition of the word,
But it's the closest I'm going to get to it.
I just have to start thinking in a positive manner.
Stop thinking that I'm the only person in the world who feels shitty sometimes,
Because, obviously, I'm not. Everybody feels sad.
We all get these horrible, twisted feelings that we don't even wish to verbalize.
We all have demons that haunt us.

Maybe the ability to supress these demons is the first step.
The first step towards a happy ending.
I just have to start looking at the world with a whole new attitude.
Everything is beautiful. We make our own luck.
Living happily is possible if we just believe it's possible.

I would rather swallow turpentine than live like that.
Truth is, I like my demons. I get my demons.
They're always there when I'm looking for them.
They may not be the best "houseguests" in the world,
But they're mine. Like it or not. I'm fucked up.
And you're fucked up.
But we're all fucked in completely different ways.
And in a sick, perverted way,
That makes me a little happy.

Moving On

I gave myself the weekend to feel like shit, and now the self pity is over (for all intents and purposes). I'm moving on.

So, I burned myself on a bagel this morning. Not the toaster. The actual bagel. While cream cheesing it up, I let my thumb linger too long on it, and I literally got burned. Sesame seeds can retain some goddamn heat, I'll tell ya.

Maybe I can ice my burn down with a little bit of the 20 inches of snow that has fallen in the last 6 minutes! Boy, do I love a good snow day. I can't work in the snow. Well, it's not so much that I can't. It's that I choose not to. So instead, I'll just harness up Floyd and take him for a nice walk.

We both get cabin fever in the winter time. He needs to get out more. So do I, but that's besides the point. He needs so much room to run around, and I just don't have it here. There isn't even a dog park in the area that he could use. Not that it would do any good. He has a tendency of......what's the phrase I'm looking for here? It's right on the tip of my tongue. Oh. Yeah....... He has a tendency of trying to kill other dogs. He goes right for their throats. Just latches on and goes to town! I'm starting to wonder if he may have a behavioral problem (ya think?).

He just adores the snow, though. He prances around in it like a ballet dancer.

He's such a homo.

Saturday, January 12, 2008


Where is my happy ending?
Fuck. Where's my happy middle?
Or beginning, for that matter.

It's So Quiet

Profound loneliness pervades my existence.
I'm approaching 30 years old. My life is a mess.
It's just one calamitous relationship after another.
Is it possible for someone to live their life and never be happy?
Not for more than one day, at least.
It seems as though the universe is conspiring against me.
A good day. Then a bad day.
Another good day.
And then a disastrous day.

The kind of day that makes me crawl into bed and sleep for a week.
Only taking a break from my sleep for the occasional cigarette.
I tell you, if it wasn't for cigarettes, I could sleep for days on end.

These feelings are not the same old feelings.
I've been depressed before. This is different.
This is profound sadness. My soul is aching.
Before, I would have no trouble feigning happiness.
Now, I just feel so ambivalent.
Feigning happiness is not even an option.
I can't even feign sadness. That would be a step up.
It's a morose darkness inside of me I've never felt before.

I know I can make it go away.
It's really very simple.
On easy motion. One magical sound:



My favorite poet is Emily Dickinson.
She grew up and lived her whole life about 30 miles from where I have
grown up and lived my whole life.
She was paralyzed by her own mind.
I sometimes think that I am her reincarnation. Just not as talented.
I can't convey my thoughts and fears and sadness and wants the way she did.

I have utter disdain for all the world.
I cannot see beauty anymore.
Only ugliness.

I used to see beauty. Everywhere. All around me.
I saw it in everything.
Even in myself.

But now, I've become paralyzed by my own mind.
A prisoner in a world of delusion and fantasy.

Emily, how did you manage it all?

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—'tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity—

Friday, January 11, 2008

About a Girl

I fell in love with a girl.
She made me feel like I wasn't alone anymore.
But I am. I was and I am and I always will be.
We did the dance all men and women do. We flirted.
We talked. We had these incredibly intense converations.
About life. About music, literature, philosophy, art.
We shared deep secrets.
I told this girl things even my best friends don't know.
And finally, one day, I told her how I feel. That I loved her.
It was not an easy thing to do.
I summoned all the courage I had just to be able to do it.
I even had to borrow some courage from my neighbor.
(I still haven't returned it.)

"I just want to be friends," she told me.

I wanted to kill myself. I almost did.
But not having any courage left meant I was now a coward.
So I didn't. Obviously.
Weeks went by. Finally, we spoke again.
Slowly, I became less and less distraught.
I had even come around to the idea of being friends with her.
Now I realize that that is impossible.

Today, she asked me for advice about another man.
And again, I want to kill myself.

And I've had more than enough time to build my courage back up.