furlough 08' baby, wooo

to new beginnings or the same old shit...
mr. oglepants went to a bikram yoga class this morning with his betrothed and rounded out the afternoon with a big glass of wine and chain smoked the afternoon away.
if anyone, anywhere would like to post a small short story on this blog feel free...
it's fushupao@hotmail.com and the password is omnibus700. that's right dear reader whomever you are, wherever you happen to be, feel free to lend your createactivity to a good cause (be productive and not reproductive) this new year. if your blog entry is especially creative or funny i promise, here and now, to send you prize in the mail. please just email me at fushupao@hotmail.com your name, address, etc. prizes will awarded in the order of entries received and will only be limited by my own imagination and my willingness to maybe shell out ten to thirty dollars on this little experiment. prizes include a map of budapest, a half used disposable camera... what could the first thirteen pictures be of???? and/or a copy of philip roth's, the dying animal. read the book the san francisco chronicle calls "sorrowful, sexy, elegant... A distinguished addition to Roth's increasingly remarkable literary career." or just read it for the part of where the aged professor face fucks his nineteen year old student or the bit where he masturbates to beethoven... classic. why on god's green earth i decided to read more and start with this, quiet as it's kept. furlough 08' baby, woo

ray... if anyone ever asks if you're a god... say yes!!!

slew/ bob slid up to honey pot on the bench and rubbing his scabby elbow into her side blurted out "my super power is that i can't eat peanuts. i can't even really touch them. i'll break out into hives and my throat will close up... cool huh???"
"that's not a super power numb nuts, that's called an allergic reaction" honey pot stated rolling her eyes for effect "why don't you just go drop dead and help save on oxygen for the rest of us."
bob slunk off carrying his cold dented can of corned beef hash. exit stage left
honey pot continued "he thinks he's so special, but really he's like special olympic special... short bus, you know?" thumbing her fat thumb in the direction that bob left in.
the boy whose real name was wiznick/ lunchmeat sighed deeply "and this too shall pass"
before honey pot could register what just happened lunch meat lunged across the table and grabbed a hold of honey pot's hand interlacing her plump sweaty fingers across the back of her hand with his own.
"can i ask you something... just between us prom queens???"
honey pot attempted to wring her hand free but the boy named lunch meat tightened his grip.
"are you a god???"
before she could answer the boy named lunch meat leaned over and blew his nose all over honey pot's chest. wet snot rockets... gray and gelatinous peppered the front of her shirt and bare skin.
honey pot stood up clutching her lunch tray to the front of her chest "this conversation isn't over you gross little jesus freak." and stomped out of the lunch room, her squat frame shaking as she stormed out of the now still room.
the boy named lunch meat with a self satisfied smirk leaned back and picked up the chewed apple that sat on his tray and cupping it in both hands began humming, careful so no one over heard him, what if god were one of us.
the half bitten part of the apple began turning yellow and then a shade of brown as a white moldy fuzz grew from the exposed jagged parts made from his teeth marks. a black bruise slowly spreading across the skin, beginning from the damaged part of the apple, as it time lapsed... turning into a rotten fetid lump of flesh in a matter of seconds.

sigh

it's been a minute...
drinking little penguin... all wines taste the same in the end... acidic, the same going down as they do coming up...
the vomitorium. the vomit comet. wallace and vomit. that's a funny word in english. like the eskimos have twenty- seven different words for snow... vomit.
seen on a t- shirt "i'd fuck me"

the function of my dysfunction

lunch meat: i have the ability to know exactly what jesus would do...
honeypot: really??? okay hotshot what would jesus do with an elephant with three balls???
lunch meat: he'd walk the elephant and pitch to the rhinoceros.

i am leaving for san francisco tomorrrow... thank you jay, colin and simone for taking care of bear...

here but for the grace of god we go...

cry me a river, build a bridge and get over it.

"so... why do they call you lunch meat???"
honey pot asked pushing her large glasses tight around her round face. lunch meat was concentrating on the sad little chicken nuggets on his plastic cafeteria plate. the girl named honey pot sat down across from him in the lunchroom at roman polanski high school, mixing her mashed potatoes and canned corn together before scooping plastic spoonfuls into her mouth. lunch meat realizing the girl was still sitting there after several minutes shrugged his shoulders in reply. honey pot with a mouthful of instant potatoes and corn continued the one sided conversation. "i heard, that you got caught masturbating with a pile of shaved ham from a sandwich by a teacher in the bathroom. only, somehow you microwaved the meat on high and gave yourself second degree burns on your bubble yum and chicklets."
lunch meat looked up for the first time that day, "if that was really the case, and i'm not saying it is, my nickname would be blister dick or something... wouldn't it?" attempting his best at a withering look.
honeypot pointed her spork at the boy flicking dehydrated potato flakes and hissed "listen hear you dumb little kumquat. i know okay??? i know you're special... but then again so am i."
she pushed up the sleeve of a tired gray flannel she was wearing and held a limp wrist at eye level. lunch meat watched as tiny water droplets formed at the tips of her fingers before dropping onto the cold gray table between them. a dozen or so fell before honey pot continued.
"that weird solar flare... the one that turned the sky pink and that bright shade of green didn't just effect you numb nuts."
lunch meat gazed quietly around the cafeteria, several students had stopped what they were doing and stared back giving a silent nod.
honey pot continued,
"we were all outside that day. you think you're not lonely only alone? i got news for you... you needle nose, smug little piece of twit. you're not."

my onion personal ad

why you should get to know me:
because

five things i can't live without:
coffee and cigarettes, running shoes, rescue me ((the tv show.) i'm not gay but i would sleep with tommy in a hot second) and that fake taco meat stuff made out of soy- sooo good

last great book i read:
kafka on the shore- haruki murakami (it makes norwegian wood its little bitch in terms of beautifully insane weirdness)

songs that put me in the mood:
this is not a very good question because no one in their right mind answers it like the song playing in the background while taking a trip to pleasure town "oh, we're going" (it's a favorites list).
-these are just some albums i bought for the third time because i love them but continuously misplace them
nevermind- nirvana, yankee hotel foxtrot- wilco, ok computer- radiohead and the legend of johnny cash- johnny cash (a boy named sue- why have i never heard this song before??? it's so good it makes my bones ache).

five things you'll find in my bedroom:
many, many pillows (decorative), a dog named bear that likes to chew the stitching off the blanket, a girl named liz fast asleep, original artwork and several half read books

if i could be anywhere in the world right now:
driving to the airport in the early morning to make a flight... it's the anticipation that leads to all that gratification (thank you illinois lottery and bernie mac).

best lie i ever told:
Well you was doin fifty-five in a fifty-fo'


---quirky is sexy but a quark is sexier

16 aUg 2007

me: i wish i knew what heavy felt like.
(i said this out loud to no one in particular. i was picking something up that weighed a lot, i think it was that blue hamper thing i have that was filled with sweaty, nasty, dirty laundry and it reminded me of a scene in something about mary.)
-----liz walks into the room---
liz: you really like talking to yourself... don't you?
me: if i only said it to myself... in my head, then that would be called thinking... and really liz, who wants to do that???

the field

sue sat up.
sue: so what if she doesn't love you? it's the things you love and not the other way around that defines you, as you... see???
mudd: i tried that. quiet as it's kept, it's not working out so great.
sue: we'll talk more on the subject later...
mudd: i don't know. i don't know anymore. i thought i did but i don't. not really.
sue: the museum is about to close and you are going to have to leave. we'll talk more about the subject later.
mudd: my fifty minutes is up? i understand...
(mudd fevershily buttoned up his navy blue winter coat and pulling his collar tight around the neck rubbed his balding head)
sue: in a perfect situtation how would you like to see this resolved?
mudd: i'd want to her in my arms and tell her this is going to be the way the way it is and no one can help it a bit.
sue: and... how does that make you feel?
mudd: angry and dejected. i don't know how i'm supposed to feel... but it's not like this. i didn't want this. i didn't ask for this.
sue (the t-rex skeleton): we'll talk more about this later... okay???
mudd flattened his dry spiked hair against his head with a sticky palm heaved a sigh.
mudd: i suppose
sue: good- bye
mudd: bye
and with that the boy named mudd stomped down the stairs and into the cold february evening out onto the cracked steps of the field museum and after lighting a clove cigarette wandered home.

07 ocT 02

do you want this jacket?
i'll give it to you, because i am cloaked in failure.

it's one ten in morning and i am wide awake. i think i might go home after i punch out on or two more pages of this journal thing and finish watching mission impossible two. i am going running tomorrow and lifting weights. i have the l.a. police test in two months and i need to get in a lot better shape if i want to be placed high on the list of applicants to ensure a place at the academy. quiet as it's kept... i don't think it's that hard to become the l.a.p.d. i think they're hiring illegal aliens... so long as you can prove that you've lived in the states for more then five years or something. there is no bench press test nor is there the mile and a half run, it's a stationary bike and a chest expander test. what the hell is that???
i need to stop eating so much, not because i'm going to get fat (which i am) but because food is so damn expensive. it's like all the guys i went to high school were the same but they swelled. since school started and i haven't been working full time i think i put on a pound or two. i need to to start watching what i eat because i am slowly killing myself. my dad didn't drink or smoke but he packed away the oreos three at a time... fitting those soggy things in his mouth, finishing a row after a meal. i think i eat a little bit better then him but i have moments.
for the next two weeks i am going to just try and chill out...

paht whatever of whatever: or... the story about the samurai and ronin

"that's what tetanus is for babe"... the nonsequitor overheard today by my neighbors talking.

michigan: maybe you drink too much
bear: maybe i breathe too much... ha ha
michigan: you're drunk and i'm leaving. call me when you've sobered up.
bear: you can't leave because i'm already gone babe.

narrator: bear pushes past the other young man and having pulled open the door stumbles down the stairs walking into into the damp false dawn of morning.
samurai: (to each other).... bear is a non- issue, leave him to destroy himself
narrator: and they watched as he steadied himself and resumed a slow shuffle down the center of the street through the patchy predawn light.

bear: you know, i can hear you... in my minds eye (pressing a swollen finger to his bruised temple)...
narrator: what???
bear: your thoughts. i can hear them: resuming a slow shuffle down the street blah, blah, blah... pressing a bruised finger to his swollen temple. are your ready???
narrator: i suppose... it's highly unorthodox.
bear: it's all in the past now. everyone is living in the past, constantly. it's self sustaining. no future, no present... only the past. even as you read these words you're only really reminiscing about the word you just read last, like this one, or this one...no wait... this one
narrator: so, it doesn't matter does it? because it's already done...
bear: exactly... you've said it yourself... from many, one.
narrator: upcheck has been left for dead.
bear: he will survive
narrator: the man becomes sullen, he becomes morose... his girlfriend breaks up with him. in a different time, a different place they would have been married. she would have had a million of his babies.
bear: all of this has been written...
narrator: from many, one
bear: from many, one
michigan quietly cat leaps from the open window of the three story burn out, the building has been gutted by a fire long past since... and falls gracefully to the waiting samurai below. he falls towards the earth and the warm dry clay, kicking up a cloud of coarse smoked earth and the expectant sinewy arms of the samurai below...

04 june 2005

it will be two year in two days for when i left for australia. what a strange little trip it's been. from here to there, back and forth and back again. i wanted to be alone tonight. to tear, i guess, to tear my flesh off in huge ragged chunks until i looked like how i feel inside. this is my life. i chose this. the person i am now is going to hate myself in what??? six months... six years. a glutton for punishment. relationships are ridiculous things but we need the eggs... it's not the end of the world what ever it is.

24 april 2005
kevin: you know what this party needs???
colin: no, what?
kevin: more dudes!!!!!

17 noVember 05

ooh prague, it's a beautiful city. hot wine on cold nights. goulash, kafka and wursts with mustard and chunks of rye bread. i have the whole room to myself at the beta hostel and it's lovely and you can smoke in the room and take hot private showers. i know it can't last. i wandered around the city venturing further and further out getting more and more turned around... but that's okay because i don't really have anywhere to be. i'm not lonely, only alone... and it's suiting because it's self induced. if it ain't baroque don't fix it. praha is divided into four bits: old town, new town, lesser town and some other part that involves a castle. the last two are across the river vltava. i know this because i have the map in front of me and also because i got drunk and took the 1,000 czech crown tour "prague at night". i have two more cities to go and truthfully now... i just want to come home. i walked up the hill and saw the prague eiffel tower and the castle. in london i managed to stay lost for about five hours and saw buckingham palace. the tower of london is actually a bunch of towers and whole place is very flat and low to the ground. mendy and dave have just been amazing to me. fish and chips; curries and pubs and walks up and down the thames with coffee breaks. they've made a home for themselves about ten minutes from victoria station and mendy's making plans with her friends james and jenny for her hen party. i'm staying in vysehrad next to the metro that runs inside the expressway. vysehard castle was built in the 10th century and was the king's home and the center of the kingdom until 1140, blah, blah, blah...
if you hit the river then you know that you've gone too far west with powder gate and all the windy narrow streets at odd angles and large flat paving stones which are a god send because you can hear a car coming from a mile away. the tires bouncing in between the cracks of the stones in the distinct flip, flip, flip sound letting you know a vehicle is coming down the crazy blind alley that you're walking down and you better start heading towards the sidewalk and safety. here it's the little things: the way everyone sets your change down on the counter and yes, get ready for it... it is the royale with cheese.

12 apRil 07

no, no, no... listen
moving in with liz at the end of the month. first we get the khakis then we get the girls. making or trying to make, red beans and rice while listening to to tupelo honey. how perfect is this moment??? hot wine on cold nights. eating a brawt at the fucking game, (jesus christ... did i even know this girl?) australia, alaska, rowanda (sp)??? i suppose it's the people you love and not not the other way around.

da bear- part (2) two of the seven eleven

bear sat lazily on the roof of some nondescript boarded up building smoking and drinking from a dented can of warm beer... waving his hand in sluggish circles.
bear: all of this is temporary- god, you, me and ice cream. it's not a lot, but it's our lot in life.
upcheck sat indian style his arms folded tightly across his chest.
upcheck: you know this isn't over, you may think this is done but...
bear flopped over on his side and pulling his legs up to his chest and folding his arms over his scabbed knees... whispered to himself "is this my mind? is this my mind? is this my mind?"
upcheck sat quietly and stared off into space before speaking again.
upcheck: this is not over, this thing we created has become more... and not even death can stop it now. not his, not mine, not even yours. they will defeat us all... i don't even know what that means anymore.
upcheck stood up and dusted off the back side of his pants. "they attacked michigan last night, he managed to get away. i don't know what would have happened to him... meditate on that."
narrator: and with that upcheck turned to leave, exit stage left.
narrator: the game was fought at night under the cover of darkness and in good faith, until the time...
upcheck ducked into an alley glancing over his shoulder occasionally, he made his way across the wet cobblestone making his way home, it was after dark.
the three samurai lay in wait, in the shadows of a quiet gangway.
the fight was brief and a violent mess. it was only ended by the sound of approaching sirens, several minutes later, as one of the assassins threw elbow after elbow into the base of his skull in an attempt to separate the brain from the spinal column.
narrator: from many, one

paht seven

celery- ce'st la vie
slew- shit my man, i think you stabbed me...

upcheck and the two men poured out of the bar and into the street legs and arms flailing everywhere. celery sat there silently the hood on her faded green jacket pulled down over her eyes sucking on a wet cigarette with the filter torn off.
-celery was downtown, for whatever reason, and people watching... everyone was a walking obituary to her back then. your life summed up in a three sentence blurb. son of so and so... father to him and her like that's all you managed to do in your time here on earth, procreate. and a man with a seeing eye dog, a blind man, was coming up to the intersection, and this dog with his sad eyes slumped over in this crazy harness takes this man through the crosswalk against the red light and the bright orange hand. this fucking dog doesn't miss a beat. he's ready. given up on life. defeated. everyone on the street is standing there stunned. to say anything would invite panic and ultimately death... and the whole time cars are barely missing the man and his sad- eyed yellow dog. they both died... not then, but later... cancer, but many years later and apart.
the three men on the corner struggle in the rain oblivious to the world around them.
upcheck screams- go ahead... blacken my soul out with violence and loss.
the third man fishes in his pants pocket for something: a knife with a black pearl handle.
slew seeing all of this sprints across the street at full speed as the third man wrestles his knife open with a free hand.

me: have you even read my blog???
mendy: i read the first one or two. it didn't make a whole lot of sense to me, soooo...
me: you haven't even looked at it, have you?
mendy: it's not even about you, really...
(thank you mendy, for everything, even if you'll never read it. my thanks... not the blog)

slew trips, tripped... three's company style, and falls on the knife with the black pearl handle, the grace of god, and the calloused hand that held the thing...
celery limps over to the crime scene with the yellow tape only to be taken down after it is all over. upcheck stands by himself on the corner, his pock marked face twisted into a frown.
"i've seen all of this in my dreams"
"i know, i think we all did..."
"this is the end of the beginning..."
"or the other way around"

the magnificient seven samurai

from many, one...
michigan was running, running running.
a small lactic knife slid underneath his ribs.
the fear of god.
narrator: seven young men went out that night and six returned... so it goes.
michigan jumped a low chain link fence, monkey vaulting, into the adjacent backyard and doubled back.
narrator: seven young men went out and six returned: three samurai and three ronin... the seventh died.
michigan wheeled around and threw a wild side kick into the chest of his once friend.
narrator: the game was created- from many, one- the battles were fought after midnight. midnight was when the monsters came out. alliances were formed and broken... to the victor the spoils, and all would be forgiven in the end... until the night six returned.
the two shadows were on top of michigan raining blows on his back and shoulders as he wrung himself free of his black hoody. this fight is over.
narrator: the competition, the game, became a sick and twisted thing after that night.
three ronin against three samurai... and this is where this story ends its beginning.
michigan scrambled and managed to strike the one young man between the legs with a closed hand and fled down the alley southbound with tears in his eyes.

sloths...sloths!!! aka paid a dog to burn down a hospital

if you're going to sit there and insult me at least make it accurate. upcheck sobbed into an empty smudged glass. the truth hurts sooooo much more.
the beginning of the end or the other way around.
celery tugged at the frayed end of her pale green jacket. it was raining... again.
his name was death and hell followed with him.
upcheck raised a chipped glass "to sex with exe's"
bob/ slew waited silently for the accident he was only able to prevent.
"to new beginnings or the same old shit."
"i'll fold you like a lawn chair, my man... beat you like a drum, smoke you like a cheap cigar."
celery hobbled over, she had twisted her ankle after successfully falling several times that night.
sophisticated ruin.
the lights changed from green to yellow to red... again that night.
"what are you going to do??? are you going to hit me?"
there was a knife with a pearl handle, a four inch blade and the grace of god..
bob- 15 aPril 2007
celery gave all her friends cancer in her mind...
her mother would marvel at their complete recovery months later.
next time little suzy so and so from the down the street would come over to play...
leukemia, lymphoma, lou gehrigh's disease... a lot of diseases that start with the letter "l"
celery was prepared for the worst and hoping for the best. a life lived with the added poignancy and interest that always involves a near death experience (with help from a thin, pale, eleven year old girl)... a small miracle existing purely in her mother's mind.

classic peanuts, or... hey charlie brown fuck you

(old sir henry oglepants, from my journal... which does make the saddest sort of friend)
10-12 june 2003
i sort of drifted through the city of sydney my first day in a a caffeine and nicotine haze. I've started planning in my head a trip toward queensland where i can pick bananas or trawl for fish in cairns. random unsubstantial conversations with complete strangers as i wandered around darling harbor, the rocks, and circular quay. i sat around, smoked, watching the people move around the city.
"it was all beautifully similar to everywhere else i've been."
-and for travelling alone... well... if that's way it's going to be. fuck it. that's the way it is.
I smiled and waved and the tiny girl giggled and buried her head in her mother's shirt and i was out the elevator door without a glance back...

18 august 2006

i went to dave and mendy's wedding on the 09th. two flights, a tube ride and then a train ride to plymouth and waited at the bus depot for another three hours and some fourteen hundred dollars later. you can't put a price on friendship. it was beautiful wedding at a naploeanic fort on the side of a cliff. I hung out with james and jenny most of the days and james's sister rachel. we stayed up late talking both nights. she was a social worker and lived in south london on the dodgey end. i drank coffee all night, the night of the wedding. rachel, james brown and jenny were just brilliant. smoking on the back steps with mendy's cousins from "WISCOSIN"... me the only one that laughed at my little joke... playing with her son. what is this??? the tiger claw.
sitting on couch with mendy... feeling so close to another person but at that same time realizing how far apart we really were... and that hug after it was all said and done from the two of them together. life is made up of all those small beautiful moments. i never want to forget that feeling; i never want to forget that memory. top five (number) four, show. staying with james and jenny, i realize why people travel because... someplaces at some times can feel more like home than home. in that moment you want to lose yourself. there will always be a place for you here. i would travel twice as far and spend all that i have... to be in that place to be with people i was sharing that moment. now i have twenty days consecutive days off and time to journal and drink and to do things.. and not to do them.
better men have met worse ends... but the race does not go to the fast nor the strong but time and chance when they intersect.

i'm not a soldier but i got soul

what's horrifying is not the act of murder... but the fact that it isn't committed more readily. the actual act so easy. the fact that anyone, anywhere could kill another person so easily if they wanted to but they don't. societies... governments create weapons of mass destruction because all of us won't do our own small part.
- upcheck
he sat quietly at the bar "no one tells me what to do."
if you die in your dream, you die in really life- the body cannot exist without the mind-
slew was constantly dying in his dreams... dying exotic deaths...in degrees.
laughing his ass off. he'd wake up upset and unable to go back to bed.
sooo... this is death. a strike to the base of the skull with a blunt instrument separating the brain from the spinal column. the stars you see right before you black out, a million dead wishes. this is my life this is my mistake.
he swung with a wild hay maker striking the side of the neck with a clenched hand.
what are you going to do???
are you going to hit me???
kapow... kerchow...
like the batman series on television, all the punches thrown wound up to cartoonish quality.
the beginning of the end or the other way around. celery crying her eyes out. this is the future welcome to it... celery knows all of this, but can prevent none of it.
in those star trek episodes, the captain of the next generation decides to go ahead knowing whatever they decide has been preordained so the choice, ultimately has to be... to change nothing.
they sat on the corner eating broken oreos by the fistful... passive acceptance.

me: what's going on?
jay: mmmm... I'll tell you what's going on... I got to reheat my burrito.
(enter colin stage left)
colin: you kickin it out here???
jay: kevin's party is tonight they're playing darts at mulligans. you should come.
jay: avocado, rib- eye, sour cream, lettuce... sooo good.
colin: babies, root beer floats and barbecue, how can you not love me... jeez.
jay: i generate excitement
colin: can you really put a cost on living the best year of your life???
me: how can you two tool boxes not have a roommate by now???
(not verbatim... but close)

part four or... I am starting a band called malcom x box aka the carl jung bloods

i can't finish anything, not even my life -slew
"wishes are only dreams with expired half- lives" bob said out loud. celery shouted down the hallway "and eyebrows are only little hairy sweatbands for your eyes." grabbing at a dull pink disposable razor and tugging it across her forehead taking off half her right eyebrow.
somewhere close a man has started drinking in a bar by himself. he raises a small glass full of whiskey and hate
the man exhales "here but for the grace of god we go." and drinks in and down, all the violence. he touches his swollen nose with a hand, the inside crusted with dried blood. blood tastes like copper... it's like trying to swallow a mouthful of rotting pennies. back and to the left.
the man on the bike path died a little more then two weeks later in the bathroom of his home of a massive brain hemorrhage. naked and foaming at the mouth... saggy balls and all. the fire fighter paramedics went through the motions covering his waist with a clean white sheet and drove to the hospital having already pronounced him in their minds. death be not proud.
fate... much like the word fucked... both start with the same letter.
celery knows this because i know this, she also reads the obituary pages from day old newspapers.
her parents died in a drunk driving accident. you know what they call a family of five in a minivan in accidents like that... airbags.
"everyone i ever know goes away in the end" celery sobbed pressing her head to the microwave and pushing start one night with slew. thank you trent reznor.
disappointment muck like the river denial is not just a island in the pacific... or a river in egypt.
the man at the bar will began drinking amaretto stone sours very soon, his name is upcheck. i know this because celery knows this. not the big why questions, but just the result. i know all of this before her because i am already dead. -bob

ask abby anyting???

dear paulette,
I have been happily married for seven years to a wonderful guy but lately I feel the romance has faded. do you have suggestions on how to spice up the love life in a languishing marriage??? sincerely, inquiring wives want to know

dear, iwwk i like to include at least three items in the bedroom when i decide it's sexy time- they include but aren't limited to the following:
-a food item
-an animal with a humorous disease
-an object
examples...
-a dented can of cream corn
-a hamster with epilepsy
-and a blue tarp
or...
-two boxes of lime green jello
-a flattened basketball
-a three legged cat with ringworm
it's a fun a game that could involve the whole family need be... the sky is the limit

the depahted

he rode a pale horse and his name was death, and hell followed with him. -johnny cash
this is my life this is my mistake
celery... celery invented pets that she didn't have, only to kill them off. she would dig holes in her backyard only to fill them in later, bawling her eyes out over the freshly turned earth for a pet she never had that had never died.
when i was I don't know... fourteen, i thought I had super powers... that I could see the future. there was a path that ran along side our house, a bike path... freshly paved and i knew a man was going to die there unless I prevented it. he is going to go walking and have a heart attack and I was the only one that was that was going to able to prevent it. I was grounded at the time, but i ran out of the house anyways crying and I took my bike and went to that bike path. there was a man... and he was walking and i rode up to him on my bicycle and said hi looking anxiously into his face. i have seen death, not back then... but later, and there is a smell... it smells of amaretto and rotten fruit. the smell is unmistakable. when you smell it you know the person is gone.. twenty- one grams lighter... done. they are gone and somewhere else. he looked at me and said hello back, and riding along side him for a minute, waiting for him to drop dead i asked tentatively "no, but how do you feel?" he walked on... down the bike path after giving me a strange look.
celery and bob waited waited on the corner of the intersection tonight... again. Waiting for the accident that he was only able to prevent. bob, "slew... my name was slew." celery turned to bob wiping her ratty bangs off her forehead. "slew... hey godot, the whole donnie darko moment... blah, blah, blah..."
bob wasn't listening, watching the lights change, he stared off into space willing what was supposed to happen, to happen so they could go home. "why don't you just blow me because you're acting like my fucking girlfriend right now." bob said, wiping a wet sleeve across his runny nose.

part two: or thanks ang-n-oli for the inspired t-shirt

journals are the saddest sort of friends- celery
act one/: scene two
after three days without sleep you can hear voices in running water. have you ever wondered what they would say?
this is your future. welcome to it. it begins now... no wait... now, no now.
no, no, no, no, no listen...
bob swayed as he finished off a bottle of vitamins, b6.
gnashing his teeth violently. little bits of vitamin spraying every where as he spoke.
proprioception is our sixth sense. The continuous but unconscious sensory flow from the movable parts of the body: muscle, tendons, joints. Their position to me and motion are continuously monitored and adjusted by my brain. without it you become disembodied, like a freshly pithed frog.
celery chewed on the split ends of her hair. what is that from? she whispered. is this my mind? is this my mind? is this my mind?
The vitamin craze of the nineties with the health faddists overdosing on pyridoxine, poisoning themselves. a generation of power walking zombies.
your body is dead, not real... not yours
this is the rest of your life welcome to it.
celery -12 fEb 07 - This body doesn't feel like me- this doesn't feel right. The constant fucking and eating. it's so habitual you know? maybe you do. Everything is so dull, pale, so bleached. there is no beginning... no end just a long laborious middle. one of those sort of "if I was a mind reader i would know what I was thinking" sort of things. last night, bob wanted to get something to eat so we went for a walk to get some... (end part two)

jay-n-liz

this is my life this is my mistake...
colin: blah blah blah
me: no no no... let me read it on your fucking blog
this is me drunk, this is me at my most honest.
jay and liz are talking girl shop in the kitchen right now...
liz: well what if she is????
jay: you should come over for a spectacular freak out... I have gained a new found love for darts... come on liz you should play darts with me
liz: I took my contacts out
jay: just aim for the big circle... come on liz you should... look at me i'm awesome two bulls-eyes

crawfish etuofee, eh too fee... eh too fyeh

ken, a retired chemistry teacher from new hampshire, "is this a rave?".
"no" and I shove a bottle of beer in his hand and take a drink from mine. club brasil on frenchman street has a half a high school marching band on stage. misty, who asked me if I needed anything from the bar comes back with a cup for ken. "here drink this too." I say handing the plastic cup to ken. He does not complain and drinks both, god bless him. this is not my scene. I feel old in this place. i have an old soul. misty and andrew from the o.c. who have watched the show, i asked, are standing watching the band. They enjoy music, it's their passion and have taken ken and i around to these amazing bars with live bands. soul sucking jazz, i didn't even think I liked jazz, and then we ended up here... their favorite band is dave matthews which makes me feel quietly superior.
john wilks booth, his real name, talks about st. bernard parish. the water rose six feet in the space of a half hour. some of the fire fighters from the parish come in and talk about what happened. they were abandoned. the national guard was occupied at the super dome. people broke into the boat storage warehouse and took the boats. they rescued each other. they swam out their kitchen windows. they broke into the crawl space in their house and dragged their mother in law and sister up in there with them and then sat on the roof for four days waiting to be rescued.
Many people did not have flood insurance. the insurance company would pay to replace to the roof. one of the kids from americorp gets dysentery. we all find this funny, comical. "what is dysentery anyways?" one of the americorp kids said he felt sick and had a headache. "that's dysentery?" in the oregon trail game people were always dropping dead from that shit. you didn't have time to shoot two squirrels without little peggy sue dropping dead from dysentery. i fantasize about my own death: you guys go on without me... i'd only slow you down handing over my ryobi power drill with rechargeable battery pac... I got the... I got the dysentery.
i listen to npr on the way home. it seems to be the only radio station i can find. If I ever post a personal ad on the chicago reader i can put my radio is tuned to npr. i am interesting and intelligent... love me now. they talked about how president bush did not mention katrina or rebuilding the gulf coast and how some people were upset about his state of the union speech. by the end of the week, we have moved on to mudding. mudding is, surprised again, what i call spackle... and does not wash out of clothes. i enjoy walking around with these huge spots of mud on my jacket and jeans, like i'm out there doing things... look at me.
mike from project hope, not to be confused with camp hope which sounded ominous at first but is actually a very nice place has been here for the last seven months. first he was gutting houses and now rebuilding. he hasn't shaved since he got down here and is a hippy, his word not mine, he is working for free and is living on the kindness of the community.
everyone helps each other, it is a very blue collar neighborhood. an electrician who live down the street rewires his neighbor's house who is a carpenter, or knows something about carpentry. hopper, the carpenter, in turn, comes into this man's house and puts up braces and jacks, and raises this guy's roof to where it was before the storm surge hit. the force of the water moved brick houses down the street. this house leans awkwardly to the left. hopper begins turning the jack and the roof begins to groan. we're all underneath the center beam holding it above our heads in place. hopper pauses for a second and tells us to take a look around and plan our escape route if the roof decides to go, we laugh and then nervously look around. I reposition myself closer to the door this time and he starts cranking the jack again.

have you found jesus? he's hiding behind the couch

driving through mississippi listening to tupelo honey on a radio station broadcasting from get this... tupelo. now mind you i thought the new england patriots were from the wonderful state of new england. 'sigh' the quaint state. why would a professional football team create a fictitious state and then pretend to come from there??? it just doesn't make sense. i stayed and lived in st bernard parish population 20,000 down from 76,000. one of the levees broke a street down from where we are working on, daniel's house, installing sheet rock and insulation and then eventually mud. sheet rock i found out is just dry wall, like kleenex is a kind of facial tissue. I make a lot of unnecessary holes in daniel's sheet rock. I try to make my mistakes while daniel is not around. as a doctor the one thing you're trained not to say... 'oops'. most of the day daniel is at work, he's a welder and mercifully not a carpenter. seventeen months after the hurricane he still live in his fema trailer behind his house. about every fifth house has one of these trailers in front or on the side of a home the rest of the homes are left deserted rotting from the inside. daniel's trailer is a sort of all plastic rv camper, think small. think tiny. It smells exactly like my parent's neighbor's house. this fact drives me insane. that smell reminds me of leather couches and baby sitting and all the cherry coca- cola and cable television i could want. i want to ask daniel if it's some kind of plug in or scent strip or something. i get bit by a spider, several times, and my hand swells up to this size of a medium grape fruit. the brown recluse spider they tell us in orientation is the cousin to the black widow. it will not kill you but the third day is very bad they tell us... very bad. I am popping benadryl tablets like bright pink tic tacs thinking if i was dying i think i would know it, it would hurt a lot more. my hand would fall off first or something... then again it is only day two. shit

the big easy mac

i'm leaving tomorrow for new orleans... nah ahleans... norleans... nah-lens
the conversation i had not two minutes ago with the "camp hope" lady who answered the phone (camp hope is the place I'll be living at for two weeks and then I'll just commute to the habitat for humanity work site by car)
chlwap: camp hope
me: hey, my name is Sir Henry Oglepants I did all of this online so I was just checking, I was looking at your guys website and there's an orientation that sunday before work on monday.
chlwap: That's right, so you need to get here before five on sunday and make sure to bring an extra blanket and some warm clothes. You're probably going to need a jacket. It's kind of cold down here.
me: that's okay i'm from chicago...
chwalp: the group from Minnesota whose here is bitching about the cold... we don't have heat.

11 jAn 2007

I think woody allen said it best: life is full of loneliness, misery, and suffering and it's all over much too soon
act one/ scene one:
Celery was laying on the floor in the living room sucking a Peach menthol ciggarette, and bob was in the bathroom with several dried makers in the sink and his shirt up over his head. She shouted down the hallway "what are you doing in there?" Bob inspecting a red flair, looked into the mirror and began filling the dark circle that was six inches down and to the left of one his nipples. "I'm giving myself a third nipple." Turning his attention back to what was going on in the bathroom he finished up and satisfied with the results spoke to no one in particular "I am a freak. I'm damaged goods."
Celery took a cracked coffee mug and swirling the last of its contents of cough syrup and coca cola drank it in three mouthfuls. "Okay whatever, just don't be beating off in my sink- because you never rinse out the bowl and I don't want your man juice all over my fake marble counter top." Bob stumbled out of the bathroom with a fistful of markers working his stained t-shirt back over his head. "Here you go, I cleaned up with this. You might want to wash it in bleach and then burn it" throwing a yellow dishtowel in celery's direction, bob marched to the kitched and came back a few second later with a crumpled paper bag which after popping off the remaining marker’s caps with his teeth dropped into the bag and inhaled deeply. Celery curled the ends of her mouth into a smile “Here you go you little nancy you dropped this” holding up the rag “and by the way I have at least, I’d say… two std’s that you haven’t even heard of, so I’m not worried.”
The apartment was like all apartments anonymous, badly lit, smelling of over ripe bananas wrapped in wet newspapers, filled with lead paint chips. “They called it the devil’s dandruff” celery whispered to herself, pulling a white chip of the wall the size and shape of a silver dollar and popped it into her mouth. “so did you want to get something to eat?” Celery pulled herself up to a sitting position “I don’t know it sounds kind of over rated.” Bob grabbed his coat off the ground by the door and spinning around twice managed to find his keys under a pile of dirty clothes and a burnt phone book “Come on, it could be an adventure.” Celery pulled on her shoes and after tying the laces together shuffled to the door. The door closed behind them, but wasn’t locked and they walked out on to the street and into a torrential downpour, celery with her laces tied together shuffling after bob. (end scene one)

reasons to create a blog: part two

jay: I don't know if I did
colin: jay, you have a cold not Alzheimer

this is my life this is my mistake
tell me a story a good story...
there once was a man who gave up everything he knew to become something he wasn't the end.
you can never go home but you can always shop there...

reasons to create a blog: part one

a conversation...
me "my life barely entertains me"
colin "I find your life mildly entertaining. I mean wildly entertaining."